ᴊᴜɴᴇ 12, 2009

Thousands of kids dream of meeting their favorite singers, actors, and sports players. I dream of meeting a particular tech genius. Science and technology have always fascinated me. So, when I discovered the fifth grade goes on an annual trip to the Stark Industries New York Facility, I was beyond excited. The anticipation for this day got me through the year, and I can't believe it's finally here. I couldn't sleep last night and barely touched my breakfast this morning. Some people eat when they're nervous, but not me.

The bus rumbles down the highway. My classmates sing the latest pop and rap songs to the dismay of the parent chaperones and teacher tagalongs. Each time they forget the lyrics, they switch mid-song to another, repeating the cycle that's been going on for the past twenty minutes. I ignore them and spam Y on my DS to release a barrage of fireballs at Bowser in Super Mario Bros. Since no one sits next to me, I take the liberty to stretch my legs and rest them on top of the seat in front of me.

My mind wanders as I play, thinking of meeting Tony Stark at Stark Industries. If he's there, would he demonstrate new tech? Give us a tour of his personal lab? I'd ask him a ton of questions about engineering and design. I could even tell him about the robot I built with my old friend Peter. Though, of course, before I start fangirling, I'd give him a warm hug and ask if he's alright after what went down in Afghanistan. The news reports that covered the story scared me half to death. I can't imagine what else he must've endured besides almost dying and having to build an Arc Reactor to keep him alive. That requires genius-level thinking, by the way.

"Hey, Bella!" Olivia rises from her seat in the back, her blonde hair tied into a tight, sleek high ponytail. How does that not hurt her?

"Picto," she says over the singing, waving her hot pink DSi.

The sight of it instills jealousy within me, but I nod with a slight grin. After saving my game, I remove the cartridge and hop into PictoChat.

Olivia sends a handwritten message that says, "Hello," the word surrounded by squiggles and dots to represent confetti. She drew everything with the rainbow pen, a feature exclusive to the DSi.

I frown at the burst of color Olivia used. She always shows off her new DS. I have a DS Lite. I can't take pictures, animate in Flipnote Studio, or mess with the sound app. It's not fair that she gets to have all the fun.

Instead of embarrassing myself by writing back in black ink, I use my stylus to drag letters from the keyboard to the blank space. I arrange for them to say, "Hello," and then add a square smiley face. Send.

ᴡᴀɴᴛ 2 ᴘʟᴀʏ ᴍᴜʟᴛɪᴘʟᴀʏᴇʀ ᴏɴ ᴋɪʀʙʏ ꜱᴜᴘᴇʀ ꜱᴛᴀʀ?

Olivia types out.

ɪ ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ʙʀɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɢᴀᴍᴇ.

"Sweet niblets!" Olivia replies with more rainbow doodles. She's as obsessed with Hannah Montana as I am with Harry Potter. We've all got something, I guess.

This trip has me bubbling with excitement, and I can't help but ask:

ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ᴛᴏɴʏ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴋ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴀᴄɪʟɪᴛɪᴇꜱ?

ᴘʀᴏʙ ɴᴏᴛ. ɪ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅɴ'ᴛ ɢᴇᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴏᴘᴇꜱ ᴜᴘ.

A pause, then she sends another message.

ʜᴇ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ʀᴇꜱᴄᴜᴇᴅ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴀꜰꜰɢᴀɴᴇꜱᴛᴀɪɴ. ʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴘʀᴏʙᴀʙʟʏ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ʀᴇᴄᴏᴠᴇʀɪɴɢ.

ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴘʀᴏʙ ʀɪɢʜᴛ.

I draw a little lightning bolt to match her artsy style.

No response.

I glance over. Olivia chats with other kids, asking them to play multiplayer with her on Kirby Super Star. My shoulders slump. Forgotten again.

The bus slows, pulling off the highway. Skyscrapers rise in the distance, a familiar sight that makes my chest ache. The last time I was in New York City, I was with Irene, the best foster mom I ever had. And now she's in jail. If I were old enough to visit her, I would. That woman changed my life, and I swear she would've adopted me if she hadn't hit that person with her car. I push the feeling away, focusing on the tour and hoping to meet Tony Stark. Maybe today will be my lucky day. I don't get many of those.

Mrs. Thompson stands at the front of the bus and braces herself by gripping the back of a seat. "We're entering the city now, everyone. I expect you all to be on your best behavior."

The usual chorus of groans and protests rises up. No one likes to be told what to do, especially a bunch of eleven-year-olds.

"Bella, get your feet down from there. That's extremely rude."

I take my feet off the bench in front of me before my classmates can catch me in the act.

The singing ends and evolves into trading Sillybandz. I ignore them again, pressing my forehead against the window as Manhattan consumes us in a maze of concrete and glass.

Then a Sillyband hits the back of my head.

I whip around, Tommy grinning at me, another Sillyband looped around his wrist. He holds up a neon pink one. "Hey, orphan girl. Trade you for your blue?"

I pluck the red band out of my hair, tempted to fling it back at him for that "orphan girl" comment. Instead, I hand it back. "Not a chance, Reynolds."

"Your loss," he says with a shrug, turning to pester another kid.

Further down the aisle, a group of girls gathers, doing each other's hair like always. One of them, Mary Beth, twists strands of hair around and around into what's supposed to be a fishtail braid. I wrinkle my nose, correcting her technique in my mind. She'll end up with a knotted mess if she keeps braiding like that.

"Braid expert, want to join?" Kylie asks, glancing back at me. My class has considered me the braid expert ever since I showed up with a perfect crown braid at school. Everyone thought it was a headband, but when the girls accepted it was my natural hair, they all made an appointment with me to teach them at recess. I'm still the only one who's mastered it. Tying my hair into two braids each night has perfected my braiding abilities.

I hold up my DS in a way that Olivia can't see from behind me and show them I'm in the middle of a Mario level. Satisfied with the excuse, they return to botching each other's hair.

After a few more minutes, Mrs. Thompson stands up again. "Everyone, look to your right. You can see the Empire State Building between some of the buildings."

My classmates sitting on the left side of the bus rush to the right side—my side, jostling and shoving to get a glimpse.

Mary Beth stumbles and grabs my shoulder to steady herself. "Sorry, Bella." So much for personal space.

I grit my teeth as elbows dig into my ribs, and hot, smelly peanut butter breath washes over me. Someone didn't listen to the peanut allergy rule.

At last, the crowd disperses once we drive past the Empire State, leaving only Mary Beth hovering at my elbow. She twists a strand of my hair around her finger, an eager smile on her face. "Can I braid your hair? I've been practicing."

I hesitate. Having my hair tugged and pulled doesn't sound pleasant, but Mary Beth means well. She's no hair stylist, but at least her braids won't end up too terrible.

