Failing Test: Book One of The Shadow Series

by J. M. Pierce

  Marcy’s freckled face was illuminated with a heartfelt smile. “I’ll try to hook up with you at lunch and let you know what I found out.”

  “That’d be great. Would you mind if I sat with you?” asked Nicole.

  “Not at all,” replied Marcy. “And, Nicole, I’m here to talk any time that you need.”

  The two turned away from each other and Nicole looked back to her chair.

  “Nicole will you please take your seat,” commanded Mrs. Steel.

  As the room erupted in laughter, Nicole turned and stepped away from her chair, revealing it to Mrs. Steel. She stood silently, holding back the tears as the entire room stared and giggled.

  “All right that’s enough!” yelled Mrs. Steel. “Go grab another seat from the back,” she said consolingly as she motioned to Nicole.

  Nicole lifted the tape covered chair and replaced it with another. As she took her seat, she glanced to Marcy across the room and returned her look of pity with a difficult smile. Nicole was grateful to her. In the short amount of time that she had spent with Marcy, she had made her feel better.

  Nicole muddled through first period. She held her flute to her mouth and went through the motions, but didn’t play a note. She couldn’t focus on anything but the thought of Test. All that she really wanted was to just talk to him. She wanted to tell him how special she thought that he was. If she could turn back the time to last night, she would have kissed him while they were sitting in the window seat. After he had read her the poem, she felt differently. It wasn’t that she hadn’t always liked him; it was just that in that moment she realized how much she liked him. She had to talk to him. He had to know that the words she spoke in the foyer last night were a lie.

  The bell rang, and Nicole headed for the door. She had originally intended to wait for Marcy, but patience was not one of her strong suits. She watched Marcy go out ahead of her. As she exited the band room and entered the hallway, she could see Marcy and Mark talking up ahead. Weaving in and out of the hallway traffic, she approached them, and, with a sense of urgency, burst into the middle of their conversation.

  “Have you heard from him?” she asked.

  Startled, Mark leaned away from her. When he saw that it was Nicole, he replied, concerned, “Marcy was just telling me that you were asking about Test. I haven’t heard from him at all today. Actually, I expected him to call me last night, but he never did. What happened with you two?”

  As soon as the words came out of Mark’s mouth, he was hit from behind and knocked forward into Marcy. He quickly turned to see Chad Cooper standing behind him.

  Chad’s voice boomed in the narrow hallway. “You really should watch where you’re standing, Wilson.”

  Chad and Mark stood eye to eye, but Chad was twice as wide and had Mark by more than fifty pounds. Without regard for his obvious disadvantage, Mark stepped into Chad.

  “What’s your problem?” he asked angrily.

  Chad didn’t move. He stood statuesque and rigid, arms folded and a confident grin on his face. “Actually, all of this is a problem,” he replied, waving his hand back and forth at the three of them. Turning to Nicole, he continued. “Nicole, I’m here to notify you of a bill coming your way for the cleaning of two letterman jackets. If there’s a problem with that, well, maybe your new boyfriend and I can work it out.”

  Chad smacked Mark on the back and walked past the three of them, oozing arrogance.

  Confused, Mark turned to Nicole. “What the hell happened last night?”

  With tears in her eyes, she told Mark and Marcy the whole story.

  ****

  Test slowly pried open his eyes. They felt like they had been glued shut. His head was pounding so hard that once his eyes were open, he had difficulty focusing on anything. He could hear the neighbor’s dog barking outside, but to him, it sounded like the dog was right by him. Sunlight was shining through a crack in the curtains, illuminating dust particles floating through the room like snowflakes in winter. With his mouth dry and his body aching, he sat up on the couch. He couldn’t help but let out a prolonged moan. For several moments, he sat on the couch with his head in his hands, trying to remember all of the details of last night’s excitement. He raised his head to see the splintered coffee table and the hole in the floor. In a second, it all rushed back to him.

  “It was real. It really happened,” he said aloud.

  “Just what exactly did happen here last night?”

  Test spun around to see his mother sitting at the kitchen table smoking a cigarette.

