SuperZero (school edition). Darrel Bristow-Bovey

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      SuperZero

      School Edition

      Darrel Bristow-Bovey

      Tafelberg

      Before reading

1.	Have you ever felt “different”? Why?
2.	Who or what is a superhero? Name one and say what is “super” about him or her.
While reading
3.	Why does Zed feel he is different from the other children?

      1. You can’t spell zero without a Zed

      When Zed first realised he was a superhero, he was surprised.

      He’d never much felt like a superhero. He’d never done anything especially superheroic, except maybe that time last year when he was goalie for the Wentville Primary School Under 12s against Bighton Primary and he’d saved a penalty taken by Daniel Dundee, who was as big as a gorilla and had a head like a flowerpot and everyone said he should be playing under 16, he was so big. That was impressive, but it wasn’t exactly saving the world.

      “Anyway,” Zed’s friend Katey always reminded him, “that was by accident. You just shut your eyes and fell over, and your face happened to be in the way of the ball.”

      It was true. All that next week kids at school slapped him on the back and asked him about the save, but he never spoke about it. He didn’t want anyone to guess how lucky he’d been.

      Zed wasn’t normally lucky, or at least not with good luck. Normally he had the worst luck of anyone in the history of the world. If anyone was going to bump over a pot of glue and then step in it so that his shoes made a sticky, sucky sound when he walked, it would be Zed. If anyone was going to staple a piece of paper to his thumb or have his hair cut on the day the barber was in a bad mood, it would be Zed.

      “Maybe all people have the same amount of bad luck in their lives,” he once said to Katey, “and when I grow up my life will be easy because I’m getting all the bad luck out of the way now.”

      “Maybe,” she’d said, in a kind sort of way. Katey was always kind.

      Zed had always felt different from other kids, and not just because he was a little bit shorter than everyone else, and a little bit skinnier, and he looked a little bit different, and his hair seemed to grow in ways no one else’s did and never seemed to lie down and behave itself when he brushed it.

      Other kids seemed to get along better than he could: they found the same things interesting and knew what to say to each other. When he tried to talk to them, he seemed as if he was speaking a slightly different language, or as if he was an alien who’d only just learnt human ways before beaming down, and who kept getting bits of it not quite right.

      He could talk to Katey, but they’d been friends almost as long as they’d been alive. But even Katey would sometimes say: “Zed, you are the strangest person I know”.

      But still – being different didn’t necessarily mean he was a superhero. It was only after a sudden, unexpected adventure, from which he just barely escaped with his life, that it all began to fall into place.

      After reading

4.	What is Zed’s point of view about bad luck? Why does he feel this way?
5.	Why does he get on so well with Katey?
6.	Zed says he has had “an adventure from which he barely escaped with his life”. Suggest some possibilities.

      Before reading

1.	Why are garages, old loft rooms, and attics often so interesting? What are some of the things that are usually stored there?
2.	Which comic book superhero is your favourite? Which super powers would you like to have?
While reading
3.	Why does Zed enjoy the comics so much?

      2. The box of secrets

      One afternoon Zed was poking around the garage. In the side where his father’s car used to be parked there was a great clutter of boxes and trunks and plastic packets stuffed with his dad’s old things. Zed liked poking through it, not looking for anything in particular, but because it was nice to go through his dad’s old things.

      On this day he pushed aside a pile of yellow plastic packets filled with handkerchiefs and ties, and there against the wall was a large wooden box he’d never seen before.

      It was nearly as long as he was, painted pale blue, with rusted metal hinges. The lid creaked and coughed and puffed dust and cobwebs. A curious smell wafted out – a smell of wood and powder and … a dry smell, like sunlight.

      Zed peered nervously inside and saw … comics! Hundreds, maybe thousands of them, all jumbled and higgledy-piggledy. They almost filled the box, a sea of comics.

      “Wow,” said Zed.

      He sat on his haunches and picked one at random. Spiderman. He checked the date on the cover. January, 1978. 1978! That was long before he was born. But who …?

      “Zed! Come in! Supper’s ready!”

      His mom’s face grew serious when she saw him come in reading Spiderman.

      “Oh. So you’ve found them.”

      “There’s a whole box of them! It’s sort of pale blue …”

      His mother sighed. “Yes, I know,” she said. “Those were your dad’s.”

      His mom didn’t talk about his dad very often. He had died when Zed was much younger, and Zed hardly remembered him, just that he was tall, and that he was his dad.

      “I always told him he was too old to read comics, and that I was going to throw them away, and he said I couldn’t, because you would need them one day.”

      “Me?”

      “He said it was very important you had them. That you’d need them. That’s why they’re still there, taking up space. So? Do you want them? Or should I throw them out?”

      “Mom!”

      “Well, they’ll have to wait. Homework and then bed.”

      “But Mom …”

      “Homework. Then bed.”

      But how could he sleep? He waited in bed for the lights to go out and his mom’s bedroom door to close. He tiptoed through and found the torch and slipped out of the house. The moon was full and silver and the night smelt of flowers. The concrete floor of the garage was warm under his bare feet. He lowered himself into the pale blue box, slipping his legs between the cool covers of the comics, like sliding into cold water.

      He propped the torch on the edge of the box and began to read. As the stars turned in the dark sky, his mind began to fill. His head grew heavy and his eyes burnt, but he couldn’t put aside the Silver Surfer and Mr Fantastic and the Atom and the Flash. He imagined his father reading them – these very comics, turning these actual pages, smiling at the same jokes. Which had been his favourite superhero? Captain Marvel? Green Lantern? Batman?

      My dad wanted me to have these comics.

      The thought made him feel … special.

      Zed was still feeling special the next day as he rode his bike to school. Maybe he was feeling too special. Normally when he reached the top of steep Beacon Hill he was smart enough to get off and push his bike all the way down.

      Zed peered down over the handlebars. Far below, at the bottom of the hill, there was a rush of traffic. It was so far down the pedestrians looked like ants. A breeze ruffled his hair. Why not? You can do it. Why not? It felt as if a voice was whispering in his ear.

      “Yes,” said Zed out loud, talking to no one. “Why not?’

      As the bike gathered speed, Zed felt totally calm, as though he wasn’t really there, as though he was watching a movie. He supposed that this was what it felt like to be Daredevil, the Man Without Fear. It felt good.

      It didn’t last long. It lasted roughly two seconds until Zed tried the back brakes.