“Been busy,” he muttered.
“I can’t hear you when you mumble.”
She led him to the second step of the front bleachers, right behind the girls’ basketball team. When Brendan indicated they should climb higher for a better view, Tina just shook her head and pointed to her cast. He figured she could climb without a problem but knew better than to argue. They sat and watched the pregame warmup. Tina began to loudly cheer the team on. The Roadrunners ran, dribbled, passed, and shot the ball through the hoop. The other school was getting set up on the opposite side of the court. The bleachers were about half-full when whistles blew and the game finally began.
Brendan remained quiet for the duration of the game, while Tina hooted and catcalled the opposition and shouted encouragement for every successful pass and attempted shot. She railed on one of their own forwards for being a ball hog. By halftime, the Dutchman Springs Roadrunners were getting crushed 15–36, but Tina’s enthusiasm was unabated. She paused to listen in as the coach encouraged the girls and laid out their strategy for the second half. Brendan spaced out as the school’s cheering squad, three girls and one boy, took center court and tried to lead the crowd in a chant while they performed a dance maneuver.
He couldn’t look at the gym without thinking of the hundreds of injured students that had filled the identical space on Not-Earth when it served as a makeshift hospital after the earthquake caused by the warlords’ gate machine. He could still hear echoes of the warlord woman Simba’s automatic rifle as she shot down a teacher, a man who was alive and well on this world. Other images came racing in, unwelcome, overwhelming him. Nurse Dreyfus, one of the warlords, getting stabbed by her own lieutenant. The warlords sacrificing the restaurant worker, burning him alive on a pile of burning tires. Their journey to the warlords’ previous world and the things Torben had done. Breaking Tyler’s leg. Murdering Paul from Not-Earth. The row of people hung up to die slow deaths in the unrelenting sun. The faces of the broken survivors.
“What’s wrong?” Tina asked.
“Nothing.”
“You’ve been glowering through the entire first half.”
“I didn’t get enough sleep last night.”
“We’ll be out of here in an hour.”
“I don’t know if I’ll last that long. Mind if I take off?” As soon as he said it, he knew it was a mistake. He saw the disappointment on her face. The joy of being at the game drained from her.
“Have a good night, Brendan.” She turned to look out at the court. The opposing school had a ten-girl squad performing, and three of the girls were being propelled in the air in synchronized flips and throws with expert precision. Even Dutchman Springs’s own tepid fans cheered them on.
Brendan squeezed past the other students, the tightness in his chest only relenting once he was outside and alone.
***
He walked. The track was empty so he did a loop, hoping that the exercise and air would clear his mind. But his memories clung like a hand squeezing his heart. The sounds of applause and shouts from the gym took him back to when the warlord leader Anak made his first appearance and gave his speech declaring Not-Earth as their new playground of murder and conquest.
Cutting across the landscaping, he headed towards his dorm. Even the door to the stairwell made him jump when it clicked closed behind him. He tried to block out the sounds of his neighbors as he swiped his card key to his room. Poser emerged from the door across the hall. The pulse-pounding music washing out of Poser’s room was like a tidal wave of noise.
“I thought you were at the game,” Poser shouted. A passing neighbor glared at him, but Poser ignored him. The dorm monitor must have been absent, as Poser’s musical habit earned him daily reminders to keep it down or else. The “or else” never actually landed, though.
“I was,” Brendan said, not wanting to say more. If he could only get his key card to read, he could retreat into his own space. He swiped it too fast and the light remained red. His hand was slick with sweat.
“You know, it’s kind of loud out here,” Poser said. “Get your door open so we can talk.”
Swipe, and the light turned green. Poser followed Brendan inside.
“What’s up?” he asked. “You don’t look so good.”
“Tina took me to the basketball game and I got tired. I just need to catch up on some sleep.”
“You sure that’s it? That’s all you’ve been doing ever since you rescued me and sent my twin back home. Come on, man, it’s me. What’s going on?”