  “Uh . . . hey, Mom. I’m not sure.” He stuttered as he spoke.

  What could he say? He couldn’t wrap his head around the truth himself. Actually he wasn’t even sure what the truth was. He knew that he had done the damage, but how was a complete unknown. Unable to look at her, he forced himself to lie.

  “I came home last night, and it was like this. I guess maybe someone broke in?”

  With a prolonged exhale of smoke, Maggie replied, disgusted, “Probably that damned Tommy. I left him walkin’ on the side of the road the other night; haven’t seen him since, that worthless S.O.B.”

  Test was relieved that his mother had left Tommy, but was more than ready to end this conversation. He turned back to the mess that used to be the living room.

  “So did the thief drink my vodka, too?” asked Maggie, holding the broken top of the vodka bottle. “And then my next question is why aren’t you at school?”

  Knowing he was defeated, he replied, “I drank the vodka. I’m sorry. I guess I over-slept my alarm clock, too.” He placed his head in his hands, reeling from the headache.

  “I don’t care. Just replace my vodka,” said Maggie as she slammed her half-smoked cigarette into the ashtray.

  Unbelievable, he thought. A giant hole in the floor, the television’s shattered, the coffee table’s destroyed, and the only thing she’s worried about is that I replace the vodka?

  “Do you hear me?” she asked again, this time much louder.

  “No problem, Maggie,” replied Test as he stood and walked to his room. This was all too typical of his mother. He couldn’t understand why or how she became the person that she did, but she definitely wasn’t much of a mother any more.

  As he closed his bedroom door, he remembered the coffee table. He stopped mid-stride and looked at his hands. He could remember them feeling hot. He closed his eyes and tried to recall every detail of the event. He was going to throw the vodka bottle. He was going to slam his hands on the coffee table.

  “Could it be that simple?” he asked himself.

  He looked around the room and saw his stereo sitting on the floor next to his bed. He imagined himself turning it on, but nothing happened. He held his hand out, and tried to act like he was turning it on. Still nothing happened. He looked to his windows and thought about moving the curtains. Nothing happened. Again, he lifted his hand to motion like he was spreading the curtains. Once again, still nothing happened. Frustrated, he turned to his closet to get a fresh set of clothes for the day. As he reached for the closet door, the door knob turned. He froze with his hand inches away from the door. He backed away, now easily recalling the feeling of fear that had been present the night before. Struggling for an answer, he waved his hand at the closet door in disgust. With a thud, it slammed shut.

  “Hold it down in there!” yelled Maggie from the next room.

  He paid her no attention and rationally thought about his situation. Was it anger that triggered it? he wondered. Last night was definitely as low as he had been in years, possibly ever. His emotions ran unchecked thanks to the vodka, and it seemed that when he was at his worst, things happened. He turned back to the stereo. He thought of turning the stereo on. Nothing happened. He stretched out his right arm and let himself feel the frustration from the morning and the night before. He let the fire ignite inside. He felt a surge of energy running down his arm and into his hands. He felt his palms becoming hot. Suddenly, he could feel the butto
n. Even though he was several feet away from it, he could somehow feel it. The stereo blasted. He felt the rush of energy surge through his entire body. He turned to the curtains and focused. Again, he felt his palms grow increasingly hot. He raised his arms and motioned with them as if to open the curtains. Gently, the dust-laden curtains slid along the rods, just as if he was standing directly in front of them. Grinning, he looked at his hands. Last night he had felt fear, but this morning he was no longer afraid. Instead, the fear had been replaced by amazement. He felt empowered, like a child who had just ridden his bicycle without training wheels for the first time. He wanted more.

  After a shower and a clean change of clothes, he was ready to be gone. It was almost noon, and he had to get out of the house. Though he had barely seen his mother for more than five minutes that morning, that five minutes was more than he cared to spend with her at all. He was anxious to try out his newfound talents, and he had many questions that needed to be answered.

