Characterization Activity 3

Paris started wearing her shoelaces untied on purpose. By Friday, half the class had untied their laces too. When she said the word "epic," everyone started saying "epic." She switched from milk to orange juice at lunch, and the next day the milk line was empty. Paris never told anyone to copy her. They just did.

The moment Garrick rode into the village, doors began slamming shut. A mother yanked her son inside. The baker swept his best loaves under the counter. Shopkeepers stood in their doorways with their arms crossed. A torn "WANTED" poster on the well showed his face. Garrick only bought one apple and rode on. Still, nobody breathed easy until he was long gone.

Angel held up her painting and asked Otis what he thought. "The boat looks like a floating shoe," Otis said. "But the water is really good. Best water you've done." He never softened anything. When Mr. Lee asked if the class liked the new seating chart, Otis said, "Not really." He was not trying to be mean. He just always said exactly what he thought.

Eric set out to gather firewood. But a blue beetle darted past, so he chased it into the ferns. Then a strange birdcall sent him running the other way, and a shiny stone made him stop to dig. By the time the sun went down, Eric had a beetle, a feather, and a rock, but not one single stick of firewood.

The power went out and thunder shook the whole house. Julian's little cousins burst into tears. He lit a single candle and started talking in a low, easy voice. Slowly, the crying stopped. The twins crept closer, leaned against him, and soon they were fast asleep.

There was one slice of pizza left and three kids who wanted it. Before anyone could speak, Brittany grabbed it and took the biggest bite. She did not offer to split it or ask if anyone else was hungry. She just ate the whole thing, right in front of them.

Darnell found something to complain about every single day. "Too sunny," he grumbled at the morning. "Hurts my eyes." When clouds rolled in, it was, "Too gray now. Gloomy." His soup was "too hot," then "too cold," then somehow "too soupy." A little bird sang nearby and Darnell groaned, "Must everything be so loud?" Nothing in the whole wide world was ever quite right for him.

At dinner, a servant asked Sir Benson if he would like some bread. Sir Benson rose halfway out of his chair. "Bread!" he boomed. "I, Sir Benson the Bold, the Magnificent, shall indeed accept this humble loaf, for even the greatest of knights must sometimes dine." He swept one hand grandly through the air. Then he bowed deeply to the basket of rolls, as if it were a king, and then he lowered himself back into his seat.

It was a boring Saturday with nothing to do. All at once, Kevin jumped up off the porch steps. "Let's follow the creek and see where it goes!" he said, even though we had no plan at all. We waded through the shallow part, stacked branches into a little fort, and gave a name to every frog we found. When the water looked too deep, Kevin just grinned and found a safer way around it. By the time we got home, a dull afternoon had turned into the best day of the week.

The street fair was packed shoulder to shoulder. David kept one hand on his little brother Kyle's backpack the whole time. He always walked on the side closest to the cars. When a big crowd pushed toward them, David stepped in front of Kyle and let the people bump into his back instead. He scanned every booth before they walked up to it. "Stay close," he said. He did not let go of Kyle for one second.

Naomi had spent all week painting a picture for the art show. Her little brother Theo ran by and knocked a cup of juice right onto it. The paint smeared and the picture was ruined. Theo started to cry, scared of what Naomi would do. Naomi looked at the mess for a moment. Then she wiped Theo's tears and said, "It's okay. It was an accident." She got out a new sheet of paper and let him paint beside her.

Cassandra found the perfect power cell in the space junkyard. It would make her robot fast enough to win the moon race. Then she saw tiny words on the side: PROPERTY OF MED BAY. Her teammate whispered, "Just scrape that off." Cassandra shook her head and put the power cell in the return chute. "Winning with stolen parts isn't winning," she said.

Rome had to practice trumpet for the school concert. He lifted the horn, then remembered that his baby cousin was sleeping in the next room. Rome looked at the clock and put the trumpet down. He stuffed a towel in the bell and moved to the garage. "I can be loud later," he whispered. Then he practiced as softly as he could.

