It’d been thirteen years since Terrance Tolliver had experienced a day so bizarre, he’d promised himself never to speak of it again for fear of being labeled insane or unstable. The vanishing cell phone, the locked car doors, the strange old man? All had become taboo in his mind…mere figments of a distant memory he hoped never to revisit for as long as he lived.

As for the purple stars and giant constellations?

Well despite many experiments, government town hall meetings, and nationally televised debates, even the greatest scientists of the day had been unable to explain away those mysterious phenomena. In the end, the citizens of the United States were left with nothing but unanswered questions as the day itself became folklore, and the majority of the country soon forgot anything had even happened as regular life resumed.

In the case of Mr. Tolliver, there was one small detail about the entire day that he’d been unable to sweep under the rug or pretend didn’t exist: and this was the fact that on that chilly night thirteen years ago, he’d come home from the hospital to find a mysterious man with a baby waiting on his doorstep. The man had introduced himself as Antonius Dumeka, and along with the many other bizarre things he said, he’d finished by telling Mr. Tolliver that his sister Tamia Ade and her husband Jistun were dead and the baby he was with was their son.

And so just like that, Terrance Tolliver became guardian to his nephew Michael Ade. A few months later he married his fiancé Tanesha Stephens, and over the next three years, the new Mr. and Mrs. Tolliver would become the adoring parents to two children of their own. With all the attention they showered on their own kids it would’ve been very easy to forget there was even a third child in the Tolliver household.

But there was a third child, and on this Thursday morning, he was still in bed and late for school.

“Wake up Michael! The bus is almost here!” said a sharp voice.

It was coming from a young girl standing in the doorway. Her name was Taryn, and she was Mr. and Mrs. Tolliver’s only daughter. Looking every bit like a miniature version of her mother, she began banging on the wall of Michael’s room. A few moments later, she was joined by her younger brother Timothy, who also favored their mother though he was short and heavyset like their father. Both continued trying to wake their cousin.

“Michael!” they shouted with more force. “Mother said get up now!”

The boy in the bed sprung to his feet like a jack-in-the-box.

“I heard you the first time!” he barked, his eyes full of rage.

Taryn and Timothy ran away as fast as they could.

“Idiots,” mumbled Michael, stretching and yawning loudly. He hated going to school, let alone getting ready for it, and after navigating through his disaster zone of a room (with clothes thrown everywhere) he went to the bathroom mirror.

For a boy of almost thirteen, Michael was tall with long gangly arms and a lanky frame. He had brown almond-shaped eyes, short black hair, and what most people would consider a perfect set of teeth. If he actually smiled for once he could’ve shown them off. But Michael Ade made it a point to never smile, and even if he did, he would’ve made sure no one was around to see it.

After all, he had a reputation to uphold.

You see, Michael Ade was what you would call a juvenile delinquent. Or a troublemaker, a knucklehead, a hooligan, or even a thug.

Or at least that’s what he’d always heard people call him—mainly his Aunt Tanesha, Uncle Terrance, and teachers.

Why? Well for starters, his attendance record at school was horrible since he spent so much of his time skipping classes. His discipline records were even worse because being known as “the toughest kid in school” meant that other boys were constantly picking fights with him. Fights he always won of course, mainly due to his legendary left hook. You see, another thing about Michael Ade was that he was very strong for his age, despite the fact he’d never done so much as a pushup in his entire life.

He’d been suspended from school more times than he could count, smoked cigarettes at the local park, and was rude and obnoxious to most people he came in contact with, especially adults. He was so bad that right before his sixth-grade year of school, one teacher quit her job and moved her family to a completely new district just to avoid the possibility of having him in her class. Because as she put it: “That Michael Ade is a menace to society, and I don’t want a kid like that in my classroom!”

Lazily brushing his teeth, Michael heard the faint sound of the school bus driving away. He then threw on some clothes and made his way downstairs to find his aunt and uncle finishing breakfast and watching the news.

“Well look who missed the bus for the third time this week,” said Aunt Tanesha, leering at Michael over her coffee mug. “Taryn and Timothy left ages ago.”

