ISOLATION
A Kid Sensation Novel
By
Kevin Hardman
This book is a work of fiction contrived by the author, and is not meant to reflect any actual or specific person, place, action, incident or event. Any resemblance to incidents, events, actions, locales or persons, living or dead, factual or fictional, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2020 by Kevin Hardman.
Cover Design by Isikol
Edited by Faith Williams, The Atwater Group
This book is published by I&H Recherche Publishing.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address I&H Recherche Publishing, P.O. Box 2727, Cypress, TX 77410.
ISBN: 978-1-937666-47-7
Printed in the U.S.A.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I would like to thank the following for their help with this book: GOD first and foremost, since all the blessings in my life come from Him; my family, who continue to love and support me through good times and bad; and my readers, who are the best fans on the planet!
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Chapter 1
“Explain to me again what I’m doing here,” said my best friend, Smokescreen.
“You’re here so that I have someone to talk to if this thing starts getting boring,” I replied.
“Oh,” Smokey muttered. “And here I was thinking that you and your new West Coast buds just wanted some fresh blood to make fun of.”
“No,” I assured him, shaking my head. “We made fun of you earlier, so there’s no more entertainment value in it.”
Smokey chuckled, at the same time brushing a piece of lint off the shoulder of the suit he was wearing, which consisted of a black-and-white pinstriped jacket with matching pants. He also wore a black shirt, white tie, and a fedora.
Taken altogether, Smokey projected the image of an old-school gangster, which was fitting since we were currently at a costume party. He completed the look by carrying an obviously-fake Tommy Gun that nevertheless gave him a slightly menacing air.
“I feel like a horse’s rear,” he said.
“No, that guy is a horse’s rear,” I corrected, pointing to a skinny fellow wearing the back half of a horse costume. We both laughed heartily at that – perhaps too heartily, since our overt jocularity caused a few people nearby to glance in our direction.
As Smokey had noted, we were currently on the West Coast, attending a fete being thrown by the A-List Supers – or rather, their teen affiliate. The A-Listers were a top-notch superhero squad, second only to the Alpha League (which Smokey and I were a part of) in terms of power and prestige. That said, they had us beat by a mile when it came to glitz and glamour, as evidenced by the soiree where we currently found ourselves.
For instance, a massive ballroom had been rented for the event, which was being catered by a famous chef who had her own television show. The menu included Ossetra caviar, skewers of Wagyu beef, white truffle ice cream, and other dishes that probably cost a small fortune. All in all, it was well in excess of anything I could imagine the Alpha League spending on a party (and again, this was just for the teens).
“Look, your costume’s fine,” I assured my friend after we regained our composure. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Easy for you to say,” Smokey admonished. “You got the cool outfit.”
His comment caused me to give myself a once-over. I was sporting an Egyptian pharaoh costume, consisting of a black tunic, a black-and-gold nemes headdress, and a black shendyt. I also wore gold armbands and matching sandals, along with a black cape and a golden ankh on a necklace.
Overall, I thought it was a good look for me, but I honestly didn’t think it was any more “cool” than what Smokey was wearing.
“I wish I could take credit for this getup,” I said, “but it was all Vestibule.”
Smokey gave me an odd look, although it wasn’t completely unexpected. Vestibule was a teen member of the A-List Supers – a teleporter who also had a modeling career. In the past, I and most of my friends had generally considered her to be insipid and snobbish, but recently I’d discovered there was a lot more to her than met the eye.
“So she’s picking out your clothes now?” Smokey noted, his tone seeming to imply something.
“She picked out a costume,” I corrected. “That’s a far cry from her laying out my clothes for me on a daily basis.”
“Still, Jim, that she’s dictating what you wear at all has to mean something.”
“What it means is that I lost a bet,” I muttered sheepishly.
Smokey frowned. “What kind of bet?”
I sighed. “You remember that big budget mystery movie that opened last week?”
Smokey nodded. “Yeah.”
“Well, I actually went to the premiere.”
“I know,” Smokey stated. “The tabloids were all trying to figure out who Vestibule’s mystery date was.”
“It wasn’t a date,” I stressed.
“Right,” Smokey droned sarcastically. “You just both happened to show up at the same place, at the same time, and sit next to each other.”
“Anyway,” I continued, ignoring his jibe, “we made a bet regarding the identity of the killer, and she won.”
There was silence for a moment as Smokey just stared at me, and then he burst into laughter.
“Ha!” he chuckled. “Are you kidding me? You let Vestibule hustle you?”
“Nobody got hustled,” I argued. “She’s a lot more astute than we initially gave her credit for.”
“Or maybe she knows someone who worked on the movie and got them to tell her how it ends. After all, she’s in good with all these Hollywood types.”
“I thought about that,” I admitted. “But after getting to know her, I don’t think she’s any more likely to cheat me than you.”