After the art fair, everyone had to clean up. Mickey did not want to scrub paint trays. He told Kenya, "Theo said you couldn't clean the trays fast enough." Then he told Theo, "Kenya thinks she can beat you." Soon Kenya and Theo were scrubbing as fast as they could. Mickey held the clipboard and smiled.

Ralph's first magic show went badly. His cards spilled everywhere. The toy rabbit popped out before the trick began. A few kids laughed and Ralph's face burned. That night, he fixed the card box and practiced in front of the mirror. The next week, he walked back onto the library stage and tried again.

Oscar held up his science fair poster. The title had a spelling mistake right across the top. Jaime did not laugh or shout it out to the class. She leaned close and said, "Your volcano looks awesome. I noticed one tiny thing we can fix before the judges come." Oscar looked relieved and grabbed a marker.

The king ordered every house in the city painted gray. "No bright colors," the guards said. Luma looked at the yellow shutters her mother had painted years before. Then she dipped her brush back into the yellow paint and added another bright stroke. When the guards warned her to stop, she did not hide. "A king can own a castle," she said, "but not the sky."

At lunch Reuben grabbed the last slice of pizza before Declan could. It was not a big deal, but Declan was annoyed. So when Reuben got up, Declan hid his pencil case. Later, Declan took the last cookie just so Reuben could not have it. He even moved Reuben's backpack onto the floor so that he would have to pick it up. None of it really mattered much. Declan just wanted to get Reuben back over the slice of pizza.

Simone always wanted to know other people's business. When her friend Yara left her phone on the desk, Simone leaned over to read the messages. She pressed her ear against the teacher's door to hear a private talk. When new neighbors moved in, she flipped through their mail before they got home. If two people were whispering, Simone crept closer to listen. She just wanted to know everyone's secrets.

The alarm screamed through the spaceship. A warning light flashed red. The air pressure was dropping. All around Captain Finch, the crew shouted and bumped into each other in a panic. But Finch's hands stayed steady. His breathing was slow and even. He did not rush. Calmly, he reached over, sealed the leaking hatch, and reset the pressure switch. He cared a great deal about the problem, and he solved it without losing his cool.

Paris showed up one Monday with her shoelaces untied on purpose. By Friday, half the seventh grade was shuffling around with their laces flapping loose. When she started using the word "epic" for everything, the word spread through the hallways until even faculty members were saying it. She quietly switched from milk to orange juice at lunch, and within two days the milk cooler sat full and forgotten. Nobody could remember Paris ever telling a single person what to do. Somehow the whole school just followed her lead anyway.

The moment Garrick rode into the village, doors began slamming up and down the street. A mother snatched her son off the path and pulled him indoors. The baker swept his finest loaves out of sight and the blacksmith's hammer fell silent mid-swing. Shopkeepers planted themselves in their doorways, arms folded, tracking his every move without a word. On the side of the well hung a weathered poster with Garrick's face on it and the word "WANTED" in heavy letters. Garrick did nothing more than buy one apple and ride slowly on. Even so, not a soul in the village let out a full breath until he had vanished over the hill.

Angel held up her painting and asked Otis, honestly, what he thought of it. "The boat sort of looks like a floating shoe," Otis said, tilting his head. "But the water is really good. Honestly, it's the best water you've ever painted." He never wrapped his opinions in anything soft. Later, when Mr. Lee asked whether the class liked the new seating chart, the room went quiet and Otis just said, "Not really. The back row can't see." He was not trying to hurt anybody's feelings. He simply said exactly what he thought, every single time, whether it was good news or bad.

Eric was sent into the woods to gather firewood before dark. He had barely started when a bright blue beetle darted across the path, and without a second thought he chased it deep into the ferns. He was almost back when a strange birdcall pulled him in the opposite direction. Then a glint of something shiny in the stream made him drop everything to dig it out. By the time the sun dipped below the trees, Eric had collected a beetle, a speckled feather, and a smooth stone. He had not, however, gathered a single stick of firewood.

