Psi Another Day (Psi Fighter Academy) Page 4

  “A piece of advice,” Munificent said. “You punks who think it’s cool to push drugs or beat people up, you’re the ones who’ll take the rap for what this guy is doing. You’re his cover. He wants us to focus on you instead of him. And it’s working. The fact that I’m here now proves it. I should be out finding him. I’m the only one left on the force who understands that the man is pure evil. He’ll recruit you against your will, and when he’s done with you, he’ll kill you, and your friends will be blamed. I need your help to find out who he is. I need to stop him this time.”

  “It was Professor Plum with a pipe!” the voice from the balcony shouted.

  Amos Munificent glared up at the balcony, suddenly irritated. “Mason, for once in your life, shut up! This is serious. Not even your father can protect you from this man. You don’t know who we’re dealing with. I would think that someone with your history would take this more seriously.”

  “Ooh,” Kathryn said. “Draudimon got told!”

  “Shhh!” I elbowed her.

  Munificent gazed out at the crowd and said quietly, “I’m looking for a man who covers his face with a skull mask. He’s wanted in connection with the attempted kidnapping of a ten-year-old girl. We believe he is behind the drugs in this school, as well. One of you knows him. You have no idea how much danger you’re in. I need to stop him before anyone dies. Before you die. I need your help.”

  So he knew about Elmo and his nasty skull mask. Not surprising. Andy and the Kilodan always let the cops know what’s up. We’re their best source. The stalker’s image spun through my head like a pinwheel…Elmo mask, skull mask, no mask. Andy and I had gone through every mug shot in the database, but I couldn’t identify the stalker. He told me that he was working on something that would help, but I felt so useless. Tears welled up. It was my fault the stalker escaped. I had to find him.

  Then it hit me.

  The Kilodan was right. Crud, the man was always right. The clue I needed to find the stalker was right here at school. Munificent said one of us knew him. I just had to figure out who.

  A crypt-like silence had descended on the auditorium. Most of the students had stunned expressions. Only Dr. Captious had an arrogant smirk, but he always had an arrogant smirk. I turned to the balcony. The Red Team girls were grinning smugly, but Mason Draudimon’s ghastly pale, wide-eyed expression shocked me—he was absolutely terrified. What was up with that?

  Even if the police had somehow connected Mason to the stalker, that wouldn’t explain his reaction. His dad would pull strings and he’d be off the hook. So what was it about Mr. Munificent’s announcement that terrorized Mason? The drug connection made no sense. Everyone knew the drug dealers were Art Rubric and Chuckie Cuff. Mason hated drugs. There had to be something else. I needed to know what that something was.

  Being off the hook had totally lost its appeal. I officially put myself back on.

  Suddenly, I felt a warm shoulder leaning against me, and breath against my cheek. “If you need a bodyguard,” Egon said into my ear, “I know a few moves.”

  …

  With the exception of Social Studies, Business, and one study hall, Kathryn and I have every class together. It’s a nice arrangement, because I often need her to lean on. Sometimes metaphorically, other times, like today, literally. We went straight from the assembly to gym class, which I suffered through against my will. On my best day, I stunk at any sport that didn’t involve ancient weapons or hand-to-hand combat. But after the assembly, my concentration had dropped below zero, and concentration was a prerequisite for this particular gym class. Miss Jackson, our teacher, was a former dodgeball diva.

  I want to be clear about this—dodgeball is not a game. It’s an evil cult activity that decent people shouldn’t associate themselves with. In ancient times, they called it “stoning.” Fortunately, I was confident that the damage I suffered to internal organs was minimal, and the throbbing red welts in the center of my back would heal in a decade or so. I limped into the empty girls’ locker room, leaning on Kathryn, moaning in exaggerated agony.

  “We are awesome dodgeball players, aren’t we, Rin?”

  “You played. I was a casualty. I thought they outlawed dodgeball in civilized schools.”

  Kathryn shrugged. She helped me to the bench. “Since when is this place civilized? We all know that gym class was modeled after the medieval torture chamber. Damp, musty walls, scurrying insects, odors of death and critter poop—now, before the rest of the class moseys in here, let’s get back to the assembly.”

  “We weren’t talking about the assembly.”

