Leaper: The Misadventures of a Not-Necessarily-Super Hero
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Has he gone crazy? Had too many espressos?
Or is he really a brand new super hero?
What if one day-suddenly, inexplicably-you discover you have a superpower? And what if it's not a very good superpower, either, like flying or super strength, and you have no idea what you are supposed to do?
Leaper follows the confessions of reluctant hero James, a recently divorced, life-long barista who finds himself in just such a predicament and asking those very questions. Is his newfound leaping power a miracle from God? The result of a lifetime of over-caffeination? Or a final break from sanity? Should James “do good” with his ability? But if doing good proves trickier than expected, where do you go for a superpower manual? And what is “good” anyway?
In this witty, unconventional novel, debut novelist Geoffrey Wood serves up equal doses of sharp humor and disquieting poignancy, exploring the meaning of redemption, beauty, and faith beyond all reason.
thinking about her hair. Wondering if she’d straightened it that day. That was my favorite, even though her curls, which are natural, are excellent. But I’ve always liked it straightened, the way it smoothed across her forehead. The way, when straightened, she’d tie it back in a ponytail to work on dinner. Her awful dinners. She’d tie it back like she was about to knead bread for an army even if she was just opening cans and dumping them in a boiler pot. She worried about her hair getting in her
morning full of pointing and firing has pushed her beyond what she can bear, and she wants no more disagreeable business. She’s collected herself while she’s writing out the cute map, and she’s brave now. She kisses me lightly on the cheek. “I’ll see you at seven, James.” Monica walks to the back. Mike is dumbstruck. Mike is dumb, so this is not a difficult adjustment for him. For a girl who lives with her parents, that showed some moxie. I walk out and down the street. I walk into the street,
really want me. He just wanted one thing, once.” I look at her and wonder why she’d trust me enough to tell me all that. “Well, I definitely don’t want that,” I say. “No way. I mean …” Monica raises her eyebrows and laughs. “Wait—” I’m glad she’s smiling again, but it’s definitely at my expense. “I mean, of course I want that, but only …” She laughs again. “No, I don’t. Not at all. I mean … not want want.” “James, it’s okay,” she says. “I mean, sure, maybe I’ve thought about it, but I
touched her since she’d announced she wanted a divorce. “Tell me, please. I need to know. Do you believe me?” Meg stares at me, unsure if she wants to be angry again. “I don’t know what else to say to you right now.” She walks past me into the bathroom, to fix her hair. “I’ve never lied to you, Meg,” I say, but I knew the conversation was over. All over. As I walk out the front, I say, “Not once, Meg. Not once.” On the porch I can hear her say, “There’s a bunch of little pins in my sink?”
But it was over. I start walking. I pass Doug’s Lexus, and his kids wave at me. I wave back. Doug pretends he doesn’t see any of that. At the end of the drive, I start walking in the direction of my acupuncturist’s. I suppose I need to go back, pick up my clothes, my glasses, my wallet, my car. I’m guessing those will still be at my acupuncturist’s. But who really knows? I’m not where I’m supposed to be. As I walk, I try to flatten the bulge in my shirt and realize it bulges because I