Super Powereds: Year 1 (74 page)

“All dong mangling aside, I’m with the chicks on this one,” Roy agreed. “Even Hershel is tired of those things.”

“You guys are nuts, my choice in horrific cinema is the stuff of legend. Back me up here, Vince,” Nice said.

“Yeah, whatever you guys want,” Vince said, his eyes shifting about. “I’ve got something to take care of real quick. I’ll see you back at the dorm.”

With that, Vince was jogging off hastily, backpack bouncing against him as he dashed.

“That was odd,” Nick observed.

“Let him be,” Mary said. “He’ll be back soon.”

Nick glanced at her momentarily, then shrugged it off.

“Whatever, I say we start with the
Death Couch II
and
Death Couch IV
just to set the mood-”

This time the group groan was louder and held for a full thirty seconds.

133.

There was a timid knock on George’s door.

“Come in, Reynolds,” Coach George called out, not even glancing up from his work.

Vince stepped in slowly, working his way forward and standing in front of the desk.

“How did you know it was me?”

“Because my superiors and colleagues don’t knock, and you’re the only frequent student visitor who hits the door like he’s scared it will hit back.”

“Oh. Sorry, I guess,” Vince said.

“Don’t worry about it, kid. On my list of stuff to watch out for, someone who knocks softly isn’t exactly on top. So, what can I do for you?”

“I wanted to schedule some one-on-one time to work on my electricity techniques.”

Coach George let out a sigh. “I was afraid you were going to say that. Take a seat, Reynolds.”

Vince complied and plopped down in the available chair.

“We’ve been at this for months now, and what we’ve discovered is that at a distance of more than a few inches, your electricity arcs wild every time. When it does it’s impossible to determine which direction it’s going. Hell, half the time it doesn’t even include the initial target in the spray of places it strikes,” Coach George pointed out.

“Yes, sir,” Vince agreed. “That why I’m here to schedule time. So I can get better.”

“And I applaud that kind of spirit, that a problem is only a problem until you work through it. That said, you’ve got three weeks until we put you through one of the hardest tests of your life. You’re going to need to be in peak form. So do you think there might be a better way to spend your time?”

“I’m confused; are you telling me to give up on using electricity?”

“Absolutely not,” Coach George said emphatically. “I’ve known Supers who would kill for the level of versatility your power gives you. What I’m saying is that sometimes it’s all about time management. You have two weeks of allowed training time. Now, what do you think will pay off more for your test: struggling to invent a way to utilize electricity, or polishing up and refining what you can do with fire?”

“I guess that would depend on if I succeeded with the electricity or not,” Vince said honestly.

“Not really,” Coach George disagreed. “It’s two weeks, not two months. Even if you do neglect other parts of your training and manage to find a way to control the bolts, you’re not going to have time to master it. The best-case scenario is you walk out there with an unrefined technique that may or may not play out well, as opposed to being fresh and ready with an element you know how to use.”

“I suppose there’s logic in that,” Vince admitted. “I still want to learn better electrical control, though.”

“I’m one hundred percent behind you on that, kid. All I’m saying is pick your timing. Playing with new stuff is for down time. This is crunch time. Crunch time is for focusing on what you’ve got.”

“Yes, sir, I think I’ll do that,” Vince agreed. He stood from the chair. “Thank you for your time, and for the advice.”

“That’s why they pay me the big bucks,” Coach George said. “And for what it’s worth, kid, I hope to see you back here next year.”

“Thank you,” Vince said, stepping out of the office. He wasn’t certain, but he was pretty sure he’d just experienced the closest thing to a compliment Coach George was capable of imparting.

* * *

A manila envelope fell out of Michael Clark’s locker as he pulled the door open. He had just finished doing some extra Friday training before the ban went into effect and was going to grab his clothes to change back. This envelope was a new addition to his items, one he hadn’t added. Michael reached down and scooped up the envelope, cursorily noting it seemed to be moderately thick with contents.

He glanced around, almost more out of obligation than expectation. If someone slipped an envelope into his locker like this, it was highly unlikely they were going to stick around to be seen. He’d been training for three hours, so that left an enormous window of time for anyone to come in here and squeeze in it through an opening in the door. No, the only viable clue to the envelope’s origins was the envelope itself.

