by Hayes Farley
“Yikes. Don’t get catty with me. I’m just here to help.” Kim sat down in their cask and slid over until her shoulder was flush against Nate’s. She did a double-take when she saw Patrick. “Oh, get that look off your face. I’m not gonna hit you or anything.” She shook her head and turned back to the rest of the group and leaned forward. “I can get you guys beer.”
Alex and Eva exchanged a look.
“How?” Patrick said. “You’re not old enough, either.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Kim said. She nodded toward the waiter. “He owes me a favor. He’ll hook you up if I ask him to.”
“Why?” Eva said.
“Because he owes me.”
Eva shook her head. “No. I mean, why would you want to help us?”
Kim shrugged. “Think of it as…a peace offering.”
“That seems really nice of you,” Eva said, “but I think we’ll pa—”
“Deal,” Patrick said. “What do we owe you?”
Kim laughed. “Maybe you’re not as dumb as you look.” She started edging out of the table. “They won’t cost you anything. Like I said, he owes me. I’ll go find him and tell him what’s up. Who knows, maybe after a few drinks your gorgeous friend here will start talking to me.” She leaned over and planted a kiss on Nate’s cheek.
“Oh! One more thing,” she said, already halfway across the room. “You can’t go wrong with the onion rings.”
“Thanks, Kim!” Patrick called. He turned to his tablemates with a huge, childlike grin.
“So let me guess,” Eva said. “You don’t think she’s crazy anymore?”
“What? Oh, no, she’s most definitely crazy. But who cares? I’d follow her right into the looney bin as long as she was offering free booze.”
****
They were halfway through their third pitcher when the urge to pee became too much for Alex. He excused himself and slid to the edge of the seat and unfolded his long legs in a motion that was far more awkward than it needed to be. He almost fell on his face. “Easy, big fella,” he said. Alex looked across the room and squinted to keep the bar from drifting in and out of focus but it didn’t work. He reached a hand back and steadied himself on the table.
“Alex is wasted!” Patrick said, laughing.
He didn’t answer. All of his attention was focused on staying upright. Alex tilted his torso in the direction of the bathroom and made one long, controlled fall through the door and up to a urinal. It was torture standing there for so long. He let out a juicy burp as he zipped his jeans and his mouth was filled with the taste of beer and onion rings. Something more than a burp was building and so he leaned his head against the wall and stood there a little longer. When the urge passed he went stumbling out of the bathroom.
“Alex! Alex Armstrong!”
He came to a clumsy stop and wobbled for a bit as he tried to center himself. He looked in the direction of the voice but couldn’t see well enough to recognize anyone. And then, out of nowhere, a huge, bald head was floating just inches in front of his face. Alex could smell his minty gum.
“Son, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Sonnier said.
“Oh, hello. Nothing. We were just…we were just doing a teer basting. I think I mighta had a couple three or four maybe.” It took every bit of his effort to stand there without swaying.
“No shit, son. You’re drunk.”
Alex’s lips curled into a stupid grin. “It’s okay, sir. Alcohol enrich—enhances—my personality.” He put a hand on Sonnier’s shoulder. “Geez, you’re strong.”
Eva rushed forward and grabbed Alex’s hand and draped his arm across her shoulders. “It’s okay, Professor Sonnier. I’m looking after them. I haven’t had anything to drink.”
Alex looked at Eva and tried to wink. “She’s a keeper, Doc.” He tried to give her a kiss and she shoved his face away.
Sonnier lowered his brow. He stared at their table and shook his head when he saw that Patrick and Nate were still drinking. Just then, Kim emerged from her own cask and slid in next to Nate. It was all Sonnier needed to see.
“Eva, I appreciate you looking after these idiots, but I’m concerned about Alex.”
Alex waved him off. “I’ll be fiiiine. Just have to go make myself throw up.”
