True Heroes

by Compilation

  The crowd began to clap.

  Both teams went back and forth, scoring points, but thanks to JP’s two more steals, five assists, a jumper at the top of the key, and a swished three-pointer, the Jaguars were within three points with only thirty seconds left.

  They passed the ball to JP, who rocketed toward the hoop. Though his defender had much longer legs, he had a tough time keeping up with him. The center for the Tornadoes came up to help, but JP lobbed the ball. His teammate caught it and dunked it through the hoop in one swift motion.

  Coach Hill took another picture on his cell phone. He had taken thirty-five in the last few minutes, each highlighting JP’s abilities.

  Coach Clay laughed and tilted his own cell phone screen to show JP playing outside at a park. It must have been where the assistant coach discovered him.

  JP had led a comeback. The Jaguars only needed a defensive stop and one more basket to win.

  Before the Tornado player passed in the ball, JP’s teammate gave him a high five. “I don’t know how ya do it, but I like it, kid.”

  JP’s smile grew as he got ready for a full-court defensive press.

  At first the Tornadoes seemed poised to break under the pressure, but one player rushed a pass, and the ball floated out of reach of his teammate and out of bounds.

  Jaguars’ ball. Eighteen seconds left.

  JP dribbled at the top of the key until the clock counted down to eight, the crowd cheering and rising to its feet. Win or lose, the Jaguars wouldn’t leave time for the Tornadoes to get the ball. In a flash, JP spun on the dribble, catching his defender on his heels. Players rotated, trying to catch JP or follow their man.

  Then JP saw it—a weakness. One of the Tornado forwards didn’t roll out with the player he was supposed to defend. JP bounced the ball, and another Jaguar caught it, turned, and shot. The crowd held its breath as the ball floated gracefully with a perfect backspin. JP would get his final assist, and the Jaguars would win the championship with only a second left.

  But the ball rolled around the rim and popped out.

  One second left.

  The ball only made it about a foot away from the rim when an outstretched hand stopped it. It was a small hand. A six-year-old hand. It was the hand of JP Gibson, who had jumped over eight feet in the air. The smallest kid on the court was airborne with the ball, soaring over the hoop. He dunked it home just before the buzzer sounded. The glass on the backboard shattered as the ball blasted through the net. JP crashed to the floor, the rim still in his hand. Broken glass scattered across the hardwood around him.

  The crowd erupted in cheers. Coach Hill bounced across the court. As he and Coach Clay ran to congratulate their team, he called, “I will never underestimate a six-year-old ever again.”

  JP rode his teammates’ shoulders, and the crowd rushed the court. A man called out that he was an NBA scout and wanted to talk to JP, make him the youngest professional player in history. Two other scouts said something similar.

  JP just smiled.

  Chad Morris

  Chad Morris grew up wanting to become a professional basketball player or a rock star. After high school, he wrote and performed sketch comedy while going to college, and eventually he became a teacher and a curriculum writer. He is the author of the Cragbridge Hall trilogy. He lives in Utah with his wife and five kids.

  http://chadmorrisauthor.com/

  Ethan

  (Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia)

  Meet Ethan! Ethan wanted to be a doctor as well as Batman. Seemed reasonable to me! One reason he wanted to be a doctor was because he was inspired by the good doctors who fought beside him throughout his battle with cancer.

  I have found that so many kids who face this disease have a sense of empathy for the struggles of others. Ethan embodied, for me, so much of the good that comes from cancer. Good can and does come from hard struggles. We just have to be ready to recognize and appreciate those good things.

  In October 2014, Ethan’s family decided they wanted to celebrate all of the remaining holidays for the year in one week. With the help of some neighbors, friends, and an entire community, they were able to make this happen for Ethan. In one week they celebrated Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s. Ethan passed away shortly after that week of holidays.

  Some might say that Ethan did not defeat his cancer, but I disagree. He beat his cancer by the way he lived and the example of courage he showed us all.

  www.anythingcanbeproject.com/dream-blog/2015/4/11/ethan-bat-boy

  Batkid Versus the Bully

  Brandon Mull

  West Jordan, UT, a peaceful neighborhood, April 29, 3:37 p.m.

