by Greg James
Everyone sat up a little straighter.
‘RIGHT,’ Mr Flashed bawled, taking up position at the front of the class, legs braced, hands on hips and, rudely, directly in front of Mr Souperman. ‘It’s time to sort the wheat from the goats!’
‘I think it’s “sheep”, actually, Mr Flash,’ ventured the head teacher, stepping out from behind him with a wounded air.
‘Sort the wheat from the sheep?’ scoffed Mr Flash. ‘Don’t talk pebble-dash.’
Mr Souperman let this slide with an almost imperceptible eye roll.
‘All right, then,’ continued Mr Flash, clasping his hands behind his back, ‘who has the potential to be a Hero? If I call your name, please come and join me at the front of the class.’
He paused dramatically.
‘TIMOTHY!’
Timothy punched the air like a mediocre tennis player. Scraping his chair back, he leaped to his feet and went to stand proudly at the front of the room.
‘ELSA!’ continued Mr Flash.
Elsa, who had once frozen a very tasty muffin of Murph’s, joined him.
‘NATALIE!’
A girl with straight dark hair marched proudly to the front.
‘And … CHARLIE!’ concluded Mr Flash, and a boy with curly blond hair and thick glasses headed to the front of the room with a triumphant, ‘Yessss!’
‘These four have the potential to become the kind of Hero that the Alliance is looking for,’ said Mr Flash loudly, pretending not to notice Mr Souperman coughing loudly somewhere off to his left. ‘I will train them to the highest level in the hope that one day they will get the call.’
The coughing had now reached an extremely high volume, and the head teacher was poking him hard in one arm.
‘As for the rest of you, the remnants – stop poking me! – I wish you well. Goodbye and … OW!’
Mr Flash had begun to usher his favourites out of the room, but Mr Souperman had grabbed him by the upper arm. And when a Hero with the power of super-strength grabs you by the arm, you stay grabbed.
‘Didn’t you forget some people, Mr Flash?’ hissed the head through a rather strained smile.
Mr Flash looked very much as if he wanted to say no, but the hand gripping his arm showed no sign of letting go. He sighed.
‘Fine. And the, erm, Super Zeroes as well,’ he mumbled.
There was total silence.
‘I don’t think the students quite heard you, Mr Flash,’ said Mr Souperman threateningly.
‘All right, all right,’ burst out the CT teacher angrily. ‘The Super’ – he stretched the word out like sarcastic chewing gum before spitting out the next in contempt – ‘Zeroes. You are also in the A Stream. Report for training immediately at the ACDC.’
And with that he wrenched his arm out of the head’s grasp, kicked the door open and bundled his favourites out of the room as fast as he could. Which, considering he had super-speed, was really quite fast.
Murph, Mary, Billy, Nellie and Hilda were still sitting at the back of the room, looking rather dazed. Even though they were actual members of the Heroes’ Alliance, somehow they had never expected to be selected for Mr Flash’s elite class.
‘Come on, then,’ mumbled Murph, pulling himself together and grabbing his bag.
As Mr Souperman smiled benignly down at them, the five Super Zeroes walked out of the classroom, letting the door thud shut behind them.
The passageway outside was deserted. Mr Flash had rushed the other four students off so fast that they had already rounded a corner and vanished. There was a distant sound of echoing voices coming from somewhere away to the right, and the Super Zeroes headed off hopefully in that direction.
‘What did he call the place we should report to?’ asked Murph as they trotted along. ‘The ACDC?’
‘I have literally no idea,’ said Mary grimly. ‘I can’t believe this! He obviously doesn’t want us in his class. Did you see his face?’
‘He’s going to make our lives utter, utter, utter, absolute hell,’ said Billy matter-of-factly, trailing along behind them. He was moving slowly partly through sheer misery, and partly because his left thigh had ballooned with anxiety, which was making it rather difficult to move.
At the end of the corridor they reached a T-junction. There was no sign of Mr Flash, but two figures were approaching from the left – this was the source of the voices they’d heard. And one of them, with her comforting pink cardigan and friendly white candyfloss hair, was exactly the person you’d want to see at such a moment.
It was their friend Flora.
As well as being Mr Souperman’s secretary, Flora had a secret. One of the most exciting secrets in the entire world of Heroes, in fact. For she was actually the Blue Phantom, a mysterious and legendary superhero whose speciality was swooping in and saving the day when all hope seemed lost.