Sonnier let out a long sigh. “Well, son, I suggest you get started. You’re scheduled to join the Greyjeans in a game of Smash tomorrow morning. And that’s coming straight from President Joyce.”
Alex stood there looking stupid. Eva gasped. “You have to postpone it!”
“I wish I could, but Chris has already set aside time to be there. Trust me when I say that you don’t go changing the president’s schedule at the last minute.” He looked at Alex. “Son, you better sober up as fast as you can, or you’re going to be in a world of hurt tomorrow.”
Eva helped Alex back to the table and saw that Kim was still cozied up to Nate. She and Patrick were in the middle of a conversation.
“Hell if I know,” Kim said. “Some comic book nerd came up with it. At least it matches everything.” She glanced up at Alex. “Hey, look who’s back!”
“You got him drunk on purpose!”
Kim pretended to look surprised. “Me?”
“Yes, you. You knew he was supposed to play tomorrow.”
“I might have heard something,” Kim said, smiling. She looked at Alex. “You mean they didn’t send you an email?”
Alex pulled out his phone and held it so close that it was almost touching his nose. After a few failed attempts at getting past the lock screen he shrugged and handed it to Eva.
“What time is it?” Kim said.
“Just past ten,” Nate said.
Kim smiled.
“There it is!” Eva said, holding up his phone. “It came in at 10 p.m. You knew the whole time.”
Kim pretended to stifle a yawn as she slid out of the cask. “Well, it’s past my bedtime. Nate, Patrick, it’s been fun. Alex, see you in the morning.” She was still laughing as she walked out the door.
Eva glanced at the phone. “It says 8 a.m., Alex!” She turned to the rest of the table. “Come on; we’re leaving.” Nate and Patrick weren’t moving. “Now!” she yelled.
22
Smash
“Get up, get up, get up, get up!” Eva grabbed his shoulder and shook. When that didn’t work, she leaned over until her mouth was just inches from his ear. “ALEX, WAKE UP!”
“Huh? Wha—”
He started to roll over, so she tightened her grip and shook him again. How was he so heavy? “Come on, Alex. NOW! We’ve got to get moving.”
“All right, all right. Stop it. I’m awake.” He flailed about with his one free arm until she let go. He lay there for a while, knuckling sleep out of his eyes. “God, why is it so hot in here?”
Eva watched as the covers suddenly lifted into the air, balled up, and made a beeline for the closet. Even with a hangover, his powers eclipsed her own. “I got cold last night. You had it set to like sixty-seven.”
“It’s always on sixty-seven.” Alex winced at the sound of his own voice. He raised his hand and caught his water bottle as it traced across the room. He drained the contents in a matter of seconds and tossed it to the floor. Eva wondered if her words would hit home, or if he was too far gone to understand what she just said. She could almost see the gears turning in his mind as he tried to make sense of everything. After a while, a little smirk formed on his face and she knew he had it. “Did you sleep in here last night?”
Eva ignored him. She picked up the empty bottle and filled it and tucked it away in her backpack. She turned at the sound of bed coils and watched his triceps harden as he hoisted himself upright. He was smiling, staring at her sleeping bag lying open on the floor.
“You did sleep in here last night.”
“Well, I had to make sure you woke up.” His smile only got wider.
“Seems like you could’
ve called, or banged on my door for that.”
“Yeah, but…you were really drunk. I mean, people choke on their own vomit.” He was still giving her that look. “It’s true! I’ve read the stories.”
“Aww, you were worried about me!” He got to his feet and opened his arms wide as if he was waiting for a hug. Little Chewbacca heads dotted his boxers.
Eva couldn’t help laughing. “That’s not a good look.”
Alex opened his arms wider and did his best Chewbacca impression: “Ahhhhrrrrrr!”
“Alex, stop being an idiot! We’ve gotta go!”
“I’m not moving until I get a hug.”
“Alex!”
“Not moving.”
Eva rolled her eyes and stepped forward and let him wrap his arms around her. He pulled her in close and held her tight against his chest. She closed her eyes. It felt so good in his arms. So safe.
