Sambal Sparks and Scarlet Threads

The Queens Elementary Science Fair buzzed with the shrieks of over-caffeinated children and the clatter of collapsing papier-mâché volcanoes. Ten-year-old Arlan Harper adjusted his clip-on tie, eyeing the judges as they lingered at his booth. Behind him, four-year-old Kirana spun in circles wearing a dish towel pinned like a lab coat, chanting, "Genius! Genius! Genius!" until she faceplanted into a table leg.

"And this," Arlan announced, hefting his stainless-steel lunchbox etched with wayang kulit shadow puppet motifs, "is the ThermoBento." He dropped a cold risolesinside, snapped the lid shut, and pressed a hidden button. Steam hissed through artfully disguised vents. When he reopened it, the savory pastry wafted curls of heat.

Judge #3—a stern woman with a MIT pin—narrowed her eyes. "Exothermic reaction? Sodium acetate?"

"Food-safe and reusable," Arlan said, flashing a grin that hid his internal panic. 'Thank God I retained high school chemistry from my past life. And that Mom didn't notice me pilfering her baking supplies.'

Wulan Harper dabbed her eyes with a batik handkerchief while Daniel filmed the entire ordeal on a camcorder roughly the size of a cinder block. "That's my boy! Inventor, entrepreneur, future Tony Stark!"

"Less explosions, though," Wulan muttered, still traumatized by the Great Ink Incident of '99.

By dusk, the ThermoBento had won first prize, a write-up in the Queens Gazette, and a voicemail from a venture capitalist named "Doug" who sounded like he'd mainlined six Red Bulls. Arlan sprawled on his bedroom floor that night, sketching blueprints for solar-powered sneakers ("For when Kiki outgrows her light-up Skechers") while Kirana snored in a nest of stolen sweaters. His Nen journal lay open nearby, entries growing increasingly desperate:

April 7: Ten practice interrupted when Kiki "accidentally" microwaved a fork. Burnt popcorn smell won't leave my nose.

April 22: Tried En. Felt Dad's keys in the next room… but also the neighbor's cat peeing on our azaleas. Not helpful.

May 5: Tested Ko punch on pillow. Feather apocalypse. Mom thinks I'm part hen.

He flopped onto his back, glaring at the glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling. 'Hunter x Hunter made this look easy. Where's my cryptic Nen master? My haunted forest training arc? All I got is a gremlin sister and a dad who still thinks "Wi-Fi" is a shampoo brand.'

September brought crisp air, new Trapper Keepers, and a pair of twins who moved like shadows tethered to a storm.

Mrs. Perez clapped for quiet on the first day of fifth grade. "Class, meet Wanda and Pietro Maximoff. They're from Sokovia. Let's make them feel welcome."

The girl slouched at the front, crimson hoodie swallowing her frame, hair a dark curtain veiling her eyes. Beside her stood a boy with silver-streaked hair and a restless stance, like he'd bolt if someone coughed too loud. When Wanda lifted her gaze, Arlan's Ren flared instinctively—a surge of aura that rattled the pencils on his desk.

Pietro stepped forward, shoulders tense. "Problem?"

"Nope!" Arlan raised his hands, forcing his aura to dampen. 'Yikes. Twin bodyguard alert.'

Wanda tugged her brother's sleeve. "Ne treba mi zaštita," she muttered. I don't need protecting.

"Uvijek trebaš," Pietro shot back. You always do.

Group projects paired Arlan with Wanda by "random draw" (Mrs. Perez's poker face needed work). Pietro loomed nearby, dismantling a ballpoint pen into shiv-like components.

"You handle the structure," Arlan said, sliding Wanda the glue and cardboard for their volcano diorama. "I'll mix the lava chemicals."

"Why trust me?" Her Sokovian accent sharpened the words.

He shrugged. "Your vibe screams 'I've survived worse,' and I respect that."

Pietro snorted. "She survived me. Good luck."

For a week, they worked in taut silence. Wanda crafted a volcano so geometrically precise it could've been CAD-designed. Arlan engineered "lava" from baking soda, vinegar, and smuggled beetroot dye that stained his fingertips pink. Pietro lurked, stealing glances at their progress while pretending to read The Catcher in the Rye upside-down.

"Ready?" Arlan asked on presentation day, holding the beaker aloft.

Wanda nodded, a flicker of anticipation in her eyes.

The eruption was magnificent—crimson froth cascading down the slopes. The class erupted in applause, but Wanda stared transfixed, whispering, "It's… like the fires back home."

"Sokovia has active volcanoes?"

Pietro answered for her, voice brittle. "Just bombs."

After school, Arlan practiced Zetsu in the empty playground, aura clamped tight as he balanced on the monkey bars. Focus shattered when the twins appeared—Wanda sketching beneath an oak tree, Pietro pacing like a caged wolf.

'Be the leaf. Be the leaf. Be the—'

Crack!

A rotten branch split overhead. Wanda glanced up too late.

Arlan moved. Ten surged around him as he lunged, tackling her into the mulch. The branch smashed his shoulder, but aura cushioned the blow. They lay tangled, his glow fading as she stared at him, breathless.

"You… shone," she whispered.

Pietro yanked Arlan backward by his collar. "Hands off!"

"Relax, Speedy Gonzales. I was saving her."

"From a tree?"

"From gravity! Ever heard of it?"

Wanda stood, brushing mulch from her hoodie. "Stop. He helped."

Pietro glared, but his shoulders sagged. "...Thanks."

That night, Arlan documented the incident in code, hands still shaking. W's energy ≠ Nen. Chaotic, unstable. Twin P's reflexes abnormal. Enhanced speed???

Across Queens, Wanda sketched the boy who glowed like a dying star in her notebook. Pietro peered over her shoulder.

"He's weird," he said.

"We're weirder," she replied, scribbling in Sokovian: "He tastes like lightning."

Three blocks away, a man in a trench coat sipped coffee outside their foster home, a Hydra dossier on his lap. The file's header glared crimson: SUBJECTS: MAXIMOFF, WANDA & PIETRO – CODENAMES: SCARLET WITCH, QUICKSILVER. STATUS: RECRUITMENT IMMINENT.