Maybe that’s it . . . or maybe Val is just a cipher. Pyromancers go the star route sometimes. Not often, mostly they’re hot heads with control issues, but sometimes that star route. No one can get close to it, always reaching . . . never really knowing the star until you burn up . . .
No help from Raj.
No help from anyone else.
Heading straight for the star, no engines, no heat shield . . . King Henry going crispy chicken.
I went for blackmail.
What?
It’s playful non-really blackmail. That makes it okay.
Or something.
I waited a good hour for the perfect moment. Sitting on my bed, alone, fumbling with the chart of paper that had ‘09s measurements on it. We hadn’t gotten a celebration party this time. The Asylum faculty couldn’t prove we’d poisoned the majority of the Intras and was split over whether we should be looked upon as delinquents or geniuses for working outside of the box. About the status quo as far as King Henry Price is concerned, but the whole class being added in with me was new.
Root even tried to disqualify us instead of the Eriksons before Welf read Raj’s rule aloud. Fuming, the Gamemaster then tried to extend the Winter War schedule to fit the semi-finals back in, only to have the Lady step all over removing school days for more holidays. Root was sneaky in how he kept fighting, pushing it all the way to the Learning Council for a vote on how to proceed. ’09 won the vote, but not by as comfortable a margin as the Lady’s will usually managed. It didn’t help us that three people on the council shit their brains out right along with the Intras.
No semi-finals, no celebration. Just an odd victory that at least wasn’t a loss.
Our fellow Ultras loved us. ’08 forgave us for beating them, ’07 Blackjacks grudgingly nodded in approval despite being our next opponents, and ’10 watched us like we were gods made flesh. Even the graduate students laughed when we walked by. Might have been me responsible but the whole class bore the brunt of the praise . . . and the hatred.
Every Intra in the school was ready to riot. The Lady explaining the rules didn’t help at all. The Learning Council vote barely helped. They felt tricked . . . and yeah, kind of the point. Collateral damage—not a thing I’ve ever worried about. I got my revenge, Eriksons and the Eagles shitting themselves raw. The word was out. Cut up the Foul Mouth and you’ll pay the Price.
Ready to riot, only kept from it because they had to help take care of their classmates who had been cut down by the Pancakes of Pain. Miss Strange didn’t have enough helpers or nurses for the load, took on volunteers. What was left of the Intras after that gathered outside the Ultra dorms, glowering and snarling at our doors. Mister Gullick and a few other teachers set up in some chairs, making sure Intra and Ultra stayed apart for the day and the night.
Victory . . . no celebration and instead a kind of house-arrest.
Felt weird.
’09 split up around our dorms, did what we usual did during our winter free days. We just pretended it was snowing outside, and fittingly the sky did look overcast and the temperature had dropped. Easy to imagine snow when the real thing might be soon in coming.
Naomi and her girls had taken up space in the girl’s bathrooms, cheeks clamped to toilet seats, their moans carrying into the hallway. Too bad . . . Pocket with Sabine and I might have had a shot at getting Naomi to go with me just to spite him. Never underestimate the power of spite and revenge in getting you a date, or in getting laid.
Rebound sex is some great sex, kiddos.
Yeah, it’s morally questionable.
Which is exactly why it rocks.
Welf, Jason, and Estefan’s crew took over a whole table. Lain on it was a sketched map of this year’s Winter War version of the Mound, or as best as we could remember from our first match. Next to the map was a portfolio of Ultra Class ’07’s twenty-four members. We had them outnumbered if not out skilled. They also lacked a geomancer or a necromancer, the team being led by aeromancer Catherine Hayes, a tall, willowy brunette who was both a hotty and a genius but also psychotically bi-polar. ’07 also had Mary O’Connell as a hydromancer and Teresa Garcia as a pyromancer. This was the trio the school called the Three Queens to their faces and the Three Queen Bitches behind their backs.