  He quietly opened his door and listened for his mother. Not hearing a sound, he crept out into the hallway and peered around the corner into the living room and kitchen. She was nowhere to be seen. He turned and looked over his shoulder to his mother’s bedroom door at the very end of the hall. He walked as quietly as he could, but the creaky floors limited his ability. The door wasn’t closed completely so he peered through the crack carefully. He could see Maggie asleep on her bed, fully clothed and a cigarette smoldering on the rim of an empty beer can. He closed his eyes and shook his head in disgust. He quickly backed away and headed for the front door. As he exited, he slammed the door in frustration and ran to the Barracuda, which was parked in the street.

  He jumped into the driver’s seat, and the old car scent hit him wrong. The heat from the sun-soaked black vinyl seats quickly reminded him of his condition. He took a deep breath followed by a heavy sigh. While he was feeling better than he had when he woke up, his body wasn’t going to let him forget the amount of vodka that he had consumed the night before anytime soon. He pushed in the clutch and put the key into the ignition.

  Like a brick to the head, a memory of the night before came back to him. When he had seen Chad and Justin pull up to Nicole’s last night, Test was sure that he hadn’t turned the key in the ignition. He held his hand to the steering column and tried to repeat the event. Nothing happened. He started thinking of Nicole. He remembered the way she had looked at him after he had finished writing her poem. He was sure of the look in her eye. He felt the warm flush of hope come over him. Unconsciously, he reached for the key, and before he was able to touch it, it turned on its own and the Barracuda’s engine roared to life. Startled, he paused and squinted out the window at the harsh daylight. He let his right hand hover over the shifter and, with a devilish smile on his face, watched the shifter go into first.

  “Let the games begin!” he shouted as he let out the clutch and sped down the street.

  He had chosen a place that he could go to that would be free of people. Besides being tranquil and private, there would be many items for him to “play” with. He settled in for the drive and enjoyed the fresh air, even though the wind through his windows at seventy-five miles per hour was more of a hurricane than a gentle breeze. He used the driving time to think about everything that had occurred in the last twelve hours. It had been such an insane ride. It was actually almost too much. It still felt like a dream and that at any moment he could lose control. But for now he was ready to cut loose. Now he was going to make his life more fantastic than any dream could ever achieve, though he struggled to block out the thoughts of the nightmare that his life could become.

  Time flew by, and before he knew it, he was turning into the drive of an old farmstead. He had discovered the place about a year ago. Whenever he wanted to be alone, he would get into his car and drive around in the country. He had walked around this place several times in the last couple of months and had never seen anyone except for the occasional car driving past. At the end of the drive was an old farmhouse. It didn’t have any windows left intact, and parts of the roof had fallen in years ago. The front door was still intact and oddly mirrored the screen door on his own house, hanging on only one hinge and leaning toward the inside of the door frame. Across from the house was a large barn that at one time he could imagine was one of the most majestic buildings for miles. Presently, it was sided with tin scraps and had weathered pieces of wood hanging from the peak. Time had not been incredibly kind to the barn. The roof, much like that of the house, had fallen in spots. The entire building was leaning toward the south, and the only thing that seemed to be holding the barn up was a group of giant elm trees that had taken up residence behind it. To the right of the barn were a couple of old combines. Next to the combines rested a couple of old trucks that looked like they hadn’t moved in twenty years. He bathed in the warm breeze and sunshine, and allowed himself to feel good. This was to be his playground.

  He stepped out of his car and walked toward the barn. Midway between the drive and the barn, an old steel bucket rested on its side in the tall grass. Test raised his right hand and focused on the bucket. This time, everything happened much more quickly. He felt the fire ignite inside and then felt the waves of energy travel in pulses down his right arm. He visualized the bucket lifting off the ground and could ‘feel’ it in his hand. In a controlled motion, he lifted his arm, and slowly his target rose into the air. He smiled at the sight, and losing his focus on the task at hand, watched as the bucket fell to the ground. He shook his arms in front of him and cleared his mind. Once again, he lifted his arm, and the bucket immediately arose. He held it stationary, letting it hover two feet off the ground. He could clearly feel it, though he wasn’t physically touching it. He moved his hand to the left, and the bucket followed his motion. He moved his hand up, and the bucket lifted higher into the air. He then made a fist and let the bucket drop. A feeling of excitement overtook him. His heart was racing. He had never felt so confident and in control ever in his life.

