I Become Shadow (15 page)

Solace came in a fifty-pound bag. I didn’t even bother to wrap my knuckles or put on gloves before unleashing hell on that poor thing. After fifteen minutes I was beginning to wear a small hole in it. I was just starting to feel better when a deep, cocky voice interrupted me with a, “You know, your form’s off.”

I dropped my hands and turned. A had-to-be-frat guy was about ten feet away. You know the type: short spiky hair that takes hours to look perfectly messy and tiny stick legs because all he works out are his chest and arms. He instantly reminded me of Trey, the boy I’d crushed hard on back in Amherst, two lifetimes ago. He was the spitting image of the person I imagined Trey had become. Not good for this guy.

I raised my eyebrows at his comment.

“Yeah. You need to rotate your hips more.” He then demonstrated for me slowly, showing the “hip” rotation.

I kept forgetting that if you didn’t know me, I might actually be attractive. In my mind I was, well,
me
, so those thoughts didn’t exist. That was why I tried not to sound too annoyed when I said, “Thanks,” and went back to my business.

I only got in about five hits before he walked over and said, “Still wrong. Like this.” He then grabbed my hips and began to twist them for me. That’s what you would call the final straw.

I was about to break his thumbs, but luckily he spoke up again first. “You know, I could maybe show you a thing or two if you wanna spar.”

Funny: all at once I remembered that beating the hell out of Trey was something I’d once dreamed about, after “the splash zone.” I still owed him for ruining the only day of high school I ever got to experience. The similarities between Trey and this idiot were too close for me to pass this up.

I smiled. “Now that’s a great idea.”

We walked over to the mini-ring that was set up.

“So my name’s—”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said cutting him off.

He grinned as if he liked whatever game I was playing. Poor thing. We climbed into the ring and put on gloves. Lame.

“You see, it’s all in the hi—”

“I learn a lot better by doing, actually.”

“Cool.”

We touched gloves. I allowed him to circle me once. He feinted a few times, but I didn’t even flinch. He took one half-hearted swing at me which I easily ducked, and in quick succession I hit him with a right cross to the chin, a left hook to the ribs, and then finished him off with a spin kick to the temple.

Kid was out like a sack of potatoes. I crouched down
next to him and lightly slapped him on the cheek until he came too.

“You all right?” he asked me.

“Fine. Thanks for the lesson.”

“No problem,” he said groggily. As I walked away he called out after me, “Wanna go out sometime?”

“How ’bout Nevuary,” I said over my shoulder.

“Cool,” he said. Then I’m pretty sure he passed back out.

I caught a nerdy runt of a kid staring openmouthed at me. I smiled awkwardly and waved. No response. I still had energy to burn but sticking around here seemed like a silly idea after what I had done to stick-legs.

So now what? Treadmills? No, overcrowded with girls “running” at speed two while reading magazines. I hadn’t brought a suit, so swimming was out. With no real options, and the fear of being ratted out by the runt, I decided a simple run around the massive campus, like any normal student, would do the trick. A normal student who had just assaulted and knocked out another one. Who hasn’t done that, right? Totally normal.

AFTER A QUICK SHOWER
and a check that all of my surveillance equipment was still working, I made my way to one of the cafeterias. I found a table off in the corner and sat down ready to do work on a big bowl of mac and cheese. Before I could raise the fork to my mouth, a tray slapped down across from me.

It was the runt from the gym.

“That was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen,” he said breathlessly. “You were like wham, hack, walloo, and he
was all uhhh, budoooo, out.” He of course had punctuated every odd sound he made with finger and hand movements. “You should be in movies. Or have your own TV show.” He stuffed a massive spoonful of mashed potatoes into his mouth and then added, “I’d watch.”

I was frozen, my first bite of mac still on the fork, inches from my lips. He sat there beaming as he worked the potatoes around his mouth and swallowed.

“I’m Lloyd,” he said right before popping in a whole chicken finger. He reached across the table to shake my hand.

I forced myself to be polite. I shook it. “Nice to meet you, Lloyd.”

“You gotta name? ’Cause if you don’t I’m gonna call you Kung Fu.”

I kind of liked the name, I admit. “Julia,” I said.

