Psi Another Day (Psi Fighter Academy) Page 3

  Still, even Clark fought back if a life were in danger. And getting a new hairdo from an unlicensed wombat clearly put my life in danger of eternal humiliation. Mason was hand-delivering me a reason to do what the Kilodan wanted me to do. If I only used my less potent skills…one little judo chop would drop Mason like a bad cell phone connection. Then the school would see that Mason wasn’t so tough, and they wouldn’t be afraid of him anymore. At least, that’s how it worked in the movies.

  I sunk nervously into my fighting stance, wondering how accurate movie wisdom was.

  “Oh, horror, Peroxide’s actually defending herself this time,” Mason said, covering his mouth with both hands.

  “You wouldn’t beat up a girl half your size, would you?” Appealing to his manliness might save me the hassle of dusting the lockers with his face.

  “Not a pretty one. Maybe I should ask you out instead.”

  “Better stick to something you have a chance of success with.”

  “You won’t tell me no.” Mason raised an eyebrow. “Ever been in a fight in school?”

  “Uh, not really.” I’d been in a gazillion battles during practice sessions at the Academy. I had even fought against a real bad guy, which didn’t turn out so well. But never in school. Never unmasked. Maybe I needed to rethink my strategy. If the Knights figured out that I was a Psi Fighter because I kicked Mason’s wombat butt, they’d raid the Academy and murder everyone, and I’d never hear the end of it.

  Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to let Mason rearrange my hair just a teensy bit. Humiliation is supposed to be good for the soul. I closed my eyes as Mason’s grimy fingers cupped my face, and found myself wondering—does he really think I’m pretty? Ew!

  Mason’s hands slid gently up my cheeks, lifting my hair on both sides. I shivered. Spiders crawling up my face could not have grossed me out more.

  “Nice ears,” he said softly.

  “Back off, Mason,” a quiet voice warned. I jumped. A muscular boy stood next to me. Kathryn squeezed beside him. He was smaller than Mason, but Mason dropped my hair and backed away. His cocky expression melted like chocolate in a blast furnace.

  “Hey, Egon,” Mason said. “What up?”

  Egon said nothing. He simply stared at Mason, expressionless.

  Mason began bobbing his head like an over-caffeinated pigeon. “Just havin’ fun. You know I like to have fun.”

  “Have it somewhere else,” Egon whispered.

  Mason swallowed. His Grinchy grin disappeared.

  Egon said nothing.

  Mason turned slowly and loped down the hall, not looking back. Relief swept me. My secret was safe. My hair was happily unbunned. The day was plodding along nicely.

  “Toodles, Peroxide,” Mason hollered as he disappeared around the corner. “Call me!”

  “It’s not bleached,” I muttered, glaring at the floor. What a jerk. One day, Mason would get what he had coming to him. I would pound him into paste. I would hit him so hard he’d become a vegetarian. I’d batter him so bad I’d be cited for cruelty to wombats. I turned to tell Kathryn what would happen if I ever met Mason when I was masked, and found myself staring up into Egon’s mesmerizing green eyes.

  Suddenly, my feet were very large and my knees very knobby. My heart stopped working, and I could feel the beginnings of rigor mortis setting in. “I, umm…thank you,” I mumbled, slouching badly.

  Egon’s eyes smiled at me and he nodded. “See ya.” He gave me a little two-fingered wave that made me tingle, then simply floated away, riding off into the desert sun that was setting in my frazzled brain. I suddenly had to pee really badly.

  Kathryn squealed, “Omigosh, did you see the way he checked you out?”

  “Who is he?” I felt my mouth for slobber. “He is absolutely gorgeous…”

  “And famous,” Kathryn said. “Egon Demiurge is an intergalactic Mixed Martial Arts champion or something. Apparently he just moved here to train. They say he’s so good, they’re making it an Olympic sport just for him. Nobody, and I do mean nobody, will mess with him in this school. I’ll bet he’d give you a workout.”

  “Oh, I could never fight him,” I whispered, staring absently down the hall.

  “I wasn’t talking about fighting,” Kathryn said, grinning. “He’s a senior, you know.”

