Prologue: Family Line

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Bianca and Hazel are my favorite people in the entire world—and I'm pretty sure that's never going to change. I'll spend the rest of my life skipping next to them, and that will be a good life.

"Niccolò," she used to scold, "you need to be careful! You're going to hurt yourself."

Except I'm pretty sure she's not really angry. I've been skipping everywhere for the past week or so—my friend Luke at school is in a competition with me to see who can skip everywhere we go for longer. I'm competitive and determined to win, but I've scraped my knees from tripping over myself about three times this week, so my mother has been trying to convince me to stop. I guess that's starting to rub off on Bianca.

"You can't be a superhero if you scrape your knees too badly to save people," she tries.

I shrug her off. I'll just be a superhero that saves people even if I have scraped knees. Batman gets hit sometimes, and he keeps fighting. It's what makes him so cool.

"I'll just be invincible like Batman," I tell her. Honestly, she should have thought of this herself. Sometimes I think you get stupider the older you are. I won't be like that—when I'm older, I'm going to be the same.

The corners of her lips quirk up. "You're going to be a good man someday, Niccolò—but today, if I bring you back home bleeding, Mom is going to kill me, so I need you to stop skipping everywhere."

"Superheroes don't give up," I argue, "and I can't give up because one day, I'm going to save the world. You're trying to get me to be a quitter, but I won't."

She sighs. We pass one of my favorite skyscrapers—it's tall and shiny and the top has a little purple light. I point at the light like I always do, but before I can say anything, something catches my eyes in the reflective glass plates that make up the tower's walls.

There's a cool car behind us—it kind of reminds me of the Batmobile. It's low to the ground, and the black paint gleams in the sun. It's going pretty slow, and another car honks at it.

"I think there might be criminals nearby," I tell Bianca, and she mostly just ignores me.

I shake my head and try again. "Bianca, I think Batman is here, and so we might want to hurry. I think there's going to be a superhero fight."

"Right," Bianca says, "if you're telling me this so I'll let you run the rest of the way, the answer is no. I've told you, if you fall and scrape your knees, Mom is going to—" And then she finally looks where I'm pointing and sees the dark car driving slowly behind us, and the rest of that sentence dies in her throat.

She picks up the pace, holding my hand tightly. Hazel can't quite keep up at this speed—Hazel is littler than me, she doesn't talk that much and she's not really fast enough to keep up with superheroes like me. Hazel falls to her knees, and Bianca's hand is sweaty, and instead of scolding Hazel, she lets go of my hand and scoops Hazel into her arms. And then she tells me, "Niccolò, stay right with me, okay? We're going to race to the toy store. Do you remember how to get to the toy store?"

"Yes!" I cheer. "I love the toy store!"

"Right—threetwoonego!" She takes off, and I'm sprinting after her, and I think it's unfair that she counted down so fast, but something about the way she's acting makes me be quiet about it.

We make it to the toy store in record time, and Bianca strides to the counter. I want to stop in the action figure aisle, but I figure it's better to wait until Bianca is feeling a little better. Maybe she was really spooked by the fact that we almost saw a superhero fight today.

The toy store has a tiny closed-off area that's meant for really little kids like Hazel. The walls are stocked with hundreds of stuffed animals, and there's a few kids' books on the floor from toddlers throwing tantrums. It's not visible from the street—I'm a little disappointed because I wanted to see if I could get a glimpse at Batman.

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