Julia Roth was my FATE-given alias. Better to use a phony name than your real one in case you ran into someone from your old life. Weirder things could happen.

“Cool name. Like Julia Gulia.”

This kid—and he was a kid, he looked about twelve years old, max—was ridiculous. I didn’t want to like him. I didn’t want to be his friend. But come on. Coke-bottle glasses, short hair, and clothes that had obviously been passed down from an older brother. Not to mention the random
Wedding Singer
reference.

“How old are you?” I asked.

“Just turned eighteen,” he said. I raised my eyebrows and he quickly said, “Okay, sixteen … fifteen.”

“You’re not fifteen,” I said loudly.

“Shhhh. Yes, I am.” He paused and then added, “Why, do I look older?”

I snorted. “No. You look like you’re twelve.”

“Well keep it on the low-low.” He looked around. “Don’t wanna ruin my rep.”

“It’ll be our secret.” This kid was awesome. He was the little brother your friend hated but who cracked you up. I nibbled on my food a bit before asking, “So are you some professor’s son or something?”

He shook his head.

“Visiting your brother?”

He shook his head and looked a little confused. That made two of us.

“I’m sorry, I don’t get it,” I said. “Why are you here?”

“Because I’m a student.” Then, speaking to me like I was an idiot, he added: “I graduated early. Real early.”

“So you’re like Doogie Howser smart.”

“Wow,” he said dully. “Never heard that one before.” He gave me a look that said,
You completely unoriginal horseface
.

“Hey, that show was awesome and being Doogie smart is a compliment.”

“That show sucked.”

“You know the guy that played Doogie’s best friend?” I asked. Lloyd nodded so I continued, “That’s my uncle. So if you think the show sucked, you think he sucks and by indirect correlation, me.”

Total lie. All of it. But it was too good of a lie not to run with. The mac was okay, but watching Lloyd struggle with how to respond was pure entertainment. I could see his puzzled face form questions, then shake them off. After a
minute or so he gave up. His head dropped and he began chewing on another chicken finger.

It was so pathetic that I caved. “Kid, totally kidding.”

He stopped chewing. His face reddened “I knew it. I knew you were joking. But man … that was good.”

As we finished up, I learned that Lloyd had been home-schooled, shocker, and didn’t have many (code for any) friends, double shocker. Until now, I supposed. He kept me laughing. It felt good to talk with someone who wasn’t like me. Someone who would lead a normal life. At one point he asked me what my major was and what I wanted to be. I didn’t have an answer for either.

“Well, if I were you, I’d major in takin’ ass with a minor in kickin’ names.”

I stared at him, waiting for him to realize what he’d said. It took a few long seconds but when he did we both cracked up.

He insisted on walking me back to my dorm for my protection, cute, and refused to leave until I took a sheet of paper with his email, cell phone, Facebook, and Twitter information on it. (That way, I couldn’t fake entering it into my phone. You couldn’t delete a hard copy.) It was for, as he put it, “If you ever, you know, wanna hang, study … or make out.”

I spent the rest of the night unpacking and making my room look like a normal freshman’s. I’d been given classes on how to do it. No really, actual classes. You ever try hiding a grenade launcher in
your
room?

Some things were easy. Clothes went in the closet. Posters, provided for me, went on the walls. Other things,
like the aforementioned grenade launcher, were difficult even with the classes. At one point a couple of girls knocked on my door. I had been inspecting my blocks of C-4 at the time and hurriedly tossed them under my bed before opening up a crack. They invited me to a little party down the hall. I politely thanked them but said I had a lot of unpacking to do first and that maybe I’d make it down later.

I didn’t.

When I was finally done no one would ever guess this room was anything but normal; boring even. And that was the point. Be boring, be ignored, and don’t draw attention to yourself. Speaking of which, I’d get a motorcycle helmet first thing tomorrow. If someone were to walk in they’d never think the room housed a small arsenal, or that the person that lived there could kill them with anything, like a sticky note. No, the person who lives here is a sad girl who only likes to study. And sure, ride her sad little motorcycle. A loner. Awwww.

I SLEPT POORLY, AND
by poorly, I mean an hour at most. What little sleep I did get was filled with weird dreams. In one I watched Gareth arrive at campus, and when he opened his door he was run over by a bus. In another he never showed up at all and I was told to watch over Lloyd instead.