"Knock yourself out," I say. "But no fishtails."

Her face lights up, and she sits next to me. She gathers sections of my hair and weaves them with quick, clumsy fingers. I wince at a few sharp tugs but stay still, letting her work.

"I liked it better when it was red," she says.

"A lot of people would disagree with you." I dyed it because of all the slurs and teasing targeted at my ginger head. I've been called a witch, told to return to Ireland—I'm not even Irish—and nicknamed "Carrots." The bullying stopped after a couple of girls at the group home helped me dye my hair brown. At least the bullying based on my hair color.

"My mom would never let me dye my hair," Mary Beth says. "When I turn sixteen, I want to dye it blue—Wait, no! Purple. But just the ends, though."

"Just the ends? If you're gonna choose a wild color, you might as well go all the way."

"I like the way you think, Bella Palmer." Again, a lot of people would disagree with her.

I hate to think this, but what if Olivia's messages, Tommy hitting me with a Sillyband, and Mary Beth ruining my hair are all signs that today won't go as planned? What if something bad happens? A bunch of fifth graders running around cutting-edge labs filled with advanced technology and equipment? How could things not go wrong?

I shift my eyes to the window and admire the skyscrapers. Rich-looking people walk by with their leather handbags, pressed suits, and polished shoes. Maybe today won't be so bad after all. I'm in the greatest city in the world, about to tour Stark Industries, and I've made a "friend" happy. What more could a girl ask for?

Well, except to meet Tony Stark. But I can be patient. My time will come.

* * *

The bus slows to a stop outside the Stark Industries facility. We've arrived at last! I press closer to the window, my heart pounding. Somewhere inside, maybe close enough to see, could be Tony Stark. Today has to be my lucky day. It has to be. After dreaming of this moment for so long, I could finally meet my hero.

And then I catch my reflection in the glass.

Mary Beth gave me two thin, uneven braids that frame my face. I look like a hippie. At least they aren't too bad. They could be worse.

Mrs. Thompson stands at the front of the bus, clapping her hands as though she's featured in the Friends theme song. "Alright, everyone, listen up! When we go inside, I want you to be on your best behavior. No running around or shouting. We are guests here, and we should act as such."

My classmates groan a chorus once again, and Mrs. Thompson's glare silences them.

The bus doors creak open, and we spill out onto the sidewalk.

Dustin elbows his way next to me, his eyes shining. I swear he has a crush on me, but I just want him to get lost. "Did you hear? We're getting Stark Industries keychains at the end of the tour. Some sixth grader told me."

I roll my eyes. As if I didn't already know. I counted down the days to this field trip for months and researched how the tour would proceed and what it would ensue. "A keychain," I thought when I made the discovery, "would be the icing on the cake. I could clip it to my backpack and make all the fourth graders jealous."

Mrs. Thompson strikes her hands in the Friends mnemonic again. I hate it when she does it. I never expect it, even though it's something she always does. "Attention, everyone! Line up in pairs and follow me."

We shuffle into lines, chattering and shoving each other with excitement. Olivia strides forward to be the first inside, her ponytail swinging. It's not that she has a passion for science. She wants to win a game that only exists in her mind—one nobody else is playing. But she doesn't know that. In fact, we've never played, yet she continues to believe that someday we'll care about what she does.

The glass doors slide open with a hiss, and we enter a gleaming lobby with high-tech displays and futuristic furniture. My jaw drops. Everything inside is modern and beautiful—from the metal sculptures decorating the walls to the bright blue lights that reflect off the marble floors. The whole place looks straight out of a sci-fi movie. Some of the boys ooh and aah, but I just stand here, soaking it all in. Mrs. Thompson reminds us to be quiet again, silencing our giddy mutterings.

Standing in front of us, waving her arms to grab our attention, she says, "Well, here we are, my chickadees. Welcome to Stark Industries. This building is the brainchild of Howard Stark, one of the world's most brilliant inventors and business leaders. Remember how we learned about him and the SSR and how he helped Captain America? Now the company is run by his son, Tony Stark, also an incredible inventor and genius. I want you all to stay together and pay attention to our tour guide when we begin, alright? No straying off or talking during the tour, got it?"

We nod in agreement before following her across the room, my heart racing. This is it. I'm finally inside Stark Industries!

A woman at the front desk smiles at our group. "Welcome to Stark Industries. Are you the fifth graders from Hillside Public School?"

Mrs. Thompson nods and tucks a piece of black hair behind her ear. "Yes. We have an appointment for a tour at 10 o'clock."

The woman checks something on her computer. "Perfect. Everything looks in order. I'll call your tour guide to come greet you."

A few minutes later, a young man in a crisp navy Stark Industries polo comes over. The clean shirt has a name tag clipped to it that says, "Tour Guide." He also wears tan slacks and polished black dress shoes.

"Hi, everyone. I'm Kevin. Welcome to our New York facility," he says with an easy, warm smile. He has well-conditioned dark hair and a friendly face with bright, alert eyes. He's not bad to look at.

"Hi, Kevin!" my class and I say.

He hands each of us a sticker to write our names on, including himself. I print "Bella" in my neatest handwriting on mine. Some of the boys, of course, write things like "buttface," "Rusty Trombone," and "Buster Buttlesniffer." Kevin either doesn't notice or is too polite to say anything.

After we're stamped with the Stark Industries logo on our hands, Kevin says, "Alright, are we ready to start the tour?"

All the kids, including myself, cheer. This is going to be the best day ever.

Kevin leads us down a long hallway lined with framed patents and awards. I crane my neck, trying to read each plaque as we pass by. One is a prestigious, coveted award recognizing the company's astounding advancements and commitment to technological greatness. Engraved in gold letters, it says, "Stark Industries Excellence in Technology."

A patent that catches my eye is one for Advanced AI Systems. It's a detailed documentation of the revolutionary AI systems developed by Stark Industries. The company transformed human-computer interaction and paved the way for artificial intelligence breakthroughs, all thanks to the genius of Tony Stark. I can't imagine what more he can do in the next few years.

"Last year, we had the incredible honor of receiving the Environmental Stewardship Award for our commitment to promoting sustainable practices and minimizing ecological impact," Kevin says.

"What can you tell us about this one?" Mrs. Thompson points out a faded patent on the wall that dates back to the 1950s.

"Ah," Kevin says, looking at it with admiration. "That's our patent for Vibranium Integration. Back in 1943, Howard Stark presented a shield completely made of vibranium to Captain America."

"Excuse me? What's vibranium?" Mary Beth asks, raising her hand.

"You should know this, Mary Beth," Mrs. Thompson says, arms crossed.