  Kathryn threw her arms wide. “You were thinking about it. The welts prove it. I’ve seen you practice kung fu. Nobody can touch you if you don’t want them to. I know you’re all flustered over Egon offering to guard your body, and I’m thrilled for you, but that wouldn’t transform you into an instant easy target. Now, indulge me. The way I heard it, there is some connection between the stalker, the drugs, and Mason. Is that the way you heard it?”

  “Flustered is an understatement. But you’re right, the assembly left me wondering. It doesn’t feel right. I got the connection between the stalker and the drugs. But not Mason. Something else is going on with him. Did you see the look on his face?”

  “Okay, great minds think alike. I saw it, too. Mason’s not afraid of anything. Suddenly the police mention a kidnapper and drugs, and Mason’s afraid. I smell guilt in the air. Aren’t you supposed to have some sixth sense about this stuff? Did you check the batteries on your bad guy meter?”

  “But the drug connection is pretty far-fetched. Everybody knows that Mason doesn’t do drugs.”

  “Right. The three things he is most proud of are his grades and his drug-free lifestyle.”

  “That’s two things.”

  “And the fact that he can get away with murder. I assumed you assumed that one.”

  “Yeah, he’s a role model.”

  “So, this proves that Mason, the drugs, and the skull-headed guy are connected.”

  I shook my head. “It doesn’t prove anything.”

  “It proves that Bobby was right. The Class Project is a sinister plot to get everyone addicted to this Psycho-whatsis 10 and take over the world.”

  “That’s not what Bobby said.”

  Kathryn took me by the shoulders and looked straight into my eyes. “Read between the lines, Rin. How can you do what you do with such a total lack of women’s intuition?”

  Sometimes Kathryn and I are on completely different wavelengths. “Kathryn, do you think that, even as out of control as this school is, the teachers would knowingly let us make illegal drugs?”

  “Knowingly? No. Cluelessly? Absolutely.”

  “The connection to drugs doesn’t make sense. There has to be something else.”

  “It makes perfect sense if what Bobby and Munificent said is true. The stalker’s into drugs. The Class Project is all about drugs. Mason is all about the Class Project. Henceforth, hitherto, and ipso facto, Mason knows the stalker. Duh. He may not do drugs, but he’s certainly working for someone who appreciates them. And I think he’s doing it against his will. We all know Mason is an evil wombat. But this time, Mason’s afraid. He knows his dad can’t save him.”

  “The Class Project isn’t about drugs, though. Even Bobby said the chemicals made in the Class Project are harmless.”

  “He also implied that a lab with more advanced equipment could make something nasty from them.”

  “So you’re saying the psycho stalker is Mason’s boss.”

  “I’m saying, if you want to know who the smelly man in the Elmo mask is, ask Mason.”

  I thought about it for a minute, then patted Kathryn’s head. “I hate to say it, lady, but you should be a Psi Fighter.”

  Footsteps and laughter echoed off the tiled walls. The rest of the survivors were returning from the pelting. As girls streamed into the locker room, we changed from our ghastly gold and brown gym uniforms, Kathryn into her Hol
listers with holes machined in various strategic locations, me into my boring, hole-free jeans from Walmart. My mom’s voice echoed in my mind. I don’t care what Kathryn wears. You are not going to school with holes in your clothes.

  Parents simply do not understand fashion.

  Lockers clanged all around us as students rushed to get to the next class. A well-endowed cheerleader changed a few lockers down from me. She didn’t have a single dodgeball wound on her, although she had contributed to the majority of mine. She was a pro with those inflatable red implements of destruction, and I was her favorite target. I smiled. “Hi, Tammy. Good game.”

  Tammy eyed me like I was a festering sore. She turned away and, noticing that Kathryn wasn’t looking, said, “Hey, Kathryn. Love your outfit!”

  “’Sup, Tam,” Kathryn muttered, pulling on her shoes. “To the potty, Rin. Back in a sec.”

  I’m used to being ignored by the Excessively Cool people, especially Tammy Angel.

  Being ignored can be quite useful, the Kilodan once told me. You can hide in plain view and see things you might not otherwise see.

