Scott Mitchell--A Character Origin Story

Hello! I'm so pumped for this little story today, guys, you have no idea.

So one of the issues iIve been having with Madame Science (coming out at the end of October!) is making her love interest, Scott Mitchel (aka the super speedy hero named Light) interesting. Like, she's obviously bomb. She's a super genius trying to discover the type of hero she wants to be after years of being a villain.

She is AWESOME and I really had a hard time justifying why she ends up with my two-dimensional hero Light. I knew I had to flesh Scott out as a character to make sense of WHY i thought they should end up together after all the struggles they go through in this book.

I'm really thrilled with how he's developed! He's become a very compassionate character, with faults, and I'm very excited to introduce him to you!

Today, I'm sharing his origin story with my patrons. Enjoy!

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Scott grows up knowing that he’s going to be a hero. It’s not something he knows from his parents’ bedtimes stories, their casual lessons, or even their ideas for his future. It’s something he knows intrinsically, deep in his gut where it throbs like a second heart.

The government agent that sits him down in second grade and tells him his options probably has something to do with it too.

“Son,” Mr. Barry says, clasping his hands on top of the table. The desk is comically small for him and Scott really wants to know how the giant man is perched on the tiny, 2nd grade chair. Was only one of his buttcheeks on it? Or was he balancing the chair between half of each cheek?

Scott doesn’t ask. His mom says asking other people about their butts is rude and his mom raised him with manners. 

“Son,” Mr. Barry repeats. There are deep lines running across his forehead. Scott thinks he looks very, very old. “Do you understand that not every boy can do what you did?”

At first, Scott thinks that Mr. Barry means pushing Dillon and Jamee out of the street so they didn’t get hit by a car. Anyone can do that, really. But then Mr. Barry uses his hand to mime someone running and raises his thin eyebrows. Scott gets it. Mr. Barry doesn’t mean the part where he pushed his friends out of the way. He means the part where Scott got from the school building to the street to do it.

No shit, Scott wants to say. He’s not supposed to swear. That one’s his dad’s rule. Mom swears like a sailor. He nods mutely.

Mr. Barry sighs and tries to lean back, forgetting that the tiny chair has a tiny back. His arms come off the table and swing in a wide circle, fighting to keep upright. Scott has a sudden image of Mr. Barry tipping over, his bald head striking the desk behind him, blood squirting out from between parted skin. Like Dillon’s knee when Scott pushed him to the curb too hard.

Scott’s around the table, ducking underneath Mr. Barry’s arm, between one second and the next. He pushes at Mr. Barry’s suit-clad back, grunting with the effort to get the chair’s front legs back on the ground. Mr. Barry’s breath explodes out of him and his body slings back over the desk when they do. Satisfied, Scott darts back to his seat.

Mr. Barry blinks at him, hunched over the desk and face an interesting shade of red. He takes a deep breath and sits back up, patting at his suit jacket as if to rid it of dust. He says, “That was very fast.”

Scott shrugs. “I guess.” In the movies, they always make it look like time slows down when a superhero goes fast. Time doesn’t slow down when Scott does it. He sees what he needs to do, and he does it. There’s no slow motion or eerie ticking. There’s the feeling of wind in his hair and that’s it.

“Your parents will be done talking to my partner soon,” Mr. Barry says. He folds his hands back on top of the desk, seemingly determined to move past Scott’s display of power. “They’re going to need to make some decisions. A lot of people saw you, Scott. Not everyone is going to like that you have an enhanced ability.”

“Enhanced ability?” Scott rolls the syllables over his tongue, paying special attention to the ‘t’ sound. His teacher’s been working on his annunciation with him.

“Superpower,” Mr. Barry explains. He chews his cheek and starts to lean back again. At the last moment, he remembers himself and sits straight up. “Your parents have some decisions to make, Scott, and so do you. Not everyone can do what you can do, Scott. Do you think that makes you better than them?”