Gliding along beside her, deep in conversation, was Sir Jasper Rowntree in his incredible wheelchair.
‘Hello, hello, whatever do have we here? Young tearaways, charging about the deserted halls like errant wildebeest! Surely there must be something amiss here, eh, Flora?’ Sir Jasper’s eyes glittered kindly as he spoke.
‘You might be right,’ Flora said, spot ting the miserable expression on Murph’s face. ‘I think perhaps term’s off to a sticky start. Jasper – this is Murph Cooper and his friends. The –’
‘Super Zeroes!’ finished Sir Jasper for her, widening his eyes and inclining his head respectfully. ‘To say I’ve heard a lot about you would be an understatement the size of a medium-to-large rhinoceros.’ He rolled forward and held out a hand. ‘It is my very great pleasure to meet each and every one you,’ he told them solemnly, as they shook his hand in turn. ‘Now – unless my eyes completely deceive me, in which case I shall send them both to bed without supper, something is wrong here. How can we assist you?’
‘Mr Flash told us we’re in the A Stream,’ Murph began, ‘but then ran off before we could find out where to go for the lessons.’
‘He said it was the, erm, ADDC?’ added Hilda hopefully. ‘Or was it the DCAD?’
Flora rolled her eyes. ‘Iain does love initials, doesn’t he?’ she said. ‘The ACDC, you mean – Advanced Capability Development Centre. It’s the grey door next to the geography classroom.’
‘I know it!’ realised Mary. ‘But I just thought it was a cupboard. There’s no sign or anything.’
‘Ha!’ burst out Sir Jasper dramatically. ‘Mysteries! Unmarked doors that lead to adventure! The day can only get more interesting from here. Godspeed, my friends!’
‘Erm, thanks,’ said Murph as they hurried off. ‘Nice to meet you!’
‘Jasper’s staying for a few days, helping Carl out with a project,’ Flora called after them before they rounded the corner. ‘Come and have a cup of tea one day soon and we’ll show you. Well, one of you knows all about it already, of course.’
This sounded intriguing, but there was no time to dwell on it now, so Murph filed Flora’s comment in the ‘to be puzzled out later’ department of his brain. Since he had started attending The School, this was by far the most overworked of all the different brain departments. If it had been a real-life office, the staff would probably have gone on strike, or gone mad and started smashing up their work computers with baseball bats.
5
The ACDC
Even in a normal school, there are a few places you never get to go into except on really special occasions. You never get to see the inside of the stationery cupboard unless you’re given an important mission to locate some new highlighters. You never get to see inside the kitchens, which, believe us, is probably for the best. And you never, but never ever, get to set so much as the end of your nose inside the staffroom. Not even if you’re on actual fire.
At The School, the Advanced Capability Development Centre was all of these places rolled into one and then multiplied by ten. It was a mystery wrapped in an enigma, and then deep-fried and served with a creamy riddle sauce.
‘Oh! A basement! Of course! It had to be in a basement,’ squealed Hilda. She was the only one of them who seemed even slightly pleased at the prospect of joining the A Stream. ‘All the coolest things are underground.’
‘Are they?’ asked Murph.
‘Yeah! Like rabbits!’ Billy said. ‘And badgers.’
‘No, Billy, I mean all the coolest Hero things. Rabbits have nothing to do with it,’ said Hilda primly, leading them off down the staircase with a little skip.
‘Moles too,’ mused Murph, following her down.
‘Good one!’ said Billy. ‘Mary? Got any more?’
‘Erm … puffins?’
Even Nellie smiled slightly at Mary’s idea. It’s impossible not to be cheered by the thought of a puffin. But Hilda rounded on them and stamped her foot. ‘Will you all stop just naming subterranean animals! Animals are not Heroes.’
‘What about … Winky the Magic Worm?’ asked Murph brightly as Hilda pushed through the double doors at the bottom.
‘Gah! There is no such Hero as Winky the Magic Worm!’ she bellowed, before realising she’d just walked into a large, well-lit room full of people, all of whom were now staring at her. You know when everyone stops talking at exactly the same moment, just as you say something really embarrassing? Yeah, that. Hilda had just barged straight into a massive great pool of silence, shouting about a non-existent superhero called Winky the Magic Worm.