This was obviously her way of saying good morning.

“I’m trying to set a new world record,” said Michael coolly, as he opened the refrigerator. “How do you think I’m doing so far?”

Aunt Tanesha’s face burned with anger at his sarcasm. For as long as Michael could remember she’d always seemed to have an intense dislike for him. As he’d gotten older (and made school skipping and bad grades more of a habit) her hatred had only grown since Aunt Tanesha regarded any child that was not academic as a waste of space. The entire living room mantel was full of awards displaying Taryn and Timothy’s scholastic achievements. They were her pride and joy.

“The school informed me that if you miss any more days this month you’ll be kicked out for good,” said Uncle Terrance, also glaring at Michael over his newspaper. “Both your aunt and I have meetings this morning, so it looks like you’ll have to walk…”

“And we’d better not hear anything about you smoking at that park again!” snarled Aunt Tanesha. “Or there will be consequences!”

Rolling his eyes, Michael guzzled orange juice straight from the carton. Aunt Tanesha looked as though she were on the verge of having a meltdown.

“I’m not going to tell you again to watch your mouth when you speak to my wife!” said Uncle Terrance, flaring up as his shirt struggled to contain his ever-expanding potbelly.

Michael started to mutter: “I didn’t say anything,” but decided against it as Uncle Terrance continued to rant.

“And I will be calling Principal Flanigan to confirm you haven’t skipped today! And for the last time—use a cup when you drink from our orange juice!”

Suddenly, Aunt Tanesha cleared her throat and met her husband’s eye as she stared at Michael’s hands. Picking up on her cue, Uncle Terrance then said brusquely: “And aren’t you going to cover up before leaving the house?”

“Cover up?” said Michael, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “Cover up what?”

Though he knew perfectly well what his uncle was talking about, he enjoyed asking the question every time just to see the look on their faces.

Uncle Terrance was referring to his “birthmarks.”

Michael had seven star-shaped blue markings all over his body: one on each of his palms, one on top of each hand, one on each foot, and one on his chest. These strange blue stars were one of the first things he could ever remember noticing about his own appearance, and the question of him “covering up” was always posed during times like this because, for most of his life, the Tolliver’s (ever worried about what the neighbors might think) had forced him to wear gloves whenever he went out in public. As Michael had become more rebellious over the past couple of years, he'd stopped doing this—much to their irritation. As far as he was concerned the stars were helpful because (being that they looked like tattoos) they only seemed to add to his already fearsome persona at school.

As a small child, whenever Michael dared to ask where his stars came from, Uncle Terrance had always told him they were an “unfortunate birth defect” he’d inherited from his worthless father. This was typically followed by Michael then asking about what had happened to his parents in the first place? As though reading from the script of a poorly written television show, Uncle Terrance gave the same answer every single time:

“Your father was a drunken petty criminal and an irresponsible fool and it’s his fault your parents are dead!”

And that was it—nothing more. Years of hearing this had made Michael deeply resentful of his father. If not for him, he would’ve never had to come live with the Tolliver’s and constantly hear them say: “You’re going to end up just like your dad!” whenever he got into trouble.

Back in the kitchen, Aunt Tanesha and Uncle Terrance were frowning so hard, their faces looked as though there was an unpleasant smell in the air.

“So?” said Aunt Tanesha, tapping her foot impatiently. “Your gloves?”

Michael took one look at his hands and finally smirked.

“Oh, you mean cover up these? Nah.”

And before they could say anything else he ran into the living room, grabbed his purple book bag off the floor, and left the house.

Once outside, he began the four-mile trek to his middle school.

A half-hour later as he passed by several shops in the town square, he heard the clink of locks being turned on doors when he got nearer. Some of the shops even bore “closed” signs in their windows, despite the fact they’d very clearly been open a few moments earlier. Thanks to his reputation as a hoodlum, Michael had grown used to this treatment during his many loafings around town, but it still annoyed him nonetheless. He’d never stolen anything in his entire life. Michael Ade may have been a juvenile delinquent, but he was not a thief.