  On a lonely suburban street, a glossy black sedan slows, engine quiet. The still neighborhood looks like it might have been evacuated, except for young Andrew Trent, following a pebble along the sidewalk, catching up to the stone only to send it skittering ahead with the toe of his tennis shoe.

  Andrew fails to notice the sedan until it eases to a stop, tires grinding grit into the asphalt. A tinted window slides down with hardly a whisper, and the barrel of a plastic gun the size of a cannon extends from inside the plush car. Before Andrew can move, a red dodgeball launches from the mouth of the weapon with a low whoomp and whistles through the air.

  The rubbery slap leaves Andrew’s face hot and stinging. His backpack goes flying, and he strikes the ground before he knows what hit him. Head swimming, he sits up as the sedan accelerates on screaming tires.

  Behind him, the dodgeball rolls to a stop on a neatly trimmed lawn.

  West Jordan Regional Medical Center, April 29, 4:33 p.m.

  Dr. Ethan VanLeuven sits at a small desk completing his charts, when his pager goes off. Not the black pager—the red one. It has been a long day, but he helped a lot of people. As usual, many of his patients were skeptical about him at first, due to his young age. But his loyal nurses had pointed out that somebody who completed medical school as a kid was probably smarter than somebody who finished their residency well into their twenties.

  Sure, he has a little desk to fit his small stature. His scrubs are undersized as well. But any medical professionals who have worked with him agree that he is one of the best.

  The red pager means a long shift is about to get longer. Ethan doesn’t use the red pager for medical emergencies—it only sounds when somebody needs Batkid.

  After checking to be sure nobody is approaching his office, Ethan rushes to the third filing cabinet from the left, inserts his key, and opens the entire front of the cabinet like a door. Ethan steps inside and descends into his med-lair. It doesn’t feature as much gear and equipment as the sub-basements beneath his mansion, but it contains the essentials, including his mask and his body armor.

  Sipping a fresh cup of hot chocolate, Ethan signs in to his computer. The images come up right away. The victim is a kid in this very hospital! The boy, Andrew Trent, has been admitted with a mild concussion. His face looks like somebody has played tetherball with it.

  Zooming in on the image, Ethan notices patterned grooves on the boy’s skin, telltale hints about the surface of the object that struck him. Forget the tetherball reference—this was done by a dodgeball. And not just any dodgeball. This one had traveled at an incredible velocity.

  As far as Ethan knew, only one person in the state of Utah had the means and motivation to fire dodgeballs at that speed. People called him the Bully.

  West Jordan Regional Medical Center, April 29, 9:45 p.m.

  Andrew Trent lies in bed, staring at the shadowy ceiling of his hospital room. His mother slumps in a nearby chair, asleep, her magazine still open on her lap. A sudden draft catches his attention, and Andrew turns to see a figure silhouetted near the window, the nearby curtains rippling gently.

  The figure closes the window and approaches the bed. Andrew’s jaw drops. Even in the dim lighting, there is no mistaking the intruder’s small stature, sleek armor, and masked features. It’s Batkid!

  “Hi, Andr
ew,” Batkid says quietly.

  “What are you doing here?” Andrew asks, surprised.

  “You were the victim of an unusual crime,” Batkid says. “I spent some time investigating the scene.”

  “Do you know who did it?” Andrew asks eagerly.

  “I suspect a criminal known as the Bully,” Batkid says. “He’s been causing trouble over the last few weeks. But I still don’t know his identity. Tell me what you saw.”

  “A black car,” Andrew says. “By the time I looked over, a big gun was pointed at me. The ball hit me before I could react. Am I going to be all right?”

  “You have a few symptoms of a mild concussion,” Batkid says. “You’re only here overnight as a precaution. I expect you’ll feel back to normal by tomorrow. Did you see a face?”

  “I was looking down the barrel of a gun,” Andrew says. “All I saw was that yellow plastic tube pointed right at me. I thought it might shoot water or Nerf darts. Then the dodgeball hit me and I went down. By the time I got up, the car was out of sight.”

