The Hadley Academy for the Improbably Gifted

by Conor Grennan

  The Hadley Academy for the Improbably Gifted

  © 2019 Conor Grennan

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Tommy Nelson. Tommy Nelson is an imprint of Thomas Nelson. Thomas Nelson is a registered trademark of HarperCollins Christian Publishing, Inc.

  Cover art by Micah Kandros Design.

  Illustrations by Alessandro Valdrighi.

  Tommy Nelson titles may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fund-raising, or sales promotional use. For information, please e-mail SpecialMarkets@ThomasNelson.com.

  Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.

  ISBN 978–1–4002–1534–8 (hardcover)

  ISBN 978–1–4002–1537–9 (e-book)

  ISBN 978–1–4002–1800–4 (audio book)

  Epub Edition August 2019 9781400215379

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Grennan, Conor, author.

  Title: The Hadley Academy for the Improbably Gifted / Conor Grennan.

  Description: Nashville, Tennessee: Tommy Nelson, [2019] | Summary:

  Although his abilities are dormant, thirteen-year-old Jack Carlson is drafted into an academy for future heroes where some believe Jack is the one prophesied to end the ancient Shadow War.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2019020500 (print) | LCCN 2019022229 (ebook)

  Subjects: CYAC: Ability—Fiction. | Self-confidence—Fiction. | Schools—Fiction. | Prophecies—Fiction. | Good and evil—Fiction.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.1.G7424 Had 2019 (print) | LCC PZ7.1.G7424 (ebook) | DDC [Fic]—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019020500

  LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019022229

  Printed in the United States of America

  19 20 21 22 23 LSC 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Mfr: LSC / Crawfordsville, IN / September 2019 / PO #9549946

  For Finn (Systemic) and Lucy (Kinetic)

  CONTENTS

  Conspiracy

  The Coin

  Trampoline Grass and Steel Trees

  Hidden Names

  Suiting Up

  The Watchtower

  Reapers 101

  Thirteen Doors

  The Incident

  The Historian

  Death Match

  No Retreat

  The Thirteen Prophecies

  Torque’s Strength

  The Girl in the Blue Dress

  The Witness

  The Silo

  Until Death

  Interrogation

  Breaking News

  A Giant Problem

  Outbreak

  The Asylum

  Confessions

  Shutdown

  Hunted

  The Boy in the Woods

  Last Ones Out

  Death Simulation

  Hurricane

  Last Stand

  One Life for Many

  A Circle of Stars

  The Last Door

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  CHAPTER 1

  “They look like humans. Unless they’re coming for you.”

  CONSPIRACY

  It’s the best presentation I’ve ever made, Jack. Seriously. Mr. Robbins is gonna love it.”

  Jack’s best friend, Freddy, was organizing the papers scattered across his desk in first period. “But you know what? It’s not even about my grade. It’s about humanity. I need to get the truth out there.”

  Jack reached down and picked up one of Freddy’s fallen papers. “You’re failing history, Freddy. You don’t need to get the truth out there. You need to pass eighth grade.”

  Freddy twisted around in his chair. “You’re beginning to sound like one of them, Jack—one of the people trying to silence people like me.”

  “Your final project is not the time for another conspiracy theory,” Jack urged.

  “This is the opposite of a conspiracy theory.” Freddy tapped his notes. “These are facts, man.”

  “Just saying ‘these are facts’ doesn’t turn things into facts. They have to actually be true—”

  “Freddy Sanchez and Jack Carlson.” Mr. Robbins made a zipping motion across his lips. “Okay, people. We’re going to continue with your final projects on the rise and fall of civilizations. Brandon went yesterday with his report on Attila the Hun.”

  Brandon Jordan stood to acknowledge the cheers. That’s what you got for having a father who rented out Yankee Stadium for your thirteenth birthday: a bottomless well of applause.

  “Yes, it was quite the stirring tribute, Brandon,” said Mr. Robbins dryly. “Today, however, we will move on to . . .” He checked the notebook on his desk. “Freddy Sanchez.” Mr. Robbins peered over his glasses at Freddy. “Freddy will be presenting about the history of clandestine security.”

  Freddy hopped up and clicked on the laptop at the front of the room. The classroom screen sprung to life, displaying a title in oversized font:

  THE SECRET MILITARY ACADEMY RESPONSIBLE FOR SAVING THE WORLD BY FREDDY SANCHEZ

  A collective groan rose from the class. Most of the kids had been in St. Paul’s since kindergarten. They had seen Freddy’s work. This was pretty much par for the course.

  Mr. Robbins shot a suspicious look at Freddy. “Is this a joke, Mr. Sanchez?”

  Freddy’s eyebrows popped up. “No, sir!”

  Mr. Robbins paused, seeming to consider whether he should end the presentation before it got any stranger. But he sat back and waved Freddy on.

  Freddy pushed his mop of curly black hair from his face and tugged his frayed khaki pants down to cover his ankles. Freddy and Jack were both on scholarship at St. Paul’s. They made pants and shirts last as long as possible and dreamed of the day they would stop outgrowing their clothes.

