Unremarkables

by Lisa King

Genres: Contemporary Fantasy; Humorous Fantasy; Superheroes

Synopsis

A funny, thrilling, profound novel that turns the superhero genre upside down.

When Mister Wilson, the young and terribly inexperienced CEO of GeneConX a start-up DNA ancestry company, learns his technology has identified superhuman traits among four anonymous consumers, he seizes the opportunity to brand America’s first superheroes: The Quad. Preparations begin and excitement intensifies — that is, until Mister and his team discover the four are a stocky middle-aged woman and her emotional-support ferret, a walker-bound old man with hip dysplasia, a teen from foster care who’s more concerned with finding his birth mom than becoming a superhero, and a French bulldog named Taco whose social-media-obsessed owner submitted the dog’s DNA as a hoax. It’s not exactly an ideal lineup, but GeneConX is committed to staying the course. And so begins a dramatic and disastrous adventure as three otherwise unspectacular human beings and one adorable mutt attempt to save the world, themselves, and ultimately each other. The Unremarkables is a humorous and heartfelt novel about identity, found family, and what it means to be “a somebody” — or not — amidst the ever-changing and often cruel embrace of pop culture.

Publisher: The Story Plant

Print pages: 336

Sample

Eli Williams sat at the kitchen table, trying to dissect the facial expression of his case manager, Karyn, as she silently read the largest and shiniest piece of mail he’d ever seen—which also happened to be addressed to him personally.

His legs jittered; he tapped his fingernails across the wooden tabletop. Karyn stopped reading to give him a troubled eye.

“Take a breather, kid. You’re making me nervous.”

He tried his absolute best to sit still, but the anticipation was killing him. Karyn appeared to be reading the letter not once, but twice, eyebrows scrunched together nearly touching, eyes veering slowly down the page, then back up again—and back and forth for some reason, like the letter was written in hieroglyphs.

He couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Is it from my mom?” he blurted.

Karyn sighed. She wasn’t annoyed, but she wasn’t not annoyed.

“No, Eli, this isn’t from your mom.”

His heart shattered, crushed by a crater of disappointment that plummeted, once again, from the open skies of optimism. He’d gotten so hopeful after seeing the return address, GeneConX. It had to be his mom, because who else would be sending him a gigantic golden envelope with PLEASE READ ME literally blaring across the front?

“Unabomber wannabees,” Karyn had offered.

Fair point.

Eli let his head thump onto the table as the hopes and dreams he’d manifested over the past two minutes died a swift death.

For as long as he could remember, he’d been searching for his mom—almost eighteen years now. He’d even planned their reunion at Piccadilly Park just down the street, the quiet one with curvy sycamores and a wishing well full of rusty quarters. He’d wear his favorite hoodie and bring the modest collection of assignments he’d kept since grade school: every “A” saved up in a box for the occasion. It wasn’t a huge pile or anything, thanks to calculus and English lit and teachers generally not giving a shit. But whatever. His mom would be proud because that’s what moms were, no matter what, proud.

And maybe afterwards, she would apologize for leaving him at the hospital when he was two days old. And you know what? Maybe she wouldn’t, but Eli didn’t really care, because that would be water under the bridge by then. He’d dropped a lot of anger and resentment into those waters over the years and was about to add some more because the letter was not from his mom. And, well, that really sucked.

Karyn reached her hand across the table, careful not to touch his skin. He hated being touched. The feel of human skin was painfully electric, like a live wire trying to mobilize through his bones. Sensory processing disorder—that was the technical diagnosis—a condition that left him overly sensitive to touch and light. Karyn had explained this back in the day using poker chips, sorting them into various piles.

“For regular people, this is the sight pile.” She’d pointed to one stack. “And this is the touch pile.” Another. “This is the smell pile, taste pile…you get what I’m saying? Regular people’s chips are sorted this way for a reason, so they can focus and think. Your poker chips look more like this.” She added some chips to the sight and touch pile. “You have hypersensitivity in these two areas, okay? They’re taking all your attention, unlike the rest of us.”

She’d gone on (then, and many times since) pointing to books on the subject or showing him videos of cartoon brains posted on YouTube. Regardless, what he remembered most about that conversation wasn’t the metaphor she was trying to convey but the continued use of “regular people,” and the unlike the rest of us part.

“Look,” Karyn said now, still thumbing the letter. “I know you’re disappointed this isn’t from your mom, but sometimes things happen for a reason, don’t you think? And it’s not like you’re unhappy here, right?”

He lifted his chin, meeting Karyn’s pin-pricked green eyes lined with fuzzy black pencil like it’d been there for years. He gave a weak nod. True, he wasn’t unhappy at Mainstreet Boys Home, but he wasn’t happy either. He just…was.

“Alright,” Karyn said, standing with the letter in her hand.

Eli lifted the brilliant golden envelope, wincing at the overhead light’s harsh reflection. He looked away, unable to stomach the intensity. Even though he wore a pair of dark-tinted glasses, lights were still overwhelming.

Karyn walked to the sink and opened the lower cupboard, reaching for the trash.

“Wait,” Eli said, his focus suddenly returning. “If the letter wasn’t from my mom, who sent it? What was it about?”

Karyn shook her head. “Nothing, just a big corporation trying to take advantage of kids like you.” She mumbled under her breath. “What else is new.”

Eli glanced at the return address. GeneConX.

“Anyway,” Karyn continued. “I’m going to grab some groceries. Cool? How about noodles and butter for dinner. Your favorite.”

“Sure,” he replied. “Thanks.”

The other boys would be pissed, but whatever. He didn’t mean to be picky, but foods with texture and flavor were crushingly overpowering.

Karyn dropped the letter into the trash and headed toward the back door. “See you soon,” she called. The jingle of keys sounded, followed by a door slam.