"No, it's okay," Kevin assures. "It's a rare and powerful material from Wakanda. Howard Stark was so fascinated he experimented and integrated it into his inventions, transforming them into the most advanced technological breakthroughs."

After Kevin answers a few more questions, we move again, each of us gazing at the rest of the plaques and patents.

ɪɴɴᴏᴠᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ɪɴ ʀᴇɴᴇᴡᴀʙʟᴇ ᴇɴᴇʀɢʏ.

ʜᴏʟᴏɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄ ᴅɪꜱᴘʟᴀʏ ᴛᴇᴄʜɴᴏʟᴏɢʏ.

ᴀᴇʀᴏꜱᴘᴀᴄᴇ ᴇɴɢɪɴᴇᴇʀɪɴɢ ᴇxᴄᴇʟʟᴇɴᴄᴇ.

ɪɴɴᴏᴠᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ɪɴ ᴛʀᴀɴꜱᴘᴏʀᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ.

ɴᴇᴜʀᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʀꜰᴀᴄᴇ ᴛᴇᴄʜɴᴏʟᴏɢʏ.

ᴄʟᴇᴀɴ ᴡᴀᴛᴇʀ ꜱᴏʟᴜᴛɪᴏɴꜱ.

ʜᴜᴍᴀɴɪᴛᴀʀɪᴀɴ ɪɴɴᴏᴠᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ.

Each one indicates the visionary spirit, technological genius, and global impact of Stark Industries, inspiring awe and admiration in the class for the company's remarkable achievements.

At the end of the hall, Kevin pauses in front of a pair of large double doors. "Before we go in, a few rules. No touching any displays. No flash photography or video recording is allowed. And please stay with the group at all times. I know you may be curious to see what more we have to offer, but please keep in mind that some areas are dangerous and can cause injuries if you're not careful." He looks at the boys who wrote silly names on their stickers. "We'll start with an informational video. Then I'll give you all a tour of our labs and production floors."

The doors slide open from motion detection, and we enter a small theater. Plush red seats face a large screen on the front wall. I pick a seat in the middle of the front row, my heart pounding with excitement. Once everyone settles in, the lights dim. Dramatic music swells as the Stark Industries logo fades onto the screen.

Then, Tony Stark himself appears before us, wearing a sharp suit and his trademark sunglasses. "Welcome to Stark Industries," he says, giving the camera that cocky grin of his.

I gasp, unable to believe I'm seeing him in person, even if it is just on film. It's like he's talking to me.

My face breaks out into a smile from noticing the video is brand new. My class must be the first school group to watch it.

Exhibit A, which is the most obvious: Tony Stark has the Arc Reactor in the center of his chest.

Exhibit B: He didn't have that haircut in the video that leaked on YouTube. Sometimes you have to thank the rule-breakers. Without them, where would we be?

"At Stark Industries, we dedicate ourselves to using technology to make the world a better place. Our work ranges from renewable energy to advanced robotics to new medical breakthroughs." As Tony Stark speaks, images of chic tech and futuristic labs flash across the screen. "In particular, we focus on developing technologies that will benefit humanity in the decades to come. The future is unwritten, and here at Stark Industries, we aim to write it. One ideology we live by here is that a single act can change the course of someone else's life, for better or worse." Tony Stark looks straight at the camera, and for a second, I swear he's looking right at me with those cool brown eyes. The shot switches to Stark Industries's bombs exploding and shooting up dust clouds. "It's important to note that everything we do has weight and won't go unnoticed." The camera zooms in on his Arc Reactor glowing beneath his shirt.

Poor guy. My heart swells. But this is exactly what I needed to hear. Maybe I could work for Stark Industries and help humanity one day, even after everything that's happened in my dreary life. Like Stark Industries, my future is unwritten, too. Enraptured, I lean forward as Tony Stark explains the company's history.

This tour is going to be so sweet!

When the video ends a few minutes later, my mind spins with ideas for robots and electronic circuit projects.

The fluorescent lights buzz above us as we walk through the gleaming corridors, the scent of metal and machinery filling my nose. Kevin first shows us to a large robotics lab with half-finished automations and robotic arms dangling from the ceiling. Robots whir around on tracks, lasers cut through metals, and computer monitors blink away in all directions. So cool! I turn my head this way and that, trying to take it all in. This is a dream come true!

My classmates gasp in awe and admiration. How could they not? We might as well be in a sci-fi movie.

"As you can see, we do a lot of research and development here for new technologies," Kevin says. He waves his arm at the people in white coats who swipe at holographic screens and tinker with gadgets I can't even begin to understand. And I'm a hair away from being a prodigy.

He takes us around each station to explain how everything works and introduces us to the scientists' purpose within the company, allowing some of them to inform us further. We even put on safety goggles and use some of the machines ourselves! By the end of it, I understand more about science than ever before—even though Mrs. Thompson keeps shooting me warning glances whenever I ask too many questions.

Later in the tour, Dustin comes up to me, eyes glinting behind his glasses. "This place is off the chain," he whispers. "That sixth grader also said the tour ends in front of Tony Stark's office on the very top floor. You can see out for miles."

"I already know all this. Tell me something I don't know."

"But you already know like everything."

"Why do you say that like it's a bad thing?"

"It's not," he says with a shrug. "Nevermind." Then his face lights up, and he scopes the security cameras. "Check it out." Dustin slides his iPhone 3G out of his pocket and snaps a flash-free picture of a laser pistol behind a glass case. "I rigged their security system. Pretty sweet, huh?"

My eyes widen. "Dustin!" I loud whisper. "Are you nuts? Put your phone away before you get us kicked out."

"Chill. They'll never know." He tucks his phone away with a smug grin.

I shake my head but can't help smiling back at his antics. That was so like Dustin. He's always pulling stunts to seem cool. Or maybe it's to impress me.

I wipe the smile off my face and say, "You're such an idiot, Buster Buttlesniffer," causing him to clamp a hand over his name sticker.

We follow Kevin through a hallway with glass walls as tall as skyscrapers. On the other side, scientists and engineers work away, stern determination on their brows. He leads us to another lab, and I'm blown away by the innovative technology surrounding me. I walk past rows of high-tech equipment, each more fascinating than the last. The open space is filled with half-built robots and whirring machinery.

I wish I could tell Peter about all this, but we lost touch a while ago. He was too little, and I moved away. How would he remember me?

A woman in a lab coat emerges from behind an incomplete exoskeleton. "Does anyone want to try out our latest invention?" she asks with a smile.

A man, also wearing a lab coat, steps forward, holding a glass orb crackling with energy.

"It's perfectly safe, I assure you," the woman says, then gestures at the orb. "This device creates a localized electromagnetic pulse that can raise the hair on your arms. We designed it for non-lethal crowd control. Completely harmless, but cool to experience."