Luckily, I had stayed up until nearly dawn unpacking. That and checking the Web. I decided to look up my old pal Mr. S. by name-searching “Blake+MIT.” I’d noticed the MIT class ring, the Grad Rat, on his finger when I’d met
him. His image popped up almost immediately; he was an MIT grad, younger than I thought. So he existed in the real world, too, just like me. Interesting. I memorized his CV and shut down the computer. When I finally decided to get up and get dressed it was a respectable 8
A.M.
Yeah, it was early for a youth, but not so early it would draw suspicion. Besides, if someone saw me awake, it would only enhance the loner image I was going for.

I had access to any funds I needed—basically unlimited cash—and I could have eaten breakfast anywhere. But I wanted to stay on campus, close to where I needed to be. I chose a new cafeteria this time. I did this partly to try something different, but mainly to avoid running into Lloyd. He was a sweet kid, but I couldn’t have him tagging along.

There were maybe thirty students, older grad-looking types, in the cafeteria. It wasn’t hard to find a table off on my own. I grabbed a copy of the student paper and sat down with a big plate of bacon and eggs. Student papers are hilarious. It’s funny what the top story of the day in college is versus the rest of the world. For example, the day’s top story was how the star quarterback was going to miss the first game due to a concussion. For real? Top story?

I unfolded the paper, and it showed a picture of the poor sap. I dropped my fork on my plate. It was stick legs from the gym. I quickly skimmed the article, fearing they’d give some kind of physical description of his attacker. I scanned for words like gorgeous, and angelic-looking. You know, words that described me … to be safe I also looked for words like homely and bitter shrew. Just in case, mind
you. But there was nothing about an attack of any kind. He said he’d hit his head while getting out of his car, which apparently this entire campus was ready to believe.

I guess between admitting you got your ass handed to you by a 115-pound girl, or looking like an idiot, he chose idiot. I still felt kind of bad when I read that apparently the team had title hopes this year or something.
Oops
.

When I finished my breakfast and had read the paper front to back I checked my watch: 9:12.

My FIP was to arrive at approximately 10:15, according to intel. I was to wait at the clock tower, and once his car drove by, the temporary team would leave and he would be all mine. With nothing better to do I figured to hell with it and headed to the clock tower early.

I was about halfway there when I heard a confused, soft voice. “Ren? Ren … Sharpe?”

I froze mid-stride and turned. She was older, but I recognized her instantly. Crap. The girl’s name was …

“It’s me, Becky. Becky Dooley. Is it really you?”

They had trained us for this moment, but all the training in the world didn’t prepare me for the rush of emotions that came at this sudden contact with my old world. Beating up Not-Trey was one thing. And it wasn’t like we were friends. But she was real, and she still represented a part of me that I had buried. It was a part of me I never wanted or needed to creep back up. Yet here it came and I was fighting to control it.

I had to act quickly.

“I’m sorry, are you talking to me?” I asked her.

“Ren, it’s me. How … how are you here? They told us
you were … dead. That you died. My little brother went to the funeral.”

It was hard, but I played my part well. “I’m sorry, I have no idea what you’re talking about. My name’s Julia.”

She stared at me for a moment. I could tell she was contemplating whether to believe me or her memory. Luckily, she shook her head and said, “Sorry, you look like someone I knew. But of course it couldn’t be you. She, um …”

“Died,” I finished gently. “You said.”

Becky nodded, troubled.

I gave her a sympathetic smile, and then for good measure added, “Sorry about your friend. That sucks.”

“It’s okay. But, wow, you really look a lot like her. See you around.” Still not sure about what had happened, she walked off taking a few extra glances as she went.

“Yeah, see you around,” I said after her.

My heart was pounding in my chest. I was happy she had relented because if she had kept going and called my bluff I would have had to kill her. No, really I would have.
Whew
. Rattled, I continued my trek toward the clock tower. It was one of the tallest buildings on campus and right by my dorm so it was easy to find. I parked myself right under it and waited with my hands in my pockets. I pulled my hoodie over my head though in case someone else out there felt like recognizing me. I had grown up thousands of miles from here and hadn’t even heard of this place. What the hell was Becky Dooley doing here?