CATALYST (BOOK #2 IN THE ELEVATED SAGA)
Daniel Solomon Kaplan
http://www.danielsolomonkaplan.com
This work is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2015 by Daniel Solomon Kaplan
Cover art and design by Daniel Solomon Kaplan, 2015
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any informational storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review or article.
To the readers of Elevated,
who encouraged me with their kind words and motivated me to continue the story.
CHAPTER ONE
As much as I pretend, I find it impossible to go back to a normal life. I don’t expect everyone to guess from my expression that I returned from an incredible adventure, but it’s weird coming back to the mundane problems. Like Tessla smacking me with her wings after deciding I took too long at the water fountain. For the first few weeks, I’m just another ordinary girl finishing high school. Until I receive my SKT score, which positions me in third place for the entire class. Aaron beams with pride, and gives me a pat on the back.
“Those math lessons finally sunk in huh?” he says.
I nod, hoping he can’t see the guilt hidden on my face. The same uneasy feeling hits me every time a student gives me a confused look in the hallway, not believing I achieved such a high score. But they’re right, I only got a high score because I cheated. A chilling reminder of the mutant power I hold secret inside me. Orbison University will take me without problem now, but I wish I could have let myself earn it honestly. Now, I’ll never know.
It’s a secret I have to keep. If Aaron finds out, he’ll be even more aloof with me. For a while, I thought he was staying at home to nurse his broken arm, but now I’m sure he’s avoiding me on purpose.
I walk through the school hallway to find Zach, dressed in his Sparklizards uniform, which clings to his well-developed body.
“Will you be attending the game today?” he asks.
“Of course,” I say. “Wouldn’t miss a great round of spikeball.”
Truthfully, I don’t care about spikeball, but now that Zach is part of the team, I haven’t missed a game. His impressive flying for his test made him an irresistible choice when the school’s star Flier injured his wings, benching him for the season.
Zach sighs and tugs at his uniform with his large hands. “This costume feel alien.”
“What are you talking about? You’ve been doing great.”
“At least this is my last game.”
“You sound like you hate it or something.”
Zach shrugs.
A loud shrill voice comes from the end of the hallway. “There he is! The star of our team!”
Shelly hops over to us, wearing a head-to-toe pink outfit that makes her look like a fluffy pink marshmallow. She greets Zach as if he’s a famous celebrity. “You’re going to so rock it today!”
They embrace, and Zach’s dark arms against her dress make it appear obnoxiously brighter. He tries to remove himself from the hug, but she grips him tighter.
Smiling, he gestures up at the clock on the wall. “I’d better get ready.”
“Right,” Shelly says. “Go get ‘em tiger!”
Zach laughs. “Ironic word choice, considering we’re playing against the Glowtigers.”
Shelly playfully punches him in the arm. “You know what I meant, smarty-pants.”
As Zach heads out to the game, Shelly gazes at him, wide-eyed.
“I wish he had more confidence,” she says. “He’s so much better than he thinks.”
“Maybe he’s just not into spikeball,” I say.
Shelly harrumphs. “Not into spikeball? He’s starting to become a campus icon, and only after a few games.”
“Zach doesn’t want fame, he wants—”
“I think I know exactly what my boyfriend wants, thank you,” Shelly says, and rolls her eyes before stomping down the hallway alone.
I arrive at the stadium and find the stands packed, which isn’t a surprise. The yearly rivalry game between our school’s Sparklizards and the rival Glowtigers always occurs at season’s end, adding to the anticipation. Thousands of students, parents, and local town alumni clutter the flimsy bleachers. While the majority wears the bright green and yellow of the Sparklizards, large patches of the Glowtigers’ orange and black scatter throughout the stands. I search for a spot, wishing I arrived sooner, when I spy Elliott waving his brown fedora.
“Knew this would be a busy game,” Elliott says, placing the hat back on his head, “so I saved us some good seats.”
He pulls out a rag to wipe the seat down and offers it to me. I sit beside him, impressed at his choice of seats, which place us right in the middle of the stadium. We’ll have a perfect vantage point of the blockpiles at each end of the field and be able to see both teams attempt goals.
The bright green field of grass shimmers under the sun. On the Sparklizards’ blockpile, our Jumpers practice their leaps from block to block. In the center of the field, two Runners race across in a flash, although to them it’s just a mild jog.
“This should be exciting,” Elliott says, checking out the action through some binoculars. “The Glowtigers have strong Runners and Jumpers, but Zach has been on fire lately.”
I nod. Elliott often watches professional spikeball games on TV, although most of the time is spent yelling and complaining about the stupidity of the commentators. Usually I just agree with his analysis and try to keep up as best I can with the rules.
With the sound of the whistle, the players finish their warm-ups and line up in the center of the field. Each side has seven players: two Runners, two Jumpers, two Climbers, and one Flier. I catch Zach waving to Shelly in the stands, who blows a kiss back at him.
A booming voice comes over the loudspeaker. “Ladies and gentlemen, please rise for the National Anthem, performed by Miss April Stevenson.”