When the power went out, the thunder seemed twice as loud. Julian's two little cousins started to wail in the dark. Julian lit a single candle and sat down on the floor between them. He did not say much. He just talked in a low, easy voice about nothing in particular. Little by little, the crying turned to sniffles, and the sniffles turned to quiet. The twins inched closer and closer until they were resting against his sides. By the time the next clap of thunder rolled through, both of them were sound asleep.

There was one slice of pizza left and three hungry kids eyeing it. Brittany did not hesitate for a moment. She snatched the slice from the box, dropped onto the most comfortable couch, and stretched her feet across it so no one else could sit. She never once asked if anyone else wanted a bite or a place to sit. While the others stood around with empty hands, she finished every last crumb and licked her fingers, perfectly content.

Darnell could find something to complain about in absolutely anything. On sunny mornings he grumbled that the light hurt his eyes. The moment clouds rolled in, he groaned that the whole day had turned gray and gloomy. When a kind traveler offered him a bowl of soup, Darnell complained that it was too hot, then that it was too cold, and finally that it was, somehow, "too soupy." A small bird landed on the bridge rail and began to sing and Darnell clapped his hands over his ears. "Must every single thing be so loud?" he moaned. In all his long years spent wandering and complaining, nothing in the world had ever once been good enough to suit him.

At dinner, a servant leaned in and asked Sir Benson, plainly enough, whether he would care for some bread. Sir Benson set down his goblet and rose halfway out of his chair as though preparing to address an army. "Bread!" he boomed across the table. "I, Sir Benson the Bold, the Magnificent, the Pride of Three Kingdoms, shall indeed accept this humble loaf, for it is well known that even the greatest among knights must, on occasion, dine." He swept one hand through the air in a slow, grand circle. Then he bowed deeply to the basket of rolls, as though it were a visiting king. Then he lowered himself back into his seat with enormous care.

It was a boring Saturday afternoon with absolutely nothing to do. Then, all at once, Kevin sprang up off the porch steps. "Let's follow the creek and see where it ends up!" he announced, though neither of us had the faintest plan. We picked our way across the shallow, ankle-deep part, stacked fallen branches into a lopsided little fort, and gave a serious name to every frog we met along the bank. Whenever something looked too deep or too steep, Kevin simply found another way around it, grinning the whole time. By the time we wandered home, a dull, empty afternoon had somehow become the best day of the week.

The street fair was packed shoulder to shoulder so David kept one hand on his little brother Kyle's backpack from the moment they stepped into the crowd. He made sure to walk on the side closest to the traffic, putting himself between Kyle and the passing cars. When a wave of people surged toward them near the food trucks, David turned and planted himself in front of his brother, taking the shoving against his own back. Before they approached any booth, his eyes swept the area first, checking the gaps in the crowd and the edge of the curb. "Stay close to me," he said, steering Kyle gently around a cluster of strangers. For the entire afternoon, his attention never drifted from the small figure at his side.

Naomi had spent the entire week painting a picture for the school art show. As she set it down to dry, her little brother Theo came tearing through the room and knocked a full cup of juice straight across it. The colors ran together and the whole picture was ruined. Theo froze, then began to cry, certain that he was about to be yelled at. Naomi stared at the soggy paper for a long moment. Then she crouched down, wiped his cheeks, and told him quietly that it was alright and that accidents happen. She pulled out a fresh sheet, handed him a brush, and let him paint right alongside her.

Cassandra spotted the perfect power cell half-buried in the space junkyard. It was small, clean, and strong enough to make her homemade robot win the moon race by a mile. Then she noticed the tiny writing along one edge: PROPERTY OF MED BAY. Her teammate leaned close and whispered, "We can scrape that off. Nobody will know." Cassandra imagined the trophy, then imagined a medical robot failing because its part was missing. She dropped the power cell into the return chute. "Winning with stolen parts isn't winning," she said.

