Chapter 1: A Falling Star Over the Palisades
The world, for ten-year-old Ben Tennyson, was defined by the sticky vinyl of the Rustbucket's back seat, the endless green blur of trees outside the window, and the infuriatingly smug expression on his cousin Gwen's face as she read a book twice his size. Summer vacation was supposed to be about freedom, about video games and late-night slushies. Instead, it was a cross-country prison sentence with his dorky cousin and a grandpa who thought boiled peanuts were a legitimate food group.
"Are we there yet?" Ben groaned, slumping so far down in his seat that his head touched the worn-out cushion. It was a question he'd asked approximately seventy-three times since they'd left Bellwood.
"We will be 'there' when we get there, Ben," Grandpa Max said, his voice a calm and steady rumble that vibrated through the old motorhome. "The journey is the destination."
"The journey smells like Grandpa's fishing bait," Ben muttered, loud enough for Gwen to hear.
She lowered her thick book on quantum physics for beginners, peering at him over the top. "It's called character building, doofus. Something you're severely lacking."
"And it's called being a mega-dweeb to read a book like that on vacation," he shot back, crossing his arms. "Why can't you just read a comic book like a normal person?"
"Because unlike you, I plan on using my brain for something other than memorizing Sumo Slammers cheat codes."
"They're not cheat codes! They're advanced strategies!"
Their bickering was a familiar soundtrack to the summer, a constant hum beneath the engine's chug and the rattling of pots and pans in the kitchenette. From the driver's seat, Max just smiled. This was exactly what he'd hoped for. A real summer, away from the city noise and the ever-present news cycles about flying men in armor and green rage monsters. He wanted them to be kids, grounded in something real.
The news was a low murmur from the dashboard radio. A reporter was talking about the cleanup efforts in downtown New York following a recent "disagreement" between the Avengers and some robotic menace. To Ben, it felt like a story from another planet. Iron Man, Captain America… they were like movie stars or legendary athletes. They were amazing, sure, but they had nothing to do with his life. They were the ones with powers, the ones who got to be special. He was just Ben Tennyson, a C-student whose greatest accomplishment that year was getting the highest score on the "Gassy Gus" arcade machine at the local pizza parlor.
He fished a worn plastic figure from his pocket—a Captain America with a chipped shield. He made it jump from the armrest to the windowsill. "Cap wouldn't stand for this," he said in a low, heroic voice. "He'd tell Gwen to stop being a dweeb and he'd tell Grandpa to stop at the next decent burger joint."
Gwen rolled her eyes so hard he was surprised they didn't fall out. "Leave it to you to turn America's greatest hero into a mouthpiece for your stomach."
That night, they parked the Rustbucket in a clearing at the edge of the Palisades Interstate Park. The air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth. Grandpa Max was outside, grilling what he claimed were hamburgers but which looked suspiciously like lumpy meatballs. Gwen had, miraculously, put her book down and was trying to identify constellations with a star chart app on her phone.
Ben lay on his back on the Rustbucket's roof, away from both of them, staring up at the vast, inky canvas. The sky was so much clearer out here. Millions of stars, cold and distant. He felt impossibly small. He wondered if any of them were special. If any of them had a world where a kid like him could make a difference. He held up the Captain America figure, aligning it with a particularly bright star.
"I just wish something interesting would happen," he whispered to the toy. "Something for me."
As if the universe itself had heard his plea, a tiny pinprick of light detached itself from the starfield. It grew brighter, streaking across the sky like a celestial teardrop.
"Whoa, a shooting star!" Ben sat up, pointing. "Gwen, Grandpa, look!"
Gwen and Max looked up. It was beautiful, a fiery line of gold and white against the deep blue. But then, it did something a shooting star wasn't supposed to do.
It changed direction.
It veered sharply, its brilliant tail flickering as it corrected its course, no longer streaking across the sky but plummeting down. It was heading right for them. The faint hiss of its passage grew into a roar, a sound that tore through the peaceful night.
"Get down!" Grandpa Max yelled, his voice losing its calm for the first time all trip. He tackled Gwen, pulling her behind the relative safety of the Rustbucket.
Ben was frozen, mesmerized by the approaching fireball. It wasn't just a light anymore; he could see a distinct shape within the flames, a metallic object hurtling towards the earth. It screamed over their heads, shaking the very ground beneath them, and crashed into the woods a half-mile away with a deafening explosion. The world was lit by a brilliant green flash, followed by a shockwave that rattled the RV and sent a flock of birds screaming into the night.
Then, silence. A heavy, ringing silence, broken only by the crackle of Grandpa's forgotten grill and the frantic thumping of Ben's own heart.
Something interesting had just happened.