Super Powereds: Year 1 (43 page)

"Hey," Vince said, walking up to Sasha.

"Hey yourself," she replied.

"You look nice," he told her.

"Missed you, too," Sasha said with a slowly spreading smile.

"Yeah, this is totally comfortable for everyone else watching, just if you were wondering," Julia tossed out.

"Sorry," Vince said, blushing rapidly.

"Speak for yourself," Sasha said. "I'm not ashamed to say I missed my man."

"That's okay, we're ashamed enough for you," Nick tossed out. Alice punched him in the arm reflexively. "Damn it!" he swore.

"You'd think a guy as smart as you could handle a little pattern recognition," Mary pointed out.

"Real funny," Nick said, rubbing his arm. "I'm going to go set up the movie."

"Good timing," Hershel said. "The popcorn will be done in a couple of minutes. Anybody want a soda before we start?" A few people raised their hands, so Hershel bustled off to the kitchen.

Julia let out a sad sigh. "I was really hoping Roy would be around my first night back."

"Take a cold shower," Jill chided her. "I'm sure he'll show in a day or so."

"But I haven't seen him in weeks," Julia continued complaining.

"Man, you really don't get the point of a booty call buddy, do you?" Sasha asked.

"Psh, with Amber spending all her time out with the boyfriend and you two being prudes, someone has to be getting a little in that dorm," Julia said. "And it might as well be a little that is toned, fit, handsome, and skilled."

"I'm literally begging you here, please stop talking," Mary jumped in. "This is leading to mental images I'd really rather not have to deal with."

"Fine," Julia said, crossing her arms. "I'm still hoping he shows up."

"That's your prerogative, I suppose," Mary said. "Though personally I'm glad we get to spend some time with Hershel."

Vince had a feeling Hershel would very much wish he had been present for that particular statement.

"I've got the drinks," Hershel said, walking back into the room. "Popcorn will be done in thirty seconds."

"Which will be just in time, because we're about to watch
Mad Santa Massacre
," Nick said, twirling the remote in his hand.

"Joy. It will be just like our Halloween movie session all over again," Will said, speaking for the first time.

"Except this time it might be someone else who screams like a girl," Jill chuckled, throwing her arm around her twin.

"My device was more realistic than even I expected," Will said defensively. "Which is why it is being redesigned."

"Only you could take something back to the drawing board because it was too good," Jill told him.

A loud ding echoed through the room.

"And that's the popcorn," Hershel said. "Okay folks, time to get started."

* * *

"It sounds as though they're hosting a kegger out there," Mr. Numbers noted as he and Mr. Transport sat at their kitchen table.

"They just got back from break. It is completely natural for them to rejoice in seeing their friends," Mr. Transport said.

"I never said it was unnatural. I merely insinuated it was annoying," Mr. Numbers pointed out. He took a long sip of tea from the steaming cup in front of him.

"You seem edgy," Mr. Transport noted.

"I just spent a full week with my mother," Mr. Numbers told him. "You'd find your nerves diminished in tolerance as well."

"I suppose that's fair," Mr. Transport acquiesced. "So how do you think they'll take discovering their classes tomorrow?"

"Perfectly well," Mr. Numbers said. "There aren't any big surprises after all. It's been clear from the beginning who had the talent for combat and whose skills lay in other areas."

"You're right. I'm just a little worried. There's always been a stigma of the combat Supers being more elite, more valuable. I'd hate for our students in alternative training to feel like they somehow failed to measure up."

"Be reasonable, Mr. Transport. They're just thankful not to be destroying buildings or drowning in a sea of errant thoughts. I sincerely doubt any of them will care if they are perceived as 'less cool' than their peers."

"My understanding is these programs are exceptionally competitive," Mr. Transport said. "It's not unreasonable to worry about how they'll cope with additional social pressure."

"We left them on a mountain in the middle of December. I'm confident they can handle quite a bit of pressure," Mr. Numbers said.

"True," Mr. Transport agreed. "I was impressed by the lessons they took from it. I thought for sure some would go down a negative path."

