<b><i>Parker Residence. Friday, June 25, 2010. 6:30PM.</i></b>


    I sprawled across my bed, the script for “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” propped against my pillow while my phone buzzed with a text from Maya. My star chart for the Bootids hung on the wall above my desk, penciled calculations scribbled in the margins.


    “Made it to S?o Paulo! Grandma already feeding me until I explode. How’s packing going? Miss your nerdy face already.”


    I smiled, typing back: <i>“Telescope packed. Star charts ready. Haven’t started on clothes yet because priorities. Have fun ‘skiing’ on gravel.”</i>


    The house hummed with pre-trip energy—Dad’s muffled voice from his office reciting his packing checklist, Mom opening and closing kitchen cabinets downstairs. The faint smell of sunscreen drifted up the stairs, mixing with the scent of the new hiking boots Mom had insisted on buying me.


    “Emily!” Mom’s voice called up the stairs. “Can you help Jack pack? He’s organizing his trading cards instead of getting his clothes together.”


    Jack’s response was totally predictable. “N-no I’m not!” Which was followed by frantic bumping and shuffling.


    I groaned, dropping my head back against the mattress. Of course he was. Last camping trip, he’d packed seventeen superhero figures and exactly two pairs of socks.


    “Coming!” I called back, reluctantly rolling off my bed. The Bootids would be amazing this year—if we actually made it to the campsite with everything we needed. Which apparently required me making sure Jack didn’t try to bring his entire superhero collection into the wilderness.


    I trudged down the hallway toward Jack’s room, the familiar chaos leaking out from under his door like a superhero-themed flood. Before I could even knock, I heard a shriek that could only mean one thing—Jack had discovered some obscure hero factoid that would dominate dinner conversation for the next week.


    “EMILY! EMILY! OH MY GOSH!” Jack yanked his door open, nearly smacking me in the face. His brown hair stuck up at odd angles, and he was literally bouncing on his toes. “MR. GRAY GAVE ME A CAPTAIN EMERALD ULTRA-RARE FULL-BLEED FOIL HOLOGRAPHIC!”


    I leaned against his doorframe. “Is that English, or should I call for medical help?”


    Jack thrust the trading card toward my face, holding it carefully by the edges. “It’s a Series 3 Captain Emerald! It’s the last one I needed for my set! Look at the holographic pattern—it’s so cool!”


    The card gleamed with an iridescent green sheen, Captain Emerald’s stern face catching the light as Jack’s trembling hands turned it with reverent care.


    “Mr. Gray gave you packs with this in it?” I asked, glancing around his disaster of a room. No packing progress whatsoever.


    “For mowing his lawn twice and organizing his garage! He said he found some old packs in a box.” Jack carefully placed the card on his desk next to what appeared to be a detailed catalog of his collection. He reached for a pen with a trembling hand and drew a checkmark in the last empty box.


    I pushed a pile of clothes aside to sit on his bed. “That’s great, but Mom sent me to help you pack. We’re leaving tomorrow.”


    Jack barely glanced at his empty backpack. “Did you know Captain Emerald was active during World War II? This card shows him in his 1942 uniform right after the Battle of Emerald City!”


    “Yeah, yeah, I paid attention to history class, <i>unlike some people.</i>” I started idly folding shirts and jeans, droning in the most bored, robotic tone I could muster. “Doctor Algernon Havoc held the city hostage with his Havoc Beam. The Emerald City Coalition was assembled to defeat his earthquake-generating weapon and bring him to justice.”


    I paused, a smirk forming. “So… what are you going to put it in?”


    Jack froze. “I… guess a sleeve, for now.”


    “Actually…” I glanced at my door across the hall, calculating. “I have something that might help protect it better than just a sleeve.”


    Jack’s eyes widened. “You do? What?”


    “Ultra-rigid acrylic case with UV protection and magnetic seal. Museum quality.” I shrugged at his shocked expression. “Been saving it for a hypothetical Gravitara holo-foil. The Series 5 where she’s creating a gravity well around the Coalition headquarters.”


    “You… collect cards?” Jack’s voice cracked with disbelief. “Since when do you care about heroes?”


