Super Powereds: Year 3 (87 page)

                “Wow. Thanks for the warning,” Alice said. She really was grateful; if not for the low-down on what it entailed, she might have inadvertently joined up. After all, just calling it a rodeo sounded fairly harmless. “I’ll make sure not to put my name down.”

                Angela’s face flickered with confusion, and she shook her head as realization dawned. “Fuck all that noise. I came to talk to you because I need a partner for the team events. Two hot blondes with HCP training? We can win that son of a bitch with a hand each tied behind our backs.”

                “Ah. Right.” This one was really all Alice’s fault. She couldn’t imagine why she’d thought Angela would be steering her away from pageantry and ridiculousness. “I’ll . . . have to think about it, I guess.”

                “Don’t think too hard, or someone might snatch me away.” Angela leaned back, conjuring a series of pops from her spine as she did. “In all seriousness, though, you should do it. Once we’re out of this place, we’re adults at worst, Heroes at best. We don’t get to be as dumb, irresponsible, and carefree. I mean, I’ll still be all those things, but most of you will tone it down. You have to squeeze in the stupid shit while you can.”

                “I’ll keep that in mind,” Alice said.

                “You better. I’m not losing because I’ve got a crappy partner. Not this year, not again!” Angela thrust her finger in the air with her last words, then headed back down the hall toward whatever course lay next on her schedule.

                Alice watched her go, torn between being impressed by and embarrassed for the half-mad senior at the top of the class.

161.

               Vince wasn’t expecting a lot from History of Modern Cinema, especially not after reading the online reviews about what an easy course it was. That, in fact, was precisely why he’d signed up for it—to fill a Fine Arts elective. He felt a bit guilty throwing away a piece of his education with such tactics, but the fact of the matter was that he struggled enough with school as it was. He couldn’t risk letting an elective be the thing that kept him out of the HCP.

                As he walked down the stadium-style rows—this lecture hall was no doubt chosen so the students could all watch the various films with ease—he scanned about, looking for an empty section he could rest in. Vince didn’t particularly try to be anti-social in his aboveground classes, in fact, he’d often made efforts to get to know his fellow students in his earlier years, but the trouble was that, sooner or later, they would invite him to something, or ask about his other classes, or do some other thing that required him to hide his affiliation with the Hero Certification Program. Vince wasn’t good at lying, and he loathed doing it. Eventually, he found it was just easier to keep to himself, and to forge his friendships among fellow HCP students. Sometimes, he wondered if that was part of the reason they had to keep their identities a secret; with no one else to talk to, they were forced to become close with only other potential Heroes.

                A loud, piercing whistle broke Vince out his thoughts. He, along with a dozen or so other students, jerked their heads around, searching for the source of the noise. They all eventually spotted it, but only Vince found the figure to be familiar. Intimately so.

                Sasha Foster waved at him, and then started making big, sweeping gestures for him to come over, and Vince began heading in her direction. They weren’t especially close, that ship had sailed along with their relationship, but ever since the beach trip, they’d managed to be on civil, if not friendly, terms. True, they didn’t make plans or hang out together; however, they did enjoy each other’s company when occasions lined up. Having her in a class with him would be pleasant, and it never hurt to have someone to share notes with.

                “I didn’t expect you to be here,” Sasha said as Vince slid into the unoccupied seat next to her. “Figured you’d take the high road and do some Shakespearean study class.”

                “As I see it, if Lander offers the course, then it must carry some merit. And I can’t understand a single word of Shakespeare. It all reads like a foreign language to me.” Vince set his book bag down, pausing only to pull out a notebook and pencil. This class, unsurprisingly, didn’t require any textbooks for the curriculum. “What about you? Suddenly discover a love for old movies?”

                “Nope, I just wanted a blow-off class, same as you,” Sasha said. “I don’t really give two shits about the older stuff.”

                “I never really got to watch movies growing up,” Vince said. “It will be interesting to see some of the classics. If nothing else, I won’t feel so dumb when people reference them.”

                “Not having seen a bunch of old flicks doesn’t make you dumb. Though, yeah, you are basically an idiot in terms of pop culture.”

                “Don’t remind me. Hershel and Alex flipped out about a new movie coming out this year, and I’d never even heard of it. Sometimes, I feel like I’m completely out of the loop on everything not related to . . . well, you know.”

                “Smooth,” Sasha said, shaking her head. “And you should never feel bad about those two geeking out over something you haven’t heard of. They’re sweet guys, but gigantic dorks. Half the time, I didn’t know what Hershel was talking about, and I don’t suffer from culture-dumbness.”

                “You’re probably right,” Vince agreed. “This 
Star Puncher
 movie is probably just another niche thing of theirs.”

                There was a clatter of wood on cheap tile as Sasha’s pencil slipped from her hand and bounced on the ground. She started at Vince with wide eyes, a few strands of pink-streaked hair masking her face. When she spoke again, it was in hushed, almost reverent tones.

                “Did you say 
Star Puncher
? As in: someone is making a new 
Star Puncher
 movie?”

                “If they aren’t, then Hershel and Alex are doing a lot of costume planning for nothing.” Vince looked at his former flame with unexpected confusion. “Do you follow the series or something?”

                “Ever since I was a kid,” Sasha admitted. She finally regained control of herself and bent down to scoop up the pencil. “My mom liked that sort of stuff, and she would show me the old VHS tapes. When the new ones came out, she dragged me along, even though I was really too young for them. The movies are terrible, don’t get me wrong, but at this point, it’s a sort of terrible I find familiar and enjoyable.”