  A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. Of all my friends, Kathryn was the first to take it to the gutter.

  “Thanks,” a small voice said from behind me. I turned and found myself eye to eye with a thoroughly red-faced Bobby Blys.

  “Hey, Bobby.”

  “Thanks,” he repeated.

  “No problem. Mason’s such a jerk. What was that all about?”

  “Hi-eeeeee, Bobby,” Kathryn squealed, hipping me out of the way. I grunted.

  “Oh, hi, Kitty,” Bobby said quietly, blushing like a bruised strawberry.

  “That was so brave, Bobby!” Kathryn smiled as though her happy sauce had kicked into high gear.

  “Don’t see what’s so brave about getting smacked around by a yeti.” Bobby rubbed the rapidly swelling lump on his head.

  “Actually, Mason’s a wombat,” I told him. “Although, now that you mention it, he is abominable.”

  Kathryn elbowed me in the ribs and giggled. “Oh, don’t you just adore Bobby’s sense of humor?”

  “So, what’s up with Mason?” I asked Bobby, rubbing my ribs.

  He looked away. “Nothing, I…quit the Class Project. He’s mad.”

  The Class Project. Besides being obsessed with beating up people who were smaller than him, Mason had a thing for this goofy school project that was sponsored by some hospital or something. Students learned about it in Chemistry, then were allowed to continue the work outside of class for extra credit if they wanted to. And Mason had launched a personal crusade to make sure they wanted to. “I heard you tell him he doesn’t know what he’s making. So…what’s he making?”

  “I’m not positive.” Bobby folded his arms. “Mason thinks the Class Project is supposed to help the mentally ill. But if my research is right, the compound made in our lab can be altered in a more advanced lab—” He slowly shook his head. “If Tammy Angel is telling the truth…”

  “Such a brilliant mind! Well, let’s not be late for assembly, Rin.” Kathryn took me by the hand and led me away like a puppy. “See you in Math Club, Bobby.”

  We walked toward the auditorium, Kathryn grinning blankly at the tile floor like she had left her brain in her locker.

  “Kitty?” I said, raising an eyebrow. “And when did this happen?”

  Kathryn giggled. “When Bobby joined Math Club.”

  “Kathryn, you’ve been in Math Club together since it was invented.”

  “But I never really talked to him until recently. He sort of avoided me.”

  “Probably didn’t think he was your type. You know your dating history.”

  Kathryn got the oddest look on her face. “What are you talking about, my history?”

  Like I said, Kathryn was completely oblivious to her own popularity. “Student body president. Track captain. Football captain. Debate Team captain.” I ticked each guy she’s ever dated off my fingers. “Every awesome boy in the school wants to be with you. No wonder Bobby avoided you.”

  “But Bobby is so not like them.”

  “Exactly. You are gunning for a complete dweeb this time, Kathryn. Shows character. I’m proud of you.”

  “I do not gun. Those boys asked me out. I don’t even know why.”

  “I do. You have cleavage.”

  Kathryn backhanded my shoulder. “Bobby is real, Rin. He’s deep. He gets me for who I am. Problem is, I think the attraction is purely intellectual. We have such amazing discussions, but they’re all about logic and math and philosophy.”

  “He calls you Kitty. Nobody who has an intellectual attraction would call you Kitty.”

  “Bobby says I’m a woman of great poise, elegance, and wit, like Kitty Carlisle.”

  “Who’s
that?”

  “A woman of great poise, elegance, and wit, obviously. I don’t know, some actress from the Thirties. Maybe you can help me, Rin. How can I get him to notice me?”

  “You could always try stalking him.”

  Kathryn bit her lower lip and nodded. “Has potential.”

  Chapter Three

  A Warning

  The school’s auditorium was actually very cool. Designed to seat seven hundred kids, it resembled a Greek amphitheater. Hand-carved faces of people too beautiful to have ever been real decorated the ceiling like an ancient work of Michelangelo. Murals with exotic species of trees and flowering vines covered the walls. The balcony, with its gorgeous red velvet seats, had a perfect view of the stage and the audience below. Unfortunately, it was permanently reserved for the Excessively Cool. Plebeians like me got to sit in the peasant section at ground level, which would also have been gorgeous if it weren’t plastered with spit wads and other glop whose origin I preferred not to know.

