Fabled Circus

1

TEDDY RUNS

Acomputerized car whirs past Teddy Fisher as he trips on a rock and tumbles to the ground. He’s been running for the past thirty minutes, and when he saw the Ford Impact HyperNet, he hoped for a ride to anywhere. Instead, he’s left in the dust, going nowhere with his thumb jammed from hitting the ground.

The HyperNet connects just about every machine, including cars and stoplights, to a mega highway of information. The red coupe that just passed Teddy could, in theory, have been without a passenger. After all, many people don’t drive anymore. In fact, there hasn’t been an accident in five years thanks to automated stoplights synchronized with traffic flow. Even in the small college town of Appleton, KY, modern technology has come to town.

Teddy’s Amazing Man pajamas are dirty now. His father made him get ready for bed early, and so Teddy put on the blue lightweight pants and matching blue t-shirt with his favorite hero on the front wearing a gold cape, a red shirt with Amazing Man in sizzling letters, and red tights.

The twelve-year-old would’ve taken a lift offered by anyone, even a mass murderer. At least it would be someone he’s slightly familiar with. He could ask him questions such as how can a mean person play God by deciding who lives and who dies? It’s a concept Teddy’s father knows inside and out.

Who would I put in that car, if I could make them appear there?

Putting his hands to his head, as if to block the pain from the horror scene, he gets up and starts running again. Too much thinking is weighing him down, and he can’t afford to let the monster catch him. At least he thought quickly enough to put on his good tennis shoes. His Nike 2082s have sensors that adjust not only for comfort but also for extreme running situations.

He speeds past ten-foot stalks of genetic-induced tobacco, said to be free of cancer-causing agents. That’s what Mr. Douglas, Teddy’s science teacher, told him and his classmates. In fact, he’s got a report on that topic due after fall break. For just a second, it occupies his concern. But as he ponders this, hunched over while catching his breath, the monster gains on him.

The intense smell of the tobacco crop overwhelms him with its rich, earthy aroma. He thinks about heading straight into the heart of the field, to disappear forever. That’s what his father had in mind. He wanted Teddy to vanish and in fact stated on numerous occasions he wished that boy had never come to my doorstep.

He said that as if he’d been flown in by a stork, without the participation of his mother.

At the thought of his mother, he collapses on the spot, going sideways into the brown tobacco stalks. He can’t bear to think of her, so Teddy starts singing. He sings My Old Kentucky Home, a song he learned while camping as a Boy Scout.

It was an old, historical song that, for Teddy, painted a picture of a home that once was but can never be again. Weep no more my lady. Oh, weep no more today. We will sing one song for my old Kentucky home—for my old Kentucky home, far away.

Since his voice hasn’t changed yet, his pitch is high, ringing out with the melancholy mystery only a boy lost in the world can muster.

Was there ever such a place where home could be something to long for? Was there a place to feel comfortable in, to feel welcomed and accepted?

As Teddy sings, a ghostly bluish-gray image projects a few feet above him. It’s an advertisement for St. Benedict’s Home for Boys—an orphanage. It seems strange how even in a rural area such as this, there’s a HyperNet Marketing Station or HMS outlet. These black monoliths, shiny rectangular blocks of metal that resemble stone and are anywhere from four to ten feet in height, send personalized holographic billboards into the sky.

The HMS heard Teddy’s song and could even discern the loneliness in his high-pitched voice, so it has responded by imaging a silhouette of a three-story white home with two gables. It conjures feelings of tranquility and being cared for. The flashing logo for St. Benedict’s Home for Boys—a broken cup with a serpent around the rim—beckons to Teddy, and the tagline, no boy is flawed in God’s eyes, also appeals to him.

He sure feels flawed, or at least his father thinks so. Two-eyed, he calls him. With one brown and the other blue, Teddy was born with heterochromia to his father’s consternation.

He’s often heard his father grumble about getting ripped off. I should never have gone to that guy before Teddy’s birth.

