What human being, given the Gift of flight, would wish he had another one?
You’re looking at him. Er, reading about him.
Does that even make sense? Zoiks. I’m as clumsy with words as I am with people. And I’m clumsier with flight.
I hate heights. I hate speed. I hate the breathlessness
We’re a ragtag team, if ever I’ve seen one. Gathered around Major’s battered table in the dimly lit bunker, there’s no less than five kinds of crazy.
Jones, the intellectual, dissecting a cicada under a magnifying glass.
Flint, the muscle; he’s too big for his shirt, probably on purpose.
Qora, the gadgets girl.
You’d think that meeting a dog made of stars and an old friend of my parents would prepare me for anything. But I still gape when the glowing, nebulous portal appears. Auburn and purple swirl together in a maelstrom of color suspended in the air.
Major turns, hand at his wristwatch—which
Surrounded by the bustle of the Holuvian Interstellar market, I finally admit how bad of a pickle I’m in.
No, not just a pickle. This is worse. It’s a situation.
This situation has left me stranded on an unknown planet with nary a coin nor friend to my name. I grip my hat,
“When Super Guy is busy, call Super Gus!”
My purple-and-orange logo fades into a montage of my greatest work set to a dramatic score. To be fair, most of the guys I’m pummeling in the amateur cell phone videos are not actual villains but Justice Lounge drunks hoping to look tough by beating up
Mrs. Smith smothered the flames bursting from Cade’s hair with a dishcloth. Brushing back her messy curls, she studied me out of the corner of her eye. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Kyle?”
I grinned at her. “Of course I do! I may only be eleven, but I take care of
Liam’s arms felt weighted as if carrying bags of sand rather than an empty rucksack. He swallowed back the doubt climbing up his throat.
This was for the best. His brother would be better off in an orphan’s home than homeless on the streets. Liam was only fourteen; he couldn’t provide for them both.
It’s not easy being an intergalactic babysitter. While their parents might be working out an intergalactic peace treaty, the kids don’t have the same amity.
I grip Xuj’s shoulder with one hand and Tyler’s shoulder with the other, keeping them from clawing each other’s eyes out. If that were to happen, Xuj would win
No one on Main Street was laughing. Jester leaned against the fifth-story railing of an apartment building. He shook his head. There they were living perfectly normal, happy lives, and they still found things to scowl about. Well, if they wouldn’t smile on their own, he assumed it was his job to make them scream.
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A wooden barrel whizzed out of the produce section, bounced past the greeting cards, and slammed into an endcap display of cold remedies. Children’s grape chewables—on sale for $13.99—splattered across the opening of aisle four.
This might be my fault. Brian slumped to the grocery store floor. His head tipped back against
It’s been weeks—months, maybe—since the world ended. Since my city burned. But the smoke lingers, turning the sky gray-gold.
I catch my breath in the shade of a dune, listening for something beyond the hollow rasp of wind over sand.
Trolls never give up once they have the scent
Coriander the Third grinned at the contraption in his hands. He’d created the greatest Dooms-Day invention this side of Gargon Ridge. He nodded proudly at the round, gleaming surface. It was the same perfect silver shade as the Fighting Evil Unit—or FEU—suits. Covering his invention with a cloth, he pushed through
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