  “You’re a fourth grader?” Batkid asks.

  “Yeah.”

  “Fairly big for your age,” Batkid observes.

  “One of the biggest in my grade,” Andrew replies.

  “Do you get bullied much at school?”

  Andrew snorts. “No.”

  Batkid nods thoughtfully. “Last week another kid from your school was found in a park with an atomic wedgie.”

  Andrew chuckles. “I heard about that.”

  “Some incredible force had pulled his underpants up over his head,” Batkid says. “Poor kid. Tim Ross is his name. Not a little guy either.”

  “Tim’s pretty big,” Andrew agrees.

  “Does he get bullied much?” Batkid asks.

  “No way,” Andrew says. “If anything, people watch out for him.”

  “I spoke with Tim after the incident,” Batkid says. “The way he answered my questions left me with a hunch that he might pick on smaller kids sometimes.”

  “Good hunch,” Andrew said. “I’ve seen him do it.”

  Batkid stares at Andrew. “Have you ever been the bully?”

  Andrew looks away. “I’m tired.”

  “I need a straight answer,” Batkid insists. “I have to solve this before somebody really gets hurt. If you don’t want to talk, I can visit your school and ask around.”

  “Maybe sometimes,” Andrew admits, still avoiding eye contact. “Kind of.”

  “None of the Bully’s victims have been shrimpy kids. So my question becomes, who bullies the bullies?”

  “The biggest bully,” Andrew says. “Maybe that’s how he shows off.”

  “Could be,” Batkid says. “But does a bully usually mess with tough kids? Does he risk getting humiliated? Or does he go after the easy victims?”

  “What if he’s so tough that everybody is an easy victim?” Andrew asks.

  “Possible,” Batkid says. “But this bully uses ambushes and gadgets. Nobody has seen him. He may not be big. He may just be smart. Bullies make enemies. What if this is about vengeance?”

  “You think I was attacked by somebody I bullied?” Andrew asks.

  “It’s worth investigating,” Batkid says. “Could you give me a list?”

  “Why not?” Andrew says. “Naming them might be a good way to check whether I have brain damage.”

  West Jordan, UT, a large house set back from the street, April 30, 2:13 a.m.

  A cool breeze wafts across the yard, making a tire swing slowly rotate and sway. Batkid scans the area with his infrared spyglass but detects no heat signatures. Hopefully that means a dog won’t spring out of hiding and attack.

  He drops from the fence into the yard. All remains silent. The sizeable house is dark, but a dim light shines from the window above the unattached garage. Treading lightly, Batkid moves in that direction.

  Having already visited the homes of three other kids on Andrew’s list, Batkid has saved this house for last. The boy who lives here, Danny Welch, won the state science fair the last three years, each time with a mechanical marvel. Of all the kids on the list, he seems the most likely to have the skills to create dodgeball launchers and wedgie givers.

  And of all the kids on the list, Batkid doesn’t want Danny to be guilty. Ethan has entered and won science fairs as well. He builds his own gadgets. He likes smart, inventive people. Though it would mean a dead end for his investigation, a big part of him hopes he’ll find no evidence here, just like at the other homes he’s visited tonight.

  After reaching the stand-alone garage, Batkid sneaks along the wall to a window. Peering through the glass, his night-vision goggles reveal a dark-colored sedan.

  Batkid crouches down, mind whirling. There are many dark sedans in the world. This proves nothing. But he has samples from the asphalt where the Bully peeled out after shooting Andrew with the dodgeball. If those samples match the tires, he has found his man.

  Rising, he cuts a small hole in a pane of glass, reaches in, unlocks the window, slides it up, and climbs into the garage. As his feet hit the ground, Batkid hears a wet whoosh and dives to one side. An enormous clump of soggy paper squishes against the wall beside the window, missing him by inches.

  “Giant spitwad,” Batkid murmurs. “Looks like I’ve found my guy.”

  Another whoosh sends a second spitwad his way. Batkid rolls to the side just in time, and the gooey mass of paper hits the floor with a juicy splat.