  Maybe so, but it can also be quite annoying. Tammy is captain of the cheerleaders even though she’s a junior, and next to Kathryn, the hottest girl in school. She’s also undisputed leader of the Red Team. How they got that stupid name, I can only guess. She has zero time for the Uncool, and I am at the very top of that list. You’d think that being best friends with the most popular girl in school would rub a little of the magic off on me, but it’s just the opposite. Tammy hates my relationship with Kathryn and makes certain that all her friends feel the same way. She thinks she should be Kathryn’s BFF. Apparently they used to be tight in preschool or something, which makes it even sadder.

  As I pulled my backpack from my locker, a pale girl with greasy hair and sunken eyes joined Angel.

  “Tammy, can we talk?”

  “Hey, hey, Erica,” Tammy said.

  Erica Jasmine, previously a sweet girl, currently a witch with a capital B. I had watched her go downhill for a few weeks. She wasn’t the only one. Other formerly nice kids had turned mean, suddenly snapping at people for no reason. Until today’s assembly, I was convinced that it was either the Bubonic Plague or terrible constipation. Now I knew it was that Psychedone 10 stuff.

  Angel put her arm around Erica, and said in a singsongy voice, “I know why you’re here.”

  Erica backed out of Angel’s hug. “Tammy, I…can’t anymore. My parents know—”

  “Erica,” Tammy said. “I thought we talked about this. Uncool is no longer acceptable in this school. The Cool Rule. And I rule the Cool. If you ever want to be a member of the Red Team, you’ll have to get on the Star Ship Angel.” She pulled a small baggie from her pocket. “And this is your ticket.”

  Shocked, I pinned myself against the locker, hiding behind the open door and happy for once to be unnoticed.

  Erica glanced at her feet. “I don’t like what this stuff does to me.”

  “Small price to pay for Coolness. Hang with us. Eighty-six the Loser Squad. They’re no good for you anymore. Here you go.” Tammy slid the baggy into Erica’s hand. “Get healthy.”

  Erica’s tired, sunken eyes suddenly changed. They grew bright and she glared into Tammy’s. “No, Tammy. I’m done. You can’t make me anymore. I’ll go to the police.” She shoved the baggy back into Tammy’s hand.

  “No problem.” Tammy smiled. “Maybe I’ll talk to your little sister instead.”

  What was Angel up to? She and the Red Team were the school’s most notorious bullies, but they weren’t into drugs. Angel headed the school’s Students Against Drugs committee. She personally put up all the “Hugs not Drugs” and “Users are Losers” posters. She was even more anti-drugs than Mason was.

  The anger fell from Erica’s face. “Not my sister,” she whispered, and pulled a wad of cash from her pocket.

  “Where are your manners, Erica?” Tammy snatched the money and waved it in Erica’s face. “The Red Team demands respect.”

  Erica’s lip quivered as she reached out with cupped hands. “Please, Tammy?”

  “Hey, your momma taught you the magic word.” Tammy flipped the baggy at Erica. It bounced off her chest and landed on the floor.

  “Erica, no!” a voice shouted from across the room. A skinny girl I knew only as Tish stood beside the bench in the next row of lockers. She had pasty white skin, unnaturally black hair, and a dozen silver hoops, balls, and figurines sticking out of various parts of her face. It looked positively painful. “You’re dealing?” she shrieked at Angel. “What’s your problem? I thought you guys didn’t do drugs.”

  Tammy Angel smiled and pulled another baggie from her pocket. “I don’t. These are supplements. All natural. Maybe you could use a hit.”

  “I heard what they said at the assembly. That stuff’s dangerous.”

  “Not as dangerous as, oh, say, not knowing your place.” Tammy strolled toward the black-haired girl, smiling sweetly. “Do we need a lesson in the social graces?”

  Code for don’t make me call my dogs. Angel was a master manipulator who never did her own dirty work. She preferred subtle (and sometimes not so subtle) intimidation. Her father was an insanely powerful lawyer who protected her the way Mason’s dad protected him. But her high-society act was just a front.

  It dawned on me that Tammy might know what was going on with Mason. I had a sudden urge to see what was on her so-called mind. Somewhere in that gully of emptiness and decay, I might find something useful. I reached into my backpack and drew my Amplifier.

  Fear me, I thought, and the image of a short spear flashed into my mind. Psychic energy ripped through my body. My hair crackled with static and poofed like I had entered a massive electrical field. Which was why I never left home without my trusty brush.