In this day and age, it’s fashionable for wealthy couples to hire geneticists to ensure their baby will be flawless. With great leaps forward in the science, preventive measures can be established at the genetic level during the baby’s gestation period. Thus, future diseases—such as those affecting the heart and other organs—are prevented prenatally. Even the common cold can be stopped in its tracks before the baby emerges into the world. Then, of course, intelligence and aptitudes for various skill sets can be manipulated so a parent can order a specific type of child.

Now Teddy’s father, a licensed vocational nurse, is hardly a wealthy man; that’s why he must’ve gone to a black market geneticist to manipulate Teddy’s genes.

Teddy remembers a circus with a name that sounds similar to that of the orphanage. St. Benedict’s Circus of Imperfections is infamous for parading around freaks of nature in a country and era that frown upon such demonstrations. Yet, in the quest to stamp out all imperfection during the birthing process, a hunger for sideshow theatrics has been created in the back alleys of polite, progressive society.

Teddy knows about it because he saw his father watch a HyperNet commercial projected on the refrigerator when he didn’t know anyone else was around. Richard, he thinks, deciding that’s what he’ll call his father from now on. Richard was getting a late night snack, when I was supposedly snug in my bed.

At the time, Teddy hadn’t known what to make of Richard who’d dragged his clubfoot as his frayed purple robe trailed along the ground. He’d looked, as far as Teddy could tell, to be in one of his ragged states of mind. That’s how he describes his father when his eyes grow tense like he wants to pull the stuffing out of a pillow. Richard’s ragged just like his pants and robes on the right side, where he has a clubfoot that turns inward so his leg and foot look like the letter j.

Since Teddy knows Richard despises all imperfection, he still can’t grasp why his father watched the commercial for the circus with an amused squint and a bemused smile.

Announcing a forbidden spectacle that comes from the pages of Greek mythology, came the ultra dramatic tone of the voiceover as books opened and shut like mouths chomping at the bit. Meanwhile, the background danced with cosmic fireworks ribboning up and down as the circus logo spun in the top right corner—an old man in a black robe with a gray beard raised a hand as if to bless someone. Teddy wasn’t aware of this, but the image was of St. Benedict, patron saint of imperfection. As if floating in the air beside the saint was a broken cup with a serpent around the rim.

Centaur Boy, the voiceover squealed with joy.

A half-man/half-horse, or a centaur, cantered along the refrigerator door. His dark brown coat, like that of a mustang, contrasted with the brown spots dotting his white human skin. Strangely his eyes were chocolate brown like a horse, while his human eyebrows were pronounced to give him the appearance of being in deep thought.

Harpy Girl, the voiceover again sang in rapturous fervor.

Promptly, out along the screen came hopping a creature with the head of a girl and the body of a bird. Her human face revealed translucent pale skin with dark hair streaming in a fluffy flow behind her. With a big, hooked nose like a beak and one bird-like eye looking one way while the other more human-like one looked at a different angle, she struck Teddy as magnificently bizarre. Comic book weird, was how his twelve-year-old mind had put it. Then, there was Harpy Girl’s bird half that had the bright colors of a parrot. She had deep red on top, followed by a layer of yellow, and then midnight sky blue at the bottom.

The two, the circus and the orphanage, have the name St. Benedict’s, and that tickles Teddy’s curiosity bone. Look around you, his father always tells him. Use your eyes for Christ’s sake! Both of them!

Yet, Teddy is having trouble putting two and two together, although he’s good at math in school. He wonders for a moment if he did okay on his final test of the semester for Algebra. As with all his subjects, he’s advanced because he wants to do whatever he can to be the best student. "Excelling is paramount," his father always tells him, although Teddy still doesn’t know what that last word means. There’s another thing I need to do. I’m so behind on everything. I haven’t even finished my extra credit work for History.

Are you lost?

The voice, from out of nowhere, makes Teddy do a 180°.

There’s a blue truck with rust all over pulled off to the side of the road a few feet away.