“Uh,” Scott says. This feels like a trick question. “I’m better at running?”

Mr. Barry’s lips twitch. He coughs into his hand and, when he looks back at Scott, there’s no trace of a smile. “I mean do you think that you’re more important than other people?”

“No.” Scott twists his hands in his shirt. He doesn’t like this question. Lately he’s been feeling like he’s not very important at all. He keeps his lips pressed tight together so that he doesn’t accidentally tell Mr. Barry that. 

“Good,” Mr. Barry says, shoulders easing. He brushes at his suit again as if wiping off the tension. “Then the choice for you will be a little easier.”

Scott unwelds his teeth to ask, “What choice?”

“Who you’re going to be,” Mr. Barry says. “We’re going to give your parents some resources to help you make that decision, but, ultimately, that’s going to be up to you. You’ve been given a very special gift, Scott, and, like I said, not everyone’s going to be happy about that. You can hide your gift if you want. People might like you more. Or--” Mr. Barry pauses, something uneasy flashing across his face. He takes a deep breath. “Or you can use it do some good.”

Scott’s mind whirls with questions. Good? Like a superhero? Like his dad who volunteers at the VA on Tuesdays? Mr. Barry’s getting tense again, shoulders hunching against the silence. Scott’s never seen a grown up do that outside of those police shows his mom watches. So, instead of any of the questions he should ask, he asks, “Why are you scared?”

Mr. Barry startles. It’s not until his eyes refocus on Scott that Scott realizes Mr. Barry hasn’t been seeing the colorful classroom. He’s been seeing something else--somewhere else--entirely. “I--I’m not scared. I’m...worried.”

Scott disagrees. Mr. Barry looks like one of the veterans his dad brought over for dinner sometimes. Scott knows better than to call an adult a liar though. “Why are you worried?”

“There was a boy,” Mr. Barry says slowly. His hands press together so hard his knuckles turn white. “Like you, Scott. He had a choice to make too. The same one.” Mr. Barry fiddles with his cuffs. His fingers tremble, like he’s not sure of what he’s doing. When he finally manages to undo the buttons at the end of his sleeves, he pushes the material back, exposing his forearms. “He chose wrong.”

The skin all along Mr. Barry’s arms is pink and puffy. Scars. They crawl up from between Mr. Barry’s fingers, along the back of his hands in silvery spiderwebs. When they reach his wrist, they widen and deepen. As if something exploded out from underneath his skin.

Scott jerks his eyes away from the scars, heart beating hard in his chest. His dad told him it was rude to stare at someone’s scars. “The other boy did that?” He’s not supposed to ask questions about scars either.

Luckily, Mr. Barry doesn’t seem bothered. “Yes. He chose to do this and, because of that, he didn’t get any other choices. His parents didn’t get a chance to decide either.” He starts buttoning his sleeves again. His hands are steady. “Only you can choose who you’ll be, Scott. But certain choices force you down a path with very few options. You’re young. Don’t close off your future like he did.”

Scott’s confused. “I don’t think I get it.”

Mr. Barry’s lips twitch again but, this time, it’s not because he’s hiding a smile. “You will in time.” He carefully stands, tugging at his suit so that it sits right across his shoulders. "I think Mr. Willis is done talking to your parents.”

Footsteps are coming down the hall. Scott can hear the low rumble of his dad’s voice and then his mother’s sigh. An unfamiliar voice--Mr. Willis-- says, “If you have any questions at all, our agency’s hotline is 24/7. Don’t hesitate.”

“We won’t,” his mom promises. Scott can see her silhouette through the construction paper taped over the door’s window. “You’ve been very helpful.”

The door opens. Scott’s dad comes through, ducking a little to avoid hitting his head on the frame. Mitch Rudin is built like a wraith and nearly just as pale. His green eyes look sun-bleached under his washed-out, brown hair. He has sharp cheekbones and a jaw so pointed that the rest of his face follows, dripping into a small, pinched mouth. Still, there’s warmth in his eyes when he sees his son. Warmth, love, and concern. “Vorobushek, you’ve had quite the day.”