    “I don’t collect cards,” I corrected, folding another shirt. “I appreciate Gravitara. Female physicist who accidentally gave herself powers during a dark matter experiment? That’s actually cool.”


    Jack stared like I’d grown a second head. “Is it the blue-border variant or standard?”


    “Blue-border with anti-fingerprint coating.”


    He made a strangled noise. “That’s a sixty-dollar case!”


    I nodded, keeping my expression neutral. “Yep. And it could be yours… if you finish packing in the next twenty minutes and help me organize my hiking gear.”


    Jack narrowed his eyes, assessing the offer. “Define ‘help.’ And I want to see the case first.”


    “Help means actually folding clothes, not just shoving them in your backpack. And checking off Mom’s packing list without complaining about sunscreen.”


    He considered this, glancing between his empty backpack and his precious card. “And your hiking gear?”


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    “Just need someone to double-check my equipment against Dad’s wilderness preparedness chart.”


    Jack drummed his fingers on his desk. “Deal. But I also want to know which Gravitara comics you’ve read.”


    I sighed. “Fine. But actual packing first, hero talk second.”


    “Done!” He grabbed his backpack and began frantically sorting clothes. “This is so weird. My sister’s a closet Gravitara fan. Wait till I tell the Hero Club!”


    “Tell anyone and the deal’s off,” I warned, but couldn’t help smiling as Jack launched into packing with newfound determination.


    * * *


    Mom appeared in Jack’s doorway, her light brown hair pulled into a practical ponytail, scrubs replaced by jeans and a t-shirt. Her eyes widened at the sight of Jack’s backpack—fully packed and zipped—sitting beside mine.


    “Well, this is a pleasant surprise,” she said, leaning against the doorframe. “Both of you ready to go? I was expecting at least an hour of negotiations.”


    “All done,” I confirmed, gesturing to our gear. “Even double-checked Dad’s wilderness preparedness chart.”


    Mom walked in, kneeling to inspect Jack’s backpack with the efficient movements I recognized from when she checked patients. She unzipped the main compartment, nodded approvingly at the rolled clothes, and checked the side pockets.


    “Sunscreen?”


    “SPF 50,” Jack said, bouncing on his toes. “Mom, look what Mr. Gray gave me!” He thrust the card—now safely housed in my acrylic case—toward her.


    Mom took it carefully, turning it to catch the light. “Captain Emerald, huh? That’s quite a find.” She smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “And in a museum-quality case, no less.”


    “Emily gave it to me,” Jack said, shooting me a conspiratorial look.


    Mom raised an eyebrow at me. “Did she now?”


    I shrugged. “We made a deal. Packing for protection.”


    “Clever negotiation,” Mom said, handing the card back to Jack. She touched my shoulder with the gentle squeeze that always said more than words. “And speaking of Mr. Gray—”


    The doorbell rang, and Jack bolted past us like he’d been fired from a cannon.


    “That’ll be him with the apple pie,” Mom said, shaking her head with a smile. “He always brings one the night before we leave for camping. Says it’s tradition.”


    “Jack, wait!” I called after him. “Don’t open the door like a—”


    “MR. GRAY!” Jack’s voice echoed from downstairs.


    “—lunatic,” I finished with a sigh.


    Mom laughed. “Come on. You know how he gets around Mr. Gray.”


    Mom and I headed downstairs to find Jack already perched on the edge of the sofa, practically vibrating with excitement as he thrust his card case toward Mr. Gray.


    “See how the holographic effect shifts when you tilt it? That’s because it’s a full-bleed special edition.” Jack’s words tumbled out in a rush.


    Mr. Gray balanced the pie in one hand while examining the card with surprising steadiness for someone his age. His white hair was neatly combed, and despite being at least in his nineties, he stood remarkably straight. His blue eyes—sharp and alert—crinkled at the corners as he studied the card with what seemed like genuine interest.


    “Well, would you look at that,” he said, his voice warm and measured. “The artist captured his stance perfectly—the way he’d position himself to maximize leverage.”


    “You think so?” Jack bounced on his toes. “I read that Captain Emerald could lift ten tons at his peak! Do you think that’s accurate or hero inflation?”