What a relic, Teddy thinks, remembering holy relics they’d learned about in European History. Knights from Medieval Times protected these ancient artifacts from the saints.

The truck, a Chevy Pioneer, is definitely off the HyperNet grid. As everyone knows, it’s against the law to have a vehicle like that on the road because, for one thing, it isn’t synchronized with the stoplights so it’ll stop running when the light is red.

Son, are you lost? The driver in the truck is a man who seems to be 100, as far as Teddy can tell. He’s got a snowy white beard and a long nose pointed like the blade of a garden shovel. As for his face, it’s orange like the burnt ember in a campfire. A straw hat on top hides his hair, if he’s got any.

Teddy’s been fuming, that word son doing flip-flops in his head, bouncing like some hot coal that now has settled into an angry spot. You – do – not – call – me – son!

Never one to raise his voice—in fact, his teachers always have to remind him to speak up when answering in class—Teddy has scared himself. With no control whatsoever, he bursts into sobs.

Hey, it’s okay, partner, the man says with a sympathetic tone from inside his truck. If you’re seeking refuge, we’ve got shelter, but you look normal, the man says the last part in a puzzled tone.

Teddy wonders why the man mentioned shelter and expressed confusion about looking normal in the same breath. As for his abnormal appearance, Teddy’s head has been down so his different-colored eyes haven’t been on display.

As though in response to Teddy’s eyes, the man takes off his hat to reveal a strange growth the color of broccoli jutting out from the top of his head of sparse silver hair.

If you’re hungry, I can take you to the house, and Ma will cook up a nice supper for you. The man puts his straw hat back on.

It is suppertime, all right—around seven in the evening, as Teddy guesses. The sun is starting to set as it casts a brownish-orange shadow on the tall stalks of tobacco.

Teddy’s mighty hungry, and for a moment, he imagines sitting at the table with this old man, who’s evidently the tobacco field farmer. He imagines a big bowl of gravy-laden mashed potatoes, a plate of crisp green beans, and a giant ham glistening with honey glaze. Just thinking of that fresh-smelling food, cooked nice and warm for him with tender care, makes his mouth water.

Then there’s also the idea of receiving refuge from someone who’s different like him, but why is this man right here in the middle of Teddy’s get-away?

Just as he’s about to accept the farmer’s offer, Teddy looks over at the HMS of St. Benedict’s Home for Boys. The gleaming image of the three-story white home, and the catchphrase that no boy is flawed in God’s eyes, makes up Teddy’s mind for him. The address, 4116 Maple Street, flashes.

I’m not lost, mister, and I’m not your son. Good night!

The farmer’s jaw drops. It’s getting late. Are you an orphan? Did you run away from St. Benedict’s?

I’m not lost, is all Teddy will say. But I am an orphan. At least, now I am.

2

TEDDY DREAMS

Teddy knows the way to 4116 Maple Street. He knows because his father has taken him there, or at least they’ve parked across the street from the orphanage.

About three or four times, Richard took Teddy, and they sat outside the big, three-story white house. Their course had been plotted in their car, as with all HyperNet vehicles. That way, everyone gets to his or her destination, and there’s no getting lost or pointless wandering.

That’s to allow for safety and precision, Richard once told Teddy.

Teddy has been in need of some direction because he’s been running without a destination in mind for a long time since the horror scene. It comforts him to set his sights on 4116 Maple Street, and now, as he’s running in a purposeful direction, he imagines life at St. Benedict’s Home for Boys while the sun continues to set, casting its orange-brown glow over all as Teddy stays close to the road.

Teddy dreams, as the tobacco crops seem to go on forever before finally giving way to small houses and then small stores. The images spin like cotton candy, and his mind reaches out to grab the sweetness.

He imagines arriving at St. Benedict’s Home for Boys, where no boy is flawed in God’s eyes. His knock is met with an open door and a friendly smile. A blonde woman with warm brown eyes welcomes him. She’s wearing an apron that says, Love the head chef. It’s his mother, which would be impossible on more than one level, but the dream is so delicious, he eats it up.