Almost every boy in the class raises their hand, including Dustin. It must be because she's pretty. I want to let one of them have their moment, but my curiosity wins. I raise my hand.

The woman scientist beckons me forward. This is turning out to be the best day ever.

"Go right ahead, young lady," the man scientist says, handing me the orb.

I cradle it in my hands, the glass cool and smooth. Then a surge of energy flows into me, prickling across my skin. I gasp as every hair on my body stands straight on end. The sensation only lasts a second, but the power thrums through my veins for a moment more.

I give the orb back, my heart pounding. Without a doubt, I want to be part of creating things like this. I want to build and discover and push the boundaries of science. Just like Tony Stark. No matter what it takes, I will become an engineer at Stark Industries. Nothing can stop me now that I've tasted the possibilities.

* * *

I hang onto Kevin's every word as we continue touring the facilities. He talks about the latest inventions and prototypes developed by the company, and I imagine myself as part of the brilliant team that makes it all possible. He's kind enough to answer everyone's questions, even Mrs. Thompson's and the parent chaperones', who ask the most. It's all: "Is this safe? Is this dangerous? What are the risks? Your mom must be so proud." Whatever the question, Kevin is happy to answer them all. So far, he's proven that he knows the complete history of the building and the company, sharing minor yet informative details.

Back in the central area of this floor, something other than science catches my eye—a sign that reads, "Restricted Access," drilled on a nearby door. Despite my better judgment, I have a powerful urge to investigate. Not only will there be cutting-edge technology, but Tony Stark could be inside, working, developing, and researching. Maybe he's overseeing the scientists and engineers doing it all for him.

I hesitate for a moment, knowing I'm not supposed to go in, but that's what I do—I learn the rules, and then I break them. Besides, my curiosity gets the best of me. It always does. Maybe I should work on that...But not today.

Without telling anyone, I sneak away from the group and lurk toward the door. I stay out of sight by hiding around a corner as a scientist approaches the door and enters a code into the keypad. I peer around and pay close attention to his finger placement on the buttons.

02121974.

Once he goes inside, I hurry over and input the code.

The door creaks open as I peek inside the lab to make sure the coast is clear. That scientist must've passed through and gone out one of the side doors.

My heart races with excitement and nerves, hoping I don't get caught.

This is it—the inner sanctum of Stark Industries.

Contraptions and prototypes I've never seen before fill the room. Machine parts and advanced equipment I've only seen in comics and movies line the rows of sleek metal tables. Holographic screens float in midair, displaying streams of data and 3D models. Similar to one of the labs we toured, a giant robot arm swings from the ceiling, frozen in place.

I slip into the lab, and the door clicks shut behind me. My black Converse sneakers squeak on the polished floor as I walk between the tables and marvel at the strange, exotic tools and inventions. I run my fingers over the various gizmos that litter the room. This is so sweet! I can't wait to tell everyone at the group home about this. They'll never believe me, so I take out my flip phone and snap a few pictures—without flash. Thanks, Dustin.

I can't resist the urge to touch the prototypes and explore their capabilities. A domed device on one table piques my interest. I reach out a finger and poke it as a test. Once I assume it's safe, I fiddle with it, trying to discover what it is and how it works.

Big mistake.

The device lights up, sending a searing blue light slicing through the air. I yank my hand back with a yelp. The device goes haywire, the noise deafening, and my heart races as I try to turn it off and fix whatever I broke.

But it's too late.

The beam hits another invention, causing it to start spinning and whirring. A metallic version of the crowd control orb rises into the air, crackling with energy.

"Oh no, no, no, no, no!" I lunge for the orb, but a shock of electricity zaps my hand. I cry out, stumbling back, bumping into a machine and triggering it.

Each device causes a chain reaction. Before I know it, the entire room descends into chaos. Gadgets power on and go berserk, and beams and bursts of energy crisscross the room. Smoke and sparks fill the air as an earsplitting alarm goes off, and red lights flash everywhere.

The sprinkler system kicks in, dousing everything in sight, including me. My olive jacket soaks through, but all I can do is stand here, gaping at the mayhem and destruction I've caused.

Tony Stark is going to kill me.

A team of employees barges in through a side door.

"Code red! We have a situation!"

They skid to a stop, gawking at the scene. One grabs a fire extinguisher and drowns the flames to help the sprinklers. The others rush to shut down the equipment, and another pulls the fire alarm.

I stand frozen in place, heart pounding, waiting for Mrs. Thompson to come barreling in. Any second now...

"What in the name of—" The door I came through bangs open. "What the hell is going on here?"

I spin around to see Tony Stark standing in the doorway.

It's him. My heart races with excitement and fear at him catching me—at getting caught at all. This is not how I wanted to meet the CEO of Stark Industries.

His eyes scan the room for the source of the disturbance, and he storms into the lab, eyes blazing behind his signature sunglasses. Dread washes over me as I stand motionless. I've idolized Tony Stark for as long as I can remember, and the thought of disappointing him makes me sick to my stomach. I've always dreamed of meeting him, but now I'm terrified.

His gaze falls on me after he deactivates the domed device, his expression darkening further. There's so much I want to tell him. And then there's the asking if he's okay and the hug and all my questions and fangirling. But now that I have the chance, I'm speechless.

"You. Who are you, and how did you get in here? This is a restricted area," he barks, his face twisted into a scowl.

My mouth flops, useless. I try to stammer an apology, but nothing comes out. And if this all wasn't bad enough, I'm meeting him with shoddy braid work.

He calls to the employees, "Who's kid is this?" He wheels on the nearest one and bellows, "I want to know who the hell let this kid into a restricted area. Now!"

The employee cringes. "Mr. Stark, I'm so sorry. There was a school group touring the facilities, and—"

"A school group?" Tony Stark turns a withering glare on me, his Arc Reactor shining a faint cyan light under his shirt. I want to melt into the floor. "So, you snuck in here, did you? Decided to poke around where you don't belong?"

My face burns. I stare at my sneakers, mumbling, "I-I was just looking around. I'm really sorry, Mr. Stark. I didn't mean to—"

"Sorry doesn't cut it, kid! You shouldn't have been in here in the first place." He throws his hands up in disgust. "And now look at the mess you've made."

My cheeks flush with embarrassment as he shakes his head, his eyes narrowing.

A scientist opens the door, and Mrs. Thompson rushes in with a gasp, assessing the situation. "Bella, there you are."

Stark furiously turns toward her. "Oh, and now who are you? Are we just inviting anyone into restricted areas now?" He addresses the scientist who opened the door and says, "This is a serious breach of protocol."

