Psi Another Day (Psi Fighter Academy) Read online

  Tish glanced at me in disbelief and ran from the locker room. I turned to follow her.

  “Peroxide has come without an appointment,” Tammy said. “Boot, dear, please make her feel welcome. After all, we wouldn’t want her to leave with a bad taste in her mouth. Or would we?”

  Suddenly, Boot seized me from behind, wrapping her beefy arm around my throat and squeezing hard.

  Boot was Tammy’s Number One Enforcer because she was so freakishly strong. I couldn’t breathe, and things quickly started to go black. I grabbed Boot’s elbow to take the pressure off my throat, and gulped in a lungful of air. Bad move. Passing out would have been so much more pleasant. Being mauled by rabid Chihuahuas would have been more pleasant.

  The instant I opened my mouth to breathe, Agatha squirted that stinking concoction into it. The stench was awful, but it was nothing compared to the taste. Garlic is good in small quantities on, say, white pizza where it belongs. But when it’s enhanced with yellow onion juice and concentrated into Mummy’s Magic Mix, I can tell you an unwashed gym sock would have tasted better. My throat burned. My eyes burned. A beautiful vision of my elbow slamming into Boot’s ribs flashed through my mind, but fear gripped me. Suspension. Fines. What if I hurt Boot? Happy thought, but my dad would kill me.

  “C’mon, Rin,” a voice said as the bell rang. Kathryn rounded the lockers in her usual bouncing gait. “We’ll be late for our Language Arts test. Very uncool, ladies. Release the prisoner, please. You don’t need detention.”

  “Oh, hi, Kathryn,” Boot said, letting me go.

  Tammy’s Extreme Coolness returned in a heartbeat. “Hey, hey, Kathryn! We were just getting to know Rinnie, you know, seeing if she might fit in.”

  “Oh, she’s definitely not Red Team material,” Kathryn said.

  “I don’t know,” Tammy said. “Everyone has potential. We try not to judge.”

  “Need a mint,” I mumbled as I followed Kathryn from the locker room, wiping my tongue on my sleeve. “A vat of disinfectant. A wire brush. Yuck!”

  Humiliation, I decided, was not good for the soul. Humiliation stunk.

  Chapter Four

  The Psi Fighter Academy

  After a day of embarrassment and disgrace, I really looked forward to a relaxing evening of major butt-kicking. As I climbed the white marble steps to the Greensburg Public Library, I felt as though I was entering a lost world. The library was old, over two hundred years, and built entirely of beautiful hand-carved white marble. The walls came alive with wildly detailed engravings of a great battle between humans and mythical creatures. The massive pillars reminded me of the Parthenon. A great stone lion stood between them, guarding the library entrance. It looked so real, I swore its eyes followed me as I approached.

  Heavy oak doors swung inward on silent hinges at my touch. The smell of dust and very old books escaped into the sunlight with not even a hint of garlic. I always felt a sort of nostalgia, because I had dim memories of going there with my parents before they died. I breathed deeply and stood tall as I passed between the doors. Waving to the librarian, I hurried past rows and rows of books, straight for the bathroom. I went into the second stall, closed the door, and sat down on the toilet.

  Second stall to the right and straight on till morning.

  I giggled quietly as I reached toward the roll of toilet paper, resting my hand against the silvery plate above it. Tiny electrodes dotted its cold surface. My mind grew silent and I concentrated, releasing a light stream of psychic energy through my fingertips. Suddenly the wall behind me opened and the toilet spun around. I found myself facing a black-walled mine shaft, and smiled. Only Andor Manchild would build a secret entrance like this. Andy had a flair for the abnormal.

  The toilet rolled forward into the shaft and jerked to a stop. The wall closed silently behind me, and I remembered too late that I had forgotten the most important part of the ride. Again. Tinny theme park music suddenly blasted me from all sides. I gripped the seat just in time. The toilet dropped abruptly through the floor, shooting water everywhere. I plummeted down, my hair in my face, and my stomach in my throat. Warm wind and black rock and the smell of creosote rushed past me. I squealed with a mixture of terror and joy, clenching the toilet seat, wondering why Andy’s twisted sense of technology didn’t include seat belts. Air brakes hissed and the toilet came to a jarring halt, splashing the remaining water into the air like a geyser, drenching my entire southern hemisphere.