  Freddy cracked his knuckles and clicked the remote. A satellite map of the East Coast of the United States appeared on the screen behind him. “There are thousands of small islands off the coast of Maine,” Freddy began. “Elk Island is one of them. It would be indistinguishable from all the other islands dotting this map except for one thing.”

  He clicked forward to reveal a detailed sketch. Drawing, Freddy would say, was something of a specialty for him, although he measured specialty in degrees of enthusiasm rather than actual talent. The messy image in front of the class now was of a colossal stone fortress in a pine forest. At the fortress’s center rose a massive gate made of rough vertical beams bound together by iron. A single symbol marked the gate: an H.

  Mr. Robbins put his feet up on his desk and leaned back in his chair, drawing muffled laughter.

  “This is a photo-realistic rendering of a particularly unusual structure on Elk Island. This fortress is clearly ancient, and yet there is no public information about it.”

  Freddy strolled to the screen in a well-rehearsed move. “That’s because this building is a military installation where teenagers are trained for active duty.” Freddy pointed at the screen and paused for effect. “This is the Hadley Academy for the Improbably Gifted.”

  Snorts of laughter rippled around the class. Jack sighed.

  For as long as he could
remember, Jack had received a text from his friend every evening that read URGNT!!!! or FOTW!! (Freddy’s code for “Fate of the World.”) That was the signal for Jack to meet Freddy in the hallway of their apartment building in Jersey City’s south side. Freddy would share some discovery from the Dark Web, something the government didn’t want the world to know.

  “You’re the only one I can tell,” Freddy would whisper.

  On that front, at least, Jack believed him. Freddy’s mother was a recovering meth addict, and his father worked three separate jobs to pay for her institutionalization. Freddy barely saw his father and hadn’t seen his mother in over a year. Freddy’s aunt helped out when she could, but she had three young kids of her own and lived a long bus ride away. So his dad had asked Jack’s mom to keep an eye on Freddy.

  Freddy’s hallway whispers frequently drew the attention of Jack’s mom. Jack was adopted, and his mother often told Freddy how grateful she was that his dad trusted her to take care of him too. She regularly poked her head out the doorway and invited Freddy to dinner. Freddy would make a beeline into the galley kitchen where he’d reveal the same secret to Jack’s mom. She listened with the gravity one might afford a trusted anchor on the nightly news. She asked follow-up questions about yetis and aliens, probed him about his latest government conspiracy, and made Freddy feel that his information was utterly reliable.

  When Jack had asked her about it once, her face softened. “Freddy lives in a different world, Jack. You can trust him without believing him.”

  “He’s exhausting,” Jack said.

  “Imagine how exhausting it is for Freddy. He has to convince his best friend of things that he knows are true.”

  But this mysterious island military academy—Freddy had kept this a secret even from Jack and his mother.

  Freddy, mistaking the groans of some of the more academically minded girls in the front row for awestruck murmurs, found Jack and flicked his eyebrows as if to say, “pretty good, right?”

  “Where did you say this island was?” Mr. Robbins asked, interlocking his fingers behind his head.

  “Somewhere off the coast of Maine. Other than that, I’m not exactly sure, sir.”

  Mr. Robbins looked up in mock surprise. “You can’t find the island? Aren’t you the founding member of the cartography club?”

  The class snickered.

  “That’s Jack’s club, sir,” Freddy corrected him. “I only joined last week, when Claire transferred and Jack was the only one left.”

  Jack sucked in his breath. Seriously, Freddy? His friend had no filter between brain and mouth.

  “Still want to tell me you don’t have a crush on my girlfriend, little man?” Brandon called from the back of class. “It wasn’t enough that you guys were cross-country buddies?” His friends cackled.

  “That’s enough,” Mr. Robbins interrupted.

  If Claire Lacoste had been there, she would have rolled her eyes, relaying a silent apology to Jack about how her boyfriend could be a jerk. She’d have cast a single glance back at Brandon, which would have shut him down. Claire could say more without speaking than anyone Jack had ever known.

  At least, those were all things she would have done before Jack messed up their friendship. Jack’s face burned just thinking about that night.

  But Claire wasn’t around to see any of this. Eight days earlier she had transferred, on scholarship, to finish the school year at a boarding school in New Hampshire. They had recruited her to help the girls’ cross-country team make it to the state championship for years to come.

  At the front of the classroom, Freddy charged ahead. “Elk Island is invisible, Mr. Robbins.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Freddy held up a clarifying index finger. “No one has found it because it’s hidden from satellite imagery—for security purposes.”

  “Ah.” Mr. Robbins settled back into his seat and offered a solemn nod.

  “What is it, some kind of wizard school?” Brandon’s confidence was swelling.

  “It’s a military academy,” Freddy explained. “You have to be thirteen to be selected. You’re in the clear, Brandon, since you failed third grade. You’re fourteen, right? Or is it fifteen?” That got Freddy a few laughs. “And they’re not wizards—I don’t think wizards even exist. The people recruited to the Hadley Academy have an improbable ability, a gift of some kind. But far more important than what those gifts are is what they do with them.” Freddy cleared his throat and dropped his voice an octave. “They save the world.”

