Captain Superlative!: Prologue–Chapter 2

We watched the lanterns dance and twirl, going higher and higher. They were like a school of sky fish, moving together as one.
Captain Superlative would have loved seeing them.

Ostracism.
Ms. Hinton scrawled the word across the dry-erase board in thick, faded black strokes, the marker squeaking a little with age. I leaned my chin into my palm, watching the motes of dust dance in a shaft of light from the window overlooking the parking lot.

Ostracism.
Ms. Hinton scrawled the word across the dry-erase board in thick, faded black strokes, the marker squeaking a little with age. I leaned my chin into my palm, watching the motes of dust dance in a shaft of light from the window overlooking the parking lot.

Ostracism.
Ms. Hinton scrawled the word across the dry-erase board in thick, faded black strokes, the marker squeaking a little with age. I leaned my chin into my palm, watching the motes of dust dance in a shaft of light from the window overlooking the parking lot.

Still, I didn’t raise my hand. I just sat at my desk in the back of the room, staring at the dust, trying to keep my expression blank. Counting the motes helped keep me from looking interested. They were sluggish and languid, like the January sunlight was slowly freezing them. Any second and they would come to a complete standstill, fossilized in a single moment of time.

Still, I didn’t raise my hand. I just sat at my desk in the back of the room, staring at the dust, trying to keep my expression blank. Counting the motes helped keep me from looking interested. They were sluggish and languid, like the January sunlight was slowly freezing them. Any second and they would come to a complete standstill, fossilized in a single moment of time.

The margins of my notebook were carefully filled with idle doodles—wavy lines and patterned polka dots and little stars. I didn’t even bother to look at them as I drew, randomly connecting them, creating an abstract shape that meant nothing at all.

The margins of my notebook were carefully filled with idle doodles—wavy lines and patterned polka dots and little stars. I didn’t even bother to look at them as I drew, randomly connecting them, creating an abstract shape that meant nothing at all.

“Ostracism is when you get kicked out,” Paige said. She had a thin voice, one that always sounded tired.
“Yes.” Ms. Hinton nodded curtly. “The idea was invented by the ancient Greeks, the Athenians to be specific...."

Ostracism was a big part of their democracy. It was temporary banishment by popular vote. Usually of citizens that others considered dangerous to the state.

The bell rang.
Everyone dragged themselves to their feet, shoving social studies books haphazardly into bags.

She leaned over, writing Paige’s name across the blue lines in her neat, extra-curly handwriting. Casually, she crumpled it up, tossing it behind her with expert precision. The paper bounced off Paige’s shoulder as Dagmar glided out of the classroom, her minions flocking after her like moths to a flame.

Paige didn’t even look at the sheet of paper. She let it slough off into a corner as she collected her books, balanced them precariously in her arms, and ducked out into the hallway.

I waited until everyone cleared the room before I trudged through the doorway, so that they wouldn’t see me. Then again, no one ever really saw me.

I was as unimportant as air. And equally invisible.
Intangible.
Insignificant.
Inconsequential, a wonderful new word I’d recently picked up from my dad.

I was as unimportant as air. And equally invisible.
Intangible.
Insignificant.
Inconsequential, a wonderful new word I’d recently picked up from my dad.

There was a thrum in the air, like a vibrating guitar string. Kids were talking. They were talking about something exciting. Something that managed to break into my solitude.

There was a thrum in the air, like a vibrating guitar string. Kids were talking. They were talking about something exciting. Something that managed to break into my solitude.

At first, I thought it might be the anticipation of the Valentine’s Day dances. They were over a month away, but already there were pink and red and purple flyers littering the walls, covered in goopy hearts and little fat cupids, aiming arrows at one another.

“Hey now. I’m an artist.”
“Maybe an abstract artist.”
“You’re just jealous,” Tyler said, throwing his arms up in the air and flailing them like a Muppet.

It was as if she were expecting everyone in the hall to turn into paparazzi, clamoring to get her picture.

It was as if she were expecting everyone in the hall to turn into paparazzi, clamoring to get her picture.

“Is it really true?” she asked, sidling up beside me.
No one ever asked me anything.
I opened my mouth to reply, to ask what she meant.

“Hey, Paige,” she said, eyes demurely looking up from her phone.

A red mask hid her face, the strings of it tied messily behind her head, with strands of the thick neon-blue synthetic hair of a wig caught up in the knot.

Speculation spread: It was all for the school play. She’d been hit on the head. She’d been sent by Kohn Junior High. Someone had dared her to do it. It was the start of an alien invasion to replace us with pod people. Each idea was more outlandish than the last. None of it was right.

Speculation spread: It was all for the school play. She’d been hit on the head. She’d been sent by Kohn Junior High. Someone had dared her to do it. It was the start of an alien invasion to replace us with pod people. Each idea was more outlandish than the last. None of it was right.

Our apartment was the still and tranquil center of my little world.

After polishing off the last of his green beans, my dad tapped his fork absently against the side of his plate. “Maybe you should start wearing a big letter J, Janey,” he said.
“Dad!”
He tapped his ear again. “Joking.”
“Jesting,” I shot back.
“Joshing.”

My dad raised one of his eyebrows. “And why not?”
Well, that was easy enough. “I’d be labeled as a freak in two seconds.”
“Ah! The perils of labeling. I remember it well. Some things never change.”

Right on cue, with a soft mew, our cat, Selina, padded her way into the kitchen, winding her sinewy, sleek black body around my dad’s ankles.

He threw his hands up triumphantly, getting so loud that he startled poor Selina, who went streaking out of the room, her claws skittering across the tiles. “The Evanston Public Library superhero quiz bowl champion, three years running. A feat never accomplished before or since! Hip-hip huzzah!”

“A superlative is something excellent, magnificent, above all others, the best of the best.” He gave me an assessing look. “Does that sound like Captain Superlative?”
“She’s fearless. I’ll give her that.”

And we lapsed into the comfortable silence that always came with watching police dogs go running through an obstacle course.

The return to routine lulled me back from the brink of frustration. This was how it was supposed to be. Each day the same as the last, time marching slowly on. It wasn’t exciting, but it was safe. It was comfortable. And, in my ignorance, I thought it was right.

The return to routine lulled me back from the brink of frustration. This was how it was supposed to be. Each day the same as the last, time marching slowly on. It wasn’t exciting, but it was safe. It was comfortable. And, in my ignorance, I thought it was right.

The return to routine lulled me back from the brink of frustration. This was how it was supposed to be. Each day the same as the last, time marching slowly on. It wasn’t exciting, but it was safe. It was comfortable. And, in my ignorance, I thought it was right.

It had never occurred to me that human beings were born with the innate desire to go faster and forward.

It had never occurred to me that human beings were born with the innate desire to go faster and forward. I was happy where I was. Why hurtle headlong into the abyss where the future waited?

It had never occurred to me that human beings were born with the innate desire to go faster and forward. I was happy where I was. Why hurtle headlong into the abyss where the future waited?