Super Nobody (Alphas and Omegas Book 1) (12 page)

He stopped at his locker and looked down at
the black lock. It was a few minutes past eight in the morning.
Normally he was a morning person, sitting with his back to the
locker and immersed in a book only he could see. Today he just
stood staring at the flat expanse of cobalt blue, with the slits at
the top and bottom to make sure he didn't suffocate his books to
death. To let in a little light in case he was growing a predatory
plant with a taste for human blood.

It took an extra helping of concentration
just to remember his locker com. As he fumbled with the knob and
messed it up for the second time, a bolt of white inspiration
struck him right between the ears.

The numbers on Charlotte's note were her
locker com. 2, 3, 6, 2, 4 Maybe it was 23, 6, 24.

He couldn't check now, with the halls nearly
empty. New kids were showing up every minute. Or could he, there
weren't many kids around, and practically no adults. It wasn't
against some sort of school law, but he'd never broken into
somebody else's locker before. He felt a thrill of danger as he
looked down the hall to where her locker sat. Nobody around. One
fourth or fifth grader sitting and doing some early morning
homework.

He headed over there, trying not to look like
he was up to something sneaky. He was trembling with fear as he
drew close to the locker. It looked like every other one in the
school. So why did he feel like there was some special secret
hidden behind that cobalt-painted door?

He flipped the dial around to the right three
times, and settled on twenty-three, then he spun it to the left and
landed on six, and finally over to twenty-four. He sucked in a deep
breath and tried to steady his hammering heart, then tugged the
lock.

Nothing happened.

He stared at it in disbelief. This couldn't
be happening. This wasn't right.

It could. And did. He couldn't go through
another day like this, thinking over the numbers again and again
until he'd spun himself in circles. Not that it would matter much,
because he was headed to the hospital again.

There was going to be another Activation, and
this one would be big. Big enough that Michael would have no choice
but to jump out of its path.

***

Michael's eyes were swollen shut. He had to
have a million broken bones. He was dull agony all over, with sharp
pains whenever he tried to shift to get comfortable. Someone was in
the room with him, he could feel the pity and concern somehow.
Maybe he was just smelling his mother's perfume.

“Michael?” she said.

He could only manage a groan. Still, it was a
lot of effort for a single groan.

“Mr. Springfield is here,” she said. “You
remember, your dad's out in North Africa.”

Another groan. He heard a chair squeal as it
was dragged up next to the bed. He could smell Mr. Springfield,
something like ozone and grass clippings. Well, at least his nose
was still working.

“It wasn't supposed to be like this,” Mr.
Springfield told him in the hospital room. They weren't going to
get a day off this time. No, they were going to get the rest of the
month off this time. After the damage to LADCEMS, there wasn't
another option.

“Tell me about it,” Michael said.

“So what happened?”

“Well...”

He'd been at his locker, looking at
Charlotte's note when none other than Davey Rightman came pelting
down the hall at full speed. He'd grown since he disappeared over
to the eighth grade building, and not in any good ways. He was
taller, maybe six two, gangly and super thin. Now he'd been
infested by some pretty nasty acne. The acne was real proof that
there was a face between those enormous ears.

“What did he say?” Springfield asked.

“He was pretty surprised to see me,” Michael
told him. He didn't mention the note to Mr. Springfield. He was
feeling every bit the super spy lately, though he couldn’t remember
the last time he had seen a super spy end up in the
hospital…ever.

“So what happened?” Mr. Springfield asked.
Michael had drifted away into his own thoughts of being the town’s
James Bond. Yeah right.

“Well,” he said, “The school started coming
apart.”

From down the hall came a deep groaning
sound, like the whole planet was upset with Davey.

“Oh...oh my god. Mikey Washington!” Davey
stopped and put his hands on his knees and heaved a couple of
breaths. He looked desperate. “You gotta help me.”

Yep. That was as likely to happen as Michael
sprouting a second head.