  For a moment the classroom was quiet. Mr. Robbins folded his arms. “From whom, exactly, does the world need saving?”

  “From shadow reapers.”

  “As in the Grim Reaper?” said Sarah Murray in her are-you-really-this-dumb voice.

  Freddy nodded vigorously. “Right. I mean, not literally the Grim Reaper. They don’t wear black cloaks or anything. They look like humans. Unless they’re coming for you. To their prey, shadow reapers look like some kind of . . .” Freddy’s hands clenched the air around him as if physically grasping for the right word. “Ice demon, I guess. Anyway, if you see a reaper, you’d better run. If they touch you, they freeze your heart. Frozen solid. Kills you dead, just like that.” He snapped his fingers.

  “Why don’t they just shoot people?” Brandon called out, drawing further cackles.

  “Excellent question,” Freddy said, pointing at Brandon. “Freezing internal organs shuts down the human body, making the cause of death a mystery. Bullets would draw too much attention. The police would have to open a murder case. This way it appears like a heart attack.”

  Mr. Robbins sighed. He clapped his hands on his knees and sat up. “Okay. Thank you, Freddy. Let’s move on, shall we?” He took the notebook from his desk.

  “Mr. Robbins, with all due respect, you didn’t let me finish,” Freddy protested.

  “Does the latter part of your presentation contain evidence to support your claims?”

  “You can find this stuff on the Internet,” Freddy assured him. “You just have to know where to look.”

  “Freddy lives in a different world than you and me, Jack. You can trust him without believing him.” Jack’s mom’s words took on new meaning. Was it any surprise that Freddy would discover a supernatural explanation for the heartbreak he’d experienced?

  Mr. Robbins did not share his mother’s sentiment. “Your gullibility is a liability, Freddy. I’m frankly concerned that—”

  “What about Carl?” Freddy interrupted.

  Mr. Robbins paused. “The security guard? What does he have to do with anything?”

  “Carl has been the security guard here for about a hundred years. But we haven’t seen him in over a week. Why?”

  “Carl has retired,” Mr. Robbins said quickly. “The administration is currently searching for his replacement.”

  “Or he’s being replaced by an operative from the Hadley Academy to recruit St. Paul’s students.” Freddy’s arms were spread like a courtroom prosecutor who had just made the argument to end all arguments.

  Mr. Robbins let the awkward silence permeate the classroom. Freddy’s words hung in the air like a slowly deflating balloon until Freddy shuffled back to his seat.

  “You will be receiving a failing grade for this project, Freddy,” Mr. Robbins said, waving a pen in his direction. “It was, from beginning to end, a complete waste of our time.”

  “Sorry, man,” Jack whispered. “I thought it was interesting.”

  Freddy swiveled around. “You believe me, right?”

  Jack squirmed. “Uh . . . I have to go to the bathroom.”

  “Oh come on, man. Your mom understands this stuff way better than you do.”

  Jack already had his hand raised. He mouthed bathroom when Mr. Robbins made eye contact, and Mr. Robbins motioned him to go. He was still trying to get the class back on track after Freddy’s presentation.

  “Keep an eye out for that new security guard,” Freddy whispered after him.


  Jack scurried out. It was getting harder and harder to find creative ways to avoid telling Freddy that he was a lunatic.

  Jack stepped out into the hallway and made a sharp left. He ran headlong into a man six and a half feet tall, nearly bursting out of a security guard uniform.

  On his lapel hung a brand-new name badge: Hans.

  “Jack Carlson?” The man had a vague European accent, cropped fair hair, and pale blue eyes. His jaw looked carved from a mountain. “Would you come with me, please?”

  Jack’s heart tumbled into his stomach. There was nothing good about a school security guard wanting to talk to you. He hurried to keep up as the man walked quickly down the hall. “Are we going to the main office? I’ll need to tell Mr. Robbins.”

  “No.”

  “Then where—?”

  Something on Hans’s wrist buzzed. He pulled up his sleeve to reveal a band glowing bright red. An arrow pointed toward the window at the end of the corridor.

  “What is that, an alarm clock?” Jack asked.

  Hans strode to the window. They were three stories up, overlooking the street. Below, two police cars, sirens blaring, sped the wrong way up the one-way street toward St. Paul’s.

  Jack stepped back, staring up at the security guard’s concerned expression. “Who are you?”

  Hans turned from the window. “We have run out of time.”

  “Out of time for what?” Jack’s heart beat wildly.

  “Jack Keaton Carlson, you are hereby drafted into the Hadley Academy for the Improbably Gifted. We need to leave immediately.”

  “What?”

  Hans furrowed his eyebrows, evidently unaccustomed to rhetorical questions. He repeated himself, but the wail of police sirens drowned out his words.

  Hans hesitated only a moment. Then he grabbed Jack and threw him over his shoulder. “I am sorry, but there is not time to explain.”

  “Hey! Put me down! Hey!” Jack was a natural athlete with the narrow, strong build of a distance runner, but he had no chance in the grip of the much larger man.

  Jack’s stomach lurched as Hans carried him down the back stairs.

  CHAPTER 2