Super Powereds: Year 2 (43 page)

“I’m really sorry about this,” the girl said, turning to Roy. “It’s just that with only beer he’s not going to be all that strong and I don’t want him to get hurt.”

Roy wasn’t sure what to make of that explanation or of Cameron’s chugging abilities, but he supposed at this point it made as much sense as anything else in his world. He gave her a shrug and motioned for Cameron to finish, which he did in short order.

“Thanks,” Cameron said, handing her back a now-empty bottle. He looked back at Roy with renewed vigor. “So, round two?”

82.

The second round started in much the same way as the first, with Cameron doing a furious charge. Roy was ready for this; he hadn’t really expected the kid to learn his lesson from one loss. What he wasn’t ready for was the way his blows glanced off the freshman’s back, not to mention the tremendous power that Cameron struck him with. Roy hunched over and damned near lost his footing; it was only that last year of being brutally assaulted by Chad that gave him the skill to stay on his feet. Rather than going for any fancy holds, Roy merely reached over and grabbed Cameron’s legs, jerking him in an arc through the air and slamming him to the ground. He should have capitalized and he knew it, but instead he took a step back to recover his bearings and his breath.

“What the fuck, kid? Where did that come from?”

Cameron came to his feet quickly, like the blow that had left a crater in Thomas’s lawn hadn’t even registered to his skull. There was a gentle sway to the way he stood now, the effect of speed-guzzling vodka already showing itself. He smiled at Roy, eyes a bit foggy but the intent therein still sharp as volcanic glass.

“I do love me some booze.” The words slipped out just as he lurched forward, his fists flying faster than Roy would have thought possible. He got three strikes in before Roy was able the dodge and hip-toss him back to the ground.

“You’re kidding me. Alcohol makes you stronger, doesn’t it?” Roy glanced at the blonde who had produced the purse-vodka and saw her give a slight nod. He turned his gaze back to Cameron, who was scrambling back to his feet once more. Before the younger boy could mount another assault, Roy threw back his head and let out a tremendous bark of a laugh.

“That is fantastic!” He hunkered down into a defensive stance and met his opponent’s slowly drooping eyes. “Any time you’re ready.”

There was a series of sounds of smacking flesh, but Chad didn’t linger around to watch. He turned and walked back into the house, intent on getting some pretzels. Angela materialized at his side almost instantly; he still hadn’t figured out how she moved through throngs of people with such ease.

“Don’t you want to see the show?”

“No need. Roy’s going to win and I don’t think either will let things get out of hand,” Chad said.

“How can you be so sure?”

“Cameron seems to get stronger and faster with the more alcohol he consumes. However, he hasn’t gotten as strong as Roy yet, although he is a bit faster,” Chad explained.

“Fast can make the difference,” Angela tossed back. She’d seen many a match that was determined by factors other than brute force.

“It can, but there are two problems with it being a powerful enough advantage to turn the tides. For one, Roy is accustomed to fighting people who are faster than he is. During our sparring matches he grew quite adept at compensating for my faster movements. The other issue-”

“Yeah, I saw that already. Cameron is getting drunker the longer they fight.”

Chad stopped at a table in the now nearly-empty kitchen and scooped up a hand full of chips, the pretzels having been emptied out sometime earlier. “Precisely. Assuming there are no limits on how much power he can gain from alcohol, it seems he still has to contend with the side effects of intoxication.”

“You have to admit, if there’s no cap on that power it could be pretty useful.” Angela helped herself to the liquor section by mixing up a quick Mai Tai. She’d have preferred to drop some fresh fruit in it, but free booze was free booze.

“He is in the HCP at Lander. Despite what recent rumors might indicate, the standards for admission here are exceptionally high.”

“Getting into the HCP at any college is pretty difficult,” Angela pointed out. “Although I suppose we’re the only ones suffering under the stigma of doubt thanks to our recent admissions.”

“Unfounded speculation,” Chad snapped. Angela was slightly taken aback. She’d seem him shrug off all manner of trouble and insult, but this was getting under his skin. A more demure girl would have abandoned the topic immediately. A more demure girl wouldn’t have had Angela’s warrior instincts.

