Super Powereds: Year 2

by Drew Hayes

  Shane avoided looking at his sister, who was perched on his bed, idly flipping through some of his books as she talked. Angela had shown up, uninvited and unwanted, half an hour ago to talk about spring break plans. He greatly suspected she’d come with the intention of forcing him into some activity he’d hate; however, she’d been beaten to the punch on that one.

  “I don’t have much of a choice,” he grumbled, digging through the shallow dorm dresser drawers for extra socks. “They gave an open invite and my entire team jumped on it. Half of them are good friends with Team One anyway, the rest weren’t going to give up a free beach cabin.”

  “That’s why I’m impressed. Shane from a year ago would have just trudged on with his training in spite of the fact that his whole team was going off to share an awesome experience. Being a captain has been good for you.”

  A witty retort smashed against Shane’s teeth, begging to be let out, but he held it in. She didn’t need to know that he’d only appreciated the importance of team unity because it made them work together better in matches. She certainly didn’t need to be informed that Shane considered this a golden opportunity to gather information on the people he’d be most likely to face in the year’s final match. No, better she think this some silly attempt on his part to feel closer to his team.

  “I’m half surprised you didn’t find a way to invite yourself along,” Shane replied, shifting the topic away from himself.

  “I thought about it, but the only folks I know from your grade are you and Chad. He’s not going, and you’re a sourpuss, so it didn’t seem like it would be much fun.”

  “What will you be doing with your time off then?”

  “Cancun with some people from my own class,” she said with a shrug. “I do have my own friends, you know.”

  “You’d never guess it from the way you hang around me,” Shane sniped.

  “That’s just ’cause I like to make sure my widdle brother doesn’t get so tightly wound that he has a heart attack when he’s twenty.”

  “I am not tightly wound,” Shane said, his neck tightening in annoyance. “I just don’t take life as flippantly as you.”

  “Potato, potahto,” Angela said. “Speaking of, you got any grub? I have got a powerful hunger gnawing at my gut.”

  Shane resisted the urge to try and hurl a lamp at her head. She’d just dodge it if he did, and then he’d be less one lamp. Instead he focused on the fact that the upside of this week would be seven magical days away from the annoying interruptions of his sister. For once, Shane couldn’t wait until classes were over.

  * * *

  Nick was an hour away from Lander at a nondescript diner, eating a burger that he could only assume was the chef’s manifesto of hate against the world, when the girl walked in. Her long dark curls hung midway down a back wrapped in a red leather jacket that clung just the right amount of tightly to her chest. Her legs were sheathed in leather too, ostensibly a safety precaution since she’d ridden here on a motorcycle, but the way they hugged her noteworthy ass suggested an ulterior motive in their selection. She scanned the diner once, then walked to Nick’s booth and sat down.

  “My goodness, I didn’t expect delivery from our top reproduction specialist,” Nick said by way of greeting.

  “Please, you know this kind of stuff isn’t my area. Cybil did the work, but she had a bar mitzvah for her nephew so she asked me to make the drop.”

  “How kind of you.”

  The girl’s eyes twinkled as her mouth twisted into a smirk. “I couldn’t just pass up the chance to see the legendary Nicholas Campbell playing a good boy. Nice clothes, by the way.”

  Nick bristled inwardly but kept any annoyance off his face. He was playing a role; the fact that he looked so ridiculous spoke only to the fact that he had succeeded in creating an identity truly separate from his own.

  “Eliza, much as I adore your body, your wit has never wowed me. How about we get down to business?”

  “No need to be rude. Just because I’m the one girl in Vegas you haven’t been inside doesn’t mean you get a pass to be a dick. Especially not when I come bearing gifts.” She reached into her jacket and produced a thick white envelope. Carefully setting it on the table, she slid it over until it touched Nick’s plate.

  Nick set down his burger and wiped his hands on the barely adequate napkin. He gently plucked up the envelope and popped it open by sliding his thumb along the seal. A quick survey of the contents seemed to satisfy him, as he laid it back on the table and returned to his meal. “Tell Cybil she’ll get the money within the week. Also let her know the work was exceptional, as always.”