A man thrown into a fire, screaming. “Believe it or not, I’m just behind on schoolwork. I’m going to hit it for an hour and then go to sleep. Mind turning your music down?”
Poser raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. No problem. Just be careful you don’t turn into a pill.”
3. Coffee Bargains
He didn’t sleep.
Staring at his tablet for a couple of hours did nothing but make his eyes burn. He flipped to the video streams, but even the thought of watching the Golden Tiger Death Squad brawl with Thunder Wolf in downtown Phoenix unsettled his stomach. He checked his messages, but they were all from his six teachers asking about late assignments. He even ignored the one from Mr. Childes. He half expected to see something from Charlotte or even the headmaster, but that wasn’t going to happen. Charlotte was home again, never to return. He considered calling his mom but wouldn’t know what to say. His skin crawled. His desk chair bit into his back and butt. Even the lights in his room bothered him.
He left his room and evaded the downstairs dorm monitor who was speaking with a group of students in one of the lounges. Curfew was fifteen minutes away, and then students had to be escorted by a chaperone. He knew the routes security took around campus and kept to the shadows. A group of older students were finishing up in the electronics lab. Brendan wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone, so he headed for the gym. The game had ended two hours ago. The lights were still on, but the place was empty. Streamers and a few soda cans and candy wrappers littered the floor.
He took a basketball from a rack of balls and bounced it, listening to the echoes play around the large space. He took a shot, missed, collected the ball, shot again. Rim, but it didn’t sink. Then he heard loud voices. Four upperclassmen entered, took a ball, and went to the other side of the court. One was Tyler, the large sophomore whose leg had been badly broken during the boy’s ill-fated attempt to rescue Lucille from Torben. He wore a hinged brace that allowed full movement. Muscles bulged from his white tank top. Tyler was also the son of Silver Eagle, a New York hero who had lost a fight with Brendan’s dad in his last appearance as Drone King. Tyler knew who Brendan’s father was and had made it abundantly clear that the paternal rivalry extended down to them.
The boys began to shoot baskets. Tyler was either ignoring Brendan or hadn’t noticed him.
Brendan concentrated on the orange ball in his hands. A man screaming as he burned on a pile of tires.
Bounce.
Nurse Dreyfus getting stabbed by Freyda.
Bounce.
The Not-Earth dorm collapsing with hundreds of students inside.
He let the ball drop from his hands. He heard a laugh behind him, but none of the four were looking his direction. Brendan stared at them for a moment before crossing center court and walking straight up to Tyler. One of the boys nodded in Brendan’s direction and Tyler turned. The boy was a head taller than Brendan and twice as wide. Brendan remembered how he’d screamed when Torben crushed the leg.
Brendan swung. His fist took Tyler in the stomach. It was like punching a heavy bag in the weight room, the hard abdomen underneath barely yielding even with the surprise blow.
Tyler’s reaction was instant. His fist shot out, catching Brendan across the face, spinning him. He fell to the gym floor.
“This your new best friend, Tyler?” one boy asked.
Tyler didn’t say anything. He just looked down at Brendan, a confused expression on his face. Brendan caught h
is breath and felt blood ooze from his nose. He rose and tried to launch himself forward, but Tyler caught him with a blow to his midsection that doubled him over. Brendan fell again.
“Done?” Tyler asked.
Brendan got up. He had no breath left and wobbled. Tyler hit him again. He went down, and this time he knew he couldn’t get up if he wanted to.
Two of Tyler’s companions patted him on the shoulder and tried to get him to leave. Tyler left, only to return a moment later. He dropped a towel on Brendan.
“You’re bleeding.”
He turned and left Brendan lying on the gym floor.
***
Brendan slept.
He had made it back to his room without encountering anyone but the dorm monitor, but he’d closed his door before the man could comment on his limp or his swollen face. The skin under his eye burned and felt puffy. Should get ice. His stomach was tender. But his brain was in neutral, and sleep came easy.