“See? Isn’t that nice? Let’s just stay like this.”
Eva was remembering that day on the trail. The accident. She rubbed her hands up and down his back and felt the muscles under his smooth skin. He was so warm. “We can’t, Alex. You’ll be late.”
“Who cares?”
“President Joyce!”
“Ugh. Okay. Not before you give me a kiss, though.”
Eva had never seen this side of him. It was cute. Her hands moved lower, her fingertips sliding under the band of his boxers. She leaned back just far enough that their noses were touching. She closed her eyes and licked her lips and started to move in and—
He burped—a good, juicy one—and a wave of his morning breath crashed right into her nostrils.
“Gross!” Eva shoved his chest so hard that he fell back on the bed. He started laughing.
“I can still taste that one,” he said, smacking his lips.
“And I can still smell it. Yuck!” She knelt down and rolled up her sleeping bag.
“So how are you already dressed?”
“Because I woke up an hour ago,” Eva said. She pulled out a pair of grey gym shorts and a navy shirt from his dresser and threw them at Alex. “Quick. Put those on.”
“What? You don’t like my boxers?”
“Not now, Alex. Just put on the shorts.”
“You ever seen a Wookie?”
“Alex!”
“Okay, okay.”
Eva pulled an Alka-Seltzer from her backpack and dropped it in a cup of water and handed it to him. “Drink.”
He downed the fizzy contents in one gulp and pressed his fist to his chest and worked up another burp. “I think the onion rings could’ve used more salt.”
“Focus!” Eva said, snapping her fingers. When she had his attention, she handed him an energy shot. “Now drink this.”
He squinted at the label. “But I don’t like this flavor.”
“Drink!”
He flinched away from her loud voice and tossed back the shot. He held out the empty container. “Nurse Ratched.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Another for the list.”
Eva shook her head and checked her phone. “We have fifteen minutes to get to the basement.”
“What about food?”
She pulled a sesame seed bagel from her backpack. “I even remembered peanut butter.”
****
They stood outside the sliding glass doors and stared at the crowd. “I wasn’t expecting this many,” Alex said. He counted at least fifty students gathered around the playing area.
“So, where are the players?” Eva said.
“Just on the other side. Watch for a second and you’ll see their Smashsticks.”
Eva narrowed her eyes. Traces of blue and yellow light zigged and zagged above the heads in the crowd. “Is that them trying to hit each other?”
“Yup. Looks like the ends are lighted.”
“Aren’t they swinging kinda hard?”
“Well, that’s pretty much the point,” Alex said. The way she was standing there with her head tilted to the side and her thumbs hooked under her backpack told him all he needed to know: she thought the game was stupid. At least she didn’t say it. Alex shrugged and turned to the scoreboard on the far side of the room. There was a headshot of each player on either side. Lachlan, the one with the long blond hair, was winning.
“How are you feeling?” she said.
“Nervous. I am officially nervous.”
“No, I mean…how are you feeling?”
“Oh. Pretty normal, actually. That’s a good thing, I guess. I just hope your Alka-Energy concoction works for a few more hours.”
“It will; my dad swears by it.”
“Good enough for me,” Alex said. He opened the door and they walked into a room rank with perspiration. Eva made a face. Alex pretended not to notice and led the way to the thinnest part of the crowd.
His eyes were immediately drawn to the floor. Instead of a line separating the two players, each was forced to stand within a three-foot circle displayed on the tiles. The two circles were highlighter green and spaced about one-foot apart. Suddenly, he caught a whiff of something else. “You smell that?”
Eva had her shirt pulled over her nose. “What? Sweat?”
“No, it’s…” Alex turned around and found himself staring at the top of President Joyce’s bald head.
“Fresh coffee,” he said. He took a sip and replaced the cap and stood there looking at Alex. He whispered something to Eva that made her laugh.
