“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.