He soon passed by a bakery called: “Grandley’s Sweet Shoppe” and was instantly reminded of the person he hated most at school: Mr. Grant. Grant, a mean-spirited teacher who taught biology, had been trying for the past two years to get Michael expelled from the district, mostly on trumped-up charges. Mr. Grant seemed to take it as his personal mission in life to get rid of bad apples by any means necessary, and Michael was at the very top of his list. Sometimes when he was alone, Michael would have daydreams about himself and a group of friends rising up against Mr. Grant’s constant harassment. But then again that would’ve been impossible…since Michael didn’t have any friends.

After a few hours and many detours (during which time he snuck into and was kicked out of the local arcade for getting into a fight with a group of older boys), Michael finally arrived at Loganlane Middle School. Standing outside the main entrance, he stared miserably at the bronze eagle statue erected on the front lawn. There was an engraving on it that read: “LOGANLANE MIDDLE SCHOOL — WHERE STUDENTS ARE ALWAYS AT HOME.”

“Yeah right,” he scoffed, before going inside and tip-toeing past a group of chatting teachers who had their backs turned. He thought he was in the clear, but then suddenly a loud voice spoke over the intercom:

“Will Michael Ade please come to the front office at once?”

It was the principal.

“What does Flanigan want with me now?” groaned Michael, sneaking his way down the corridor that contained the campus science labs. By this time of day, the hallways were completely deserted since most students were in the middle of lessons or at lunch, and being that he was in no mood to go to his scheduled class (algebra) Michael made his way back outside to the school courtyard. Sitting on the nearest bench and taking in the cool air, he heard Principal Flanigan once again blare his name, only this time with more force.

“Will Michael Ade please come to the principal’s office right now?”

“Figures,” muttered Michael, putting his feet up and remembering Uncle Terrance’s threat to him that morning. “He must’ve really called Flanigan to make sure I came to this dump.”

He then noticed on the brick wall to his right was a large pink and green graffiti that said: “LOGANLANE SUCKS.”

Though it’d been poorly done, Michael wasn’t surprised to see this. He knew this graffiti could only be the product of students from Peachbranch Middle, the rival school to Loganlane. Being that there was a big football game coming up at the end of the week, pranks like this were bound to happen.

“Are you really going to pretend like you don’t hear Principal Flanigan calling you?” said a snappish female voice from behind. Though Michael couldn’t see the girl’s face, he knew exactly who it belonged to.

“Afternoon to you to Paris,” he said without turning to look. “You know, you and my aunt have the same bad manners when it comes to saying hello.”

This girl was named Paris Ball, and she was probably the closest thing Michael had ever had to a real friend. She lived with her parents a few houses down the street, and they’d known each other since they were little kids. She was short and nerdy-looking, with jet-black curly hair, thick square-framed glasses, a mouth full of braces, and clothes that looked as though they’d been ironed a thousand times to get out any possible wrinkles. Looking furious as she stood behind Michael with her hands on her hips, she barked:

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“You’re one to talk about bad manners Michael! Like not going to the principal’s office after he’s been calling you all day!”

She then glanced at Michael’s book bag on the ground beside the bench. “Or skipping class when you’re supposed to be in algebra!”

“Didn’t feel like going,” yawned Michael, stretching his long body the entire length of the bench. “And what’re you doing keeping tabs on my schedule anyway, four eyes?”

“Don’t call me that!” snapped Paris, adjusting her glasses. “And I’m the class president, it’s my job to know where you are! Our class has the worst attendance score in school because of you always skipping and—”

“Look Paris, what do you want? Because I’m really not in the mood to hear your lectures today.”

“Fine then!”

And she ran forward to face Michael.

“What I want is to warn you that Mr. Grant is trying to pin the graffiti,” Paris pointed at the green and pink lettering, “on you! I overheard him talking about it to Mrs. Lambert after fourth period yesterday. He’s tired of this happening every time we play Peachbranch, and he wants to make an example out of someone so he—”

“So he figures he can blame it on me, and finally get me expelled,” finished Michael in a casual voice.