  “I’ll pass it along,” Eliza replied. “Why do you need that many fake IDs?”

  “Think of it as my little contribution to a truly exceptional vacation.”

  “Whatever, long as Cybil gets paid,” Eliza said with a shake of her head. “I think that concludes our business. Unless you want to introduce me to some of these mysterious fellow students of yours.”

  “If that were the plan I wouldn’t have met you out here,” Nick pointed out. “Besides, you’d loathe them. Dreadfully dull compared to the company we keep.”

  “I bet.” Eliza’s tone said she didn’t believe him, but her rising and heading out the door said she didn’t really care.

  That was good; Nick had no intention of letting his real life and his Lander life mix. Much like the awful meal he was barely getting down, that particular combination of ingredients would produce a truly horrific flavor.

  128.

  Roy might have known how to ride a motorcycle, but Hershel was less certain of both his balance and his ability to shrug off a collision. Thankfully, Nick was carpooling with Alex to the beach house, so he’d offered up his car as a substitute. Hershel’s only concern as he cruised along the sun-ravaged highway was that this tiny automobile would offer scarcely more protection that a bike in a crash. Still, it wasn’t dependent on him managing not to tip over, so for that much he was thankful.

  It hadn’t been a long trip from Lander campus to Colorado; despite waiting to say goodbye to Mary before departing, the afternoon sky was still bright as Hershel pulled into the gravel parking lot. It would be a few hours until the sizable building before him was open for business, but Hershel’s father would be here already. He was always a man early to rise and begin the day’s work. Hershel could have gotten here faster if he hadn’t stopped so often, but something in his stomach seemed to be twisted up. This resulted in more bathroom and antacid breaks than necessary. He was here, at last. All he had to do was get out of the car and walk in the door.

  An hour later the sun was drifting downward and Hershel was still sitting in Nick’s car. There was no going back, not after making Roy miss class and keeping him confined for a week. His brother’s wrath would be tremendous; the only saving grace would be making this work. Still, how many years had it been since he’d seen his father? Since he’d looked at the gigantic man with his own eyes? His mother had done a tremendous job of hiding Titan’s Scandal from Hershel; it hadn’t been until after Roy went to see him that they found out what happened. Until then, he hadn’t understood why his father left. He’d only known how much he missed him.

  It occurred to Hershel that if he didn’t move soon, other cars might start showing up. There were a few hours of daylight left, but that didn’t mean there couldn’t be early-birds. The idea of having his reunion with other people around was enough to finally force Hershel from the fabric seat he’d been stalling for time in. He shut the door and locked the doors with the fob on the keychain.

  No going back. Hershel began the long walk toward the front door.

  * * *

  Nick let out a low whistle as he took in the layout of Alice’s beach house. The ground floor was enormous, with a spectacular kitchen and living room that looked like it could comfortably seat twenty people, all with a good view of the enormous plasma television. Through a door on the side was a game room, two pool tab
les, and what appeared to be an old-school arcade game already visible from Nick’s vantage point. Next to the restaurant-grade refrigerator was a single tap above a knob with twenty various beer logos on it. He’d seen a similar setup at some high-end bars, one tap able to pull from multiple routed kegs, but even in the decadence of Vegas Nick had never encountered such a system in a home.

  “I’ll say this about your dad, he knows how to build a party pad,” Nick commented.

  “My dad hates this kind of place,” Alice corrected him. “Like I said, it mainly exists so he can loan it out to clients or businesses he is wooing.”

  “Consider me wooed.”

  “Wow, this place is huge!” Vince exclaimed, dragging his bag in through the door. Alex was only a few steps behind, his amazement apparent in the way his eyes flitted about the surroundings. The quartet had left earlier than the rest of the students to make sure they were there to greet arrivals. It had taken them longer than expected to arrive, though that was chiefly because Alex’s car, while roomy, wasn’t quite built for speed. They’d received more than a few middle-finger salutes as they puttered along the highway at fifty miles an hour, but they’d still managed to arrive intact.