But when Davey fell to his knees, the fear on
his face was so complete, it was pure terror. Michael had seen
Davey smug, deceitful, pompous and overconfident, but he'd never
seen him terrified.

“What is it?” Michael asked, but he didn't
have to wonder long. Davey shot a terrified glance over his
shoulder and jumped full body into Michael's locker. He had to duck
his head painfully to the side, but he fit without much fuss.

“Shut it,” he hissed. “Lock it.”

This was his lucky day. He shut the locker
door and clicked the lock closed as well.

It was then the world turned upside down.
Someone down the hall screamed. Michael looked, and found two
people floating near the stairwell. One of them was furious, the
other a terrified fifth grade girl.

“Where is he?” the furious girl said. Even
from where Michael was standing, he could see the fissure appear in
the wall of the school. One second it was the smooth surface that
had been painted over a million times. The next, a black lightning
bolt shot up from the floor to the ceiling.

“Answer me!” the girl shrieked. Michael
started walking toward her. He could make out now; she was a bit
chubby, wearing a thick maroon sweater and baggy pants. Her hair
looked like it was constantly under water, dirty blonde floating up
and down like a drifting octopus.

But the fifth grade girl just whimpered and
cried.

“Worthless,” the Active girl said. “You know
who I’m looking for. Tell me where he is.”

“Hey!” Michael said. “Put her down, okay? You
want somebody, you don't need to hurt somebody else.”

The look he got was pure hate. Whatever Davey
had done to this girl, it was bad. Bad enough that she was ready
and willing to hurt somebody else to get Davey. He was really glad
Charlotte wasn't here. Once the fifth grader was safe, he was going
to run straight away from this situation.

“I'm looking for a pile of garbage about this
tall,” the Active girl said, with her hand up to about six feet. “I
didn't know they piled up crap that high. Not until today.” She
threw her head back and laughed, a high and slightly insane
sound.

“Davey Rightman?” he asked.

His vision grayed, and when he could focus
again he was flat against the wall, four feet off the ground. She'd
slammed him up there.

“Where is he?” she hissed. She was close
enough to smell. The heavy scent of cheap perfume stung his nose,
which was maybe the only part of him that didn't hurt.

He could have ratted Davey out. Heavens knew
he had enough reasons to. All of fifth grade, for a start. Yet he
couldn't get the pleading, terrified and pimple-studded face out of
his mind. He couldn't just let Davey get hurt. If he had a grudge
against Davey, it wasn't up to this girl to put things straight, it
was Michael's responsibility.

“He blew past here to the end of the hall,”
Michael groaned.

“I think you're lying,” she said.

“How do you figure?” he asked. “By the way I
sound like somebody's shoved me up against a wall?”

His head cracked against the brick, and stars
swam into his vision. He knew right away he was bleeding.

“You don't understand,” she said.

“I'm not going to understand anything if I'm
unconscious,” he said.

“He thought he could just take what he
wanted...that it didn't mean anything.” She started wandering up
the hall with her back to him. Doors began flying open, and a few
tore off their hinges. They slammed into the ceiling, cracking like
gunshots in the spooky after school quiet.

“He really believed I didn't care who I gave
it away to.”

She was crazy, Michael realized. If she
didn't find Davey and hurt him, she was going to find somebody
else. That meant he had to do something, he realized wearily. This
was Trent all over again.

There wasn't much to grab onto, just the
lockers and their thin metal slits. Michael heaved himself over
onto his side and rummaged in his pocket for his key ring. It would
have to do. He wedged the key into one of the air vents in the
lockers, and started pulling himself along the wall toward the
girl. She was talking loudly to no one in particular.

“Boys don't care. They just say they love
you. They're all liars, every single one. They'll just keep talking
pretty while they're sharpening the knife, ready to stab you in the
back. You'll be doing the same thing next year, probably.”

Michael pulled and pulled until he got to a
classroom entrance. He wasn't going anywhere else.