“Well yeah I guess so,” said Paris awkwardly. “But don’t worry, obviously it was Peachbranch’s football team that did it. Principal Flanigan is probably looking into it as we speak…so your name will be cleared! I’m pretty sure that’s why he’s been calling you to the office!”

“Save your breath Paris, because I really don’t care.”

“What do you mean?”

“Grant’s always had it out for me, and besides I hate this place anyway. So I don’t care what he does…I’ll be glad to get out of here. And just so you know, Flanigan calling me to his office has nothing to do with clearing my name, trust me.”

Michael then took a deep breath and shouted:

“And you can tell your little friend to stop spying on us as well!”

At this, there was a small yelping noise from behind one of the nearby hedge plants as a skinny girl with sandy-blonde hair awkwardly shuffled into view. Like Paris, she had a mouth full of braces, and the unmistakable air of someone who hated even the slightest form of rule-breaking. Clearly embarrassed by her discovery, she looked absolutely terrified at the sight of Michael.

“Diana?” said Paris in a shocked voice. “Why’re you hiding behind that bush?”

“Probably making sure I don’t eat you,” said Michael sarcastically, standing up from the bench and yawning again.

“Anyway Paris, as I told you, I don’t care what Grant does.”

“But, if you get expelled—”

“I already told you I don’t care!”

“Yeah I know you don’t, you never have!” Paris fired up, as a frightened Diana hurried behind the bush again. “You don’t care about your grades or your record…sometimes I don’t even think you care about yourself! You never come to school, and if you keep this up you aren’t going to pass the eighth grade…and that’s if you don’t get kicked out first!”

But Michael, who was already at the courtyard door, wasn’t listening.

“You’re such a jerk sometimes! And where are you going?”

“Away from you! I’m sick of your nagging!”

“But you left your book bag!” Paris yelled after him, but Michael was already gone.

“Jerk...”

Just then, the girl called Diana came out of hiding once more to embrace Paris in a tight hug.

“Are you okay?” she whimpered.

“I’m fine,” said Paris, as she tried to free herself. “But what were you doing just now?”

“You’re my best friend! I saw you talking to him all by yourself and I had to make sure you were safe! He’s a monster!”

“Monster? You mean Michael?”

“Yes, him!” said Diana, now sounding on the verge of tears. “Michael Ade is the worst kid in school! Aren’t you scared of what he might do to you, or even worse what people will say if they see you talking to him?”

“No, not really,” said Paris simply. “He lives down the street from me and I see him all the time.”

Diana looked incredulous.

“But haven’t you heard the latest rumors about him? He beats people up for fun, and they say if you cross him he’ll call for three hundred bad guys with swords! Trust me Paris—Michael Ade is really dangerous and you need to stay away from him!”

Paris tried her hardest to suppress laughter.

“Oh please, Michael just wants people to think he’s super tough! And besides, he couldn't boss around three people, let alone three hundred…he’s kind of a loner…”

Just then, the bell rang.

“Oh no!” cried Paris. “I was supposed to meet Ms. Sprague before next period—I’m going to be so late! I’ll see you later Diana!”

And she bolted inside, leaving Diana by herself.

***

The hallways were jam-packed now as students went to their next classes. Most looked scared as Michael walked past them, while a brave few tried their hardest to steal glances at his “tattoos.” Already in a bad mood, and with the constant staring making it worse, he decided to try and sneak onto the school roof where he knew he could be alone for a while. But after taking a left down the nearby corridor, he overheard two boys talking in an otherwise empty classroom.

“So he just gave you the money?” said the first voice.

“Yeah bro! It was like taking candy from a baby!” said a different voice.

“Nice! How’d you pull it off?”

“I told him Michael Ade was my big brother, and if he didn’t do it, I’d have Ade beat him up!”

“Ha! You’re crazy!”

“And that’s not even the best part! Ever since I said it, he’s been doing my homework every day! Getting good grades has never been easier, and I owe it all to my brother!”

The two boys laughed hysterically, and though the door was wide open, they had no idea anyone was listening.

“But what about if Ade or a teacher finds out what you’re doing?” said the first voice.