Rome had to practice trumpet before the school concert and his solo still sounded a little wobbly. He lifted the horn to his lips, but then he remembered that his baby cousin was sleeping softly in the next room. Rome glanced at the clock and imagined the first blast of trumpet snapping the baby awake. Instead, he pushed a towel gently into the bell, carried his music stand to the garage, and shut the door behind him. "I can be loud later," he whispered. Then he practiced the solo in the garage as softly as the trumpet would allow.

After the art fair, the whole club had to clean paint trays, fold tables, and stack chairs. Mickey looked at the sticky trays and decided he wanted no part of that job. He leaned toward Kenya and whispered, "Theo said you probably can't clean trays as fast as he can." Then he crossed the room and told Theo, "Kenya thinks she can beat you at cleanup." Within a minute, Kenya and Theo were scrubbing trays like it was a championship sport. Mickey picked up the clipboard, checked off both their names, and smiled as if he had worked very hard.

Ralph's first magic show at the library went wrong almost immediately. His cards slipped from his sleeve and scattered across the floor. Then the toy rabbit popped out of the hat before the trick had even started. A few kids laughed and Ralph's face flushed with embarrassment. He went home and contemplated stuffing the costume in his closet forever. Instead, he repaired the card box, practiced the rabbit trick in front of the mirror, and worked on his opening lines. The next week, he stepped back onto the library stage and tried again.

Oscar held up his science fair poster, proud of the paper volcano glued in the center. Unfortunately, the title had a spelling mistake written in giant red letters across the top. Jaime noticed it right away but she did not laugh or call attention to it in front of the whole room. She stepped beside Oscar and said quietly, "Your volcano looks awesome. I noticed one tiny thing we can fix before the judges get here." Oscar's face did not turn red. Instead, he looked relieved, grabbed a marker, and thanked her.

The king ordered every house in the city painted gray by sundown. "No bright colors," the guards announced, marching through the streets with buckets of dull paint. Luma stood on her ladder, looking at the yellow shutters her mother had painted years before. Then she dipped her brush back into the yellow paint and added another bright stroke. A guard stopped beneath her window and warned her to climb down. Luma did not hide the brush behind her back. "A king can own a castle," she said, "but not the sky."

At lunch Reuben got the last slice of pizza one half of a second before Declan did. It was a small thing, hardly worth noticing, but it bothered Declan all the same. So a few minutes later, when Reuben stepped away from the table, Declan quietly hid Reuben's pencil case behind the trash can. When the cookies came around, Declan took the last one purely so that Reuben would not get it. He even nudged Reuben's backpack off the bench and onto the dusty floor. None of these things actually mattered much. Declan was simply determined to get even over the slice of pizza.

Simone always had to know other people's business. When her friend Yara left her phone face-up on the desk, Simone leaned right over to scroll through Yara's messages. Simone pressed her ear to the closed office door whenever she noticed that a teacher was having a private conversation. After new neighbors moved in down the street, Simone flipped through the envelopes in their mailbox before anyone got home. The moment she spotted two people whispering, she would drift closer and closer, straining to catch every word. Simone simply could not stand the thought of there being a secret that she had not uncovered.

The alarm shrieked through the spaceship and a red warning light began to flash. The air pressure in the cabin was falling fast. All around Captain Finch, the rest of the crew shouted over one another and fumbled with their straps in a panic. Finch's hands, though, stayed perfectly steady. His breathing remained slow and even and he moved without the slightest rush. One step at a time, he reached over to seal the leaking hatch, then turned the dial to reset the pressure. It was not that the danger meant nothing to him. He clearly cared about every second. He simply refused to let the fear take over the way it had taken over everyone else. In that moment the crew was proud to call Finch their captain.