  Principal Ophia Bagley paced the stage like a hungry tiger in its cage. The teachers were positioned strategically across the auditorium, two in the front row, the rest scattered along the outside aisles, attempting to give the illusion they were in control. I noticed they also had easy access to the exits in case trouble broke out.

  Trouble, as usual, sat up in the balcony—Mason and his posse, three girls who called themselves the Red Team. They loved the balcony, because it made those of us who sat below them easy marks for their chewing gum missiles that, once embedded, had to be surgically removed from our hair.

  My seat was as comfortable as a dentist’s chair, but it was near the front, where I would be a more difficult target. The downside to that strategy was my proximity to the stage. It would be hard to ignore the boring speech Mrs. Bagley delivered weekly. I was closer yet to Dr. Captious, my arrogant Algebra teacher. He sat smugly in the first row next to Dr. Miliron, the head of the Class Project.

  “Awesomeness at three o’clock,” Kathryn whispered.

  I looked to my right as Egon took the seat next to me. Instantly, all neural functions ceased. I gripped Kathryn’s wrist, trying not to squeal.

  “Easy, girl,” she said.

  “So,” Egon whispered in my ear, sending chills down my spine, “looks like this is the only class we have together.”

  Under ordinary circumstances, I would have gotten it. Egon was being cute. The proper response would have been to make a joke about this being my favorite course, or the homework being tolerable. Instead, all my flummoxed mind could conjure was, “I know, right?”

  Kathryn patted my arm. “Deep breaths, Rin. Deep breaths.”

  As the principal tapped the microphone, Egon chuckled and said, “Here comes yet another enthralling show.”

  I smiled and relaxed my death grip enough for Kathryn to get the circulation back in her wrist.

  Mrs. Bagley continued to stare out over the crowd. To say the woman had a harsh look about her was unfair, but not totally inaccurate. She reminded me of the lady in the painting with the pitchfork-toting husband—except the lady in the painting looked happier.

  Tall and thin, Mrs. Bagley wore a gray flowered dress and black granny shoes with hard, square heels. Bobby pins held her hair in a bun so tight that closing her eyes must have been painful. According to rumor, she had been an adult from birth, but I knew she was not as harsh as she seemed. I had personally witnessed moments where a kind of softness, caring and genuine affection for the students accidentally leaked through her schoolmarmish exterior.

  This was not one of those moments.

  “Stu-dents,” she said finally in a staccato voice. She waited until the auditorium quieted. “I have good news for you, and I have news that is less than satisfactory.”

  “What’s the good news, Old Bag?” a voice from the back shouted. The auditorium echoed with laughter at the nasty nickname.

  “For me, Mr. Rubric,” she said calmly, “good news would be a relaxing breakfast of sausage, eggs, and a honey-covered biscuit, eaten after the joyful discovery that my milk carton had your picture on it.”

  Direct hit. I gave it a ten.

  “But we’re not here to celebrate,” she continued. “We have received a letter from the state. People in my position do not look favorably on letters from the state, especially when said letter tells me that we have failed to meet the minimum pass rate on our standardized tests. This is distressing to me. Do any of you know what this means?”

  “We have idiots for teachers,” a voice yelled from the balcony, and roars of laughter filled the auditorium. Dr. Captious laughed quietly, and whispered to Dr. Miliron, who smiled and nodded.

  This sort of banter between the teachers and students would never happen in a normal school. But I didn’t go to a normal school. The teachers had lost control long ago. The few who still tried, like Mrs. Bagley, were outnumbered by the ones who had just given up. They complained that they weren’t allowed to teach anymore, that discipline was a thing of the past. Mason’s dad was part of the problem. He always said, “Patience, tolerance, and redirection. Not punishment.” Being the mayor, he had as much influence on the teachers and school board as Kathryn had on the students, which was considerable.

  Mrs. Bagley banged on the microphone so violently a bobby pin popped. A curl launched from the side of her head like a broken spring from a cuckoo clock. “It means there are bigger problems here than you are aware of!”