Come on in, sweetheart. You’ve had an Ostrich Day, haven’t you?

His mother tells him that when he looks sad. An Ostrich Day is one where a person feels like hiding their head in the sand.

I made cookies, candy, and cake for everybody, so come on in and don’t be shy. Introduce yourself.

Inside, the orphan home is clean, seeming to gleam with newness. It smells like lemon drops, which makes Teddy feel safe and hungry, simultaneously.

Seven kids slide down a banister, one after the other in choreographed fashion. Rascal, Tiger, Sinbad, Sly Dog, Hoover, Walrus, and Mack, each one says in turn.

Those names… That’s what I’ve called all my dogs and cats over the years. Teddy is extremely confused, but at the same time, angry with himself for disturbing a heavenly moment. Yet, he’s still unhappy. And you—you look and act like my mother, but she’s…

Oh, pick your chin up, get your head out of the sand! I’ve been baking all day. You’ll love my treats—they’re so special, because they’re made of special ingredients, just like my Teddy!

The seven boys, whose faces shift from looking like kids at his school to dogs and cats he’s owned over the years before his father got hold of them, urge Teddy to come with them to the kitchen.

Before he can even get to the table where all the treats are laid out, he recoils in horror as the smell disagrees with his stomach.

What’s happening? his mother asks, grabbing Teddy by the elbow. She’s squinting her eyes in some kind of plea.

She’s said that before; in fact just recently.

Teddy can feel all the cookies he shoved in his mouth earlier that night rumble in his stomach. It was his supper after he got sent up early to his room.

Teddy barely manages to keep the vomit down and says, It smells like a hospital in here—like blood. What’s happening?

When Teddy wakes from this mad dream, he looks down at his Nike 2082s to find he’s thrown up on them.

He’d been running for about another half hour and now stands about fifty feet from St. Benedict’s Home for Boys.

He sighs, wondering if it’s the crazy house he should be headed for. For some reason, he’s got tobacco leaves stuffed down his pajama shirt, so he retrieves these to use for wiping the icky stuff from his shoes.

Putting the dirty tobacco leaves in a trashcan on the side of the road—because Teddy learned to keep the world clean—he prepares himself for reality.

3

ST. BENEDICT’S HOME FOR BOYS

Since it’s dark now, Teddy can’t see the gleaming, three-story house with two gables all that well. Yet, he can just make out the 4116 Maple Street sign, above which is the logo of a broken cup with a serpent draped across it. The name itself is missing the y in Boys, and the golden letters in St. Benedict’s seem to have lost their luster over the years.

Before Teddy can raise his hand to knock, the front door opens. Standing in the doorway is…the Scarecrow from "The Wizard of Oz?" He’s seen the ancient movie several times, and while the character is friendly and nice enough, he used to keep Teddy awake for hours. The thought of an animated mindless bunch of straw, sort of like a moving pile of tobacco leaves, gives him cold chills just thinking about it.

This is not a dream similar to the one with his mother. In fact, a six-foot tall man with hair like yellow straw as if his yellow eyes are bleeding up into his head is actually standing there with a difficult-to-read expression. He looks puzzled, angry, and uncertain all at once.

Well, what are you selling?

Over blue jeans that poke out at the bottom, the man’s wearing a blue bathrobe that looks old but comfortable, and on his feet are two mouse slippers. Clinched in his teeth, he’s got a maple syrup brown-colored tobacco pipe. There’s no smell of smoke, so it seems to be just a prop.

Well, get on with your pitch! It’s story time, and the kids are waiting for me. His voice has a slurry quality with the pipe still in his mouth as he speaks. Itch, stoh-wee tie-um, is how it comes across to Teddy.