His alarm beeped. It allowed him two five-minute snoozes before continuing its incessant chirp, a demon bird on his nightstand. He tugged the clock’s plug a couple of times and it came out of the socket. The noise continued. At that point, actually turning the alarm off felt too complicated. He would have to pull the battery.
He could hear the voices and bustle outside in the hallway. Another school day was starting and he didn’t feel…like anything. The dorm monitor would knock in another fifteen minutes if his door wasn’t open. Poser, if he was running on time, would knock just before that, if for no other reason than to gloat that he’d gotten up before Brendan for once.
With a groan, he pushed the sheets off and got up. Looking in the mirror, he touched his face. It was sensitive but not bad. A red mark showed, but none of the swelling had taken hold around his eye. He went out and showered and dressed.
The student restaurant was too loud. He saw Tina inside sitting with Vlad at the A.V. Club’s usual table. They hadn’t seen him. He exited and walked off-campus towards the Bean. Then he heard someone following him. Other students frequented the coffee house, but when Brendan did a shoulder check to see who was coming up behind him he was surprised to see it was Tyler and Lucille.
Lucille was having difficulty walking fast enough to catch up, her ridiculously tall heels making her wobble at the accelerated gait. She slapped Tyler on the arm and he came jogging forward.
“Hey, Cesar,” Tyler called.
Brendan stopped, his hands reflexively curled into fists. But the desire to fight was gone.
Lucille caught up to Tyler and nudged him.
“I wanted to apologize,” Tyler grunted.
“What?”
Tyler looked at Lucille. He appeared lost, as if his command on the language had slipped.
“Speak up and say it like you mean it,” Lucille said.
Brendan put a hand up. “It’s fine, no worries.”
“Brendan, stop,” she said.
“Sorry, Lucille. You don’t get to boss me around like I’m…him.” He continued walking.
Lucille caught up, taking three clopping steps for his every two. “Will you wait? We need to talk. Tyler here is sorry he hit you. That’s something, isn’t it?”
“I started it. I struck first. There’s nothing to apologize for.”
She put a hand on his arm but he pulled away. He knew what she could do with skin-on-skin contact. “Don’t ever touch me.”
“Are you going to the Bean?”
Brendan made a face. “What does it look like?”
“Let me buy you coffee.”
“I can buy my own.”
She exhaled sharply and looked around. She waited for a lone student to pass them by. In a low voice she said, “I want to help you with finding your father.”
It was the last thing he expected from her, and he didn’t know what to say. She gestured towards the alley that led to the Bean. “Can we go somewhere and sit?”
The line inside the Bean went from the register to the door. Brendan usually went straight for the self-serve drip coffee and the honor box for payment, but Lucille got in line, so he followed. Champ had counter help taking orders and ringing people up as he made the coffee and served freshly baked round cookies covered in sugar and cinnamon. The spice and coffee smell within the establishment was heady. His stomach growled.
When they finally got to the counter, the man at the register waited while Lucille pondered.
Brendan looked at her incredulously. “You had all this time to make up your mind.”
She ignored him. “Chai tea hot, no sugar, with whipped cream.”
Brendan ordered coffee. Tyler didn’t order anything. Lucille paid with her phone and they sat under the television. Some supers news was on, but only a few patrons were watching and the volume was muted. The speakers were playing classical guitar music.
Lucille looked at Brendan, a pleased look on her face. “We’ve been through it, haven’t we.”
Brendan sighed and stirred at his coffee. “You have no idea.”
“Do you miss her?”
“I’ve been too busy.”
“You and Charlotte were a good fit. She was geeky like you. Unlike Tina. You guys don’t seem to have anything in common.”
“If you’re going to bad-mouth Tina, I’m leaving.”
Champ called Lucille’s name. Tyler got up and brought her the cup. The low mound of whipped cream spread over the surface of the golden tea and steam escaped around the edges. Lucille slowly stirred.