A tiny girl with thick glasses approaches the microphone. Her small frame makes me wonder if a breath could topple her over. But when she begins to sing, I nearly jump back, as her loud voice fills the massive stadium like a cannon blast.
“Imitator,” I whisper to Elliott, who looks as shocked as I was.
Imitators can sound like anything, or, in this case, anybody. She must have absorbed the performance of some big singer, because her gentle appearance doesn’t reflect the roaring voice coming from her scrawny body. I heard once Imitators don’t often have a good singing voice on their own, so they rely on mimicking others. Not a bad life, unless it backfires. Recently, a big scandal exploded when the teen heartthrob quartet XtReame were discovered using Imitators at all their concerts to save their voices. After the blowup, the Imitator quartet formed their own band, XtReame Redux, before a lawsuit shut them down for good.
The girl reaches a crescendo, hitting notes I didn’t think possible, to the roar of applause in the audience. And then the time comes for the game to begin.
A metal cylinder emerges from the center of the field and shoots the spikeball up like a cannon. Both Fliers zoom towards it. Zach zips through the air and reaches the ball before the Glowtiger Flier gets halfway there. In his hands, the ball changes hue from white to green and yellow, the colors of the
Sparklizards, to indicate possession.
“Yep, he’s on fire alright,” Elliott says.
I grin as Zach sails through the air with ease. It’s no wonder the team recruited him to be their Flier. He cranes his neck, searching for a teammate down on the field.
“Here come the Runners,” Elliott says, pointing at the Runners dashing over towards the Glowtigers’ goal.
I check the pass clock—five seconds. Within ten seconds, each team member has to surrender control of the ball or stop moving until they do. Zach continues looking for a teammate, but they are far behind him on the field. Seven seconds now. He nears the blockpile, a jagged array of metallic ten-foot tall platforms that block the goal in the middle. An easy leap for Jumpers, and notches on the sides make it possible for the Climbers, but it keeps the Runners on the ground.
“Why doesn’t he pass?” I ask.
“Not a good opening,” Elliott says. “The Glowtigers are all over the blockpiles. And our Jumpers are still asleep.”
Nine seconds.
Zach shakes his head and hurtles the ball back down the field. One of the Glowtigers’ Jumpers leaps off the blockpile and snatches the ball in midair, to cheers from their fans.
“He got too far ahead of his team,” Elliott says. “Zach didn’t have a good shot. But someone needs to light a fire under our Jumpers’ butts.”
The Glowtiger Jumper lands on the ground, cushioned by his thick shoes, and quickly passes the ball to one of the Glowtiger Runners.
Elliott groans. “We’re in trouble now. That’s Wes Paulson, he’s super fast.”
Wes clutches the ball, now the black and orange colors of the Glowtigers, and zooms across the field. His super light uniform allows him to race at top speed without risk of the fabric catching fire. After getting halfway down the field, he begins to slow. Runners can only keep up their spurts for short times without dehydrating themselves.
“Zach should’ve just gone for the goal when he had the chance,” I say.
Elliott stares blankly at me in disgust. “Fliers can’t score, remember? First rule of Spikeball. It would be too easy if you could just fly over the opponent’s goal.”
I blush, kicking myself at not remembering such a basic rule.
The Runner jogs to the other side of the field, where the Sparklizard Climbers stand on the blockpile. Their spiked shoes enhance their already strong ability to grip the sides just like they graspwhen rock climbing. They stand poised, ready to block any goal attempts.
“Smart of the coach to hold back our Climbers. They aren’t very fast,” Elliott says.
Wes, the Runner, waits at the goal and I check the pass clock.
Eight seconds. The nearest Glowtiger Jumper is still quite a bit behind him.
“He’s made the same mistake as Zach,” I say.
Wes hurls the ball behind him just as one of the Glowtiger Jumpers makes a big jump towards it. Zach dives towards the ball, but the Jumper grabs it first.
I clench my fist. “So close!”
The Jumper bounces effortlessly over the Climbers on the blockpile and finds an empty spot on the platform.
“Stop him!” Elliott yells.
The Jumper leaps over the center of the blockpile and spikes the ball down.
Glowtigers: 1 – Sparklizards: 0
“Well, that’s a rousing start,” Elliott says, leaning back.
Thanks to the effort of Wes Paulson, and the slow Jumpers and Climbers on our team, the Glowtigers take a commanding 3-0 lead heading into halftime. If not for Zach’s efforts of defending the goal, it would have been a complete bloodbath.
“Think we have a chance?” I ask Elliott as we take our seats for the second half.
“I’d like to think so, but I would have to say no.”
“Seriously? This is the time you’re supposed to say, ‘It’s possible,’ or ‘There’s always a chance!’ or—”
Elliott frowns. “Hey, you’re the brutally honest one, I’m just telling you how I feel.”
Brutally honest? I guess I‘ve always been a bit outspoken, but brutally honest?
“Are you okay?” he asks, obviously noticing my reaction to his comment.
“I’m okay.”