Great, I love stories, Teddy says without thinking. In his mind, while the guy with the straw-like hair seems odd, this could work out for him. And the thought of other kids makes his head spin in wonder. Just imagine all the friends I could make! True, he hasn’t made many friends at school, but they’re not like the children at St. Benedict’s Home for Boys, where no boy is flawed in God’s eyes. They’re just like him. Maybe there’s another kid with two different-colored eyes.

The man pokes his head out and looks to the right and left of Teddy. He takes his pipe from his mouth. Where’re your parents?

From out of nowhere, this sends Teddy into a bawling fit. He can’t control it. It’s like the monster he’s been running from has ambushed him.

Right on cue, police sirens wail in the night, and though they seem far away still, they’re definitely getting nearer. Maybe they’re coming for the monster or for me.

It seems the man in the bathrobe is panicked because he’s grinding his teeth on the end of the tobacco pipe and running a sweaty hand through his straw-like hair. Holy crap, kid! Get inside, the man says, first extending a shaky hand to point the way but then grabbing Teddy by the collar of his Amazing Man pajamas.

This makes Teddy sob louder.

The horror scene keeps flickering in his mind. It’s like someone has poked a hole in the figurative blanket over his head and is shining a flashlight at him.

Teddy can see Richard, whom he can no longer think of as his father, with some surgical scissors—the kind with thin handles and blades that curve at the end. It seems they’ve been sharpened. Through the crack of an opened door, he watches Richard put a rag to his mother’s face, after which she collapses onto the bed. Now he’s on top of her, holding the scissors above her chest.

Don’t worry, my love, Richard says, sounding more emotional than Teddy’s ever heard him sound before. I know where your heart is.

Teddy feels like Amazing Man when his archenemy, Polar Wind, freezes him. Every muscle in his body doesn’t work, and it makes him wonder if he’s there at all.

It takes a moment before Teddy realizes he’s not peering through a crack in the door in his home but is instead under a bed at St. Benedict’s. An African American kid is there also, squinting at him.

You an orphan, too, or just a runaway? I think you’re a runaway, seems to me.

Who are you?

The name’s Isaac, but most people call me Big Trouble.

Teddy starts to ask where he is but then remembers he’s at St. Benedict’s Home for Boys. It also comes back to him how the Scarecrow Man grabbed him and put him under this bed.

Isaac smiles and pats Teddy on the shoulder. It’ll be okay. Some of the kids are real dorks, the food is leftover trash, and Boris can be a jerk. But it beats living on the streets with the hobos.

Teddy feels claustrophobic under the bed with the springs a foot from his nose. There are dust bunnies, and he’s not sure, but he thinks that small black mound at the corner of the bed is rat turds.

While Isaac appears small, just a little bigger than Teddy, Teddy thinks Big Trouble is a bit older than him. How old are you?

How rude! How dare you ask such a personal question! Children these days! No manners!

Isaac had said that short speech with such serious intensity, Teddy scoots away from him, but then he sees the pearly white grin that lights up the darkness. Isaac bursts into laughter, bumping his head on the springs under the bed in the process.

Ow, man! I’m just playing with you. Big Trouble don’t mind questions. In fact, that’s how I got my AKA—you know, my also known as?

Teddy’s head is spinning, trying to keep up. He’s getting so tired; he’s ready to sleep. Forget supper.

What I’m saying is, asking questions got me returned by three APs—you know, adoptive parents.

How old are—

Hey now, what did I say? Isaac asks, squinting his eyes so he looks like some crazy person to Teddy. Just kidding! Man, I’m having too much fun. Anyway, since you’re so pushy, I’ll tell you I’m seventeen. Yes, indeed, I’m the oldest Cloudy Diamond. That’s what Bossman Boris calls the ones who keep getting left behind. Guess all those would-be parents don’t like my lips of truth. Hey, you got a name, or should I give you one?

For a moment, Teddy considers making up a new name for himself the way Isaac says he’s Big Trouble. Also, he has this idea about changing his life since the one he’s had isn’t worth remembering. But in the end, he just says, I’m Teddy.