Paris turned up one Monday with her shoelaces deliberately untied, and by Friday half the seventh grade was shuffling through the halls with their laces flapping loose. When she began using the word "epic" to describe everything from pizza to pop quizzes, it rippled outward through the hallways until even a few faculty members had picked it up. She switched, without comment, from milk to orange juice at lunch and, within two days, the milk cooler sat full and untouched while the juice ran out before noon. No one could recall Paris ever instructing anybody to do anything or even seeming to notice that she was being watched. The trends simply started with her and spread outward, as though the entire school had quietly agreed to take its cues from a girl who never asked for a single follower.

The instant Garrick rode into the village, doors began slamming the length of the street. A mother snatched her son off the path and pulled him inside. The baker swept his finest loaves out of sight while the blacksmith's hammer went silent in mid-swing. Shopkeepers stationed themselves in their doorways, arms folded, following his every movement without a single word. On the side of the well hung a weathered poster bearing Garrick's face, and beneath it, in heavy black letters, one word: WANTED. Garrick did nothing more sinister than buy a single apple and ride slowly on. Yet not one person in that village released a full breath until he had disappeared entirely over the far hill.

Angel held up her half-finished painting and asked Otis what he honestly thought. "The boat sort of looks like a floating shoe," he said, tilting his head to study it. "But the water is genuinely good. That's the best water you've ever painted, actually." He never wrapped an opinion in anything soft. Later, when Mr. Lee asked whether the class liked the new seating chart, the room went silent and Otis simply said, "Not really. The back row can't see the board." He meant no harm by any of it, and he praised just as plainly as he criticized. He seemed faintly puzzled that anyone would ever want to hear something other than the plain truth.

Eric was sent into the woods to gather firewood before dark. He had hardly begun when a bright blue beetle went skittering across the path, and without a single thought he was off chasing it through the ferns. He had nearly doubled back when a strange, looping birdcall tugged him in the opposite direction. Moments later, a glint of something in the stream bed had him on his knees, digging out a shiny rock that had captured his attention. By the time the sun slipped behind the trees, Eric had gathered a beetle, a speckled feather, and a smooth gray stone, but he had not collected so much as a twig of firewood that he had actually intended to gather.

When the power cut out, the thunder seemed to double in volume, and Julian's two small cousins began to wail into the darkness. Julian lit a single candle and lowered himself to the floor between them. He did not say anything clever or important. He simply talked in a low, unhurried voice about nothing much at all. Bit by bit the wailing softened into sniffles, and the sniffles faded into silence. The twins crept nearer and nearer until they were settled and resting against either side of him, and the trembling went out of their small shoulders. By the time the next roll of thunder shook the windows, both children were fast asleep, no longer afraid of the storm at all.

There was exactly one slice of pizza left and three hungry kids eyeing it from across the room. Brittany did not hesitate for even a heartbeat. She snatched the last slice from the box, sank into the comfortable couch, and stretched her feet across it so that no one else could possibly sit down. It never seemed to cross her mind to offer a bite or share the seat. She simply took the best of everything for herself and left the others with nothing. While they stood around awkwardly with empty hands, she finished every last crumb, licked her fingers, and looked entirely pleased with how the afternoon had gone.

Darnell could find something to complain about in absolutely anything. On bright mornings he grumbled that the sunlight stabbed at his eyes. Then the instant clouds gathered, he groaned that the day had gone gray and miserable. When a passing traveler kindly set a bowl of soup beside him, Darnell declared that it was too hot, waited a moment, and then pronounced that it was too cold. At last he decided that it was, inexplicably, "too soupy." A small bird alighted on the bridge rail and offered up a cheerful song. Darnell clapped his hands over his ears. "Must every last thing in creation be so dreadfully loud?" he moaned. In all his long years wandering the world, he had never once managed to find anything good enough to satisfy him, and he seemed to take a certain bitter comfort in saying so.