    Mom stepped forward, taking the pie from Mr. Gray. “Let’s give Mr. Gray some breathing room, Jack. He just arrived.”


    “It’s quite all right, Jennifer,” Mr. Gray said, returning the card to Jack with careful hands. “A young man’s enthusiasm is never a bother.”


    I caught Mr. Gray’s eye and smiled apologetically. “Sorry. He’s been like this since he got the card.”


    “No need for sorry, Emily,” he replied, his gaze holding mine with unexpected warmth. “Like Captain Emerald says, passion is a gift.”


    Jack gasped. “That one’s my favorite!”


    Mr. Gray grinned widely. “Is it, now? Well, I suppose I was something of a fan myself in my younger days. Even met him in person, once.”


    Jack’s eyes widened to saucer size. “You MET Captain Emerald? When? Where? What was he like? Did he fly? Did he—”


    “Apple pie is also a gift,” Mom interjected, gesturing toward the kitchen. “And this one smells incredible. Traditional pre-camping fuel.”


    “My secret recipe,” Mr. Gray said, following her. “Though I suspect your father would say it’s just the right chemical compounds.”


    Dad’s voice called out from the kitchen. “Kids, what’s the most important element in cooking?”


    “The heating element!” Jack answered before I could. Dang it!


    “And the second?” Mom glanced at me with a smile.


    “Love,” I muttered, drawing out an amused chuckle from Mr. Gray.


    Jack trailed after him, still talking about Captain Emerald’s tactical brilliance and dashing heroism during the Battle of Emerald City, with Mr. Gray interjecting an occasional “oh, my,” and “you don’t say” as they walked.


    I followed everyone into the kitchen where Dad stood hunched over the cutting board, chopping vegetables with the same precision he used in his lab. His brown hair did that thing where it falls in his eyes when he’s concentrating, and he kept pushing it back with his wrist instead of just getting a haircut already. He was wearing what Mom calls his “day off uniform”—jeans and that faded periodic table t-shirt with “I WEAR THIS PERIODICALLY” across the front. Classic Dad.


    “Harold!” Dad looked up, his blue eyes brightening behind his glasses. “Right on time. Jennifer said you’d bring your pie.”


    “Wouldn’t miss the tradition, David.” Mr. Gray moved toward the counter with surprising agility for his age. “Though I hear you’re testing a new marinade formula this trip?”


    “Adjusted the acid-to-oil ratio. Should tenderize the steak better while enhancing the flavor profile.”


    Mom slid the pie onto the counter between Jack’s science fair certificate and my astronomy award. “Which means it might actually taste good this time,” she stage-whispered to Mr. Gray.


    “I heard that,” Dad said without looking up. “And I’ve accounted for taste.”


    Jack squeezed between them, still clutching his card. “Dad, Mr. Gray met Captain Emerald! Did you know that?”


    “I believe he’s mentioned it.” Dad exchanged a quick look with Mr. Gray that I couldn’t quite read. “Harold, what do you make of the council’s proposed amendments to the metahuman registration procedure?”


    “Overreaching,” Mr. Gray replied, accepting the glass of water Mom handed him. “Though I understand the impulse after what happened in Nova Park.”


    “Exactly what I said,” Dad nodded.


    I shot Jack a look. “Dinner’s almost ready. Go put that away before you give it a mashed potato coating.”


    He gulped, face blanching. “G-good call, trusty sidekick!” And with that, he turned and dashed out the door.


    * * *


    The pie was the perfect capstone for dinner—warm cinnamon and tart apples mixing with melting ice cream that pooled in the corners of my plate. Dad and Mr. Gray had moved from metahuman politics to something about shield technology, with Mom occasionally jumping in to stop Dad from turning dinner into a lecture.


    “This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten in my entire life,” Jack announced dramatically, then promptly groaned and clutched his stomach. “I think I’m dying.”


    “Fourth slice will do that,” I said, rolling my eyes even as I smiled.


    I looked around at all of them—Dad getting excited about concepts no one else understood, Mom’s patient hand on his shoulder, Mr. Gray’s quiet amusement, Jack sprawled in his usual drama—and felt weirdly content. Tomorrow we’d be dealing with tents and Dad’s excessive camping checklists, but right now, just being here was actually… nice.