Super Powereds: Year 2 (45 page)

Vince counted himself in the blessed category as he pored over a practice test, eyes darting between failed problems and the steady progress of the clock on the wall. He was so engrossed he didn’t even notice the sound of the front lounge door opening as Nick entered, backpack slung low over his shoulder.

“Damn it, Vince. I thought we talked about last-minute cramming.”

Vince jumped in surprise, knocking his knee against the wooden table. He let out a mumbled curse and turned toward Nick, who was glaring at him like a father who had just caught his son looking through brochures for ballet schools.

“I know. I’m sorry. I just couldn’t resist trying to figure out a few things I missed.”

“A brain is just like any other muscle.” Nick crossed the room in a few long-legged strides and snatched away Vince’s papers. “You can’t burn it out right before you need it to perform at peak capacity. Train and heal. How is it you can understand that when it comes to exercise but not studying?”

Vince grinned sheepishly. “In all honesty I’m not that good at resting when it comes to exercise either.”

“Why does that not surprise me?” Nick folded the papers and stuffed them in his back pocket. “Okay look, it’s noon right now. Your test is at two, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you are going to do some mindless bullshit until half past one. Television, porn, even comic books. I don’t care, just go and strain your brain no more.” Nick’s tone and body language made it clear that this was an order, not a request. Normally Vince might have balked a bit more, but Nick had put in countless hours over the last few weeks helping him study. After all that work, if Nick thought he needed to rest, then Vince would trust him.

“Okay. I’ll go watch a movie.” Vince got up from his chair and started toward the boys’ side lounge.

“If I knock on your door and see you with a book open, you and I are going to have it out,” Nick called after him. It was purely for show: Vince was one of the few people who did what he said he would do, situation regardless. Besides, Nick still had his own work to complete; he didn’t have time to check in on Vince. He’d wrapped up his own final exam in exceptional time, even by his standards. He needed the hour before Vince left to finish the last of the arrangements. Most of the prep work had gone smoothly enough, but Nick knew far too well that things could fall apart at the last minute if one let details slide.

He walked back to the common room’s front door and hefted it open. Two figures walked in immediately, neither looking particularly cheerful at having been left in the entrance hall. Some of the sentiment might have been bitterness: this was their first time seeing Melbrook and its impressive accommodations. Both of them were in the HCP as well, yet they were confined to standard dorm rooms like all the other students.

“Vince should be effectively distracted,” Nick informed them. “Are there any questions before we start our operation?”

Neither Adam nor Rich spoke, which made Nick quite happy. Last-minute questions were a symptom of poor communication, and Nick did not engage in such a sloppy practice as poor communication.

“Excellent. If everyone is ready then let’s go to work.”

* * *

Vince walked nervously into the classroom and grabbed a seat near the middle of the desks. He glanced around and saw the rest of the class seemed to look more certain than him. No one else was fidgeting with their pencil and looking to the heavens for hope, anyway. He’d barely gotten settled when the professor breezed in the door with a stack of papers in hand. He dropped half of them on the desk of his TA and within a few moments all the tests were disseminated through the class.

“You have one hour to complete the exam. Those who are unable to finish will turn in what they have completed when time is out. Good luck. You may begin.”

Vince swallowed a fresh wave of fear and turned over the first page. A small sense of relief tickled his brain as he realized he knew how to work the beginning set of problems. It made sense: this was what they’d first covered so it was the building block to the rest of the class. He might not understand everything, but he’d drilled himself hard enough on the basics to be capable of working through them.

The next page revealed more questions he was able to handle, and the one after that, and the one after that. As the minutes ticked by, Vince found a sense of optimism blooming in his chest. He wasn’t getting every single problem; however, he was by far knocking out the majority of them. When he finished the last page, he glanced up at the clock and realized he still had half an hour left. Vince turned the book over and began to recheck his answers with the remaining minutes, though for the most part it was a futile gesture. For the first time in weeks he was feeling genuinely confident.