“I got it all planned! Ade’s too dumb to know what’s going on, and even if a teacher finds out, I’m a straight-A student so he’ll get the blame anyway! You know he’s one more screw-up from getting kicked out?”

“Yeah, he is a moron! Zach, you’re such a genius!”

“Yeah, Zach you are a genius.”

The two boys spun on the spot to see Michael, teeth bared, entering the classroom. The smiles and laughter gone from their faces, they looked positively petrified as he moved in on them.

“You know, I’ve been in a really bad mood today, but I think pounding on you two will make it all better!”

“W-w-w-wait Ade!” the boy called Zach sputtered as he backed into the whiteboard. “H-h-h-here’s the money the kid gave me! It’s yours!” Hands trembling, he took three twenty-dollar bills from his pocket and held them out to Michael.

“You think I want your stupid money?!” yelled Michael, swatting the cash away and drawing back his fist.

“What’s going on in here?”

Michael turned quickly to see the tall, vampire-like countenance of Mr. Grant. Hands crossed as he examined the scene, his gaunt face wore an expression of immense satisfaction.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” said Mr. Grant, striding into the classroom as though he were a lion who’d just cornered its prey. His eyes darted to the crumpled sixty dollars at Michael’s feet and he smiled.

“A little bullying I see? It’s alright now boys, I know exactly what happened…Ade was trying to take your lunch money, wasn’t he?”

Zach and the other boy, who seemed relieved beyond measure that a teacher had shown up, said nothing as they stared at their feet.

“Run along now. I’ll deal with Ade myself.”

The two boys sprinted from the classroom as fast as they could.

“And you,” said Mr. Grant, his eyes narrowing at Michael as soon as they were alone. “You make me sick. Kids like you don’t belong in this school. We’re going to see Principal Flanigan—now.”

And without another word, Mr. Grant frog marched the scowling Michael out of the room. As they cut through the mass of students in the crowded hallway, Michael could hear their frantic whispers:

“I wonder what he did this time?”

“You think he’ll finally get expelled?”

“I heard he’s been stealing money from the cafeteria!”

By the time they made it to the principal’s office Michael’s arms were aching, but not wanting to give Grant the satisfaction, he refused to show any sign of discomfort. Principal Flanigan, a balding, clean-shaven man with a portly build, was sitting at his desk when the pair burst through his door. At first, he looked surprised to see the pair of them but quickly came to his senses once he saw Mr. Grant's face. As Grant wasted no time in telling his version of the story, Michael felt his insides burn.

“That’s a lie! I didn’t steal anything!” he shouted, interrupting Grant mid-sentence. “I’m not a thief!”

“What evidence do we have of this Mr. Grant?” said Principal Flanigan. “What proof is there of theft?”

“There were two students present that Ade was trying to steal from—I caught him red-handed!” snapped Mr. Grant, glaring at Michael. “And,” he continued, now unable to hide his giddiness. “I hope you won’t mind if Mrs. Lambert joins us?”

Before the Principal could answer there was a knock at the door, and a rat-faced teacher with pigtails entered the office followed closely by Paris’s friend, Diana. As the new arrivals shot Michael scornful looks, he noticed that Mrs. Lambert was holding a purple book bag in her left hand.

“I also have evidence,” said Mr. Grant triumphantly, “that Ade was the one responsible for the graffiti in the courtyard!”

“Here it is Mr. Grant!” sang Mrs. Lambert, handing the bag to him as though it were a glass sculpture. Michael looked with horror as he realized the bag was his. He hadn’t even noticed he’d been without it all this time.

“Miss Jahovic here,” said Mrs. Lambert, inclining her head towards Diana. “Alerted me, shortly after lunch, that she’d discovered this bag in the school courtyard. A quick inspection was all I needed to confirm it belonged to Ade. I found these suspension notices bearing his name,” Mrs. Lambert held out a wadded-up ball of yellow papers. “In one of the side pockets.”

“And not only that,” said Mr. Grant, reaching a claw-like hand into the bag. “We found this as well.”