"I was more impressed that Mary and Nick decided not to reveal the whole reason we did it," Mr. Numbers said.

"Do you think that means they trust us?"

"I think it means they are giving us some metaphorical rope, to see where our loyalties lie and what we do with our position over the group," Mr. Numbers informed him.

"Let's hope we live up to their standards," Mr. Transport commented.

"I'm less concerned with their standards and more concerned with the school's," said Mr. Numbers. "Things grow increasingly more difficult from this point on."

"Still, it would be nice if they knew we had their best interests at heart," Mr. Transport said.

Mr. Number resisted the urge to point out that this statement would be easier to demonstrate if it were actually true. Despite years of service, Mr. Transport still had a streak of idealism in him, and it was a trait Mr. Numbers had resolved to foster in his companion for as long as he could. He was amazed it had endured for these many years, though each year seemed to edge it closer towards its inevitable destruction.

"Indeed," Mr. Numbers said simply, turning his attention back to his tea.

* * *

The lone figure stood outside the Melbrook dorm, obscured by darkness and hidden behind a tree. In the abundance of shadow it was difficult to make out a definite shape or the sex of the figure, only that it was watching the flicking lights from within intently. The figure stood there unwavering, confident its hiding place wouldn't be discovered. It waited for hours, watching until the hour grew late and the guests emptied out and returned to their respective dorms. It lingered on even after that, seemingly unwilling to abandon this place quite yet. Eventually it left its obscured position and moved quickly across the campus, sticking to the darkest patches to maintain its anonymity.

74.

“As I call your name and say your new training program, line up on the appropriate side of the gym,” Coach George bellowed. “Combat training to the right, alternative training to the left. Those of you with ranks that predetermine your class, please take your places now.” There was a soft scuffle as ten boys and ten girls took their appropriate positions at the right and left of the gym.

“Nervous?” Vince asked Alex as they milled together with the remainder of the freshman class. There were only eleven students left after the twenty predetermined ones had taken their spots.

“Very,” Alex admitted. “I mean, we fought hard, but then again we went down so easily against Selena.”

“You have nothing to be ashamed of,” Thomas said, joining the conversation. “You put forth a tremendous effort in our battle. It would be pure folly not to place you in combat training.”

“Castillo, Thomas. Combat,” Coach George’s booming voice announced to the gym.

“See you on the right,” Thomas said reassuringly before jogging over to take his side.

“Hunt, Tiffani. Alternative.” A girl with short blonde hair flipped out at the ends walked over to the left side of the gym.

“Riley, Adam. Combat.”

“Wells, Allen. Combat.”

“Belden, Camille. Alternative.” Vince perked up at this name, recognizing it as one of his saviors from Halloween, the one he still hadn’t managed to thank. She was difficult to notice in the crowd, but when she broke out to walk to the left side Vince wondered how he’d missed her before. She was diminutive, even shorter than Mary, with shoulder length hair so blonde it bordered on white. There was something familiar about her as well, though Vince couldn’t put his finger on it. He resolved himself to seek her out after this was over and thank her for the healing help.

“Reid, Gilbert. Combat.”

“Wilkins, Selena. Alternative.”

“Murray, Jill. Combat.”

Vince took a deep breath to settle his stomach. He and Alex were the only two left.

“Griffen, Alex. Combat.” Alex flashed Vince a thumbs up before heading over and joining the line on the right.

“And lastly, Reynolds, Vincent. Combat,” Coach George declared.

Vince let out a sigh and threw a smile on his face, heading over to the right side of the gym. Inside though, he felt a ball of worry knot itself tighter. A part of him had been hoping he would end up in alternative training so he wouldn’t have to keep fighting people. Now he had several years filled with fisticuffs to look forward to.

“We’ll be giving all of you your mid-term grades today in private; however, as promised, we’re now going to announce the top three longest survivors and the top three killers from the exam,” Coach George began. “The number three killer was Chad Taylor. Number two was Britney Fletcher, and number one was Selena Wilkins.”