The tears that Scott’s been fighting back since earlier come rushing up. He throws himself out of his chair and speeds to his dad. He wraps his arms around his dad’s legs and hides his face, barely catching his dad’s surprised gasp.

“That was fast.”

Scott peeks out to see his mom standing in the hall. Where his dad is tall and thin, his mother is short and round. Her fluffy, black hair is pinned up into a loose bun, the few escaping curls standing out starkly against her brown skin. Rina Rudin always looks like she’s coming fresh out of a painting, eyes soft and mouth tense as if to say something. She’s wearing her house clothes still, a soft pink sweater and yoga pants. Scott’s little brother, Alexander, is propped on her hip, blinking blearily as if just waking up. They must have rushed here when they got the call.

“Mama,” Scott says. He lets go of his dad and goes to hug her too, but she holds up a hand before he can take more than a step.

“Careful,” she says. “I’m holding the baby.”

He immediately shrinks back, hands going behind his back and tangling together there. He knows the rules. No rough housing, no yelling, no touching the baby without washing his hands first. He hangs his head and looks at his feet.

His mom sighs. “Come here, Scott.” When he edges forward, she uses her free arm to pull him against her side, opposite Alexander. “I’m glad you’re okay, sweetheart.” She drops a kiss on the top of his head.

“Thank you,” Mitch Rudin tells the government men. He makes a point of shaking each of their hands. “We’ll call you with our decision by the end of this week.”

“Please do,” Mr. Barry says. He looks down at Scott. “The sooner your choice is made, the better.”

Scott watches the men leave, letting his mother’s warmth comfort him. The air is thick around his parents, the silence building as the agents’ footsteps fade. The door to the front of the school opens and closes. The silence solidifies and begins to vibrate.

“We’re not going to leave, are we, lyubimaya moya?” Scott’s dad asks. 

“No,” his mom says. Her voice is quiet, but fierce. “We’re not.”

His dad releases a slow breath. He reaches out and puts his hand on Scott’s shoulder, kneeling so he can look him in the eye. “Do you want to leave, Scott? Where no one knows what you did today?”

“Mitch!” his mom exclaims. Her arm convulsively tightens around his shoulders. “You can’t ask a six-year-old--”

“It’s as much his decision as ours,” his dad says, voice cold and hard. It’s the tone he gets when he won’t be persuaded, even by Mom. He focuses back on Scott, hand hot next to where Mom’s rests on his shoulder. “Do you want to leave?”

“Did I do something bad?” Scott asks, brow furrowing. He thought it was good when he got Dillon and Jamee out of that car. What did his dad mean by ‘leave?’

“No, no.” His dad sucks a breath in through his teeth. “You were very, very brave today. But people may treat you differently because they know you’re different now. If you want, we could move somewhere where people didn’t know about...about your superpower.”

That’s a lot like what Mr. Barry told Scott. Scott thinks this might be the choice Mr. Barry was talking about. He looks up at his mom. “Would you come too?”

The look his mom shoots at his dad is filled with pure rage. She doesn’t do a good job of hiding the bite in her voice when she says, “I want us to stay together, sweetheart. Where we are doesn’t matter.”

His dad stays silent, watching Scott.

Scott bites his lip. There’s dread in his stomach. Everyone is making it sound like he did something bad today, something that people will hate him for. But he doesn’t think he could have done it any differently because then Dillon and Jamee would be hurt. Or worse.

He’d do it again. He thinks that means he has to accept whatever comes with it. Like when his dad told him he wouldn’t get dessert if he didn’t eat all his dinner. Kinda.

“I want to stay,” he says in a small voice.

“Of course we will,” his mom says. She sounds like she won.

His dad looks sad. He pulls Scott into his arms and presses a kiss against the top of his head again. “My brave little swallow.”

Scott thinks he may not have understood the question after all.