Oh now, I’ll have a field day with your name! Lots of things rhyme with Teddy. Steady Teddy, Ready Teddy, or…

Hey, be quiet down there, comes a whispering voice that belongs to a kid poking his head in under the bed. He’s got freckles covering his nose. He looks to be several years younger than Teddy.

What’s up, Scout Master? Isaac asks, adjusting his body as he turns his face toward the boy peeking under the bed. He’s our lookout guy, Isaac says without turning back around to Teddy.

Fox in the henhouse, says the kid known as Scout Master.

Isaac gives some kind of hand signal and then maneuvers his body again so he can see Teddy but not without bumping his head in transition. He shakes off the pain. That’s code for Boris’ brother is here.

Teddy starts to ask about this Boris guy when Isaac grabs him by the collar.

We can’t miss this!

Teddy, urged by Isaac’s hand on his collar, scoots along the floor and bumps his head on a bedspring. Finally, he’s out from under the bed, and he sees about ten kids that Teddy guesses range in age from four to Isaac’s seventeen. They’re all in pajamas and in general seem excited about something.

Come on, Isaac says.

Now that Teddy can see him in the light coming from the dome hanging from the ceiling, Isaac is an inch or two taller than him. He’s wearing what appear to be homemade pajamas. His shirt is a basic white t-shirt but with red squiggly lines radiating from the center of his chest, out of the drawing of a stick of dynamite. Above the dynamite are the words Big Trouble in squiggly letters. The other striking thing about Isaac is his hair—a six-inch Afro.

I don’t know why, but I like this kid, Teddy thinks. Then he remembers how this kid is almost old enough to be called an adult. Still, Isaac acts younger than anyone Teddy knows.

Isaac motions for Teddy to come stand at the crack in the door. If we’re lucky, the G-Man’s here to get another Freakzilla.

Who’s G-Man? And Freakzilla?

Hang with me, kid. Guess I have to get you caught up on this here St. Benedict’s saga. Truth be known, that’s why I keep coming back.

That’s not why, says a boy with a busted upper lip who appears to be a couple of years older than Teddy.

Shutup, Beansy, Isaac says with a firm tone. You want that bottom lip busted so you’ll have a complete set?

A kid with a cleft palate chortles. The other eight or so are more or less in a line against the wall, their ears pressed there.

I call him Beansy, but his name is Ben. Let me tell you, he’s famous for his bean-farts! Suddenly, Isaac puts a finger to his mouth.

Teddy can hear the Scarecrow Man he met earlier talking to another guy with a deep, bass voice. Also, the police sirens can be heard, though just barely.

What do you mean, Satyr boy didn’t make it? asks the deeper voice that sounds like a bulldog to Teddy.

I took care of him—

You took care of him? What’re you talking about? Obviously you didn’t take care of him!

Isaac pushes Teddy to the crack in the door so he can see the two guys arguing. The one who stashed you under the bed is Scarecrow or Boris. That giant pirate guy is G-Man or Gunther.

Gunther stands a head taller than Boris who’s a tall guy himself. Gunther has his long black hair, peppered with gray, gathered in a braid that reaches below his shoulder blades. He does resemble a pirate, and Teddy wants to stay as far away from him as possible. Maybe he gobbled up my father.

They’re brothers, Isaac whispers, but I’ll take Boris over Gunther, any day.

It’s complicated, says the voice Teddy recognizes as Boris.

Well, uncomplicate it for me. I’ve already made new posters and HMS billboards. Satyr Boy—the innocent child with the devilish appearance.

That’s, that’s good, Boris stammers, but what about when he grows older?

He can’t grow older now, Gunther says and slaps his brother on the cheek.

It didn’t appear to be a hard slap, yet Boris seems rattled all the same.

You’re saying he died? How?

Shhh, Boris says, and Teddy can see him flinch as though in preparation for another slap. The police. Do you hear the sirens?

The Scarecrow Man stands there like a thin stick with long, stringy yellow hair next to his beefy, dark-haired brother.