Mrs. Thompson's jaw drops when she sees him. "I'm sorry, Mr. Stark. I take full responsibility for Bella's actions. She wandered off without my knowledge," she says, stepping forward.

Stark's expression softens a tad. "I see."

My heart sinks from the gravity of my mistake. I let my curiosity get the best of me, and now I'm humiliated in front of my teacher and hero.

"It's not her fault, Mr. Stark," Mrs. Thompson says. "She doesn't have parents to teach her right from wrong. She's an orphan. She wasn't raised properly." Her words hang in the air, and my heart plummets like a lead weight. It might as well be dead weight.

The room falls silent, and all eyes turn to me. Well, Mrs. Thompson's and Stark's—his the only pair I care about at the moment. It's as if a spotlight shines upon my very existence.

"ꜱʜᴇ ᴅᴏᴇꜱɴ'ᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴇɴᴛꜱ. ꜱʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴀɴ ᴏʀᴘʜᴀɴ. ꜱʜᴇ ᴡᴀꜱɴ'ᴛ ʀᴀɪꜱᴇᴅ ᴘʀᴏᴘᴇʀʟʏ."

The words echo in my mind, each syllable piercing through my already wounded spirit. I fight back the sting of tears, my fists clenching at my sides. The familiar ache of shame and humiliation cascades over me, threatening to consume my fragile sense of self-worth.

Mrs. Thompson's well-intentioned words reinforce the invisible barrier that sets me apart. I know I'm different. Being an orphan has defined my entire life—a label I carry like a heavy burden. But I refuse to let it define who I can become. I always believed that my love for science and technology could be my ticket to a brighter future—a chance to break free from the chains of my past.

Yet, in this moment, Mrs. Thompson's words fill me with doubt. Does my orphan status render me incapable of discerning right from wrong? Am I forever condemned to stumble through life, lacking the guidance only parents can provide?

The internal conflict rages within me, torn between the longing for acceptance and the fierce determination to prove myself worthy.

As the weight of Mrs. Thompson's words presses upon my shoulders, I vow to defy the limitations society has placed on me. I will rise above the misconceptions and stereotypes, forging my own path. The fire within burns brighter than ever, fueling a desire to prove that being an orphan does not define my moral compass or potential.

My journey is not about gaining the acceptance of others, but also about finding myself. I won't allow Mrs. Thompson's words to diminish my spirit or dampen my dreams. I have to rise above the judgments and show I'm more than my circumstances—more than an orphan girl longing for someone to see her.

With a newfound determination burning in my eyes, I straighten my posture and lift my chin. The journey ahead will be challenging, but I'm ready to face it head-on. I will prove to myself and the world that I have the strength, resilience, and capacity for greatness, regardless of the circumstances that shaped my past.

And with that, I take a deep breath, ready to rewrite the narrative handed to me. The journey of self-discovery and pursuing my dreams has only just begun.

After a short pause of Stark looking at me, he reanimates and says, "Security, get her out of here before she causes any more trouble."

Wait, what?

He walks by Mrs. Thompson and heads for the door, adding, "And cancel the rest of the tour. I've had enough excitement for one day."

Two stern security guards approach me. My heart sinks further under Mrs. Thompson's firm glare. I've ruined everything. All because of my stupid curiosity, I'm getting kicked out without even a keychain to show for it.

Worst. Field trip. Ever.

The guards escort me out of the lab, and we pass the smoldering ruins of machinery I set off. My face burns with shame the whole way. As they and one of the parent chaperones that had stayed behind lead me out of the building, I have a deep sense of shame and disappointment in myself. I stare at the ground. I wanted nothing more than to impress Stark and show him how much I admire his work. But instead, I made a fool of myself and tarnished my reputation. He knows I'm an orphan. People always treat me differently when they know.

I didn't want him to know.

What if that's why he kicked me out? Maybe if he didn't know, he'd let me return to the tour. But he canceled it.

Because I'm an orphan.

When the parent chaperone and I emerge from the building, the security guards lurking by the main entrance, I find my class waiting with the tagalong teachers and the other parents. My classmates give me questioning glances over the sight and my dripping appearance. They must not know what happened. Yet I'm humiliated and ashamed because they will soon. I ruined the school trip for everyone, and worst of all, I disappointed my hero. I let myself down, too.

Will I ever be able to look up to Stark the same way again?

Why does it matter? After all this and how he treated me, I don't think he's my hero anymore.

* * *

ᴛᴏɴʏ

After the kid and her teacher leave the lab, I return and stare at the wreckage. It's a total disaster. Thousands of dollars flushed down the drain. As I watch the crew clear away the debris, something heavy rests on my shoulders. "Guilt," they call it. That kid was too damn curious for her own good, but my damn pride got the best of me. Maybe I overreacted, maybe I didn't. Either way, I'm frustrated with myself. I mean, I'm Tony Stark, and I can't even control my temper?

I walk through the Stark facility halls, avoiding my employees' questions about the incident. Straight to my office I go, shutting the door behind me. I plop down in my chair, a striking piece of leather, and gaze out at the cityscape's endless skyline through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The view is breathtaking, but the silence is suffocating, even as I drum my fingers against the smooth surface of my desk. My thoughts, my conscience—It's all too damn loud.

I need to drown it out.

I march across the room, my feet tapping against the dark hardwood floor, and head to the corner where the espresso machine sits. The hum brings some temporary relief, but it's not enough.

I crank up the volume on some heavy metal music, hoping to drown out the noise in my head. But to my surprise, my conscience grows louder. Damn it.

Alright, alright. Fine. I'll make it right. I want to make it right. I can't let the guilt eat away at me. I need to do something, and I know just the thing.

I open the drawer of my mahogany desk, revealing a stack of photos of myself that I keep for fans. I grab the one on top. The sharp edges cut into my calloused fingers as I grip it tight, my smug expression staring back at me through the tinted lenses of my sunglasses. What the hell was I thinking, yelling at a kid like that?

The scent of freshly brewed coffee wafts from the corner of the room as I let out a heavy sigh and uncap a Sharpie, scrawling a hasty autograph across the bottom of the photo. As an afterthought, I doodle the Deathly Hallows symbol beside my signature. It's something, at least. A peace offering of sorts. I assume she broke into the lab because she dreams of working in the field. Perhaps the autograph will inspire her to keep pushing, to chase her dreams even when arrogant bastards like me try to stomp all over them. Lord knows the world needs more women in STEM. If I don't do something to fix what I've done, she might give up on science after today's debacle.

I place the autographed photo on my desk, its presence a reminder of my flaws and the opportunity to make things right. It won't erase what happened, but it's a start. It's me acknowledging that I messed up and need to improve.

Sitting behind my desk, I stare at the photo, deep in thought. That's when the ever-efficient Pepper walks in, a Bluetooth device in her ear.

