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Shatterstar stumbles forward on the wooden path, movements clunky and careful. “You’ve got this,” his mother promises, beaming at him from several steps away. “It’s like riding a bike.”
“Never ridden a bike,” Shatterstar tells her.
“Then we’ll do that next,” Alison promises. “C’mon, kid. Skate to me.”
Shatterstar rolls forward a little, looking every bit like a baby deer on rollerskates. He makes a tiny bit of progress and then freezes up, knees locked and eyes wide.
Alison laughs, but not in a mean way. “I’ve seen you vault ten-foot walls and do kickflips in midair,” she points out. “And this is what makes you nervous?”
“When I did those things,” he says, “I didn’t have wheels attached to my shoes.”
She shrugs. “Fair point.” There’s other Krakoans milling around by the boardwalk, but no one gets in their way. The sounds of children playing in the surf carries over the breeze. “Look— you’re not gonna fall. But even if you do… it’s not like it’s gonna hurt. And you’ve got that, what, wacky healing factor, right? So you’ll be fine.”
“It would still hurt ,” Shatterstar reminds her. “Just because I can heal doesn’t mean it would not hurt .”
“Right,” she says. “Right.” She braces her hands on her thighs, considering him. Regarding him. “’Star, baby, listen. Learning something new means sometimes you’re gonna fall down. But that’s just part of the learning experience, yeah? And no matter what, I’m right here the whole time.” She smiles. “Plus, you know— ‘If you fall, I will catch you, I’ll be waiting. Time after time.’” Shatterstar stares at her quizzically, the Lauper reference lost on him. “Just skate to me.”
So Shatterstar takes a deep breath and pushes himself forward, rolling over the wood in slow, stiff motions. He crosses the distance to Alison and then loses his balance, arms windmilling as he falls.
Just like she promised, Alison catches him before he hits the ground. He goes limp in her arms, clutching at her jacket to keep from sinking.
“See? You’re fine,” she says, lifting him up. “And surprisingly light.”
“It’s the hollow bones.”
“Just like Longshot,” she notes. “I bet I could literally lift you. Just pick you right up.”
Shatterstar chews his lip, straightening up. “I am light,” he agrees. “But I’m also… bulky. I don’t know that you would be able to—”
“Kid, I’ve been a superhero since Donna Summer was at the top of the charts,” she reminds him. Then she picks him up.
Shatterstar weighs 95 pounds. It’s not hard at all for Alison to scoop him up. She’s holding him kind of Dirty-Dancing-style, arms around his waist and lifting him up over her head. “There you go,” she says, delighted. “Remember, kid. You’re never too old for your mom to pick you up.”
“... Good point.”
“I could just skate with you like this,” she reasons, moving forward on her own rollerskates with Shatterstar still held aloft in her arms. “Then you don’t have to worry about falling.”
“I think it would suit me better in the long run to learn how to skate myself,” Shatterstar tells her.
“Yeah, yeah.” Alison sets him down and then takes his hand, guiding him forward. He takes a few nervous steps on the skates before settling into a rhythm, squeezing Alison’s hand as he goes. She skates beside him, tugging him along to keep him from falling behind. “You’ll pick it up in no time,” she says. “We could also get you one of those little PVC walkers so you don’t lose your balance.”
Shatterstar makes a face. “I’m not a child.”
“Everyone is, a little bit,” she tells him wisely. “That’s my job, I think. Make sure you get to be childish as often as possible.” She tugs him further along the boardwalk, and Shatterstar gives in and tries to skate in time with his mom.