“It doesn’t bother you? The Powereds, or former Powereds, coming into our school and putting us in the cross-hairs of every other member of the Hero Certification Program?”

“Not in the slightest. I have no qualms with them being here. How a person acquires their abilities doesn’t matter in the slightest. It only matters how they use them.”

“That’s quite accepting of you. And if everyone else shared that opinion, we wouldn’t have to worry about Lander looking bad.”

There was a crunching sound as Chad inadvertently disintegrated the chips he’d been holding when his hand clenched into a fist. He opened his fingers and watched a fine powder drift toward the plastic covered floor.

“Lander will come out on top. I trust Dean Blaine implicitly, and I will personally keep the reputation of this school pristine if I have to personally carry it to unseen heights. I won’t let anyone tarnish it.”

“You really love this school.” Angela handed him a paper towel to wipe off the orange chip residue. Her initial urge was to put a comforting hand on his arm; however, she immediately recognized that as a mistake. Chad would loathe pity or comfort. The most he could accept was the respect and confidence of a peer, someone truly on his level. That was why she gave him something functional instead of emotional. That was kindness he could tolerate.

“I do. I didn’t even apply to any others.”

“With your skill I guess you knew you’d get into your first pick.”

Chad shook his head. “If I’d been turned down, I would have just tried again the next year. I had to come here.”

“Look, I like Lander a lot, but I’m guessing there’s a reason for that kind of determination aside from the mild summers and beach proximity.”

“This was where my parents met. It was where all my father’s friends knew him best. When they visit and tell stories, almost all of them take place here. Every time I picture my dad, I always see him at Lander. I walk by places on campus and I remember the tales I’ve heard about his time here; I can almost picture him amongst the scenery.” Chad handed her back the now orange-stained paper towel. A lesser woman would have caved to her urges and embraced him in an enthusiastic hug. Angela accepted the towel and threw it in the trash.

“That makes sense to me. For what it’s worth, I’m glad we got you here. Nice to finally have someone who is a decent sparring partner.”

Chad gave her a rare smile, his teeth perfectly aligned and just the right shade of white. “Same to you.”

“Just one word of advice: don’t get so caught up in chasing someone else’s memories that you forget to craft your own. Someday you might have a child to pass them on to, and wouldn’t it be a shame if the only ones you could give were third-hand?”

“There is some logic to that,” Chad admitted, still facing away from her when he said it.

“Sounds like they’re finally done with the wrestling outside; let’s go make sure no one got killed,” Angela suggested. Part of a long-term offense was knowing when to retreat after a successful strike.

“That would be a bit of a mood killer,” Chad conceded. The two walked back out into the crowd, and despite its size, Angela made damn sure the tide of people wasn’t able to separate her from her date.

83.

With the passing of the party, all that remained for the sophomore class, aside from a few awkward wake-ups with unexpected partners the following morning and one uncomfortable break-up that resulted, were their midterm exams for Lander’s standard curriculum. For some this was a source of mere annoyance, for others it was a hot ember of fear constantly searing their stomach lining. Vince fell into the latter of the two categories, but he certainly wasn’t alone. He still cursed himself for the night of studying lost, to say nothing of the prodigious hangover he’d suffered the next morning. Each passing day seemed to fly by faster and faster, bringing him closer to the test that could end his career at Lander without so much as throwing a punch.

“How’d I do?” Vince’s voice hadn’t had this much fear in it when he was staring down George last year.

Nick made a quick mental tally of the red marks he’d drawn on Vince’s paper. “Better. Definitely better. You got about fifty percent right.”

Vince let out a groan that, in the right environment, would have attracted a female hyena. “That’s still failing.”

“True, but it is failing by less than you were when you only got thirty percent correct.”

“You think that will make a difference? A fail is a fail. I have to pass this thing to stay in the HCP.”

“I’m just saying you’re making progress. Consistent improvement is a positive sign.”

Vince flopped his body across the couch and stared up at the ceiling. “I’ve only got two more weeks. I’ve barely gotten through half the backlog of stuff I didn’t really understand, and we’ve still got a week left of new material to cover. I don’t know how I’m going to pass this class.”