“You're probably right,” he said.

“You lied to me, too, didn't you?” she
whirled. The school groaned at them, and fresh cracks appeared all
over the place. It was like her presence was pushing everything
apart.

“Yeah,” he said.

“But...I know you,” she said. “You're that
kid Trent messed with, aren't you?”

He nodded, two feet from the floor. It was
like gravity had turned sideways for him. He gathered up his legs
under him and got ready.

“You were Trent's girlfriend at the time,” he
said.

She made a sound of disgust, but he could see
her face soften up. She still liked Trent, the feelings weren't
gone at all. Some girls were just a sounding board for their group
of boys, getting passed around and toyed with. It was horrible, but
it happened. Some people just needed to be with someone at all
times, for good or bad.

“You're right,” he said, “I lied.”

There was no better word for what she did
next: she snarled.

“I know where Davey is.”

“Now. Tell me now.”

“Let the girl go, and I'll tell you.”

She did, and the girl ran off screaming. That
might get someone here to help soon. Or the girl could just run
straight home and hide under her bed for hours without telling
anybody. She whirled on Michael. “Where?”

“He's in that locker. That one right
there.”

When she turned her back on him, he struck.
It was like launching himself into a pool of butterscotch pudding.
It seemed like he squished through the air, instead of jumping. He
stretched, and stretched, and finally caught hold of her by the
hair.

“Let go!” she shrieked. All the silver com
locks sprang up toward her and snapped off. One hit him in the
shoulder, sending red agony through him. Then her power smacked
into him, but he held on. The girl staggered under the force of her
own power. Michael got his other hand up through the jellied air,
and wrapped it around her neck. Another bolt of force tore apart
the ceiling, and punched a hole in the roof. Bits of plaster or
ceiling tile or other stuff rained down on him, but he didn't care.
He adjusted his hold and started cutting off her air. He didn't
know how long he could keep the pressure on, with his body
screaming at him to
stop it, stop it right now!
But if he
didn't, maybe she would do something really stupid, like hammer his
head into a wall until it was raspberry jam.

When she hit next, she slammed both of them
backwards through the air. Michael jerked hard to one side, before
he was crushed against the wall of the school, and the girl took
the full force of it. The last thing he knew before going
unconscious was the shock and pain, and the blood coming out of her
just before normal gravity took over, and blackness took the both
of them.

Michael's father was a wonderful guy, but
wasn't around much. When he did come home, it was always a bit
awkward. He just wanted to sit around and drink a couple of beers,
then complain at his wife. Michael didn't play baseball because he
wasn't at all coordinated, but there were times he would put up
with the odd fishing trip. The fact was that Michael didn't know
anything about his dad, and it had never bothered him until he was
in the hospital.

One of the jokes Michael knew about his dad
was that people said he was like an avalanche. He was slow to move,
near impossible to get upset, but if he started moving, you best
just get out of his way.

They thought he was sleeping. They also
didn't seem to understand that sound carried.

“...don't care what the regents are saying!”
his father bellowed. “My son isn't safe. I'm not going to leave him
in a situation where his life is going to be in danger every other
week.”

His mother muttered something.

“Don't give me that. They're supposed to have
a handle on this. There's a whole...a system in place for this. And
no, I'm not going to keep my voice down.” He swore in another
language, a vile, gutteral sound. Susanna Washington did not
approve of curse words in her house, and wasn't above threatening
her husband with a soapy mouth.

His mother said something else.

“Well the system is not working. How can I go
off around the world and figure out how to solve every single
problem on the planet when I don't know if my own son is going to
have his brain hammered to mush by some
immature...little...floozy!”

Clearly he wasn't too good at the insult
thing.

Davey Rightman was alive. The girl, her name
was Sylvia Packard, she was alive too. The damage to Michael was
three cracked ribs, a broken tibia, and hairline fractures in seven
other bones he didn't even know the names of. Plus pain, there was
plenty of that too.