  “I recommend you guys stake out rooms on the second floor,” Alice advised. “The third floor only has three bedrooms, and one of them is just a giant area filled with bunk beds. It dominates most of the floor, so the other rooms on three are pretty cozy.”

  “Don’t you want to take first pick?” Alex asked politely.

  “The one that’s locked is mine,” Alice replied. “I had the cleaning staff set it up for me. It’s the only single bed in the place, so you’ll forgive me for grabbing it.”

  “I think that’s very fair, especially given how generous you are to let us all come here,” Vince said. “Are there any rooms on the second floor with three beds? If we bunk together, we leave more options for the other guests.”

  “Up the stairs, third door to the right,” Alice informed him.

  “Not so fast there, bucko,” Nick said, holding up a hand to stop Vince’s forward progress. “First things first: I brought party favors.” He reached into his pocket and produced a crumpled white envelope. A brief flurry of activity from his nimble fingers sifted through its contents and suddenly three laminated cards were gripped in his digits. Nick extended the first to Alice, then handed one each to Vince and Alex.

  “Fake ID’s?” Alex’s voice sounded as confused as Vince’s face looked.

  “This isn’t a college town,” Nick explained. “This is a tourist destination. There’s always places we can go back home where the drinking age is determined by whether or not you can pay your tab. Here it’s different. Lots of places will enforce not only a drinking age, but a minimum age to enter. Now, I’m not saying you have to use them to get served alcohol, I’m just saying these ensure we can avail ourselves of any club or venue we find enticing.”

  “Why does it have our real names?” Vince asked. “I admit I don’t know much about this stuff, but I thought you were supposed to use fake names.”

  “Only if you’re an amateur. These are top quality. They’ll pass any test up to being run through the system by an actual police officer.” Nick might have beamed a bit as he spoke; he had helped Cybil refine her process a few years back and couldn’t help being proud of the results.

  “Thanks, Nick,” Alice said. “These could lead to some real fun. I’d feel bad for the others, but this place is stocked well enough to keep up everyone comfortably buzzed for a month, let alone a week.”

  “No need to feel bad for them, anyway,” Nick said. “In case you didn’t notice, I’ve got way more than three cards in my envelope.”

  “Giant house, fake IDs, tons of alcohol.” Alex shook his head. “I didn’t ever expect I’d be having a spring break this awesome when I came to Lander.”

  “Well, let’s get it started!” Nick declared, scooping up his own bag from the floor and racing toward the stairs. Vince and Alex were close on his heels, while Alice took her sweet time making the ascent. There was a whole week ahead of them, and she was in no need to hurry.

  This was a time to relax and savor.

  129.

  It didn’t take Mary long to figure out that telepathy wasn’t much help amidst college freshmen on spring break. This wasn’t a matter of her being unable to hear their thoughts, or them being too convoluted to make sense of. No, the reason telepathy held no benefit is that everyone’s mind centered chiefly around the same two subjects: alcohol and sex. Despite never having partaken in either, by the time her charges were gathering their individual coolers and heading toward the water, Mary was thoroughly sick of both topics.

  “Cameron!” Chad barked to her right. “One cooler per person.”

  The alcohol-ability-based freshman looked at his chaperone with utter dejection, then placed two of three coolers he’d been trying to haul off back on the ground. Candi scooped one of them up and patted him on the back. It seemed every class had a few sober kids to act as booze mules for the heavy drinkers. Walter and Gale weren’t far behind, the bespectacled boy trying and failing to swill down beer as though he drank it frequently. Those were the only freshmen Mary recognized; the remaining were a blur of faces she knew from below ground but couldn’t have put names to without referencing a student handbook. Chad, however, had no such issues.

  “Kelly! Buddy system is not optional, pair with a group. Jim! Pull your trunks up. If you want to strip at least wait until everyone is too drunk to care.”