Nick stared at his friend’s downcast face in genuine surprise. In the time they’d been at Lander he’d seen plenty of unexpected behavior from Vince, bravery in the face of impossible odds, trust when none was warranted, loyalty beyond comprehension. He’d never seen the guy downtrodden, though. Up until now, Nick wouldn’t have thought Vince even knew how to accept defeat, let alone preemptively contemplate it.

“You’ll do it with lots of effort and help,” Nick reassured him. Truthfully, he only put Vince’s odds of learning the material at around forty percent, but the silver-haired warrior was too integral to their team to let go without trying to save. Besides, it was hard to picture life here without Vince. Things just wouldn’t be as interesting, or at least that’s what Nick told himself. He was still adjusting to the idea of genuine friendship, after all.

“I just don’t know,” Vince replied.

“Lucky for you I do know. This is my wheelhouse, Vince. I knew how to calculate a vig before I understood that the toilet was the place you went to shit. Math is for me what punching assholes in the face is for you. It’s what I do.”

“But that doesn’t mean you can teach me how to do it.”

“It means I’ve got a better shot than anyone else. Now, do you want to call it a day and pack your bags or do you want to go over the mistakes you made on this test?”

Vince took some time to answer, enough that Nick was almost unnerved. When he did respond, all the doubt had left his voice; in its place was the steel resolve that seemed to bubble out of him when the occasion demanded.

“Let’s review. I’m not ready to leave yet.”

* * *

Roy was in unfamiliar territory. Oh sure, it seemed like a place he’d been a million times: he recognized the layout and the décor, he even felt nostalgic at the smell of paper that wafted freely through the air. Those were Hershel’s memories, not his. Hershel was the type to come to the library on a Saturday, and for any other project, Roy would have gladly let him. This was a little more personal. This was something Roy felt like he had to contribute to, otherwise it wouldn’t work.

The good thing about having Hershel’s memories was that Roy didn’t have to blunder about, hoping to find what he was looking for. He automatically knew the shelving system and was intimately familiar with several sections. Sadly, the book he was looking for wasn’t science fiction or fantasy, so the latter knowledge wasn’t as useful as the former. Before long, Roy found his destination, rows and rows of books all crammed with tidbits and facts from the span of human history. A special area of these shelves was dedicated to a subject most people found frequently fascinating, especially given the special curriculum it was known that Lander offered. These books were all about Supers and Heroes, ranging from autobiographies to sheer speculation. Roy loaded up his arms with a few choice selections and found a table where he set up shop.

He’d take home as many as he could, but first he needed to weed through the ones that didn’t cover his topic of interest. A quick perusal disqualified several selections, not for their style but for their substance; they only dealt with Supers whose powers were unlike Roy’s.

A better understanding of his own abilities was key; that’s what Professor Fletcher had told him. So far the private tutoring sessions weren’t working. Roy was still at the same weight he had been months ago. That was why he was wasting a beautiful afternoon surrounding himself with books. If understanding was key, then learning about everyone else whose abilities resembled his own seemed like a logical jumping off point. When Hershel took back over and looked at these memories, he would find himself surprisingly proud of his muscular brother.

More books were read and set aside. Roy was beginning to notice a pattern: while people like himself frequently dotted the landscape of Hero history, they rarely took center stage. Strongman was just a role people had in groups, much like healers. They were useful, but ultimately ancillary. After all, lifting a car was impressive to humans, but it didn’t quite have the shine of turning oxygen into atomic energy. The more he searched, the more frustrated he became. His whole suite of powers was merely an accoutrement for some Supers, a small piece of what they could do. It began to make sense why Chad was so defensive about his abilities: he didn’t want to get lumped in with people who couldn’t really do anything besides give and receive powerful punches.

There were exceptions, of course: a few like Roy who had risen high in the esteem of the public and Hero community alike. These he took note of and set their books in the checkout pile. The last book he read concerned possibly the most famous strongman in recent history, one whose abilities bore a striking similarity to Roy’s. This book was immediately set in the discard pile and left abandoned as Roy gathered his selections and headed for the front desk. In truth, it was a testament to his emotional growth over the past year that the book was not thrown with enough force to send it through the well. Still, regardless of how useful the information contained within might be, there was simply no way Roy would be rifling through that book’s contents.