He turned in his test and exited with a smile. He’d done it. Vince had no doubt he had passed that monster of a class. A joyful whistle escaped his lips as he exited the math building and never looked back.

* * *

A silver-haired boy slunk into the classroom quietly, dropping his backpack at a desk near the back of the room. A quick glance around showed nervous faces anxiously studying notecards and practice tests as the final seconds ticked away. There was a rapid shuffle of papers as the professor walked in and nodded to his TA, who immediately rose from her desk and began handing out the tests.

“You will have one hour to complete the exam. If there are any questions, you may come speak to me at my desk. Any unfinished problems at the end of the time limit will be counted as incorrect answers. I wish you all the best of luck. Please begin.”

The room was filled with the scratching of pencil lead as students made furious calculations and deductions, slowly working their way through each page. The first student, a bright girl with dark hair, was done within twenty minutes. After her departure, a paced parade of students made their way to the desk, dropping their exams off along with a hopeful glance and a softly mumbled prayer. The silver-haired boy was among the last to finish, walking to the desk only five minutes before time ran out.

“Feel confident, Vince?” The professor had taken a bit of a liking to this student; his poor grasp of concept was redeemed by the focus and dedication he showed day after day in class.

“I feel like I did everything I could. That’s the best any one of us can offer.”

The two exchanged a friendly smile and the professor turned his attention back to the remaining students. Soon time would be up and then the results would come out.

87.

Mary perched on Hershel’s bed as he haphazardly hurled various clothes into his worn suitcase. The early morning sun streamed through his window, illuminating the mess of clothes that betrayed Hershel’s procrastination in packing. Tests had wrapped up yesterday and Mr. Transport was teleporting everyone except Alice home in about half an hour. This had required multiple assurances on the part of both Mr. Transport and Mr. Numbers that their journey home wouldn’t go by way of a mountain-climb. If not for their help at the end of last year, it was doubtful any of the students would have gambled on the trip, but between the budding trust and the supreme convenience, most had elected to take the chance.

“Am I mistaken, or are you only packing dirty clothes?” Mary noted that while the distinction between the two was largely up to interpretation, it did seem that only the most wrinkled and stained garments were making it into the suitcase.

“Yeah. Not much sense in washing clean ones at home.”

“I’m sure your mother will appreciate that.”

Hershel paused the rain of clothes to stick his tongue out at Mary. “I do my own laundry, thank you very much. I just prefer the ease of using the washer at my house to the ones in the laundromat.”

“Ah yes.” The laundry facilities at the Lander dorms were much like the ones in every other college basement. They worked in the sense that they left clothes wetter than when they came in and smelling faintly of soap, but to call anything produced from them clean was something of a stretch. “I might need to rethink my own suitcase composition.”

“You might be a little short on time for that,” Hershel pointed out.

“Oh, only you’re allowed to cram clothes at the last minute?”

“I’ve got more practice. This sort of thing is an art.”

“Mmmmhmm. You could just say you prefer me to stay with you until we leave, seeing as we won’t be together again for nearly three weeks.”

“Okay, then. Yes. That.” Hershel took another break from his rush, but this time it was to kiss his girlfriend rather than sass her. Mary responded with enthusiastic affection, and it was only the impending departure time that forced Hershel to pull back from the girl he so evidently adored.

“You’re sure you’ll be okay, right?” All the flippancy was gone from his voice, in its place lay naked concern.

“I’m positive,” Mary reassured him. “Mr. Numbers arranged for some people to keep an eye on me during the break. I might look like I’m alone but I’ll always have protection.”

“Alice’s place is still safer, and I’m sure she’d love to have you.”

“I know she would, but I’m not going to spend my life hiding from whoever these people are. It’s Christmas, and I’m going to see my family. I already had this fight with Alice, and I wound up convincing her to come visit me instead. We’ll be fine, Hershel, I promise.”

“Be sure you are,” he replied. “Otherwise I’m going to miss a lot of school hunting you down.”