I turn off the music with a remote at the sight of her presence.

She murmurs a few words, her voice calm and reassuring as she shuts the door behind her. "Don't worry. Everything's been taken care of. We'll discuss it later." With a subtle nod, she ends the call and turns her attention to me, her eyes searching. "Do you want to tell me how a kid managed to get into a restricted area?" Her tone is calm but laced with concern.

I sigh, leaning back in my chair and running a hand through my hair. "It's...a long story," I begin, my gaze falling to the floor for a moment before meeting hers. "This girl. She managed to bypass my security protocols. Things got out of hand, and...The lab's destroyed."

"I know. I was just there."

"It's my fault. I should've had better security measures in place."

"You already know there are strict security measures here, so how did this happen? We have keypads on every restricted door."

"I know, Pepper. Believe me, I know. God knows how she got the code. I yelled at her, shouted at her like a madman." The memory of my outburst replays in my mind, each word tinged with regret. "I just can't help but feel responsible."

She crosses her arms, studying me with a discerning gaze. "You should feel responsible, Tony. You're the one in charge here. But accidents happen, especially with kids."

My mind fills with conflicting thoughts. On the one hand, I have to take responsibility for what happened. On the other hand, I can't shake off the guilt and the nagging feeling that I let the kid down.

"And dwelling on guilt won't solve anything," she says, as though her Bluetooth is connected to my brain. "What matters now is what you'll do about it."

Her words hit me hard, cutting through the turmoil inside me. I nod, appreciating her directness. "You're right, Pepper. I can't let this incident stain the kid's memory of me or Stark Industries. I was thinking about giving her this." I hold up the autographed photo.

Pepper offers a supportive smile, her eyes softening. "I remember that photo shoot. I'm sure she'll appreciate it. Maybe she'll hang it up on her wall."

I smirk. "You think?"

Her smile grows, then she says, "Take some time to think about it, Tony. And remember, you have a meeting with Dansk at two," she says, giving me a sense of normalcy amidst the chaos.

I nod again. "Thanks, Pep. I'll figure something out."

With a final nod and a slight grin, Pepper exits my office. As the door closes behind her, I'm left alone with my thoughts again. But now there's a glimmer of hope. Pepper's presence is always a reassuring one. What would I do without her?

"The path to redemption starts with a simple apology," she told me once.

So, I straighten my tailored suit jacket, brushing away a speck of lint. Time to do what needs to be done and make things right, or at least as right as I can make them.

I speed through the building, tracking down the girl's teacher before she leaves with the class. I head down the elevator and spot her in the hallway that leads to the main lobby.

"Excuse me," I say, striding up to her. "I need to talk to you for a moment."

The teacher turns to face me. She clutches her floral print purse to her chest, eyes wide behind cat-eye glasses. "Mr. Stark! I apologize again for what happened. I'll contact the board immediately and see if we can use school funds to help with the repairs."

I wave her off. "That won't be necessary. Look, apologies for the holdup. I just..." I pause, extending the autographed photo toward her. My nerves begin to get the best of me. "For the girl. Bella, was it?"

She nods slowly, studying me with a cautious look.

I take a deep breath, preparing myself for what I'm about to say. "I want to apologize for the way I spoke to her earlier. I know it wasn't her fault—I should've had better security measures in place—and I shouldn't have lost my temper like that. It was unprofessional. Consider this autograph as a token of my apology, so to speak."

She raises an eyebrow but doesn't object. "I appreciate your apology, Mr. Stark. And I'm sure Bella will, too. She's a bright girl, a star student. She's always building robots and inventing things. Her science projects are consistently the best in the class. After what she did, I know it might not seem like it, but she's an intelligent, sweet girl and a big fan of yours."

"Just give this to her for me, will you?" I say, the twinge of guilt expanding now that I know details about the kid. Somehow, it stings more that she's a fan. "Miss..." I trail off, realizing I don't even know her name.

"It's Mrs. Thompson," she corrects, eyeing me, curious. "Amber." She produces a patient smile, taking the photo and examining it with confusion and suspicion. She tucks it into her purse. "This is very kind of you. I'll pass it on to Bella, and I'm sure she'll appreciate the gesture, Mr. Stark."

I nod, relieved, but still burdened by guilt. I slip my hands into my pockets, awkward and ashamed that this conversation even needs to happen.

"Thank you for making the effort, but—"

"I was out of line." The words taste bitter in my mouth, but it's the truth. "Won't happen again. If the girl's got a passion for science, I shouldn't be the one to stamp it out. Life has been rough for me lately, as I'm sure you've heard on the news."

A flush creeps over Amber's cheeks. "I understand you've been through a lot these days. I shouldn't have brought the class here so soon after..." She trails off with an apologetic grimace.

"Don't worry about it," I dismiss with a wave, ignoring the dull ache in my chest where an Arc Reactor now resides. "The past is the past. Just...give her the photo, alright?"

Amber nods and offers me a timid smile. "Thank you, Mr. Stark. I'm sure this will mean the world to Bella."

"Yeah, well." I shrug, glancing away. "She's got promise if she managed to bypass my security. It'd be a shame to see it go to waste." I fidget, opening and closing my hands inside my pockets. I haven't done enough. "And tell her that if she ever wants to come back and see the facility, she's more than welcome. All she has to do is call and give her name, and I'll give her the grand tour myself."

Amber's expression softens. "That's quite generous of you, Mr. Stark—"

"Tony."

"Tony. But you have to understand, Bella can be a handful at times. She's a child that was forced to grow up, and I'm sure you'd understand that being parentless means she's always finding ways to get into trouble. I think it's her way of reaching out and asking for attention."

I shake my head. "No, that's no excuse. I shouldn't have yelled at her like that. I just want to make it up to her. I know the autograph isn't much, but it's something. If destroying my lab is her way of asking for attention, then this is my way of asking for forgiveness," I say, my voice tinged with a touch of embarrassment at the sharpness of my tone.

Amber looks surprised and a little skeptical, but she nods. "Alright, I'll make sure she gets it and knows she can call the facility for a tour."

I breathe a sigh of relief. "Thank you. And I promise I'll ensure nothing like this ever happens again. I'll see to it that she has the time of her life the next time she's here."

She smiles. "I appreciate that, Mr. Stark—uh, Tony. Thank you."

"Of course. And if you need anything else, don't hesitate to ask."

"Thank you again, Tony. On behalf of the class, we appreciate your time."

"Yeah, yeah." I wave her off, turning away, so she won't see my smile.

"But don't worry. I'll make sure Bella understands that actions have consequences. She should be disciplined, not rewarded. And I'm certain I can devise an appropriate punishment for her."

