OUT OF THE BLUE
1
Jeff Benz gave out most of the nicknames at Central Middle School. The nicknames were never kind and, unfortunately, they usually stuck. Take Jimmy “Eagle-Eyes” Pierson,
for example. Jimmy had an unfortunate eye condition that made it difficult for him to accurately judge distances. Once, in
second grade, Jimmy walked into the cafeteria wall so hard it knocked him to the floor. Jeff Benz immediately stood up and
yelled, “Nice going, Eagle-Eyes.” And that was that. The nickname Eagle-Eyes was now pinned to Jimmy Pierson for the rest
of his life. (It didn’t matter to anyone that Jimmy had corrective surgery last year and now enjoyed perfect vision. No, to
the students at Central Middle, Jimmy Pierson would be “Eagle-Eyes” forever.)
Vincent Shadow didn’t have a nickname, but as he climbed out of his secret attic laboratory at 6:34 AM on Monday morning, he was afraid that today would be the day he’d receive one. Vincent was blue. His hands were blue. His
face was blue. Even the whites of his eyes were blue. As he closed the hidden door in the back of his bedroom closet, all
he could think about were the awful nicknames that Jeff Benz would assign to him.
“Pretty bird. Pretty bird,” Nikola said from inside his cage.
“Sshhh. You’ll wake everyone up,” Vincent said to the African Grey parrot his parents had given him for his ninth birthday.
Vincent named the bird after his favorite inventor, Nikola Tesla. And the fact that even his beloved parrot was mocking him
was a bad sign of what was to come.
Vincent quietly opened his bedroom door and looked out into the hall. His oldest stepsister, Gwen, usually hogged the bathroom
in the morning. But no one was awake yet. So he tiptoed into the bathroom and locked the door.
“Wigman,” Vincent said to himself. “The Huli Wigman of New Guinea. That’s what they’re going to call me. ‘Wigboy.’”
Vincent’s class had learned about the Huli tribe last year. They got a kick out of hearing that the Huli Wigmen dyed their
skin blue for tribal ceremonies. But looking in the mirror, Vincent’s worries turned from his new nickname to his own safety.
Not only were his skin and eyes blue, but his tongue and teeth were a deep navy blue as well. Vincent had experienced many
mishaps in the lab—spills, cuts, little electrical shocks, and once he even glued his fingertips together—but this, this looked
much worse.
Vincent stood in the shower for thirty minutes, scrubbing as hard as he could, but nothing seemed to work. He tried all of
his sister’s fancy soaps and shampoos, but the mess just got worse. Not only was he still as blue as a blue jay, but now most
of the bathroom was blue, too.
“Hurry up, Vern,” Gwen said as she pounded on the bathroom door. “You’ve been in there for almost an hour!”
Vincent’s father, Norton Shadow, had remarried a few months ago, and Vincent went from being an only child, which he deeply
missed, to living with three stepsisters: Gwen, Stella, and Anna. Gwen was sixteen and went to Central High School on the
Upper West Side. Stella was Vincent’s age. In fact, their birthdays were exactly one week apart. But that was where the similarities
stopped. Anna was six. An aggressive, annoying, insistent six-year-old girl.
Gwen had called Vincent “Vern.” She had never done this before—called him Vern, that is. She had also never called him Vincent.
In fact, she had never called him the same name twice. While the names usually started with a V, she never seemed to come
up with “Vincent,” or even “Vinny,” for that matter. Vincent was pretty sure she did this on purpose. It drove him crazy,
but no one else in the family seemed to notice.
“I’LL BE OUT IN A MINUTE,” Vincent shouted to Gwen, who was now practically breaking down the bathroom door with her slipper.
Vincent tried to clean up as best he could and then wrapped a towel around his
1
Jeff Benz gave out most of the nicknames at Central Middle School. The nicknames were never kind and, unfortunately, they usually stuck. Take Jimmy “Eagle-Eyes” Pierson,
for example. Jimmy had an unfortunate eye condition that made it difficult for him to accurately judge distances. Once, in
second grade, Jimmy walked into the cafeteria wall so hard it knocked him to the floor. Jeff Benz immediately stood up and
yelled, “Nice going, Eagle-Eyes.” And that was that. The nickname Eagle-Eyes was now pinned to Jimmy Pierson for the rest
of his life. (It didn’t matter to anyone that Jimmy had corrective surgery last year and now enjoyed perfect vision. No, to
the students at Central Middle, Jimmy Pierson would be “Eagle-Eyes” forever.)
Vincent Shadow didn’t have a nickname, but as he climbed out of his secret attic laboratory at 6:34 AM on Monday morning, he was afraid that today would be the day he’d receive one. Vincent was blue. His hands were blue. His
face was blue. Even the whites of his eyes were blue. As he closed the hidden door in the back of his bedroom closet, all
he could think about were the awful nicknames that Jeff Benz would assign to him.
“Pretty bird. Pretty bird,” Nikola said from inside his cage.
“Sshhh. You’ll wake everyone up,” Vincent said to the African Grey parrot his parents had given him for his ninth birthday.
Vincent named the bird after his favorite inventor, Nikola Tesla. And the fact that even his beloved parrot was mocking him
was a bad sign of what was to come.
Vincent quietly opened his bedroom door and looked out into the hall. His oldest stepsister, Gwen, usually hogged the bathroom
in the morning. But no one was awake yet. So he tiptoed into the bathroom and locked the door.
“Wigman,” Vincent said to himself. “The Huli Wigman of New Guinea. That’s what they’re going to call me. ‘Wigboy.’”
Vincent’s class had learned about the Huli tribe last year. They got a kick out of hearing that the Huli Wigmen dyed their
skin blue for tribal ceremonies. But looking in the mirror, Vincent’s worries turned from his new nickname to his own safety.
Not only were his skin and eyes blue, but his tongue and teeth were a deep navy blue as well. Vincent had experienced many
mishaps in the lab—spills, cuts, little electrical shocks, and once he even glued his fingertips together—but this, this looked
much worse.
Vincent stood in the shower for thirty minutes, scrubbing as hard as he could, but nothing seemed to work. He tried all of
his sister’s fancy soaps and shampoos, but the mess just got worse. Not only was he still as blue as a blue jay, but now most
of the bathroom was blue, too.
“Hurry up, Vern,” Gwen said as she pounded on the bathroom door. “You’ve been in there for almost an hour!”
Vincent’s father, Norton Shadow, had remarried a few months ago, and Vincent went from being an only child, which he deeply
missed, to living with three stepsisters: Gwen, Stella, and Anna. Gwen was sixteen and went to Central High School on the
Upper West Side. Stella was Vincent’s age. In fact, their birthdays were exactly one week apart. But that was where the similarities
stopped. Anna was six. An aggressive, annoying, insistent six-year-old girl.
Gwen had called Vincent “Vern.” She had never done this before—called him Vern, that is. She had also never called him Vincent.
In fact, she had never called him the same name twice. While the names usually started with a V, she never seemed to come
up with “Vincent,” or even “Vinny,” for that matter. Vincent was pretty sure she did this on purpose. It drove him crazy,
but no one else in the family seemed to notice.
“I’LL BE OUT IN A MINUTE,” Vincent shouted to Gwen, who was now practically breaking down the bathroom door with her slipper.
Vincent tried to clean up as best he could and then wrapped a towel around his
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