There are a lot of cool people at the Asylum but Class ’07 doesn’t have any of them. Even Leo, my ball kicker, gets along with the majority of the school and is popular with the other Ultras—outside of Winter War backstabbing he’s not bad. Sabine is cool enough to take Pocket to the Winter Ball. Shit, even the Eriksons earn points when they play on sports teams.
Something is seriously wrong with the kids in ’07. I don’t know if it’s the Queens responsible or if something went wrong with the Mancy the year they got pushed out . . . I don’t know. Occasionally an Ultra class gets a reputation. Six or so years ahead of me there was a class known for being super peaceful, my own ’09 was filled with over-achievers, geniuses, and brilliant schemers.
Class ’07 is evil.
Kids go out of their way to get away from them. Winter War teams facing off against them are hurt and injured at a huge rate. On the Mound, the older Ultras protect the younger Ultras from bullying and worse. ’07 started with twenty-eight kids. Two had been expelled. Another transferred. One killed herself.
What I’d done to poison the Eriksons was messed up, but saving the other Intra class from having to play ’07? That was a favor. No matter what the Eriksons said about not being scared, they were lying. Welf went through his portfolio for hours, didn’t sleep at all leading up to our match, trying to think up anything that could give us an edge to survive, much less win. One of the few times I actually felt bad for the douche.
Probably a good thing I was distracted trying to win over Valentine for those days, else we would have butted heads again. I left the Winter War to Welf, Jason, and Estefan, focused in on another prize.
Curt Chamber’s group played Hacky Sack with the couches pushed back, Nizhoni, Asa, and Eva played Monopoly on another table, Athir and Isabel stretched out on the floor playing chess, Raj was with Miranda and Valentine chatting about a book they’d all read, waiting for my signal . . .
Where the fuck was Pocket?
Yeah, that’s the good question. No clue. Getting some French kissing lessons from Sabine if he’s smart. Some French fucking lessons from Sabine if he’s really smart.
I nodded to Raj, moved into the bedroom, picked up the list of measurements.
And waited . . .
And waited . . .
Did Raj forget the signal?
Damn it, why am I so nervous? If she says ‘no’, then she says ‘no’. When did I ever care about rejection? I’ve been rejected my whole life. One more person hardly matters.
And waited . . .
And waited . . .
Since when did a girl get to me? Annoy me, sure. Bust my balls, double sure. Look on me with loathing, triple sure. But get inside me? Make me have . . . emotion and shit?
And waited . . .
And waited . . .
You can’t have emotion with girls or with women. Try to get close to them and they just hurt you in the end. Keep back, get ‘em naked, have a little fun together. Don’t fucking feel . . . even if they make you feel good. In the end . . .
And waited . . .
And waited . . .
The door to our communal bedroom opened.
Val stepped in with a bounce in her step. She has this excitement to movement that makes you start to believe it’s a great day, that everything works out, and that you should put a smile on your face.
She paused, turned, and found me at my bed.
And waited . . .
And waited . . .
I studied her from the corner of my eyes, trying to seem casual, accidental. Back in her red pyromancer colors. They always looked wrong on her. Too dark. Fire ain’t really red, it’s orange, and blue, and at its hottest so white it will blind you. That’s the part of fir
e Val comes from. So hot it will blind you.
And waited . . .
And waited . . .
Blond hair to her shoulders, like sunshine. Eyes black enough to be without iris, like space itself. Cheekbones sharp enough to cut a hand reaching out to cup them. Lips that twist and curve and laugh at my jokes.
She even smelled like sun tan lotion.
And waited . . .
And waited . . .
Val stopped in front of my bed with a little smirk on her face, like she could see through every little flicker of emotion I had. Which is some skill considering how much practice I have at hiding them. “Given the way Raj was almost frustrated enough to push me through the door, I’m assuming you want to talk to me, King Henry.”
I lifted the list of measurements so she’d see it but didn’t hand it over. Keep your cool. “You wanted this.”