Michael carefully undid the metal clasp and pulled out the first few pages. Some were newspapers clippings, some were police reports, some were just random photographs. There didn’t seem to be any theme throughout them; not one that Michael could discern, anyway.

Michael was about to toss the mystery back into his locker when something in one of the photographs caught his eye. Michael’s breath froze in his throat, an electrical burst of wonder jolting through his system. He looked through the documents again, this time with a better sense of what to check for. He scoured them for five solid minutes before he realized he was still standing in the gym locker room. The cold air and blazing excitement swirled in contrast as he sprang into action. Hurriedly he threw his street clothes on, tucked the envelope carefully into his gym bag, and made a bolt for the lifts that would take him to his dorm.

As soon as he arrived, Michael locked the door tight. His eyes danced briefly to a bottle of scotch in the corner. Michael brushed the thought away immediately. He could, and would, drink later to celebrate.

Right now he had work to do.

134.

“It’s official,” Hershel said as the credits began to roll. “We never let Nick pick another movie. All in favor?”

A reverberating chorus of “Aye!” momentarily deafened everyone in the room.

“You guys just don’t appreciate good cinematography,” Nick defended.

“By all means, please explain to me the cinematographic brilliance of
Blood Fountain 3: The Bloodening
,” Sasha dared.

“For starters, there was the way the splatter patterns always caught the light in just the right way to maximize the sensation of gore,” Nick said. In response he was struck in the face by a pillow, hurled from across the room by Alice. Nick turned his head and glared in response, only to be met by an innocent smile and a covert point toward Alex. Nick wasn’t buying it, partially because he wasn’t stupid and partially because he had seen her do the tossing in his peripheral vision. Nick snatched the pillow from the ground, reared back, and let fly at his blonde target.

The pillow ceased its trajectory in mid-air, floating slowly into Mary’s lap. She was nestled on the couch with Hershel, and while his arm wasn’t wrapped around her, their proximity was far closer than that of platonic friends.

“No pillow fighting in the living room,” Mary said. “That’s how things get broken.”

Nick stuck out his tongue. “You suck, Mom.”

Vince laughed. “You know, if anyone in this dorm had the authority to play the mother role, it would be Mary.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Mary began, though her speech faltered when she noticed the entire population of the room, which consisted of the Melbrook residents along with Will, Jill, Alex, and Sasha, all nodding in agreement.

“It’s a good thing,” Alice assured her. “It just means you’re the only one who can put everyone in place. Also, I mean, you are kind of the mom.”

“How am I the mom?”

“You stop us from throwing pillows in the house,” Nick pointed out.

“You make us all get salads at dinner,” Vince added.

“You make sure everyone has done their homework each night,” Alice said.

“You’ve said before if you could have a car it would be a mini-van,” Hershel said delicately.

“Oh, don’t you start,” Mary said, thrusting a finger into Hershel’s chest.

“Sorry,” Hershel said, an very unapologetic smile visible on his face.

“Oh!” Jill said, sitting up excitedly. “I’ve got one. You always seem to have Kleenex or tissue on hand.”

“Okay, okay, I get it!” Mary tossed up her hands in mock frustration. “I’m the mom. You got me. Yeesh, part of me is glad I’ve only got three more weeks of you people.”

“Three weeks to cram with as much vintage cinema as possible,” Nick said. This time he ducked the pillow Alice chunked at him. He was not so lucky, however, with the one thrown by Mary.

“I thought you said no pillow throwing,” Nick coughed as he dislodged the pillow from his chest.

“Who’s your mommy now?” Mary retuned with a Cheshire grin.

Nick reared back to return fire, but Vince leaned forward and deftly plucked the projectile from his hand.

“I’ll be the mom. No throwing pillows indoors. Besides, you know she’ll just catch it halfway there and send it back at you,” Vince said.

“True. You combat types and your ranged deflecting capabilities,” Nick said.

“Part of it is that, part of it is that she’s planning on spending her next three weeks training instead of watching movies. Funny how much that can add to one’s skill level,” Vince pointed out.