Eli ran to the window and watched intently as her old station wagon pulled out of the driveway, then he rushed to the trash, scooped out the letter, and raced to his room.

Hunched over his small desk, he channeled all available focus. He could read the words no problem, but the overarching message was…confusing.

“Declan,” he called out.

A “Yeah?” echoed back through the hall.

“I need your help.”

A groan sounded, followed by the buzz of Declan’s motorized wheelchair. Eli didn’t have a lot of boys he’d call friends at Mainstreet—or anywhere, really—but Declan had always been a decent guy. They got along pretty well.

“What up, homeslice?” Declan said, scooting across the carpet. He was wearing a backwards hat, baggy T-shirt, and the same pair of jeans he normally wore, with the two flattened pant legs tucked underneath.

“I’m not sure what’s up,” Eli replied, sliding the letter a few inches over. “You tell me.”

Declan took the cardstock in his hands. Seconds later, he glanced up. “Holy shit.” His thin lips widened into a smile, and he pretended to punch Eli in the shoulder, giddy. “You’re a legit superhero?”

“No,” Eli replied immediately. “There’s no way I’m a superhero. That’s impossible, because I’m…me.”

“Dude,” Declan said, suddenly serious. “Why else would a company send you a letter like this, inviting you to go visit them in Silicon Valley? What’s in it for them? It’s not like they’re a fake company. You got one of their DNA kits last year, no? To help look for your mom or whatever?”

Eli nodded. “Yeah, same company.”

Declan moved his scooter back and forth, pretending to dance. “You gotta go, man. This is like, once-in-a-lifetime shit. Says so right here.” He pointed to the letter.

Eli started to grin, then took it back. “But how would I…” The idea itself was crazy. He’d lived at Mainstreet for most of his life and rarely did anything on his own. “Karyn would never let me—”

Declan cut him off. “Screw Karyn. You think Karyn really gives a shit about you—about any of us? We’re a paycheck, that’s it. Half of us are almost aged out of the system anyway, including you. You’re eighteen soon, right? You’ve been done with high school for almost a year—no job experience. What happens next, when you’re out of this place? You think Karyn’s going to follow you around in the real world and make sure you’re okay? Newsflash.”

There was a long stretch of silence.

Declan was right. About everything. This past year, Eli had been surviving on the government’s dime but that was about to end, and soon. Even though he couldn’t easily imagine a world without Karyn’s support, that world was waiting around the corner whether he liked it or not.

His gaze veered from Declan to a stack of superhero comic books bundled on his bookshelf. As a kid, he’d loved those stories: people with superpowers saving the world. The idea of unlimited potential. Of course, he knew better by now. People had limits—especially people like him.

“I don’t even know what Silicon Valley is,” he whispered. “Let alone where.”

“I’ll help you,” Declan blurted. “Hold that thought.”

He zipped down the hallway, returning a few seconds later with a tablet. “Here.” He pointed to a map already opened on the screen. “This is us, that blue dot—Mission District.” Eli squinted, recalling the map of San Francisco from school, though he hadn’t seen it in a while. Turns out, a person has very little use for a map if they never go anywhere.

Declan looked again at the letter from GeneConX, specifically the top-left corner. “K, these guys are just outside Palo Alto. One second…” Click, click, click. “Alright! It’s not actually that far. You could take an Uber.”

“Does that cost money?” Eli asked. “Because I don’t have any.”

“K, never mind then. But let me just…” Declan clicked on the screen. “You could probably walk, honestly. It’d only take—gah, stupid Wi-Fi, one sec—okay, here we go. It would only take you…eleven hours.”

“Eleven hours!” Eli nearly choked.

Declan pointed. “You got legs, don’t you? Might as well put them to good use.”

Eli stared briefly at the empty sockets of Declan’s jeans, then shifted his attention to the tablet, where a dotted blue line connected Mainstreet Boys Home to GeneConX headquarters.

It didn’t look that far.

“We have a week,” Declan continued. “We’ll print out the map and study it every day. You’ll have to pack light—just a knapsack, bottle of water, couple of snacks. I got twenty bucks I can lend you for a meal on the road. Only thing is you’ll have to walk at night to make it there for the afternoon meeting time.”

“By myself?” Eli whispered, his voice cracking. He couldn’t remember the last time he stepped foot outside at night, even for a few minutes.

Declan looked him up and down. “Dude, wipe that look off your face. You’re six four, like three hundred pounds, and half-Black. People will be scared of you.”

“Me?” Eli was surprised by that.

“If you’re worried, you can bring my switchblade, just in case.”

“Jesus,” Eli replied, horrified.

“Not that you’d need it, being a superhero and all.”

“But I’m not a—”

“Look, you gonna rot here for a while longer only to end up in some halfway house, or are you gonna go do something awesome?”

Eli looked back at the bookshelf, taking in his small and unremarkable room: a single, rock-hard bed; a sorrowful dresser, barely functional; one window, facing an exterior brick wall. That was pretty much it.

He’d never wanted more than this, in part because he’d never thought to want more. The stars of fame and fortune did not align with wards of the state, or sensory processing disorders. The biggest dream he’d ever dreamt was finding his mama, some day.

Karyn’s voice rose up from the past. “Eli, I have a feeling your mother isn’t looking for you like you’re looking for her. Do you really wanna find someone who doesn’t wanna be found?”

“But the message,” he’d argued. “She said she’d come back.”

He’d never personally seen the note with his own eyes, but it was documented in his file. His mother had left him at the hospital with a sticky note attached—literally, like he was an upcoming appointment or something. I’ll come back, it said.

Eli shook away the memory and stared at Declan.

“I’m in,” he replied, before he could change his mind. What better way to catch someone’s attention than to become a superhero?