by Drew Hayes
“I don’t see any reason to; so far it seems to be a friendly match. Better they release their aggression harmlessly than let it loose in more destructive ways.”
Across the yard stood Roy and the freshman boy, Cameron or some such, both doing a preliminary stretch or two as the crowd of intoxicated students mingled about. A few other freshmen were speckled through the growing audience, three of them with looks of evident concern. Cameron himself seemed quite nonchalant, perhaps the gallons of beer he’d put away were the cause of such chillness.
The cluster parted as Thomas made his way outside. He looked at the two men preparing to do battle and let out a long, exasperated sigh before speaking.
“Who insulted whom?”
“Neither,” Roy said with an oversized grin. He looked like a kid waiting in line for a new roller coaster than he’d yet to scream his way through. “We were just drinking and talking, and Cameron mentioned his abilities were physically-based as well. Couple of beers later we decided to have ourselves a match.”
“‘A couple of beers’ is something of an understatement,” Alice chipped in from the sidelines. Even half-buzzed and in the cool wind of the California air, she still looked dazzling. Angela was very thankful the girl was inept in choosing men and procuring them, otherwise she might have had some real competition for her current conquest.
“We had enough,” Roy replied. “Now hold my hat.” He tossed the ever-present grey cowboy hat to Angela, which she caught with some distaste.
“What on earth makes you think a fight in my backyard is a good idea?” Thomas inquired.
“You’ve got high fences. Besides, we’re just horsing around. No mega-strength punches or tossing each other half a mile away. Just the first to three pins wins.”
“I’ll be quick,” Cameron promised from a few feet away. He’d finished his own stretches and was hopping impatiently in place.
“This seems like an awful idea,” Thomas reiterated.
Angela waltzed forward slowly, letting the crowd register her presence and slide away appropriately. She’d learned long ago how to project an aura of power and intimidation. It didn’t come from being aggressive or showing your strength; if anything it was the opposite. People saw true power when they witnessed someone who could move with a blissful peace, no matter what was happening around them. That confidence only came from being so strong that you had nothing that required your worry. Anyone could learn to project that image, but if you actually had the power to back it, then it was dozens of times more effective. And Angela definitely had the power.
“Let them be,” she said as she slid up to Thomas’s side. “You can’t control morons, you can only point them in a useful direction. If things get out of hand, Chad and I will put a swift stop to it.” Her words were for Thomas, but both of the would-be fighters got a dose of her eyes. She made sure each understood that the consequences of her stepping in would be exceptionally unpleasant. They seemed to absorb as much of her message as their booze-addled brains were capable of. With that settled, Angela put her hand on Thomas’s shoulder and led the party host back a few steps. There was immediate bickering directly behind her; a cursory glance revealed it to be the freshmen she assumed were Cameron’s friends. She started to listen to their conversation, but her attention was drawn to the action as it started.
Cameron kicked things off with a headlong charge right at Roy’s torso. If the older boy was surprised, it was only because he wasn’t accustomed to someone pulling his own signature move on him. Unluckily for Cameron, all of Roy’s experience with this technique had given him first-hand experience on how it could be countered. Roy struck with a quick elbow to the shoulder blade, obliterating Cameron’s balance and leaving him wide open for the knee that was driven into his hip. If it had been against a regular opponent, such a strike would only have further skewed his balance, but from someone like Roy, the blow flipped him several feet into the air. He landed chest-first in the grass with a soft thud. Roy moved to capitalize, but the freshman was surprisingly quick to recover. A single punch against the ground launched him back to his feet.
The two combatants looked at each other for only a moment before they rushed back into the fray. Cameron was good: he had speed and experience to go with his strength. But as the two cycled through holds and escapes, two things became clear: Roy was more practiced at hand-to-hand combat, and Cameron was the much weaker of the two. His speed and tactics kept him aloft for nearly a full minute before Roy landed a pivotal leg sweep that sent Cameron crashing down. Recovery might still have been possible if Roy hadn’t learned his lesson from the first attack. Such was not the case, and Roy kept after his opponent relentlessly, offering no chance for rest. A few seconds and three taps on the ground later the first round was over.
Roy stood up and brushed himself off, extending a hand to help his younger opponent off the ground. Cameron accepted graciously, leaping up with energy to spare.
“Ready for round two?” Cameron asked with an excited smile.
“Sure, why not?” Roy now knew that there was no way Cameron could defeat him, but if the kid wanted to go again, that was fine. Chad had wasted lord only knew how much time last year fighting an inferior opponent so he could learn. The least Roy could do was follow Chad’s example.
“Wait a second!” A cute girl with short blonde hair came tumbling out of the crowd. Just behind her were two more freshman, each exchanging looks of concern with the others. “Just wait a minute, please.” The girl turned to Cameron, who looked as if he’d just discovered someone ate all of the cereal and put the empty box back in cupboard.
“Tell me something honestly, how much have you had to drink?” Her tone made it clear she wouldn’t buck any lies or half-truths. She wanted his alcohol consumption down to the glass.
“A lot of beer,” Cameron answered as honestly as he could.
“That it? Just beer? No hard liquor of any kind?”
“None at all.”
“Ugh, you’re such a moron.” The blonde began rooting around in her oversized purse, eventually producing a full bottle of what had to be the cheapest vodka sold in stores. She handed it to him without a word, and stared at him until he unscrewed the cap and began to guzzle it down.
“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 p
lenty 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.