At dinner, a servant leaned in and asked Sir Benson whether he might care for some bread. Sir Benson set down his goblet, dabbed his mouth with great ceremony, and rose halfway out of his chair as though preparing to address a gathered army. "Bread!" he boomed across the length of the table. "I, Sir Benson the Bold, the Magnificent, the Pride of Three Kingdoms, shall indeed deign to accept this humble loaf. For it is well established, by scholars far wiser than the present company, that even the greatest among knights must, from time to time, condescend to dine." He swept one hand through the air in a slow, grand arc, letting the words settle over his listeners. Then he bowed deeply to the basket of rolls, as if it were a visiting king come to pay him tribute. Then he lowered himself back into his chair with the enormous care of a man who believes the entire hall is watching. No one had asked for a speech and no one ever did. But Sir Benson gave one regardless.

It was a boring Saturday afternoon with absolutely nothing to do, the kind of day that seems to stretch on forever. Then, all at once, Kevin sprang up off the porch steps. "Let's follow the creek and see where it ends up!" he announced, though neither of us had so much as the ghost of a plan. We picked our way across the shallow, ankle-deep stretch. We stacked fallen branches into a lopsided little fort. We gave a solemn and official name to every frog we met along the muddy bank. Whenever the water looked too deep or a bank too steep, Kevin simply grinned and found a safer way around it, never once pushing his luck. By the time we wandered back home, a dull and empty afternoon had somehow transformed into the best day of the week.

The street fair was packed shoulder to shoulder, so David kept one hand fixed on his little brother Kyle's backpack from the instant they stepped into the crowd of people. He arranged himself, without ever seeming to think about it, on whichever side ran closest to the traffic so that his own body stood between Kyle and the passing cars. When a wave of fairgoers surged toward them near the food trucks, David pivoted and planted himself squarely in front of his brother, absorbing the shoving against his back as though it were nothing. Before they approached a single booth, his gaze swept the scene ahead. He measured the gaps in the crowd, the lip of the curb, the stroller wheels and elbows. "Stay close to me," he murmured, guiding the boy around a knot of strangers with a steady hand. For the entire afternoon, his attention never once drifted from the small figure at his side.

Naomi had spent the entire week on a painting for the school art show, and she had just set it down to dry when her little brother Theo came tearing through the room and sent a full cup of juice sweeping across it. The colors bled into one another and the whole picture was ruined. Theo went still, then dissolved into tears, bracing himself for the scolding he was certain would come. Naomi looked at the ruined paper for a long moment, and something in her face worked through it and let it go. She knelt, wiped his cheeks, and told him gently that it was alright, that accidents were accidents. Then she drew out a clean sheet, pressed a brush into his hand, and made room for him to paint beside her.

Cassandra discovered the power cell half-buried beneath a nest of broken satellite wires and, for one bright second, she knew it would solve everything. It was exactly the size her homemade racing robot needed and its charge would carry her bot across the moon course faster than anything in the student division. Then she saw the tiny stamped words along the rim: PROPERTY OF MED BAY. Her teammate glanced over both shoulders and murmured, "We could scrape that off. No one would ever know." Cassandra pictured the trophy, the applause, and then a repair robot somewhere in the medical wing failing because of the missing part. She closed her fingers around the cell, walked to the return chute, and let it drop. "If we win with stolen parts," she said, "we didn't win."

Rome needed to practice his trumpet solo before tomorrow's concert and he was still having issues with achieving clarity on the highest notes. He raised the mouthpiece, filled his lungs, and then heard the slow, soft breathing of his baby cousin asleep in the next room. For a moment he stood there, caught between his own nerves and the peaceful silence on the other side of the wall. Then he lowered the trumpet. He folded a towel into the bell to muffle the sound, moved his music stand into the chilly garage, and closed the door with care. "I can be loud later," he whispered, though no one had asked him to be quiet. Then he began again, shaping each note as gently as he could.