  The second shot helps Batkid identify the source of the spitwads. His night-vision goggles reveal a cannon mounted to the ceiling. Aiming at the wires where the cannon is anchored, Batkid hurls a custom throwing star.

  Sparks sizzle and the cannon goes slack.

  Batkid races to the door at the rear of the garage. After kicking it open, he starts up the stairs, but a wind machine roars to life, blasting sand down the stairway and making his cape flap like a flag in a hurricane.

  Sand in the eyes. Classic low blow. Grateful for the goggles protecting his vision, Batkid fights his way up the stairs and unplugs the wind machine.

  Hurrying down the hall, Batkid reaches a door with light bleeding out the bottom and kicks it open. Beyond the doorway, a kid stands on his bed in red pajamas, holding a yellow plastic gun, ready to fire.

  Batkid falls flat as the dodgeball is launched. The ball swishes over his head, rebounds off the wall, and returns straight at the kid who shot it. The boy gets nailed in the chest and spins off the bed, landing on the floor.

  Batkid rushes over, places a boot on the kid’s chest, and tears the dodgeball launcher from his grasp. The boy isn’t very big. “Danny Welch,” Batkid says.

  “You’re as good as they say,” Danny replies.

  “I have good days and bad, just like anybody else,” Batkid says. “Today isn’t your good day. You’ve been bullying people.”

  “I’ve teased the biggest jerks around,” Danny says defiantly. “They all had it coming. I wasn’t really hurting anybody.”

  “You sent one kid to the hospital,” Batkid informs him. “He seems fine, but you could have caused him serious harm. You’ve been bullied. You don’t like it. But becoming a bully yourself isn’t the answer.”

  “So I just let them wail on me?” Danny asks. “I let them trip me and smash my dioramas and take my lunch money?”

  “Some of the gear you’re using could get you into major trouble with the law,” Batkid says. “You don’t want a criminal record.”

  Danny sighs and lowers his eyes. “No. But I don’t like being bullied, either.”

  “You’ve already sent a clear message,” Batkid says. “If you vow to stop using your talents for revenge, I’ll talk to the kids who picked on you. I’ll tell them the Bully is temporarily out of commission. But I’ll warn them that he could be back.”

  “How is what I did different from what you do?” Danny asks.

  “You were after revenge,” Batkid says. “You traded violence for violence. I’m trying to uphold t
he law. I protect this city. Especially when somebody stronger preys on somebody weaker.”

  Danny chuckles softly. “There aren’t many people weaker than me.”

  Batkid shakes his head. “Are you kidding? With the weapons you developed, you’re one of the most powerful people in town. You need to harness those abilities for good. Trust me, Danny, revenge is beneath you.”

  “Okay,” Danny says. “I’ll quit. I promise. But this will leave me in need of a hobby. Would you like an assistant?”

  “Tell you what,” Batkid says. “You stay out of trouble for six months and then we’ll talk.”

  “Fair enough,” Danny says. “You’re really not going to bring me in?”

  “Not if you keep your word,” Batkid says. “We misunderstood geniuses have to stick together.”

  “Thanks, Batkid,” Danny says. “Sorry for the trouble I caused. I don’t suppose there’s any chance you’ll tell me who you are under that mask?”

  Ethan smiles. “That’s a secret for another day.”

  Brandon Mull

  Brandon Mull is the author of the New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal best-selling Beyonders and Fablehaven series. His newest series, Five Kingdoms, is about a group of friends who get kidnapped into another world. Brandon resides in a happy little valley near the mouth of a canyon with his wife and four children. He spent two years living in the Atacama Desert of Northern Chile, where he learned Spanish and juggling. He once won a pudding-eating contest in the park behind his grandma’s house, earning a gold medal.

  http://brandonmull.com

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to my amazing wife, Elizabeth Diaz, who has stood by me throughout this process from the beginning. She is always honest with me when it comes to my work and pushes me to do better. At the same time, she is my biggest fan and supporter, and I could not have done this without her. I lean on her for strength as I work to make my dream come true!