He pulled out two spray cans of graffiti paint and several rags stained in green and pink.

Michael was speechless.

Although he’d told Paris he didn’t care if the graffiti was blamed on him, seeing it all unfold before his very eyes suddenly made him feel sick. Perhaps it was the fact that he’d made it so easy for Grant. How could he have forgotten his bag in the courtyard after arguing with Paris? And around Diana no less? He knew how much she’d always hated him.

“Considering Ade’s behavioral history,” said Mr. Grant, his expression malicious, “I feel the time has come to proceed with his expulsion. We can’t tolerate students vandalizing school property.”

“Ade,” said Flanigan. “Is this your bag?”

Michael didn’t see the use in lying. Those old suspension forms were definitely his—how could he have been so stupid to leave them in his bag? Besides, it was his word against that of two teachers and one of the most notorious kiss-ups in the entire school.

He nodded.

Principal Flanigan rose from his desk and walked over to stand in front of Grant, Lambert, and Diana.

“Michael,” he sighed heavily. “I’m sorry but vandalism is against school rules so I will have no choice but to expel you. You will be entitled to a full hearing in front of the school board in a few weeks, but as it stands you are now expelled.”

Grant and Lambert, who looked as though Christmas had come early, sniggered behind Principal Flannigan’s back while Diana frowned defiantly.

The entire thing made Michael's skin crawl, and to make matters worse he was forced by Flanigan to wait in the front office until Uncle Terrance came to pick him up a few hours later. They drove home in complete silence and were immediately greeted by an irate Aunt Tanesha at the front door.

“What happened?” she roared in Michael’s face as he entered the house. Ignoring her, he headed straight for the staircase while Taryn and Timothy sat watching on the living room sofa, a bowl of popcorn between them.

“Don’t you dare turn your back on me! Come here now!”

But Michael, whose footsteps were making loud clunks on the hardwood steps, continued to ignore her.

“Useless! Just like your father!” she screamed, the words dripping with every bit of frustration in her body. “What kind of child are you?”

At these words Michael (now at the top of the stairs) stopped dead in his tracks, thirteen years of hatred coursing through his veins, and said bluntly: “Not yours.”

He then went to his room and slammed the door.

“How dare you—!” began Aunt Tanesha, but she was cut off by her husband, who was sitting in his armchair, rubbing his forehead, and sipping a glass of whiskey.

“Just let him go Tanesha…please.”

Michael immediately collapsed on his bed, and after falling asleep it was well past midnight before he woke up again. Stomach growling, and believing the Tolliver’s had all gone to bed, he quietly began walking downstairs to the kitchen, until he was stopped halfway by the sight of the living room lamplight and Aunt Tanesha's voice.

“I’m sick of this! Now he’s gone and gotten himself expelled! Why do we have to be stuck with this responsibility anyway, he’s not even our child! Doesn’t he have any family on his father’s side?”

“Like I’ve already told you honey,” said Uncle Terrance wearily. “We’re the only family he’s got left.”

“I just can’t take it anymore!” breathed Aunt Tanesha. “He doesn’t listen to us about covering up those stupid stars of his, you know people are starting to talk? He doesn’t want to do anything with his life, though I doubt he’ll amount to much anyway! And I don’t like the influence he’s having on Taryn and Timothy! Look I know he’s your sister’s son, but I want him out of here now! He’s not our child! Why can’t we just kick him out?”

Uncle Terrance sighed.

“I can’t Tanesha. I just can’t...”

Having heard enough, Michael went back to his room, closed the door, and sat on the edge of his bed. He no longer felt hungry, or in the mood for anything anymore. Perhaps it was because, in his entire life, Michael had never truly felt like he belonged, or that he mattered to anyone before. Whatever the reason, as much as he hated to admit it, hearing Aunt Tanesha’s words had bothered him.

He doesn’t want to do anything with his life, though I doubt he’ll amount to much anyway!

“I want him out of here now! He’s not our child! Why can’t we just kick him out?”

Replaying the day’s events, Michael laid back and closed his eyes, Aunt Tanesha’s voice ringing loudly in his head.