Her eyes twinkled with mischief. “I was beginning to think it was fake and you’d just made an educated guess with Miranda.”
“Bra sizes are a mystery no man can rightly guess.”
“Care to try mine?” she challenged me.
“I haven’t looked since I stole this thing.”
“But remembered Miranda’s?”
“Jesus and I might have had a bet.”
Those dark eyes lost a bit of light. “Please keep that from her and best not spread it any further, King Henry.”
“Don’t plan to.”
“Good.”
I made to give her the list but then pulled it back as she reached for it. “Umm . . . I’ve been thinking . . .”
“A dangerous pastime indeed,” Val teased.
“Right . . . so, you want this list . . .”
Val sat down on my bed, making me scoot back to keep the list safely out of her reach. “I sense betrayal incoming,” she said.
“And I need a date to the Winter Ball,” I added.
“Oh dear, worse than betrayal.”
“So . . . I was thinking: maybe I could blackmail you into going with me,” I finished in a rush.
Holy shit. Why are those words so hard to say? I felt like I’d spit up a rock and the void of it sat right over my heart. I almost threw up. Feelings . . . they’re overrated.
Val leaned forward a little bit, making me scoot again. Her eyes had regained their light, a twinkle working overtime. “What happened to your Veronica Lee plan?”
“Kind of poisoned her with laxative, didn’t I?”
“Unexpected side effect?”
“And all the Intra girls in the school pretty much.”
“So I’m to be your last resort via blackmail,” she said.
No . . . that’s a trap, I thought. Not good at emotions but I can sense danger a mile off when it comes to women. “I like spending time with you. You never expect me to act a certain way and accept whatever way I do act without looking down on me. I just never thought about you until . . . until they mentioned a dance, you were just my friend and now I think: hey, why not see if we can enjoy being a couple for one night?”
She seemed to sway like I’d laid something heavy on her shoulders, but then she steadied herself and pointed out, “So blackmail.”
“I don’t know . . . seemed like a good idea.”
“It amazes me that as brilliant as you can be, that you can also be equally dense, King Henry.”
“You’ve known me for over a year, kind of surprised that amazes you anymore . . .”
The list in my hand ignited in a ball of flame.
I didn’t scream like a little girl, if Val told you I screamed like a little girl, then she’s lying.
I might have pissed myself though.
I also threw what remained of the list, blackened bits of smoking paper that it’d morphed into, onto floor and stomped on it. “A little warning next time!”
Val got up from my bed and stared at me until I stopped being angry and just met her gaze. “I’m disappointed in you,” she told me.
There’s that negative feeling I’m used to. But . . . even this was different. Not hate. Not anger. Shame.
Val stalked down the aisle between the rows of bed.
“Wait!”
She stopped, turned just enough so I could see her cheek. “If you’d just asked I think I would have said ‘yes’, King Henry. I do think of you as a friend—a foolish friend—but it would have been nice to see if you had more to you than just our jokes.”
“I do have more to me.”
She shook her head. “But even then I’m going with Miranda, you can’t imagine how much the All-Girls thing makes her worry about relationship stuff like this, even a dance.”
You can fix this. “What if I got her a date, a real date?”
Val turned a little more, so I could see an eye without iris. “Not bought, not bullied?”
“Someone who wants to go with her. Who likes her a lot,” I told her.
“Who?”
Young love, everyone’s blind, even the friends sometimes. “Not fair to say, is it?”
She seemed to think over the deal we might make, weighing how much she wanted Miranda to be happy, how much she might like going to a dance with a boy, and how mad she was at me over the whole blackmail thing. “I need something more,” she finally said.
“Like?”
“Surprise me.”
“What?”
“Surprise me,” she repeated. “Show me you have more than jokes to make me laugh.”
The hell am I supposed to do that? I thought, but said, “I can do that.”
Turning some more, just to show a hint of a smile. “Part of me can’t wait to see what you try, King Henry.”