What did you do now? You didn’t screw up the paper work again or take in a kid illegally, did you?

Like me, Teddy thinks when he hears that last part. Why did Boris shove him under the bed? Maybe the police sirens had something to do with that. It still doesn’t make sense to Teddy. Then again, a lot doesn’t make sense just a few hours after the horror scene, and he wonders where the monster is and knows it’s looking for him.

Look, I did my best. I had Dr. Sorenson look at him.

I saw Satyr Boy, the kid with the cleft palate says.

Did not, a fat boy whom Isaac called Beansy says.

Quiet, you two, Isaac says.

He had red spider webs all over.

Isaac gives an annoyed look and the talking stops.

"Doctor? Gunther asks with a sarcastic tone. Are you talking about Dr. Sorenson? I’m not sure about that guy."

Where’s Dieter? He’s the only one who could’ve helped. It was his creation.

All these names are bouncing in Teddy’s head—Satyr Boy, Dr. Sorenson, and now Dieter. What is this place, anyway?

You know Dieter can’t be hanging around a dump like this, Gunther says with a snarl.

What do you mean by that? asks Boris, sounding hurt.

That’s why the police are coming, right? All because you’re getting sloppy about keeping the hatchery a secret.

Boris is hopping mad—literally. He’s hopping in his mouse slippers. They’re coming because…Because…

Yes, well, spit it out! Gunther looks ready to stomp a mouse with his long, steel-toed black leather boots. His big hands are on his waist, and his bottom lip with a ring in it is sticking out.

Okay, well, the truth is I’ve got a kid—

What do you mean? You’ve got lots of kids here.

What I mean is… You see, from out of Jupiter’s clouds came this little salesman.

A salesman? I thought he was a kid.

I thought the boy was selling cookies or whatever. Anyway, then I heard the siren, and he started crying.

On cue, the siren grows louder, meaning the police are almost here.

A long tear drops from Boris’ eye. Gunther shakes him, and Boris clears his throat. The HyperNet Community Watch flashed an alert about a boy escaping from a house where a murder was committed.

That farmer, Teddy thinks. He may not have a modern vehicle connected to the HyperNet, and an old guy like him may not even have a modern enough computer. But he could make a phone call like anyone else. Since everything is so connected, it didn’t take long for the local authorities to put two and two together.

Gunther’s face is redder than Satan in one of those comic books Teddy’s read. It’s the kind where if the image is touched, it levitates above the page where the reader can interact with it. If Teddy touches Gunther, he figures the giant pirate-man will explode in a fiery ball.

I didn’t know what else to do. Boris’ face is white like all the blood has drained to leave a fragile husk. He’s teetering in his mouse slippers as though preparing for a punch.

The siren sounds louder, and Teddy realizes the police are here. His heart races, and he wonders what Amazing Man would do. The perfect superhero shows how everyone can and should be amazing. He always knows what to do. One time, Bacterial Lizard had cornered Amazing Man, but because our hero exercises every day, he was able to outrun his foe and catch a ride with Sky, as in the sky’s the limit.

Isaac is grinning. I’ve been waiting for this!

Teddy doesn’t know what he’s talking about. The other boys are pushing, trying to get a good look until Isaac gives a hard shove and they go tumbling like a row of dominoes.

Images from the horror scene flash in Teddy’s mind that he tries to push away just as Amazing Man battles Bacterial Lizard. That lizard is the strangest with dancing tendrils surrounding his body and a whip-like tail with a poisonous tip poised as a dagger.

You’re not Amazing Man, Teddy remembers his father saying. More like Reject Man.

Teddy suddenly feels he’s Bacterial Lizard, and guilt washes over him. Bossman Boris, as Isaac calls him, just said the HyperNet Community Watch put out an alert. They’re after me. The police are after me.

Standing at the crack of the door with Isaac grinning in front of him, Teddy shakes his head. I can’t let them catch me. I did a horrible thing.

He keeps repeating