  A metallic voice echoed from hidden speakers, “I hope you enjoyed the ride. Please exit to the left.”

  “Eeeewwww,” I said in disgust, standing up. My saturated jeans were cold and clinging. I forced my legs apart as I duckwalked away from the toilet. Now deep beneath the library floor, the air was surprisingly warm. The shaft I had just come down disappeared above me into blackness. The water that didn’t manage to marinate my clothes lay in a clear puddle around the toilet behind me.

  “Better than last time,” I said to the wall. My voice echoed in the distance.

  The shadowy tunnel ahead of me was framed in huge wooden beams bolted together with black iron plates. I rubbed my hand across the coal wall, and it came away clean. Illuminated by a single yellow bulb, a sign hung against the wall. It read:

  Old Salem Academy of Psi Fighters

  Vanquish Evil

  Do Right

  Protect the Innocent

  Tacked to the bottom of the sign, a small paper with scribbled handwriting said:

  …and Always Flush First

  Something in the shadows caught my eye, and a chill went down my spine. I decided it was because I was drenched. Then the shadow moved and a low, rumbling laugh echoed down the length of the tunnel. In the darkness, a large, diabolical figure dressed in black armor leaned against the wall, staring at me, breathing like Darth Vader. His eyes reflected the yellow light.

  I smiled. “Hi, Andy. Trying to sneak up on me again?”

  “I am master of stealth,” Andy said in a deep voice as he stepped slowly, menacingly into the light. “I am one with the darkness, silent as dust.”

  “You are dusty.”

  “I can do that stealth stuff, too.” Andy looked at my pants and smiled. “Forget to flush again?”

  “I was, like, in a hurry, okay?”

  “Hey, you know, like, no Valley Girl talk down here, you dig?”

  I cringed. “Valley Girl and Burned-Out Hippie are a really bad combination. Although it suits you. Ready for class?”

  “It’s what I live for.” He cocked his head to the side as though something had occurred to him. “Only water this time?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s an improvement, then, isn’t it?”

  “Uh huh,” I said, remembering the only other time I had forgotten to flush. It was a long time ago, and I was in a massive hurry, and, well, it was embarrassing.

  I glanced up at the inscription carved into the polished wood of a massive overhead beam.

  NO ONE MAY ENTER EXCEPT BY INVITATION.

  Andy reached up and touched the engraving. “We need a human skull hanging there, don’t you think?”

  “Or a bottle of Mummy’s Magic Mix.”

  “Bad day at school again?”

  “Normal day at school again.”

  “Let’s go take it out on some unsuspecting Academy students. Then you can tell me how your new mission is going.”

  “Better than the last one.”

  “Life is just full of surprises.” Andy pinched his nose shut. “Tell me, did you brush your teeth today?”

  “Ha ha.”

  Andy clapped his hands. Bright halogen lights instantly illuminated a long tunnel with hand-waxed wooden beams and a polished anthracite floor.

  I buried my face in my hands. “Please don’t tell me you installed a clapper.”

  “Light switches are so yesterday.”

  I walked beside Andy through the tunnel, which seemed to go on forever. The place was incredibly clean and well lit for an
abandoned mine that, according to official city records, didn’t exist. Occasional passages shot off to the left or right. A steel door sealed one passage, a red neon sign above it reading K-Mart. Behind the door lay Andy’s home away from home, the tech lab where he invented our gadgets. James Bond had Q. We had Andor Manchild. Q was way more normal.

  “Police Chief came to school today,” I said.

  “Uh huh.”

  “You knew?”

  “I know many things, youngling,” Andy told me. “What do you think I do all day, sit around and watch old movies?”

  “You don’t?”

  “I do. Society underestimates the educational value of the Three Stooges.”

  “Then you knew that the stalker is behind the drugs and violence in my school. Did you also know Mason is involved?”

  “Mayhap,” Andy said quietly, peering at me from the corner of his eye. “And maybe I know more.”