[CLICK]
“Should have just asked her, like I said,” Pocket pointed out for not the first time, nor the tenth time.
“It was mostly a joke . . .”
“Don’t think she took it that way, dude.”
“I’m going to get stuck with Isabel now.”
“Nah, she’s going with Athir actually.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, turned down by Isabel . . . that must burn.”
The school had calmed down some from the day before, but not a whole bunch. It helped that most of them were over their King Henry administered diarrhea. It also helped that we’d be playing ’07 and the entire Intra body had decided to root against us, hoping against hope that ’07 would crush us, drive us before them, and that we would know the lamentations of our women.
“Kind of like how Valentine burned your list.”
“Have I mentioned that I hate you today?”
“Only like five or six times.”
Pocket, Raj, and I sat on a bench outside the Ultra dorms. Things had calmed down, and no one could prove it was little ol’ me behind it, but everyone expected I was behind it. Meant that even if others could go out in pairs, I didn’t have the same freedom. Welf had ordered Raj and Pocket not to leave my sight. Ordered around by Welf. What a low point in my life after such a high point the morning before.
Pocket did most the talking; Raj was kind of just present. He was focused in on Miranda. I felt for him. My screw up had probably hurt his chances too. If Miranda didn’t have a date, Val wouldn’t go with me. If Val didn’t have a date, then Miranda wouldn’t go without her. Friendship that won’t be abandoned for a guy or a girl . . . this was a new enemy—a terrifying enemy.
“Surprise her. What does that even mean?”
“You could always flash her,” Pocket helped, “assuming it’s decently sized, I mean.”
“Remember that time I punched you in the gut?”
“Who wishes they were a fernthrower now?”
The fact that everyone in the class was finally pairing off made my failure worse. Welf and Hope had been walking around hand in hand since Welf had asked her. Sure enough, he might not have won Boomworm but Welf had gotten himself more than a dance partner, he’d gotten himself a steady girlfriend. Gone to shit on me like all my other planning over the week.
Estefan and Debra planned to go together, of course. Miles and Eva had decided to go together. Curt and Yvette, Nick and Malaya, Bird and Timeeko, Rick Brown and Robin White. You know what’s really screwed up about that is other than Miles and Eva those couples pretty much stayed together our whole time at the Asylum. Sure, fights, and mini-breakups, but usually they stayed together.
The fuck, man.
Something in the water.
Jesus and Nizhoni had declared themselves solo, so I guess I wasn’t alone. But . . . even Athir and Isabel, man, even fucking Athir and Isabel. Asa was going with some Intra hydromancer boy, Ronaldo with an Intra spectromancer girl. Naomi didn’t have a date yet, but I don’t see my odds as very good since the whole Sabine-with-Pocket followed by shitting herself for the better part of twelve hours thing.
I could have asked out Vicky Welf I suppose, she was nice company and it would annoy the shit out of her brother, even if I didn’t have a thing for her at all for some weird reason I couldn’t figure out . . . only that would start World War Three. Surprise, motherfuckers, Nazi’s be back, this time with dinosaurs!
All my victories turning into defeats if I just give them long enough.
“What if I just ask Miranda?” Raj put out there.
“Won’t work,” I grumbled.
“It worked for Pocket.”
“Yeah, it worked for me,” Pocket repeated.
“Miranda’s too complicated a girl.”
“It would have worked for you with Val,” Raj said.
“Yeah, it would have worked for you with Val,” Pocket added.
I shook my head. “Different kind of complicated maybe, but still won’t work. Val wants to be happy, Miranda wants to be unhappy. Val’s worries are all about hurting people with her fire. Miranda’s worries are that she’s not worrying enough—doesn’t matter what about. She wants to be put upon. Going to her, offering to make her happy by taking her to a dance . . . that’s backwards to how to win her over.”
The Foul Mouth and the Troubled Boomworm (The King Henry Tapes) Page 22