  “How do you do that?”

  “Perfect memory,” Chad said, his eyes still scanning the departing freshmen for infraction. “I always memorize the names of everyone in the HCP at the beginning of the year.”

  “Why?”

  Chad shrugged. “Just seemed like something that might come in useful.”

  “Oh,” Mary said. “Has it?”

  “Occasionally. Not as often as I’d expected,” Chad admitted. “Jim! I am not going to warn you again.”

  A sullen-looking boy with dark hair pulled his swimsuit up then began moving with increasing speed toward the river.

  “Were you guys this bad last year?”

  “Probably, although Angela and Ben were somewhat less strict with us.”

  “Should we let up a little then?”

  “I was planning on it once we actually got on the river. I wanted to set a firm standard initially and then enforce it only as needed through the rest of the trip,” Chad explained. “As long as they know we’re here to keep them in line, we probably won’t have to.”

  “You sound like you have practice at this.”

  “None at all; Angela gave me some pointers.”

  Mary tilted her head in surprise. “That doesn’t really seem like her management style.”

  “It isn’t. This is the one she thought would work best for me.” Chad bent over and grabbed a cooler of his own. “I’ll take the point position if you want to follow at the rear in case of stragglers.”

  “Sounds like a plan. You thinking of drinking?” Mary motioned to the cooler in his hand.

  “No, but I might want a water. Besides, I’m sure some of the more daring students will loot my alcohol when they think I’m not looking.” Mary wasn’t quite sure, but she thought she saw the outline of a smile on Chad’s well-defined face. Not for the first time, she wished she could read the mind behind her inscrutable classmate. Wishing did no good, so instead she grabbed a tube and followed him down to where the freshmen were already splashing noisily into the gentle current.

  * * *

  Mr. Transport arrived at the doorstep with a bouquet of flowers freshly picked from a remote hill in Norway. It was the sort of thing that would have seemed overeager if he’d planned on telling his date where they were procured; however, without context they merely seemed like a lovely choice from the local florist.

  His suit, always pressed and fitted, was complimented with an electric blue tie ra
ther than his usual black one. It presented a jauntier image, or at least that’s what the salesman had convinced him. Mr. Transport was an expert on many things: geography, Australian wine, home-brewed beer, munitions, and the works of Isaac Asimov to name a few. Sadly, fashion and dating were two subjects lacking in his repertoire. He was quite fortunate, in as much as he was out of practice pitching woo, the woman he was romancing was out of practice in receiving it.

  Ms. Daniels answered the door by the third knock, her hair carefully curled and a turquoise dress draped over her figure. It didn’t hide her body entirely, and while time and childbirth had certainly softened the once sleek frame of the Southern belle, she’d logged enough time on the treadmill to keep the ultimate ravages of age at bay.

  “On time as always,” Ms. Daniels said as a greeting.

  “You look lovely tonight, Sally,” Mr. Transport said, handing over his meager offering of flora.

  “I suppose you look a bit dashing yourself. I like your tie.”

  Mr. Transport felt a goofy smile dance across his face. It was embarrassing, but his life had been cut off from normality in his early twenties, so he’d never evolved past this phase of dating. He still got flustered and cheerful by simple compliments. Unbeknownst to him, it was one of the qualities Sally Daniels found endearing.

  The two had been on three dates since Mr. Transport found the gumption to ask her out, his schedule rarely meshing along with her own. Spring break offered a rare opportunity; with his charges all off on various vacations, Mr. Transport only had his other company duties to attend to, ones which were infrequent and unpredictable. They had resolved to use this opportunity for a prolonged dating session, one to determine if they would grow sick on each other’s company or more enamored with it. It was a somewhat clinical approach to the idea of love, but both had tight schedules and little time to piss away on an endeavor that would ultimately culminate in failure.

  “Come on in,” Sally said, stepping to the side. “I thought we could have a drink and catch up before dinner.”