My eyebrows shoot up in surprise, a mixture of astonishment and curiosity filling my mind.

"ᴅɪꜱᴄɪᴘʟɪɴᴇᴅ?"

"ᴘᴜɴɪꜱʜᴍᴇɴᴛ?"

Now that's an unexpected twist, but perhaps it's time for me to see how this teacher plans to handle the little mischief-maker. "And how exactly are you planning to do that?"

"I'm sure I can come up with something," she says with a smirk.

I look away, then say, "I understand all that, Amber, but she's a kid. You can't be too harsh on them."

"As you were?"

I'm stunned into silence for a moment before chuckling it off. "I apologized. That's why we're having this conversation. I mean, it is, isn't it? Could you please remind me?"

"Yes, but—"

"You know what?" I take off my sunglasses and hand them to her. "Give her these as well," I say with a touch of defiance.

She hesitantly accepts them from my outstretched hand.

"Now get out of here. I've got work to do."

I walk her to the lobby. The doors hiss shut behind her, leaving me alone in the room, except for a few of my employees. But for once, the solitude doesn't weigh me down. I have a feeling the photo won't be the only keepsake Bella takes home today.

Relief washes over me as I make my way back up to my office. I did something to make things right, and hopefully, Bella will forgive me for my outburst. I make a mental note to work on my temper and to be more patient with kids like her. They're the future, and I can't afford to alienate them with my shortcomings.

I detour and head to a window at the front of the building. From there, I watch the class gather around Amber as she instructs them. A sense of pride spills over me. Yeah, I made a mistake, but I was willing to admit it and make amends. And that, in my opinion, is what being someone's hero is all about.

My eyes dart around, trying to find the girl among the group. There she is, standing off to the side, dripping wet, her head downcast. Seeing her like that because of me brings back the regret and shame. I can't undo what I did, but at least I tried to make amends. Maybe one day, Bella will forgive me.

I watch the kids board the bus. Bella trails behind, shoulders hunched, before Amber beckons her over. Both of them move out of sight, below the overhang.

I imagine Bella passing me as I clear my throat. She would freeze mid-step, cheeks flaming, and I'd kneel down, so we were at eye level, ignoring the protests of my aging knees. I'd say, "I, uh...I owe you an apology, kid."

Bella would stare at her scuffed Converse, mute.

"What you did took guts. And brains." I'd tap the side of my head. "Don't lose that curiosity, you hear me? The world needs more people like you."

Her eyes would flick up, wide and wondering. "R-Really?"

"Really. Now get out of here before your teacher blows a gasket." I'd wave my hand with a smirk.

The corners of her mouth would twitch. She'd give me a jerky nod and scurry after her class, nearly bowling over a few stragglers in her haste. I'd watch her go with a wistful sigh. If only I'd had an ounce of that enthusiasm at her age.

I could still go talk to her and apologize to her face, but I don't know how to talk to kids. I'll end up making things worse. Amber will give her the autographed photo and the sunglasses and tell her about my offer to tour the facilities. She has no reason not to, and I can't imagine why she wouldn't. Maybe, just maybe, these peace offerings will help Bella see that she shouldn't let anyone, including arrogant billionaires, stand in the way of her dreams.

* * *

ʙᴇʟʟᴀ

Mrs. Thompson stomps out of the building, her face mixed with anger, disappointment, and pity. She gathers the class with a clap of her hands. "Alright, everyone! Time to head back to the bus!"

All my classmates moan and groan.

"What about the tour?" Tommy asks.

"You have Bella to thank for that. Because she couldn't follow the rules, the rest of the tour's been canceled."

Everyone expresses their grievances, asking questions and demanding answers.

I wring my hands together and shift my weight from one foot to the other. Could this day get any worse?—I take it back. If I can manifest a meeting with the CEO of Stark Industries, who knows what else I can do? I'm done messing with the universe. It hates me, anyway.

"What'dga do?" Olivia whispers.

I don't answer her.

"All of you, calm down right now," Mrs. Thompson shouts. "This is not how we behave. I understand you're all disappointed, but there's nothing we can do about it. Mr. Stark said we are no longer welcome here today. The least we can do after Bella destroyed his private lab is respect his wishes."

"Bella did what?" Tommy exclaims.

"Tony Stark is inside?" Dustin says, excited, suddenly oblivious to the situation. "Can I get his autograph?"

"Are you serious, Dustin?" Mrs. Thompson says with her hands on her hips. "Meeting Mr. Stark is not the priority right now."

"But Bella got to meet him."

"Don't talk back to me, young man."

"That's how conversations work, old lady," he mumbles under his breath.

"Now, everyone on the bus. Don't make me say it again."

They all file onto the bus, and I lag behind with my shoulders slumped and an eerie feeling of someone watching.

"Not you, Bella Palmer," Mrs. Thompson growls. When I turn to face her, her arms are crossed, and she narrows her eyes into slits of emerald fire. "Over here. Now."

As I drag my feet closer, she points to a nearby bench for me to sit on. My cheeks burn as over thirty pairs of eyes gawk at me through the bus's windows—I'm sure of it.

The sun beats down as I slump onto the bench.

Mrs. Thompson looms over me, her floral perfume cloying in my nose. "I expected better from you, Isabella Palmer. How could you do something so reckless? You've ruined the trip for the whole class!" Her voice is sharp enough to cut vibranium. "Sneaking into the lab? Tampering with Mr. Stark's equipment?" She shakes her head, clicking her tongue. "Detention every day until school ends for the year. No recess. And you can kiss the science fair goodbye. Instead, you will write a ten-page essay on igneous rocks." Igneous rocks?

I scrunch my nose, but I don't question her mundane choice for an essay. Maybe that's the punishment.

"I'm really sorry," I mumble, staring at the ground as a distant firetruck sounds its alarm. Tears prick at my eyes, but I blink them back. I won't give her the satisfaction.

"Being sorry won't make up for this. Mr. Stark is furious and must be pacing back and forth in his office, trying to figure out how to repair everything you destroyed. You always let your curiosity lead you to trouble. Don't you know what happens to people with curious minds?"

"Innovation and change?"

She gives me a disapproving stare. "They are plagued by endless questions and never-ending quests for knowledge. It's a waste of time. Don't let that be you." Mrs. Thompson sighs, shaking her head. "Honestly, I don't know what to do with you, Bella. If you had proper parents, they'd teach you not to behave so irresponsibly." Her words are like a slap in the face. She knows full well I don't have parents.

I grit my teeth, holding back the angry words I know will only get me into more trouble.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself, young lady?"

I stare down at my black high-tops, scuffing the toe of one shoe against the pavement. I stutter out another apology, trying to explain what happened, but she's having none of it.

