James fell into silence, feeling extremely stupid. He didn’t enjoy the attention, so why did he feel like this? He should just be grateful to be alive after what happened this morning.
“James,” Derek said, breaking James’s thoughts. “You know that none of this”—he made a general gesture toward the house—“matters to me. Somehow, I was given these powers, and so I use them to do as much good in the world as I can. And yeah, that comes with a certain amount of fame and admiration. But there are only two people in the world whose opinions truly matter to me.”
“Mom’s,” James said slowly. Derek nodded. “And... Cousin Eric’s?”
Derek snorted and punched James lightly on the arm. “I’m serious, man. I do what I have to, make the necessary appearances, but I don’t care about anything but my family. Understand?”
James nodded, feeling slightly better.
“Good,” Derek said, standing. “Now, let’s go entertain the relatives. Both of us.”
Chapter 3
The next day, James rolled out of bed to his third alarm at the crack of dawn. He got ready groggily in the early-morning darkness, shoveled down two frozen waffles, said goodbye to his mom, and disappeared out the door. Since he wasn’t sixteen for another two days, he didn’t have his license, so his friend Rocky picked him up in an old, battered Jeep.
“How’s it going, man?” Rocky said, his voice as tired as James felt.
“Not bad.” James stepped into the Jeep and put his backpack at his feet. “Not looking forward to everyone asking me what happened yesterday.”
“Yeah, that was wild,” Rocky said as he backed out of the driveway. It was all he said on the subject, and for that, James was grateful. Rocky was one of the few people who understood James didn’t like being constantly bombarded with questions about the Supers. Instead, they talked about their upcoming geometry test.
“I haven’t had time to study, man. I’ve been training too hard,” Rocky said. As he turned the steering wheel, a glint from his hand caught James’s eye.
“Are you really still wearing that?”
“What, this?” Rocky held up his hand to show the unnecessarily massive ring, the gold band standing out against his black skin. A large silver and fake-diamond-studded football caught the rising sunlight. “Or did you mean this one?” He held up his opposite hand to reveal an identical ring, the only difference the year written on the bottom.
James laughed. “You’re such a loser.”
“Hey, man, it’s what I’m known for,” Rocky said as they pulled into the school parking lot. “Back-to-back state championships thanks to me.”
“You didn’t even play freshman year.”
He shrugged. “But who scored the winning touchdown in overtime this year?”
“You’re going to be one of those people that never moves on from high school,” James said as they walked toward the front doors of the school.
“Except when I get more rings in college.”
They parted ways at the front door. James had art history first period. He made his way to the classroom, trying to ignore the whispers and stares that followed him. He had to take a short detour on his way there; the hallway to his Spanish classroom was blocked off on account of the collapsed ceiling. But eventually, he made it there and slid into his usual seat in the back of the classroom.
He was early today, and Mr. Zimmer hadn’t even arrived yet. Only a few desks were filled, and students slowly filtered in, shoulders hunched and faces blank like the unhappy prisoners they were. James pulled out his phone and scrolled absently through Instagram, determined not to meet the eyes he could feel fixating on him.
Mr. Zimmer walked in, looking equally as bleary as the students. His hair was messy and his eyes, as usual, had a red tinge to them. James often suspected he wasn’t sipping coffee from the thermos he always held.
When the bell rang, Mr. Zimmer announced that today would be a workday, an opportunity to workshop their essay ideas. He paired them up and promptly slouched behind his desk.
James was paired with Javier Madden, a small, quiet kid James had only spoken to a few times. They dragged two desks together and set up their laptops, quietly pulling up their notes in the awkward dance of two students who didn’t know each other but were forced to work together.
“So,” Javier said as James typed gibberish onto his screen so it looked like he was still pulling up his paper. “My essay’s about the Supers, funny enough.”
James glanced up at him. “What’s that got to do with art?”
“Haven’t you heard of Dolph Nalia? I’m surprised, since... Well, anyways, he’s been painting the Supers for years. Look.” Javier turned his laptop around, showing James a collection of stylized paintings depicting the Supers. Some showed them in action, and others were just portraits. There was one of Tonitrus, looking oddly like Zeus, shirtless and holding a lightning bolt. (James had never seen any of the Supers hold a lightning bolt.) Another showed Lychnus and Calico, the two brothers who founded the Supers long ago, standing back to back, like a cheesy action movie poster. A newer one even depicted Derek, arm in arm with Afectrus. They stared at each other with shining, doughy eyes.
“Ew,” James said, knowing the Supers were highly professional.
“Anyways, I’m trying to use the paintings as a frame to talk about the history of the Supers, you know, how they’ve evolved over the years. Maybe you could help!”
“I probably know as much as you,” James said. That was true; he only knew the broad strokes of their history. In the late 1940s, Lychnus and Calico emerged as the first recognized Supers, and after that, a new Super joined every decade or so—first Myrcellus in the ’60s, Mungus and Afectrus both in the ’70s, Tonitrus and Auri in the ’80s, Ros and Avus in the ’90s, and finally Leo in