“Who told you about my dad?”
Lucille gave the kind of smile Brendan knew could conceal any number of nasty emotions. “All the cops around campus after you guys got back? The headmaster going away? You think I wouldn’t find out what’s going on? You weren’t exactly in a hurry to fill me in.”
“You were too busy changing your story on what happened to Paul when he came back from Not-Earth alive.”
Her cool smile faltered for a moment. “That was difficult. You should have told me you were bringing him back.”
“You’re unbelievable. If you hadn’t run off while we tried to get Tyler back home, we could have gotten our story straight.”
“I didn’t run off.” She put a hand on Tyler’s. “Tyler forgives me. You should too.”
Tyler had a dull, pleased look about him. Brendan searched the boy’s eyes. “Do you, Tyler? Forgive her?”
“Nothing to forgive,” Tyler said. “It was all a bad accident.”
Brendan felt an unusual envy. Maybe Tyler actually remembered none of it. Whether it was Lucille’s manipulation or some other trick of the brain, Tyler was past the trauma of seeing Paul murdered. The events with Torben and the upstream Earth were behind him, nothing but a faded dream.
“How’s the leg?”
“A dull ache. With the brace on, I’m playing football this season.”
“Tyler is Dutchman Springs Academy’s ticket to victory. And that’s what we want to talk to you about.”
“Wait, what about you offering to help me find my dad?”
Lucille blew on her tea and sipped. Her red lipstick clung to the white ceramic. “That offer is on the table. But I need something from you.”
***
He met again with Lucille and Tyler at lunch inside an athletics building conference room. They had it to themselves. A large whiteboard and a corner video screen dominated the front of the class. A text came in from Tina checking on lunch plans. He replied, telling her he was busy.
Tyler activated the screen. It showed a football game in progress. Neither team was theirs. “This is Cathedral Valley High,” Tyler said. “They dominate our junior conference and are favored to win it this year as they did the last four. School’s not much bigger than ours. They have a few good players but mostly will throw a jersey on anyone willing to suit up.”
It was the most Brendan had ever heard Tyler speak. Lucille got comfortable and put her feet up on a chair near Brendan. She crossed her legs. Her thin gold anklets dan
gled.
“This is footage from the conference championship last year. We were out by then, our loss to Cat Valley the previous week knocking us from the playoffs.”
“You played last year?” Brendan asked.
Tyler made a face as if the answer was obvious.
“Tyler carried the team last year,” Lucille said. “Even as a freshman he was the only player worthy of the uniform. Undefeated until their last game.”
“We’re not going to lose to them this year,” Tyler said. “Because now we know they cheat. And you can help us stop them.”
Brendan didn’t watch football. He didn’t see anything exceptional happening onscreen, except that Cathedral Valley had its own large player who easily moved the opposition out of his way as he carried the ball across the end zone.
“Who’s that?” Brendan asked.
“Bull Johnson,” Tyler said. “Derek, but they call him Bull. He’s a junior. The only player they have who can stop me.”
“So what? Is he taking steroids or something? Is that how they’re cheating?”
Tyler fast-forwarded. The players on the field came and went, running up and down as the score raised to 21–17 in favor of Spooner Creek High. The leading team didn’t have anyone who could stand up to Bull, but their quarterback could throw and he placed the ball in the receivers’ hands more often than not.
“Spooner Creek’s QB is decent. He’s got a good eye and a strong arm for our level of play. As long as they take a long snap and their receivers get free, they can score.”
A second-down pass was incomplete. On third down it happened again, the pass to the receiver going wide. Tyler paused the action.
“Their quarterback lost his cool,” Brendan said.
“Maybe. They punt away and Cathedral Valley scores, taking the lead and the game. But watch this.”
Tyler rewound and zoomed in on the ball on the last two passes. Each time the ball flew, it appeared to get struck by a stiff breeze.
The Dark Academy (Supervillain High Book 4) Page 2