There was a mumbling of confusion. Everyone knew who Chad was, but the other two weren’t prominent warriors, though Vince and Alex felt a bit better in knowing the girl who’d taken them out was the best on the field.

“As for survivors, number three was Tiffani Hunt. Number two was Shane DeSoto. As for number one, well, she was the only person to make it on both lists: Britney Fletcher.” Nick noticed the girl who’d taken out himself and Alice blushing slightly. Well, at least he knew the invisible girl’s name now.

“I’m sure some of you are looking up and down the combat row, trying to place the names other than Shane and Chad,” Coach George said to the assembled class. “Well, you’d better turn your heads to the left side of the gym, because that’s where you’ll find them. You see, those people who captured the top spots in both categories, they’re in alternative training. And they kicked ninety percent of your asses.”

Coach Persephone took a step forward. “There is a perception among many that Heroes specializing in combat are the best. That’s true, in that they are the best at combat. Keep in mind that few criminals are so thoughtful as to arrange a bare-knuckle brawl in a secluded location where you can prove to them your superiority. More often than not skills like stealth, planning, and improvisation are far more useful. To those of you on the combat side of the room, most of you were likely hoping to end up in this training course. You feel it’s the better option, and in certain cases you’re correct. Don’t forget this lesson, though: just because someone is physically weaker than you doesn’t mean they aren’t a very real threat. You’re dismissed for today. We’ll see you in class tomorrow.”

The lines broke as students began scattering in their own directions. Vince began crossing the gym to thank Camille, but his arm was grabbed halfway there.

“Reynolds,” Coach George said, holding him in place. “You need to come by my office sometime before gym tomorrow.”

“For what?” Vince asked.

“Let’s call it part of your probationary requirements for half-assing it with your power,” Coach George told him. George released Vince’s arm and the silver-haired youth headed off in his original direction. Unfortunately, Camille had vanished during the brief discussion. Vince knew what she looked like now at least, so he was confident he could thank her next time.

Vince headed off to the changing room, wondering what requirement Coach George was going to give him. Since the last time a subject had taken him down this path had resulted in he and his friends being stuck on a mountain, he was understandably concerned. Still, it couldn’t be that bad, could it?

“Hey man, what’s with the long face?” Nick asked as he emerged from the locker area in his above-ground clothes.

“Nothing,” Vince said, shaking off his concern. “So what are we doing with our last day of pre-class freedom?”

“Cocaine and strippers,” Nick replied. Vince simply raised an eyebrow in response. “Fine, fine, we’ll think of something else. Let’s go rally the troops. Buzzkill.”

Vince nodded his agreement and the two set off to actively waste some time.

75.

Vince knocked hesitantly on Coach George’s office door. It was during his visiting hours, so he should be there, but Vince still felt a bit out of place. Nick was organizing a putt-putt outing for the group to do on its last day of break, but it would be another few hours before they departed and Vince had ultimately decided he would rather find out what Coach George wanted now rather than put it off for a day.

“Come in,” Coach George hollered from the other side.

Vince turned the handle and walked in, taking in a more comprehensive view of the small office than last time. There were various degrees along the walls, as well as a multitude of pictures. Some were very old, but many seemed recent. The contents of these photographs were completely varied, with no common theme or person spanning them all.

The actual desk took up a significant portion of the room, and it was literally covered in papers. Vince wasn’t sure how anyone could find anything in that enormous sprawl of pages. Sitting atop that mess though was something even more surprising. A car battery.

“Reynolds, glad you made it early,” Coach George said from behind the desk. “Take a seat.”

“Um, okay,” Vince said uncertainly. “Why did you want to see me?”

“Because I’m adding something to your diet,” Coach George told him.

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“You keep yourself stocked with a little fire by draining lighters, right?” Coach George asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, I saw what you did during the mid-term, when you drained your weapon and blasted Castillo with electricity. That was impressive.”

“Thank you,” Vince said, struggling for a moment to figure out who Castillo was before remembering it was Thomas’ last name.