“Three weeks? You’ve got to be kidding me. I think at this point if we aren’t good to go we might as well just pack our crap,” Nick replied.

“Have any of you guys thought about that?” Alex asked tentatively.

“Thought about the test? Sure, it’s been a worry for me and an excitement for Roy ever since they announced it,” Hershel said.

“No, I mean have you thought about what happens if you fail the test? About what it would be like to not come back next year,” Alex clarified.

“Oh,” Hershel said as the meaning set in. “A little bit. To be honest, I haven’t worried about it a whole lot. Roy has gotten amazingly better throughout the year, especially since he started sparring with Chad. I don’t think he’s going to be top of the class, but I’m pretty sure we won’t get sent home.”

“I might,” Alice said, her voice lightly tremoring with fear. “I mean, I do well at some of the puzzle and strategy exercises, but I haven’t made any progress in finding new ways to use my power. I just fly. That’s all I’ve ever done, and I’m not sure if that’s going to cut it.”

“Flying is a useful ability,” Vince assured her. “The first rule in every battle is ‘Capture the High Ground’. Elevation is important for a lot of different strategies.”

“Useful? Sure, I’ll agree with that. But we’re not talking about just being useful, we’re talking about becoming a Hero.”

“By that logic, several of us are at high risk,” Will chimed in. “My talents are most often assessed to be utilized in support role rather than a primary one. Your power is somewhat limited in its applications. Alex is little more than a weaker form of Mary, and Nick’s power is nebulous and ill-defined at its best.”

“Wow, way to cheer everyone up,” Jill said, noting the downcast faces throughout the room.

“I wasn’t finished yet,” Will said. “My point was that failure is a constant possibility for us. We can’t alter the abilities we were given, so the only thing within our control is to press forward with all we possess. We must train relentlessly, fight unyieldingly, and refuse to surrender in spite of all odds. These are qualities needed not just to make it through another round of the HCP, but ones we must absolutely have if we truly wish to be Heroes.”

“That was surprisingly eloquent,” Sasha said.

“I have my moments,” Will replied.

“Much as I agree with Will, I feel obligated to point out that we have been banned from training for the next week,” Nick said. “So I think it is our duty as both students and as potential fail-outs from the HCP to try and enjoy ourselves a bit. You know, just in case.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I agree with Nick,” Mary admitted.

“It only burns the first time,” Vince told her. He glanced at Sasha, who gave a shrug and kissed him on the cheek. “I guess we’re in for whatever.”

The others nodded in a noncommittal fashion, which Nick chose to interpret as an unflinching, complete adherence to any word he spoke.

“Awesome,” Nick said. “Now, to start us off right, the multiplex downtown is doing a blood and gore marathon tomorrow night-”

It was at this point he was forced to vault behind the chair to escape the spontaneous, coordinated barrage of pillows directed at his body.

135.

Alice leaned back in her chair and let out a groan.

“Ugh. I’m sick of this. What asshole created calculus in the first place?”

Mary glanced up from her own pile of books. “I think Isaac Newton is credited with a lot of it.”

Alice arched an eyebrow. “The gravity guy? I can see why the apple took a swing at him.”

“That’s actually just a story,” Mary said, her eyes going back to her work. “Like Einstein failing math as a kid. I think they circulate them to make geniuses seem more human.”

“After spending a week reading over this crap, people who comprehend calculus seem less human to me than the coffee maker,” Alice replied. She stretched her back with a series of audible pops and settled back down to her own tasks.

The duo was sitting in the library, the above-ground one for all Lander students, along with several hundred of their peers. With finals pressing down on them, the Lander populace was hitting the books with the determination available only to the truly committed and the incredibly desperate. Oddly, the two categories were often one and the same. Every table in the place was occupied, with an abundance of students prowling along the walls, eyes darting about for any seat about to become open. The instant it did there was a mad flurry of movement, concluding in triumph for one lucky soul and bitter failure for the others. If any of them paused to reflect on just how much study time they were wasting by trying to study alongside everyone else, the thought had as much effect as pointing out to an amateur writer how much time and money they wasted each day by insisting to commute to Starbucks to pound out their masterpieces in view of apathetic patrons.