  The tunnel ended abruptly at a huge coal wall with a shiny metal plate embedded in its center. Andy placed his hand against the plate and closed his eyes. His hair poofed like he had bad static cling. A surge of excess mental energy reflected off the coal and hit me like a blast of wind. I was always amazed at how someone so goofy could be so incredibly powerful. The wall opened without a sound, and we entered the training room of the Old Salem Academy of Psi Fighters.

  An enormous bookshelf covered the front wall. In the center of the room, a lone stack of cement slabs rested on the floor. Around it, a small group of students warmed up. Some practiced unarmed combat. Others simply sat on the padded floor, stretched into a Russian split. Several engaged in battle with Amplifiers. They looked amazing in their Psi Fighter uniforms.

  I entered my assigned dressing closet and began to peel off my wet clothes. My reflection stared back at me from the closet’s full-length mirror, apparently as upset with her day as I was with mine. Tall and thin, she looked like any other sixteen-year-old with anemic hair. There was no hope in that area…she could color it, but then Mason would just make up another nasty name, like Clairol. She didn’t need another name. Her feet were maybe a little too big, and her knees a bit knobby. And she slouched a little. Okay, maybe a lot. But only because today stunk.

  To tell the truth, I didn’t look at all like a Psi Fighter. I was just a basic person. Ordinary. Not somebody you’d notice, like Kathryn, who was drop-dead beautiful…luxurious hair, perfect knees, upright spine.

  I really needed the uniform.

  I took it down from its hanger and pulled it on. The midnight blue outfit was formfitting, loose enough in the right places for unhindered movement, tight enough in other places to look awesome. The built-in shin and thigh armor was lightweight and flexible, but nearly indestructible. The long tabard was fashioned from heavier fabric than the pants, armored front and back. I liked the feel of its snug fit. Plus it made my boobs look like they actually existed.

  I pulled on my gauntlets, complete with forearm guards, wondering if the Kilodan would let me add little pointy things like Batman had. Suddenly, I felt whole.

  My mask smiled down at me from the top shelf, waiting patiently for my next mission. The Psi Fighter mask isn’t meant to be scary. We don’t look like NHL rejects, or giant bats with bad dispositions and excessively long ears. Our masks are beautiful. They’re all different, modeled after little children, like the cherubim. Mine has wide, innocent eyes and a pouty smile. Made from the same tough stuff as my armor plates, it could easily stop a bullet or a Psi Weapon assault (too bad it didn’t also stop a backfired Mental Lash). But my favorite feature is its voice-altering electronics. I can inspire terror in my opponent with the voice of Death Incarnate. I can also sing the Campfire Song like SpongeBob.

  “Much better,” I said as I emerged dressed in my not-so-ordinary uniform.

  “A little swordplay before class starts?” Andy asked, tying a red bandana around his head.

  “It’s what I live for.”

  Andy hit a switch on his chest armor, and “Burnin’ Love” blasted from a hidden sound system in the classroom walls. I started to dance, then drew my Amplifier and concentrated as Elvis belted out my favorite fighting song.

  To Vanquish Evil, to Do Right, to Kick Andy’s Butt, I thought. An electric guitar appeared in my mind, but I decided against bludgeoning Andy with a stringed instrument. Instead, I pictured Zorro’s rapier. Suddenly, I felt its weight, its sharp edge. My hair poofed from emotional static as the smoky blue blade pulled from my mind and exploded through the tip of the Amplifier. I swished the yard of pure psychic energy through the air in salute to Andy, who had formed his own weapon in the shape of a pirate’s cutlass.

  He returned the salute, and attacked with a fierce slash at my head. “Arrrr, prepare to be boarded.”

  “I’m always bored dead when I’m with you,” I said, blocking the attack with an easy flick of my wrist. When our blades met, wild laughter and hideous screams filled the air.

  “You can pun, but you can’t hide!” Andy slashed, then stabbed, then slashed again. He attacked fiercely, forcing me back toward the wall. I parried every blow, riposting relentlessly, my own blade laughing as Andy’s emitted grunts and angry squeals.

  “Elvis brings out the aggression in you, doesn’t he?” Andy grinned.

  I fired a lightning-fast side kick into his chest, knocking him backward. “What makes you say that?”