Alex felt himself blush and looked down at his shoelaces. “I’m guessing you heard?”
“Oh, I heard,” President Joyce said.
“Sorry.”
“I’m sure you are. But don’t apologize to me; you made it here on time. Apologize to the person who worked so hard to get you here on time. And in what appears to be a remarkably good state.”
Now Alex was really blushing.
“He told me he was sorry,” Eva said. “More than once.”
President Joyce took another sip of his coffee. “Do you think he learned a lesson?”
Eva nodded. “He won’t do it again.”
“I don’t think he will, either,” President Joyce said. He patted Alex on the shoulder and motioned for him to look at the game. “What do you think?”
“Seems way more serious than what I’ve seen.”
“You mean the games out in the field? It is. Tournament play is more structured. The heart of the game is the same, though: two sticks and a ball.”
“The circles are new,” Alex said.
“Very true. You get a point if you force your opponent out of his.”
“Well, no wonder the tall one’s winning,” Eva said. The player with the black helmet was at least a foot shorter than his opponent.
“Why? Because he looks more impressive swinging that glorified Q-tip? My dear, the tall one is about to lose.” He pointed to the scoreboard. “Lachlan is the shorter of the two.”
Lachlan was down on one knee, holding his Smashstick above his head, absorbing the downward blows of the taller player like some stubborn tree trunk. All the while, the Smashball blinked harmlessly near the tall player’s shoulder. With each clumsy attack, it flashed more rapidly, a pulsing red orb just begging to be used.
The red flashes came faster and faster until finally they were indistinguishable and there was just a steady red light within the Smashball. In the next instant, it went dark. It drifted over to Lachlan where it began to slowly flash red again.
Lachlan hopped to his feet. As he stood there blocking the next round of blows, the Smashball began winding in and out between his legs in a figure eight. Within seconds, its speed was audible. Each pulse left a smear of red light.
The tall player stopped hacking away long enough to take note of what was happening, but before he could lower his stick, the Smashball shot through the air and buried into his chest pad. The breath rushed out of him and he staggered out of his green c
ircle.
Lachlan removed his helmet to reveal a shock of blond hair and a chiseled face that would have looked good on the cover of a magazine. He raised his arm to a chorus of cheers.
“I guess height is overrated,” Eva said.
“The game was never meant to be a display of brute force. The Smashball is the key,” President Joyce said.
Lachlan saw that his opponent was struggling to remove his gear. He crossed the playing area and offered the taller boy a hand.
“Who is he?”
“Lachlan? One of our more skilled juniors,” President Joyce said. “He also happens to be the top-ranked Smash player. In fact, I’m going to ask him to officiate your match.”
“When’s that?”
“Right now. Come on, let’s go find Sonnier. He’ll help you with your gear.”
“But—”
“No buts. You’re ready.” President Joyce started walking toward the equipment. “And even if you’re not, well, you’ll get the hang of it.”
“But who am I playing?”
President Joyce looked back and smiled.
****
It was Kim. Of course it was Kim.
“…one point for knocking your opponent out of the ring, one point for hitting him with the Smashball…”
She looked intimidating standing there in her helmet. It was a far cry from the plain white one he was wearing. Hers was a custom job, not unlike something worn by a hockey goalie. It was matte pink with a white cage, and across the sides were butterfly wings colored in sparkly shades of purple, yellow, and blue. It was pretty…almost. A closer look revealed that the wings converged into a charred body with a skull for a head and horns in place of antennae, fire pouring out of its mouth and eye sockets.
“…at no point are your hands allowed to touch the Smashball.”
Lachlan had been talking for what seemed like an eternity. Alex flexed his fingers around the midsection of his Smashstick and gave it a twirl. It was heavier than he expected. And less padded.
“First one to three wins. Alex, what’s your favorite color?”
“Huh?”
“Speak louder,” Kim said. “He had a little too much to drink last night.”
Lachlan ignored her. “What’s your favorite color?”