"Don't apologize to me. Apologize to your classmates. They've been looking forward to this tour all year, and you took it away from them." She huffs. "Get on the bus. Now."

The other kids fall silent as I slink onto the bus, cheeks burning under their stares. Everyone who'd been watching dashes to their seats, nearly tripping over each other. I stumble down the aisle, leaving a trail of wet footprints, with nothing to clutch against my chest as a shield.

My classmates glare daggers at me.

"Way to go, Bella," Dustin sneers at me. That crush died out fast. "No keychain for us, thanks to you."

A few others, including Kylie, Olivia, and Tommy, mutter in agreement.

I swallow the lump in my throat and slide into the very last seat, tears spilling onto my cheeks. I stare out the window at the gleaming Stark Industries New York Facility. Another painful lump forms. The cold air from the blasting air conditioner stings my wet face, but at least over here, no one can see me cry.

So much for meeting my hero.

This is the worst day of my life.

Mrs. Thompson marches to her seat at the front, her sensible heels clicking on the grimy floor with every step. Once she's settled, the piercing shriek of the bus brakes shatters my eardrums as our field trip comes to an end.

* * *

On Monday, I sit at my desk during recess, rereading my favorite parts of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. I wish I had a time-turner, so I could go back and undo everything that happened at Stark Industries on Friday.

Mrs. Thompson sits at her desk, tapping away at her computer and ignoring me. With the rest of the class outside, I have a clear view of her desk, and for the first time, I notice a framed photo of Stark, autographed in black Sharpie. My face flushes with embarrassment. Of course, Mrs. Thompson is a huge Stark fan. I should've known.

Next to his signature is some sort of drawing, but I can't make it out from here.

I return to my book, unable to look at the photo any longer, and fidget with my Deathly Hallows choker.

The lump in my throat grows bigger, threatening to choke me. I'd idolized Stark, dreaming of following in his footsteps. Now I've disappointed not just him but also my teacher, one of the few adults who encouraged my love of science. After Friday's events, I get the sense that she hates me.

All weekend, I found it hard to shake the embarrassment and trauma of the incident. I'm not sure I'll ever get over it. It'll probably never go away.

And no one will ever know how much I cried on that horrible day.

A single hot tear splashes onto the page of my book. I swipe at my eyes, hoping Mrs. Thompson won't notice, but glancing in her direction shows she's still engrossed in her computer.

I shouldn't have broken away from the group. I shouldn't have snuck into the restricted lab. I should've been content to watch and learn instead of following my curiosity. It kills cats, I hear. And as Alice says, "Curiosity often leads to trouble." If only I could turn back time...

But there are no time-turners. No magic fixes. I should've listened to Dumbledore when he said that caution should be exercised when it comes to curiosity. I made a mistake, and now I must live with the consequences. Even if it means giving up my dreams.

Maybe music is a better fit for me, anyway. I've always loved making up songs and drumming out beats with my hands and pencils. At least I can't get into trouble for that.

A hollow pang hits my chest like a gong and echoes through my entire body. What am I going to do now? Science and engineering have been my life—my dream for the future. Without that...who am I? Just another orphan with no real future?

I close my book, unable to concentrate on the words. The photo of Stark seems to stare at me, judging me for what I've done. I'll never feel like I belong in science and tech again.

Soon, quiet rivers stream down my face. I ruined everything. My classmates hate me. Mrs. Thompson hates me.

Stark hates me. He must think I'm some dumb kid who couldn't follow the rules. I can't believe I made such a terrible first impression. It's clear now that I have no future at Stark Industries. I never will. Not even at Pym Technologies. Heck, not even at Oscorp!

Stark isn't the person I thought he was. He doesn't care about me or how much I admire him. He kicked me out of the building without a second thought and canceled the tour. He didn't even apologize. I bet he's at some fancy billionaire's party, sipping cocktails and not feeling guilty at all. He probably doesn't even remember my face.

Well, I won't let him ruin my dreams. I don't need Stark or his stupid company. I'll show him, Mrs. Thompson, and everyone else that I can succeed on my own. I wipe away my tears, determined to prove I'm more than a kid who messed up. I have talent and ambition, and I will find my own path to success, even if it means leaving Stark Industries behind.

* * *

When the final bell rings, I gather my things and trudge outside. The other kids are already on the playground, their laughter and shouts filling the air. I keep my head down as I walk past them toward the group home shuttle bus. No one tries to talk to me, for which I'm grateful. I don't think I can handle their pity or judgment right now.

The bus ride back to the group home is quiet. I stare out the window at the passing streets, lost in my thoughts, trying to figure out how to accomplish what I set out to do.

By the time the bus pulls up in front of the old brick building, I've decided.

As soon as I get inside, I head straight for my room and gather up all my robotics kits, science magazines, and Stark Industries merch—anything that reminds me of the life I'm leaving behind. And that even includes all the newspapers, magazines, and articles I saved on Stark and the company.

When my arms are full, I lug the whole pile down to the dumpsters in the alley behind the group home. I throw everything in one by one, listening to the crash of breaking parts and tearing paper. The last magazine flutters to the bottom, and I stand back and take a deep breath, swiping at my eyes.

My room inside the house is bare now, empty of dreams. But I can fill it with new ones. Ones that won't end in disaster and humiliation.

Music. I'll focus on my music from now on.

I turn away from the dumpster and go inside, ready to start over. I walk through the heavy wooden doors of the group home and pause...

The old upright piano donated in the fall sits in the corner of the living room, unused as always.

Most of the kids here aren't interested in music.

But I am.

I've always loved listening to music and making up my own songs. I can play a little guitar, though I'm self-taught. Music class taught me how to play the recorder, but nothing sounds good on the recorder. Maybe this is my chance to really learn an instrument and put to use what I learned from our poetry lesson in ELA.

"Songs are poems with music," Mrs. Thompson said.

If I can write a poem, I can write a song.

I sit on the creaky piano bench and place my hands on the yellowed keys. They're cool to the touch, and I shiver a little in my faded jeans and purple t-shirt. The piano is out of tune, but I don't care. I start picking out notes, trying to match pitches to a melody in my head.

My first song.

I hum under my breath, listening hard to find the right keys. My fingers stumble at first, hitting sour notes that make me cringe, but I start to get a feel for it. The notes come easier, and I sway on the bench, swept away by the music in my mind. The spark of passion returns for the first time since the disaster at Stark Industries as I turn the pain into power.

This is where I belong—not surrounded by technology I will never master, but here, creating something magical.

I play for hours as the sun sets over the borough outside the living room windows, bursting with new melodies and the beginnings of lyrics. My heart swells with each new fragment of music.

Science might have betrayed me, but music...Music is mine. I've found my future at last, and this time, no one will take it from me. I'll make sure of it.