Murph clapped his hand over his mouth to trap the laugh that was trying to escape. The move was partly successful, and only a small stifled trumpet noise was heard.
Meanwhile, though, Hilda’s face had turned the same colour as the cushions on her grandma’s sofa. Which, since you’ve probably never been to Hilda’s grandma’s house, we can assure you are a very deep shade of red.
The ACDC looked a bit like an enormous version of a traditional school gym. There were climbing bars attached to the walls, ropes dangling from the ceiling and blue foam crash mats stacked everywhere. It had that gym smell as well – a mixture of wood polish, sweaty socks and fear. Mr Flash and the other second years were nowhere to be found, but assembled at the near end of this gargantuan torture palace was the most terrifying crowd of people Murph had ever seen.
It’s a well-known fact that all students in the years above you at school always seem bigger and more impressive than you. But this lot really were bigger and more impressive than the Super Zeroes – even if the five of them had stood on each other’s shoulders and dressed in a long coat pretending to be one giant person.
Closest to Murph, arms folded, were a pair of enormous final-year students with biceps bigger than his head. Behind them was a group of slightly younger teenagers who were all dressed in ripped jeans and T-shirts, as if they were in a band. And worst of all, leaning against the wall at the back of the room, Murph could make out the mismatched gang of bullies who had targeted the Super Zeroes last year.
Murph still didn’t know their actual names – but he checked them all off in his head using the nicknames he’d assigned them: Gangly Fuzz Face, Frankenstein’s Nephew, Corned Beef Boy, Crazy Eyes Jemima and, of course, who could forget Pork Belly Pig Breath?
The five of them were glaring at the Super Zeroes as if they were tiny, tiny ants who had invaded their barbecue.
The atmosphere was as uncomfortable as an itchy neck after a haircut.
‘OH, GOOD, YOU MADE IT,’ boomed Mr Flash’s voice suddenly, sounding about as sincere as a vegetarian waiter reading out the specials at a steak restaurant. He was approaching from the far end of the gym, with the four other members of their own class trailing after him. ‘I’ve just been running Elsa, Charlie, Timothy and Natalie through some of the main rules of the ACDC.’
‘And what are the main rules, Mr Flash?’ asked Murph brightly, trying not to be intimidated by the fact that just about every person in the room was staring at him and his friends as if they were suspicious stains on an expensive rug.
‘THE FIRST RULE OF THE ACDC,’ began Mr Flash, fixing them with a fierce gaze, ‘is that you don’t ever, never, not tell no one about the ACDC.’
Murph’s brain turned somersaults as he tried to work out whether this labyrinth of double negatives meant that he could, in fact, tell people about the ACDC and get away with it through the magic of grammar. But Mr Flash cleared things up for him.
‘THE SECOND RULE,’ he bellowed like a bull with bronchitis, ‘is that if you tell anyone about the ACDC, I’ll grind you into flour and use you to make scones!’
‘So, quite similar to the first rule …’ began Mary, but she was silenced.
‘RULE THREE,’ screamed Mr Flash, ‘is that no student outside of this room must ever find out about the ACDC. And rule four –’
‘Is that the ACDC is a secret?’ guessed Hilda.
Mr Flash glared at her suspiciously. ‘How do you know rule four?’ he growled, advancing on her with his moustache quivering.
‘Lucky guess?’ quailed Hilda, shrinking back towards the wall.
‘AND, FINALLY, THE FIFTH RULE OF THE ACDC …’ concluded Mr Flash, still looking at Hilda with hostility, ‘is that you do not talk about the ACDC.’
‘What you could do,’ suggested Mary conscientiously, ‘is say, “The first rule of the ACDC is that you don’t talk about the ACDC.” And then add, “There is no second rule.” That’d be cool …’
‘SHUUUUUUUUUUT UUUPPPPPPPP!!’
Mr Flash cataclysmed directly into her face. Mary felt as if a larger than average motorbike had pointed its exhaust pipe at her. ‘Rule one around here – I make the rules!’
‘I thought rule one was, “You don’t ever, never, not –”’ ventured Billy.