I would be a whole better if Elliott weren’t depressing me about the outcome of this game. I turn my attention to the crowd, where I notice three men, far overdressed for a high school game. They wear charcoal suits and stare at their phones.
“What do you suppose they are doing here?” I ask.
“Maybe they’re businessmen here to support their kids.”
“In full suits?”
“Some people just like to look important.”
Elliott can’t be right; the men are here for something, but before I can figure out what it is, a loud whistle sounds, signaling the beginning of the second half of the game. The teams reassemble on the field, and the Glowtigers march out with a swagger born out of a strong lead.
“Let’s get this over with,” I mutter under my breath.
The cannon launches the ball again and Zach zooms towards it. Once again, it takes little effort for him to reach it before his opponent. The three men a few rows ahead of us continue to type into their phones. Obviously not Sparklizard fans.
Zach grips the green and yellow ball as he zigzags over the field.
“What is he doing?” I ask.
“Confusing the opponent.”
“He’s confusing me, that’s for sure.”
Out of nowhere, he hurls the ball, just as a Sparklizard Jumper leaps towards it.
“Nice catch!” Elliott yells.
The Jumper hops down the field, dodging the Glowtiger Jumpers. He throws it back towards Zach, but Wes zips forwards and snatches the ball from midair. Sighs emanate from the Sparklizard fans throughout the stands.
“So close,” Elliott says.
Wes darts across the field and passes it to the other Glowtiger Runner. But the Glowtiger Jumpers straggle far behind. The Runners keep passing it between them to avoid losing possession of the ball. In the middle of one pass, Zach swoops down and grabs the ball. The stadium erupts in cheers.
“Nice going Zach!” Elliott yells.
As Zach hurls across the field, the Glowtiger Flier makes chase, but Zach swerves back and forth to the point the other Flier has to flap in place to avoid careening out of control.
“He’s really a killer flier, isn’t he?” Elliott asks.
I nod, admiring the quick turns in the sky that brings roars of excitement from the audience. Zach’s turquoise feathers sparkle in the midday sun.
He reaches the other side of the field and this time there’s a Sparklizard Jumper waiting for him. Zach passes the ball over to him just as the two Glowtiger Jumpers leap into the air. The three of them nearly collide in the sky as they reach for the ball. But the two Glowtiger Jumpers spring too high. They overshoot the ball while the Sparklizard Jumper grabs it and quickly turns in midair to release it towards the goal. When the ball hits the net in the center of the blockpile, the crowd goes wild.
Glowtigers: 3 – Sparklizards: 1
The three men continue to type into their phones, only glancing up occasionally. Jerks. Can’t even get excited about a great play like that?
I’m on the edge of my seat for the next forty minutes. We almost score, they almost score. Zach saves the goal a couple of times. The teams seem equally matched now, with both playing to their full potential. Even Elliott comments on how fast the Sparklizard Jumpers move across the field. But the clock keeps ticking and with only three minutes left to the game, we still remain two points behind.
“The coach is going for broke here,” Elliott says, gesturing at the field. “The Climbers are heading towards the other side of the field.”
It’s a risky move to leave our goal mostly unguarded, but with two points to make in such a short time, we have to hope for a major mistake from the other side. Zach holds the ball right now and sails towards the goal.
E
ight seconds.
Elliott grips the chair. “He needs to pass the ball, quick!”
Nine seconds.
“What is he doing?”
He grasps my knee firmly, before realizing he wasn’t holding the chair. He blushes and moves it over.
Ten seconds.
The crowd gasps as the ball turns white in his hand and Zach drops from the sky.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“The ball gets super heavy after ten seconds, to keep players from holding it too long.”
Zach tosses the ball towards a Runner, but the Glowtiger Climber catches it instead. The Glowtiger fans go wild, and I glance back up at the clock. Only two minutes left now. Almost impossible for us to win.
The Climber passes it to Wes, who blazes down the field. Zach chases after him, and to the crowd’s amazement, nearly catches up.
Elliott eyes widen. “That’s some of the best flying I’ve ever seen!”
I’m about to agree with him, when Wes trips and sends the ball flying into the air. When Zach catches it, the crowd jumps to their feet. With only a minute left now, there’s no chance for two shots, but at least we can score a final goal. Zach careens over to the blockpile like a shooting star. A Jumper at easy scoring distance waves at him. Only he doesn’t toss it to the Jumper; he tosses it to the ground and our Runner. The crowd gaps in disbelief, and some yell out insults.
Just a few seconds left.
The Runner jumps up, a puny hop in comparison to the Jumpers on the team, and tosses the ball into the air. It careens just over the edge of the blockpile and into the goal.
The stadium explodes in cheers and screams.
“What happened?” I try to scream over the excitement.
Elliott pants for breath, overcome with adrenaline. “Runner goal. Very rare. Worth three points.”
My brain attempts the quick calculation before the scoreboard flashes:
Glowtigers: 3 – Sparklizards: 4
“Gutsy move,” Elliott says. “Most people wouldn’t take a chance like that. They would be too afraid of messing up.”
Catalyst: (Elevated Saga Book #2) Page 1