After the art fair, the club faced a battlefield of sticky paint trays, folded banners, and chairs scattered across the cafeteria. Mickey studied the mess, looked at the students in the area, and settled on a plan that suited his interests. First he drifted toward Kenya and murmured, "Theo said you probably couldn't clean those trays fast enough to matter." Then he found Theo by the supply cart and sighed, "Kenya is already telling people she'll finish before you even start." The two of them launched into the trays with wounded pride, scrubbing as if the entire fair had become a private contest. Mickey stood between them, checking boxes on the cleanup list and occasionally calling, "Great teamwork." By the end, Kenya and Theo were splattered with paint, while Mickey's hands remained spotless.

Ralph's first magic show at the library collapsed before the second trick. The cards he had hidden up his sleeve slid out in a messy waterfall and the toy rabbit sprang from the hat before Ralph had finished saying the magic words. A few children laughed. Ralph bowed too quickly. Then he left the stage with his ears burning and his face flushed with frustration. He spent the walk home replaying every mistake in painful detail. That night he considered retiring from magic forever, which would have been easy enough since no one had exactly begged him to continue. But he didn't. Instead, he opened the broken card box, figured out why the latch had failed, and practiced the rabbit trick in front of the mirror until the timing finally worked. He worked on his opening lines and wrote a joke about being fired by his own rabbit. The next week, he walked back onto the same library stage and performed again.

Oscar lifted his science fair poster with the proud, nervous look of someone showing a thing he had worked on all week. The clay volcano in the center looked excellent, but the title above it had a spelling mistake written in enormous red letters. Jaime saw it immediately. Several students were close enough to hear if she said anything loudly, so she moved beside Oscar instead of across from him. "The volcano looks great," she said softly. "There is one tiny thing in the title we can fix before the judges arrive." Oscar glanced up, saw the mistake, and let out a breath that sounded more relieved than embarrassed. He took the marker she offered and whispered, "Thank you."

Every house in the city was to be painted gray before sundown by the king's royal order. "No bright colors," the guards announced as they moved through the streets, handing out buckets filled with paint that was the color of wet ash. Luma stood on a ladder outside her home, staring at the yellow shutters her mother had painted years earlier. Then, in full view of the patrol, she dipped her brush into the bright yellow paint and drew a fresh line across the wood. A guard stopped below her window and ordered her to climb down at once. Luma did not hide the brush, lower her eyes, or pretend she had misunderstood. "A king can own a castle," she said, loud enough for the neighbors to hear, "but not the sky."

At lunch Reuben reached the last slice of pizza one half of a second before Declan did. It was a trivial thing, hardly worth a second thought, but it gnawed at Declan anyway. So a few minutes later, when Reuben drifted away from the table, Declan slipped Reuben's pencil case behind the trash can where he would have to hunt for it. Later, when the plate of cookies came around, Declan claimed the last good one for the sole purpose of denying it to Reuben. He even knocked Reuben's backpack off the bench and onto the grimy floor. Not one of these small revenges made much of a difference to anyone. Declan had simply committed to evening the score with Reuben over the slice of pizza.

Simone always had to know other people's business. When her friend Yara left her phone face-up on the desk, Simone leaned over and scrolled straight through Yara's messages. Simone pressed her ear to a closed office door whenever she noticed a teacher having a private conversation. Simone also lingered beside mailboxes that were not hers, thumbing through the envelopes before the neighbors got home, looking for juicy dirt. Whenever two people lowered their voices, Simone drifted closer and closer until she could catch every word. Simone simply could not bear the existence of a secret that she had not yet pried loose.

The alarm shrieked through the spaceship and a crimson warning light pulsed across the walls. The air pressure in the cabin was falling fast. All around Captain Finch, the rest of the crew shouted over one another and fumbled with their harness straps in rising panic. Captain Finch's hands, by contrast, stayed perfectly steady. His breathing remained slow and even, and not one of his movements carried the faintest trace of a rush. One deliberate step at a time, he reached across to seal the leaking hatch, then turned the dial that reset the cabin pressure. It was not that the danger meant nothing to him because he plainly cared about every passing second. He simply refused to let fear seize hold of him the way it had seized everyone else in the room and, in that moment, the crew was proud to call Finch their captain.