‘GRAAAAAAAAAAGSCH!’ exploded the teacher. ‘SHUT! YOUR! CHEESE! HOLES! I knew it was a flippin’ mistake to let you bunch of wimbling wet wipes in! The rest of us are supposed to be getting on with Hero training and you flounce in late like a load of blinkin’ divas and start telling me what the rules should be!’
‘That’s a bit unfair,’ began Murph, but Mr Flash was coming to the boil like a furious kettle and was about to make them a nice steaming-hot mug of humiliation.
‘You’ – he shook a frankfurter-esque finger at the Super Zeroes – ‘are not Heroes. Not in my book.’
Murph thought grimly to himself that if Mr Flash were ever to write a book, its title would probably be HOW MUCH I HATE MURPH COOPER: A TEACHER’S TALE. But Mr Flash wasn’t finished. ‘Sure, you snuck into the Alliance on a technicality …’
‘Technicality? We rescued –’ Mary tried to say, but Mr Flash was on a roll.
‘… but you don’t fool the rest of us. I mean – what have you actually done since you became … Heroes?’ He spat this last word out sarcastically. ‘I bet you haven’t even been sent on a mission. They wouldn’t trust you with one.’
‘We can’t tell you about Alliance missions, you know that,’ Murph retorted, feeling stung.
‘OHHH, VERY CONVENIENT!’ roared Mr Flash. ‘VERY handy, that! They haven’t done anything at all!’ he jeered to the rest of the class, who sniggered obediently.
‘We have done missions!’ squeaked Hilda angrily, her eyes shining with frustrated tears. ‘We have!’
Nellie stamped a foot and Murph was sure he felt a ripple of electric fury radiating from her.
‘Yeah!’ added Billy, growing so incensed that he forgot about their vow of secrecy. ‘Like the Mysterious Case of Cat Woman!’
A couple of the other students looked quite impressed at this. ‘You battled Catwoman?’ asked one of the muscly older kids. ‘Cool!’
‘Well, no, not Ca
twoman. Cat Woman, two words,’ clarified Billy. ‘A woman who’d –’
‘Lost her cat?’ hooted Mr Flash incredulously.
‘Well, yes,’ confessed Billy, ‘but …’ But it was too late. The whole class had erupted into mocking howls of derision.
It was like being slapped round the face with laughter. All five Super Zeroes stood, heads bowed, as the ACDC echoed with it.
‘AH HA HA HA HA,’ bellowed Mr Flash, looking like all his Christmases had been amalgamated into one Ultimate Super Christmas, delivered by glitter-covered magic robins with extra holly on top. ‘That’s the best thing I ever heard, ever! A lost cat! Oh dear, dear, dear.’ He wiped his eyes theatrically.
‘Catwoman’s fictional anyway, you muppet,’ added the second muscle-bound student to his friend dismissively.
‘Go on, get out of here!’ Mr Flash told the Super Zeroes, gesturing towards a door in the corner. ‘Go and clear out the storeroom! It could do with a good tidy. The rest of us have got Hero training to be getting on with.’
Faces burning, the five of them shuffled awkwardly away across the ACDC.
‘It wasn’t just a lost cat …’ huffed Hilda. ‘They don’t know about the nuclear accident, and the laser …’ But Murph hushed her.
‘Hilda, we can’t talk about Alliance missions!’ he reminded her. ‘Let them laugh.’
‘But what about the Giant Rat of Sumatra?’ whispered Hilda as he pushed her through the storeroom door. ‘If they only knew about that …’
‘The world’s not prepared for that story yet,’ said Billy seriously.
As the door hissed closed behind them they could just hear Mr Flash roaring, ‘Right. BURPEES! Let’s go! On the floor! MOVE, MOVE, MOOOVE!’
The room they found themselves in was large and cluttered. In fact, ‘cluttered’ doesn’t really do it justice – it’s like describing the Atlantic Ocean as ‘moist’. There were overflowing filing cabinets with papers jammed haphazardly into the drawers. There were shelves upon shelves of cardboard boxes packed with random junk. There were piles of yellowing exercise books on the floor, reams of old-fashioned printer paper on the desks, an ancient, fat TV set on a stand, typewriters, broken lamps and pieces of antiquated school equipment that none of them recognised. (If you are now wondering, ‘Was there an overhead projector?’ then a) yes there was and b) you’re a grown-up. Busted! But welcome.)