  “Ooo, nice one,” Andy said. “Hurt your foot?”

  “My foot’s fine. How’s your pride?” I kicked again, this time at Andy’s head.

  “Gadzooks, you’re a feisty lass,” he said as he ducked and nearly shish-kabobed me with his wailing cutlass. “Lucky for me your sword is only as sharp as your mind.”

  The misery of my day faded into oblivion as my battle with Andy kicked into high gear. Pure joy energized me as I cut loose in a way I could never do in school. Punches and kicks flashed through the air. Smoky blades licked in and out like the tongues of holographic serpents, parrying and riposting, thrusting and slashing. The psychic weapons seemed to take on lives of their own, emitting wild screams or hysterical laughter each time they collided. The other students stopped practicing and gathered around to watch us battle, cheering each time an attack was made, laughing at the sounds emitted by the weapons, imitating the verbal sparring that danced between Andy and me, entirely caught up in the exhilarating world of the Psi Fighter.

  Then a gong rang out. “Line up!” a voice shouted.

  “Oh crud, just when I had you where I wanted you,” Andy said, taking his place at the front of the class.

  “Standing victoriously over your uncoordinated body?” I whispered as I took my place beside him. Every student has his or her specialty. Some are recon. Others are intelligence. Andy and I are fight demonstrators. Took me ten years in the most accelerated program any Psi Fighter had ever been through to get there.

  The students assembled into formation quickly, and the room went silent. Psi Fighter training is intense, sometimes brutal, always exciting. We are a small, very elite team that hovers around a dozen. Admission is by invitation only. There is only one requirement: you must be faithful and trustworthy. Surprisingly hard to find in today’s world.

  The Four entered, dressed in the armor and mask of the Psi Fighter. Our leaders. The Four rarely show up in class at the same time. When they do, we never know what to expect. Sometimes they teach, sometimes they simply observe.

  They stopped at the head of the class next to the stack of concrete slabs. The Four were the most secretive of all the Psi Fighters, their identities hidden even from the students. With their expressionless angelic masks, they all looked alike. But I knew from the way the last one moved, from the way he oozed raw power and incredible confidence, that he was the Kilodan. The Four bowed to the class. We returned the greeting.

  “We will begin with a light warm-up,” the Kilodan said in a voice like Mufasa from Lion King. “Down for two hundred pushups.”

  I groaned. This had to
be observation night. The Four believed in a strong body and mind. I dropped to the floor, wishing they believed in chocolate chip cookies and hot cocoa.

  Chapter Five

  The Mental Arts

  “Tonight,” the Kilodan said, after we had finished an unusually brutal warm-up, “we return to basics. Before you can strike effectively with your body, you must learn to unleash the power of your mind. Without your mental strength, a kick is just a kick, a punch merely a punch…ordinary martial arts. But we practice the discipline that is forerunner to all martial arts. Anyone with a black belt can do this.” He stood over the concrete slabs, raised his open hand to his masked cheek, and dropped it lazily, almost soundlessly, through the entire stack.

  Anyone. Right. Most black belts have to put a bit more effort into it.

  The Kilodan dusted off his glove and faced the class. “The ability to break inanimate objects is irrelevant. It requires nothing more than a bit of brawn. But, breaking an opponent who is physically superior to you requires quite another talent. Lynn and Andor, if you please…Andor, simple, brute strength.”

  The Kilodan was the only person who called me “Lynn.” It made me feel sort of…I don’t know, professional. I faced Andy.

  Normally, Andy was just a big goof. But during demonstrations and actual missions, he could be very intimidating. He moved like a lion when he walked, and when he stood, he looked like he wanted to kill something. He smiled cruelly at me and flexed his massive chest. His armor stretched and groaned.

  “I’m going to crush you, little girl,” he whispered.

  “Of course, you are,” I said.

  Suddenly, he dove at me. Andy was fast, but I was faster. I slammed my strongest side kick into his armored gut. That kick would have knocked anyone else through a wall, but kicking Andy was like kicking a mountain. He crashed into me and slammed me to the floor, laughing. I pushed both hands against his chest armor with all my strength, but I couldn’t budge him. So I concentrated.