“If you don’t hurry you’ll be spending a lot of time on a bus to Chicago.”

“I’m relatively certain Mr. Transport won’t leave without me,” Hershel said, turning his attention back to the clothes. “I think he’s scared of my mom.”

* * *

Mr. Transport did indeed look a bit nervous as he sat in the living room and periodically glanced at his watch. Whether that was related to seeing Ms. Daniels or a general regard for punctuality would be speculation to anyone but Mary, who wasn’t listening to thoughts at the moment. Neither Vince nor Alice paid his intermittently-shaking foot any regard: both were absorbed in last-minute luggage checks as they gathered their things by the common room couch. The only one who might have caught on was Nick, and he was occupied with a different mystery as he entered the building.

“So,” he said, swaggering through the door from the entrance hall, “I went to do a last-minute mail check and look what was sitting by the door.” From behind his back Nick produced a small parcel wrapped in blue paper with cartoon snowmen patterned about. A light red ribbon topped the present along with small tag that presumably bore the name of its intended recipient.

“It seems some anonymous person wanted to wish Alice a Merry Christmas,” Nick continued, purposely answering the obvious question before anyone else could ask it.

“Me?”

“Unless there is another Alice Adair at this residence.” Nick walked over and set the gift down in front of her. Rather than reaching for it she merely stared in disbelief.

“Should we get it checked or something? I mean, we’ve been targeted before.”

“Mary was targeted,” Mr. Numbers corrected from the kitchen. “And I sincerely doubt even the most enthusiastic critic of Powereds has the gumption to send you something dangerous.”

“We could still get it looked at, just to be sure. I know a guy in my study group with X-ray vision,” Vince offered.

“No, Mr. Numbers is right,” Alice replied. She plucked the present from the table and quickly tore through the paper to reveal a plain brown box. A swift slice of her well-manicured nail destroyed the tape binding it together. Her hands carefully pulled open the top flaps and she peered inside slowly.

“So what is it?” Vince asked.

“Glitter.” Alice’s tone was no less dumbfounded than the uncertain look on her face. She pulled out a small plastic tube that sparkled with pink light. “It’s ten tubes of colored glitter, the kind you can put on like make-up.”

“You don’t generally wear glitter,” Nick noted.

“Only when I’m rocking a particularly sparkly top or dress and it pulls the look together,” Alice agreed.

“Maybe the person thought you should wear more?” Vince suggested.

“Great, now I have strangers giving me fashion advice.” Alice’s tone seemed curt, yet Nick noticed she carefully tucked the box into her luggage, making extra sure it was secure.

“Would someone please go check on Hershel?” Mr. Transport interrupted. “We’re due to leave very soon.”

“I’ll go see if he needs help,” Vince volunteered. Mr. Transport nodded and tried to push down his jangling nerves. Whatever was bothering him seemed to only be getting worse the closer they drew to departure.

88.

Nick was the first to be deposited at home, and he breathed a soft sigh of relief as the dry scorching air of Vegas enveloped him. Despite his own assessments, Nick still hadn’t been one hundred percent sure Mr. Transport wasn’t going to drop them in some dangerous environment and leave them to survive. He’d been quite close to certain, but Nick was nothing if not a firm advocate in never believing one knew exactly how things would transpire. The element of doubt left room for back-up plans and improvisation. It was what separated a good tactician from a great one.

He sauntered down The Strip at a leisurely pace, glancing at the casino fronts to note any changes that had happened in his absence. It had only been a few months, but that was the nature of Vegas. It was constantly shifting, always striving to be novel so that no visitor had quite the same experience two trips in a row. Change was the only constant, a philosophy Nick had embraced many years ago.

As he dragged his suitcase up the sidewalk to his own casino, Nick was surprised to see a familiar face standing by the door. Gerry was generally dispatched to personally handle high-rollers and problems. As their eyes met and Gerry started forward Nick took a guess this was a case of the latter.

“Good to see you, Campbell.”

“You, too. Want to tell me why I’m getting a handshake at the door?”