The Table of Elements and the Space Station of Srilvakor

Steven Starcluster turned off his alarm the moment it went off at seven o’clock that morning. He had woken up about an hour earlier and could not get back to sleep, no matter how hard he tried. He was much too excited to even think about sleeping. He jumped out of bed and hurried over to his wall calendar. It was Wednesday the tenth—the day he had been looking forward to for the past month—the day he and his history class from Pine Tree High were going on a field trip to the brand-new Table of Elements Museum and Memorial. The Table of Elements were a team of four superheroes who wore armored suits which gave them powers based on the periodic table, hence the chemical portion of their name. For nearly nine years, they protected San Francisco from villains and criminals of many sorts and were loved by just about everyone in the city. Steven and his friend Brooklyn were huge fans of their work. They thought of them the way people thought of George Washington or Abraham Lincoln. Steven even dreamed of being a member as a kid until he learned in school that three of the four members were deceased, and the sole survivor hadn’t been seen since retirement. Though disappointed that he never met the Table of Elements, Steven was still excited to visit the new museum. After doing some pushups, Steven read his devotional and Bible before getting dressed, making sure to wear his Table of Elements sweatshirt. After brushing his teeth, he hurried downstairs to make breakfast, but his dad, Boaz, had already beat him to it. “Slow down, speedy!” said Boaz heartily as he pulled four square waffles out of the waffle iron and onto a plate with a spatula. “School doesn’t start for an hour.” “I know, I know,” said Steven, smiling as though Christmas had come early. “I’m just so excited!” “Really? I couldn’t tell,” Boaz joked before turning off the waffle iron. “I’ve read good reviews about the museum. I’m sure you and your friends will have a blast.” “Just one,” said Steven. Though still in a good mood, the mention of him only having one other friend began to drip like a leaky faucet into his happy demeanor. “I’m still not exactly Mr. Popular.” Boaz hobbled over to the oak counter and set the plate of waffles down before Steven. “You’re a great kid, all the same,” said Boaz kindly. “Thanks,” said Steven, getting up and hugging his dad. “And you’re the best dad in the world! Always will be.” “I’d like that in writing, please,” Boaz teased, “in case I need leverage from you.” The father and son sat at the counter and ate their breakfast together. Boaz was tall and burly, with a round face, a goatee, and curly orange hair that was graying in places. Even though he was only forty-three, he had to walk with a cane because of a serious leg injury he received over a decade ago. Steven was about the average height for someone his age. He was a clean-cut young gentleman with short, wavy orange hair, a heart-shaped face, rosy cheeks, dimples, and watery blue eyes. Boaz and Steven lived at 345 Stockton Street in the iconic West Coast city of San Francisco. Their building was thirty-six stories high, and they got to live in the penthouse because Boaz was the building’s cofounder and manager. The establishment was called BRCA Apartments, named after the first initials of Boaz and the other three founders: Robert, Charlotte, and Andrea. Boaz’s penthouse was the perfect apartment to live in. It had two stories, three comfy bedrooms, and a breathtaking view of Union Square from the sitting room. The smooth walls, painted in a cozy cream color, went with the polished dark oak floor like ham went with eggs. The entire interior, designed by Boaz, had a simple yet rustic design. Steven loved living in the city, but the warm down-to-earth environment of the penthouse was always refreshing to come home to after a long day out in the concrete jungle. “Are you sure you don’t want to go to the museum?” Steven asked. “You can meet me there.” “Sorry, kiddo, I have a meeting today,” said Boaz. Though disappointed, Steven remained positive. He understood how important his father’s job was. “All right,” he said nonchalantly. “Well, I’ll take lots of pictures for you!” “I look forward to seeing them,” said Boaz. Steven finished his breakfast and hugged his dad goodbye before Boaz headed upstairs to get dressed for work. Steven wasn’t a fan of the fact that his dad had an upstairs bedroom with his leg impairment, but Boaz insisted that the exercise was good for him. Steven threw his blue backpack over his shoulders before heading out the door and locking it behind him. Still buzzing with anticipation, he rode the elevator, which was directly across the hall from the penthouse, down to the lobby. When the door opened on the first floor, Steven found himself face to face with a girl his age. She was a couple of inches shorter than he was and had dark brown eyes. Her wavy, armpit-length brown hair had caramel streaks, like raindrops down a window, flowing through it. She was staring directly at Steven with eyes as wide as Frisbees and a creepy nightmare-inducing grin. She was Steven’s best friend, Brooklyn Adams. Brooklyn standing right outside the elevator was an unexpected shock for Steven. He yelped the second he saw her. Brooklyn laughed. “That never gets old,” she said. She had a warm laid-back voice that oozed “cool” in every way. It helped that she was plenty cool herself.