                “I don’t completely understand what you mean, but if you want to come with us, you’re more than welcome,” Vince said. “Alex and Hershel were hoping to get more girls to come with us anyway. But, fair warning, they’ll want you to wear a costume.”

                “That a fact?” Sasha pulled out a notebook from her own backpack and flipped it open. “One of those guys can sew, right? Because I might be able to design, but I can’t work a needle for shit.”

                “Hershel has a lot of skill at it, and Chad is pitching in as well,” Vince told her.

                Sasha stopped moving her pencil and turned to Vince, raising one of her eyebrows in a fishhook shaped arc. “I’m sorry; did you say Chad Taylor was going to help you sew costumes for the 
Star Puncher
 premiere?”

                “That’s what he told Hershel.”

                Sasha stared at him for a moment longer, then let out a long sigh and turned her attention back to the notebook where she’d begun sketching. “Sometimes, I forget just how weird things seem to turn out around you guys. And, to be honest, I sort of miss it.”

162.

               The weight rack rattled as Roy let the bar drop a few inches into its setting. The equipment should be able to handle as much weight as there was present, but when dealing with things measured in tons, he realized it was probably best to err on the side of caution. Of course, this thought came only after he’d felt the entire weight bench shake and had had time to wonder if he could survive a loaded bar to the face. Thankfully, the bench held, and Roy got up to move on to his next exercise.

                Winter break had caused an interesting gap to occur, since Hershel could train freely, but Roy didn’t have the equipment to get any serious work done. Sure, he’d sparred with Vince in the backyard, but without a healer on hand, he couldn’t risk going too hard against his silver-haired friend. Powerful as Vince was, his bones could break just like anyone else’s. Roy didn’t fancy showing up and having to explain to Camille how her favorite Super ended up in a cast and needed fixing. Especially not after he’d see the way she went after those Sims. Small though she was, Camille had carved out a spot on Roy’s “do not needlessly piss off” list.

                Another resident of that list was also in the gym. Chad was working on dumbbell curls, using significantly less weight than Roy was currently capable of, but with impeccable form. Roy watched the man who was his friend, his dormmate, and his rival as Chad rhythmically lifted the weights up and down, never breaking pattern. It was easy to underestimate Chad, so very easy, because he didn’t have as much brute strength as other Supers. What most didn’t know, and couldn’t be aware of, was how steady his growth was. Roy had been watching Chad ever since freshman year, and while he didn’t make the explosive leaps forward in power that Roy did, he also never stopped advancing. Every week, the weight of those dumbbells increased. Not by a lot, but they still went up. Every single week. It was like that with everything Chad did. His movements got smoother; his speed grew quicker. He refused to stay where he was.

                In ten more years, Roy could only imagine what the blond young man would be capable of. It was bad enough having to face him now. Roy just hoped the inter-Super competition would slow down once they hit the Hero world. That thought triggered an unexpected memory, and suddenly, Roy had something on his mind besides the next exercise in his workout routine.

                “Hey, Chad,” Roy said, walking over to the other part of the gym. “Do you have a minute?”

                “If you require a spot, I’m afraid your lifting strength has reached a level where I am unable to assist you.” Chad kept on moving the weights as he spoke, never losing his tempo.

                “No, it’s not about the weights. I actually wanted to ask you if you’ve ever heard of Intramurals.”

                “Certainly. It is when two academic institutions compete against one another in a predetermined event; usually sports, though there are more salacious versions that center around drinking games.” He paused his lifting for just a moment to look over at Roy. “Angela informed me about the latter type. She wishes to participate in something called ‘The Beer Olympics.’”

                “First off, tell your girlfriend she’s a douche for not asking me to be on that team,” Roy said. “But secondly, I actually meant Intramurals specific to the HCP. Someone over break mentioned them, but then refused to explain. I was thinking maybe you knew what they were.”

                Chad shook his head. “My apologies, but the word holds no specific meaning for me. It is certainly possible that the HCP programs have some sort of competition between them; however, I have no information about it.”

                “No big deal, just thought I’d ask,” Roy said. “Thanks anyway.” He turned toward the free weights, ready to get in some nice shoulder work, when Chad spoke up again.

                “Of course, we could always ask Shane what he knows about it.”

                “Why would Shane know more than us?” Roy turned back to Chad, who wore a semi-confused expression.

                “Haven’t you put it together yet?”

                “Put what together?” Roy asked.

                “Shane’s comments and knowledge during the dean’s class freshman year, the manifestation of both his and Angela’s abilities . . . forgive me; I assumed it was obvious to everyone by this point.”

                The part about Angela tickled something in Roy’s brain. That power of hers had looked familiar, so close to something he could almost place. It was like hearing the theme song from a cartoon he’d watched in his childhood; he knew that he knew it, even if he couldn’t seem to put a finger on where it was from.

                “Her power, she calls it Sunlight Steel,” Roy recalled, “and has the ability to turn any kind of light into a super-hard metal only she can control. I’ll be honest, I feel like I know what you’re getting at, but I can’t remember anyone else using that name for their abilities.”

                “That’s because the original wielder of didn’t call it Sunlight Steel,” Chad said. “He referred to it as Starlight Steel.”

                And just like that, all the tumblers fell into place in Roy’s brain. It was history, one of Roy’s worst subjects, which was why it had taken him so long to realize what was right in front of his face. Crafting objects out of light, while manipulating shadows to his will . . . the man who’d had complete control of light and dark; the man who had made the world face the existence of Supers. The first Hero to ever wear the title: Captain Starlight.