  He thought about how he could have blown a hole in the coffee table and through the floor. He turned and looked at one of the two trucks. It was an old, blue, early 1970s Ford. All of the tires on it were flat and sunk into the ground a couple of inches. He positioned himself about ten feet away directly in front of the truck. He outstretched his right arm; his goal was to simply move the truck if he could. His body tensed and his arms burned. The truck shook, sending vibrations through the ground and back into his feet. He could feel the weight of the truck and was surprised at how his arm was becoming fatigued. Realizing that he couldn’t do it with just one arm, he stretched out his left arm along with his right, and felt in full the enormity of what was in front of him. He summoned all of his strength, forcing the fire inside him to pulse harder. It was almost like internally squeezing a stress ball. The harder he pulsed, the more the truck moved. Slowly the truck lifted out of the dirt. The flat tires hovered an inch or so off the ground. Every muscle in his body was now burning and strained. As fatigue set in, he released the truck, sending it to the ground with a crash. He took a knee, closed his eyes, and hung his head low. His breathing was labored and shallow.

  “Way to go, genius. If you wouldn’t have drank so much last night, you probably could have played with that truck like it was a Hot Wheels toy!”

  He took a moment to gather his strength, and then stood up. He looked up and instinctively threw his right arm at the truck, palm open and facing forward, focusing one big pulse at the old blue relic. Instantly the windshield shattered backward into the cab, and the truck rocked violently. He stood with his arm frozen. Discovery had come unconsciously. The pulse was what controlled it. Control the pulse, and he could control the power. The realization, while answering one of his questions, still left the largest unsolved. The incident with the glass had been the most confusing as well as terrifying. He lowered his head and scratched the back of his neck. He noticed a dandelion. The bloom was fully open and bright yellow; its leaves spl
ayed over the ground in a six-inch circle. He placed his palm over it and closed his eyes. Focusing on the pulse, he could feel the palm of his hand become hotter and hotter. He didn’t have a plan; he was just letting the furnace burn. He opened his eyes, and as suddenly as the night before, everything slammed into slow motion. Gracefully, the dandelion melted, just as the glass had the night before. In seconds, there was nothing left but a solidified pool of dark green mass. He picked it up with a touch of hesitation. It was solid and cool, again just like the glass, but much more pliable. He played it over in his mind. It was as if everything holding the dandelion together was forced to release, like a person without bones. Take the bones out of a man, and he was just a pile of tissue. Was it possible that he had somehow released the bonds of the molecular structure, forcing the dandelion to form into another substance? He couldn’t answer the question. This was far out of the realm of his senior high school biology class. It didn’t matter so much to him that he knew how it happened; only that he could repeat it.

  He stood up, dropped the pool of dandelion, and looked at the roof of the barn. He felt like he was indestructible.

  “Chad and Justin who?” he yelled, raising his hands over his head.

  He looked at the truck that he had just rocked and let out a primitive grunt. Both palms facing the ground, he pulsed as hard as he could, launching himself into the air and landing on the hood of the old blue Ford. Even though he had never tried it before, something inside knew that he was capable.

  “I can fly?” he asked softly.

  Everything was so surreal. Standing on the hood of the truck, he couldn’t help but laugh like a child with a new toy.

  As the sun set, he climbed one of the old elm trees and sat on the roof of the barn to watch the sun go down. He knew he had to go to school the next day, though he wasn’t anxious for it. The stillness of the moment brought thoughts of Nicole. Something just wasn’t right. Why would she ask him over if she didn’t like him? It didn’t make any sense. He thought about who he could tell about his newly discovered powers, or if he should even tell anyone. The risk was high, even among his friends. Was there anyone that he could tell and trust that his secret would be safe? He was pretty sure that he was going to tell Mark, but then again, would Mark tell Marcy? Was it fair to ask him not to? Suddenly, he was tired of thinking. It was still too much to digest.