  Mental force rampaged down my arm, into my hand, through my fingertips. Sparks jumped to the Amplifier’s electrodes and red mist exploded silently from the tip, forming a short pointed dart. I took a step toward Tammy, holding the dart behind my back, but immediately relaxed and extinguished my weapon. What was I thinking? Using Psi Weapons while unmasked was a sure way to bring the Knights to my doorstep. Knights are as sensitive to the use of Psi Weapons as Obi Wan is to disturbances in the Force.

  “No, please,” Tish gasped. “I misunderstood. I didn’t see anything.”

  “How convincing,” Tammy said, rolling her eyes. “So happy it was a simple mistake. Still, we must learn our position in this wide, wide world, mustn’t we?” Tammy turned and called daintily through cupped hands, “Girls! Cleanup in aisle five.”

  They rounded the lockers like they were walking down a runway—Boot Millner, a stocky blond beauty queen wannabe, top-notch runner and too-cool-for-school jerk, whom I’d had the displeasure of knowing since seventh grade; and Agatha Chew, captain of the girls track team, a formerly decent human recently converted to the dark side. The Red Team. Tammy’s venomous minions.

  “Hey, Tam,” Boot said. “What’cha got goin’ here?”

  “Outpatient surgery.” Tammy smiled sadistically, snapped her fingers, and pointed at Tish.

  Boot circled Tish like a vulture, then stopped behind her, grabbing Tish by both wrists and pinning them behind her back. “The things we must do to keep order. Honestly, Tammy, I don’t know how you stay so dedicated. You’re a saint.”

  Angel closed her eyes and clasped her hands like she was praying. “For the greater good.”

  “Please, don’t.” Tish struggled helplessly against Boot’s grip.

  Agatha laughed. “You may proceed, Dr. Angel.”

  “So many procedures, so little time.” Tammy popped open her locker and gazed inside. “Hmmm, I believe this is suitable, medically speaking. Mummy’s Magic Mix—concentrated garlic sauce, a touch of curry, and a very large yellow onion, shaken not stirred.”

  The other girls laughed when Tammy pulled out the hermetically sealed, explosion-proof squeeze bottle that everyone knew h
oused her favorite torture device. According to Kathryn, the Angel household had some unique discipline tactics. Growing up, Tammy was never grounded when she was bad (which I have to believe was daily). Instead, she was taken shopping and forced to watch while her mother bought herself expensive gifts with Tammy’s allowance. And while Tammy thrived on foul deeds, she never used foul language. Whereas normal kids got their mouths washed out with soap, the Angel kids got the Magic Mix.

  Tammy held the container at arm’s length, squeezed ever so slightly, and shot a stream of brownish goo onto the floor. “Locked and loaded,” she said. A stench I can’t even begin to describe saturated the air. Greensburg’s sewage treatment plant smelled like buttercups compared to that. Tish’s eyes grew wide and teary as Tammy said, “Open wide!”

  “I told you I didn’t see anything!” Tish choked back tears. “Please.”

  “I know, I know,” Tammy mocked. “It will all be over soon. Please try to understand, this is really for the greater good.”

  “No,” Tish whispered. She shook her head and black tears streaked her face.

  “Be a dear, Aggy,” Tammy said. Agatha grimaced, reached out and gingerly plucked the squeeze bottle from Tammy’s outstretched hand.

  “I’m going in!” Agatha moved toward Tish, holding the bottle high in the air. Tish squeezed her eyes and mouth shut.

  I stepped closer to the girls, deciding that it was time to be noticed. “Practicing mental proctology without a license?”

  “Mental what?” Tammy snapped, momentarily losing her Extreme Coolness. “Don’t use words you don’t understand, Peroxide.”

  “The art of walking around with your head up your butt,” I said, swishing my hand. “It’s in the dictionary. Oh, I forgot. You can’t read. Love to stay and chat, but Tish and I have to go. Toodles.” I stiffened my fingers and poked a pressure point on Boot’s wrist.

  “Hey!” Boot barked, and her grip on Tish popped open.

  Agatha raised the Magic Mix, glaring defiantly like she was about to squirt me. So I jabbed my thumb into her shoulder. Solid impact. Nice crunch. But I should have hit her harder, so I only gave it a seven. Agatha squealed as her arm dropped and hung like an unfettered fruit rollup, scrambling to grab the Magic Mix with the hand that still had feeling.