  “It means we can all sleep in. What’s the bad news?”

  Mrs. Bagley tightened her lips, glaring. “I have asked for your cooperation before, but have run into certain…” She waved her hand toward the balcony. “Obstacles. Your teachers and I are equipped to deal with poor grades, however, our problem goes beyond grades. I find that I have lost my patience with asking the school board for help, and being referred to committee after agonizing committee. I have grown intolerant of our hallowed policy against punishing troublemakers who are immune to redirection. So I’ve found outside assistance to take back our school. If policy cannot help us, law surely can. Without further ado, I give you Police Chief Amos Munificent, a man who has full authority to do what needs to be done. If you show him the same respect you have shown me, I can assure you that you shall all receive detention for the rest of your natural lives.” She backed away from the microphone smiling, clapping her hands, looking expectantly out at the audience to do the same. Captious and Miliron clapped, and several people in the front row joined in.

  I clapped, too. This was good. My problem was solved. The police would come in and take over, and I could tell Andy and the Kilodan that my services were no longer needed.

  I was officially off the hook.

  Police Chief Munificent emerged from the backstage shadows and walked to the microphone. Maybe “waddled” is a better word. He was beyond overweight, his shirttail was half in, half out, and his crooked hat made him look like a mall guard wannabe. Stylin’ he was not. I try not to judge people by their appearance, because I think you have to be a complete bonehead to do that, but to tell the truth, my excitement at being off the hook started to droop a little. Maybe he was having a bad hair day, but the man was seriously not what I expected. No way could he handle this crowd.

  Then I noticed his eyes. Andy taught me to look at my opponents’ eyes if I wanted to see what they were really capable of. The Police Chief had the eyes of a man who meant business. He scrutinized the students in the auditorium, grimacing like we were all suspects in some horrible crime. When his gaze reached me, his face softened. He nodded and smiled as though he knew me.

  “Who’s your new bud?” Kathryn asked.

  “Not a clue,” I said, shaking my head.

  “His name’s Egon,” Egon whispered, elbowing my ribs gently.

  My head turned so quickly I was certain my neck had snapped. Egon just called himself my new bud. Was he flirting with me? I hoped he was flirting with me. But I couldn’t know for sure without taking extreme measure
s—I could scan him. No, the Kilodan would murder me. I could ask Kathryn. But how totally lame would that be with him sitting right there? Egon smiled slyly at me, green eyes melting me right into the auditorium seat.

  Mr. Munificent pulled the microphone close to him and said, “I’ll get right to the point. Mrs. Bagley is correct. The problem goes beyond bad grades. Kids are being assaulted and forced to take drugs. I don’t like it.”

  “Neither do the kids we beat up,” the voice in the balcony said. The auditorium echoed with laughter.

  Munificent stood silently, gazing out into the sea of students. He shook his head finally and said, “You kids don’t have a clue, do you? The bullying and the drugs are just a decoy. This is about something much bigger.”

  “Bigger than your gut?” the voice said.

  The chief smiled like a mongoose facing off against a snake, knowing it had found an easy meal. “Look, genius, I’m not a man who’s afraid to do his job. Give me a reason, and I’ll slap cuffs on you. And believe me, I’ll enjoy it. Here’s the deal. The drug floating around this school is called Psychedone 10. It’s a twisted mutation of LSD. Ordinary LSD just makes people stupid. But this poison that you kids are into, this atrocity, this cancer…it makes people wicked. Ten years ago, I hunted a masked kidnapper who terrorized the city. He fed this drug to his victims, all children. They committed obscenities you can’t even imagine. We stopped them, but he disappeared without a trace. Now he’s back, and you kids are his target.” A hush fell over the auditorium. The Chief raised an eyebrow and said in a low voice, “What, no snappy comeback, tough guy?”

  I scooted forward in my seat, suddenly interested.

  “He’s using you kids to do his dirty work,” the Chief said. “You know why? Because you have enough idiots among you to make it easy.”

  So the stalker had been around before. I wondered if the memories I saw were old—visions of the girls he kidnapped ten years ago. No matter, he was still out there. Kids were still in danger.