Smokey looked at me askance. “Are we talking about the same Vestibule? The girl who arm-twisted you into a date when the fate of the world was hanging in the balance?”
I frowned. Smokey was referring to a time in the not-too-distant past when we’d needed Vestibule’s help to save the planet. She’d used the opportunity to wrangle a date with me in exchange for her assistance.
“Okay, she went a little over the top once,” I agreed, “but that’s not a true reflection of who she is.”
“Maybe,” Smokey intoned, sounding unconvinced. “But speak of the devil, here comes your new bestie now.”
I followed Smokey’s gaze and noted that Vestibule was indeed headed towards the corner of the room that we had staked out as our own. As generally happened whenever I saw her these days, I found myself smiling for no apparent reason as she approached.
She wore a feminine version of the costume I currently had on: a slinky, sleeveless black dress with a gold sash
around her waist, along with a gemmed Wesekh collar and a Cleopatra wig with a bob cut. Like me, she had gold sandals and armbands, although the latter was connected to her dress by some colorful material that opened up like an elaborate pair of wings when she spread her arms.
She also sported a bejeweled headpiece, as well as an armband around her right bicep that was designed like a serpent. Finally, her makeup had been applied in an exotic fashion that included a multicolored hue on her eyelids, as well as an Eye of Horus around one eye.
All things considered, if I was a pharaoh, then she was a goddess. Watching as she sauntered towards us – walking practically in time to some upbeat music playing in the background – it was easy to understand why, in addition to being a superhero, she also had a career as a high-paid fashion model.
“Hey,” she said as she stepped close to give me a hug. “Glad you could make it.”
“No problem,” I stated a moment later as we separated. “Thanks for the invite.”
“Me, too,” Smokey added. “Although if I’d known there was a couples theme, I would have found someone to drag along as my gangster girlfriend.”
“Gun moll,” Vestibule declared.
Smokey raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“Gun moll,” Vestibule repeated. “That’s the official term for a criminal’s girlfriend or female companion. Or you can just say ‘moll.’”
Smokey cast a furtive glance in my direction that clearly relayed his surprise. In return, I gave him an I-told-you-so look. As I had mentioned earlier, Vestibule was a lot brighter than my friends and I had previously assumed.
“Anyway,” she went on, “it’s only by happenstance that Jim and I are matching. Did he tell you about our bet?”
Smokey nodded. “He did, and I’m surprised you didn’t make him wear something utterly embarrassing.”
“Trust me, I was tempted,” Vestibule admitted with a laugh. “In fact, my original impulse was to have him dress as a circus clown. But I decided to show mercy – plus, the costume shop was having a two-for-one special on matching outfits.”
“And here we are,” I said, spreading my hands expansively.
Vestibule looked as though she were about to make a comment, then unexpectedly cocked her head slightly to the side, as if listening for something. A moment later, it became plainly obvious that she had actually been listening to something, as she suddenly reached out and grabbed my hand.
“Come on,” she practically demanded. “You’re dancing with me.”
I had no time to protest as she quickly dragged me out onto the dance floor. A few seconds later, we were completely surrounded by an army of our peers, all swaying, grinding, and stepping to the rhythm of a song I recognized as having just reached number one on the charts.
Needless to say, some of those around us were more rhythmic than others. Vestibule, for instance, was great, and I could easily have imagined her with a career as a dancer were she not a model. At the other end of the spectrum was a kid to my left dressed as a vampire, who seemingly didn’t know his right foot from his left and kept bumping into me.
I had no idea how to rate my own dance skills, since it was a rare activity for me. However, my ego got a nice boost when Vestibule leaned towards me and, shouting above the music, declared, “I think I’ve found my new dance partner! You’re great!”
I didn’t have my empathic abilities fully cranked up, but from what I could sense, Vestibule wasn’t just being kind. She was actually being sincere, and as a result I found myself grinning broadly and felt my cheeks turning red.
Her compliment was enough to make me stay on the dance floor even as the current song ended and another began. This one was some kind of line dance, which quickly became apparent as almost everyone on the dance floor squared off into rows. I didn’t know the song, but it was easy enough to pick up on the steps (especially since the moves were all repetitive). More to the point, it was actually a lot of fun – probably more so because I was next to Vestibule the entire time – and it seemed that the song came to an end all too soon.
At that juncture, the DJ made a distinct change in the music selection, because the next thing he played was a popular slow song. People immediately deserted the dance floor in droves, and I had planned to be one of them. However, I hadn’t taken more than a step in that direction before a felt a solid grip latch onto my wrist like a vise.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Vestibule admonished. “You’re not stranding me on the dance floor during a slow song.”
Before I could verbalize a response, she stepped in close and put her arms around my neck. Almost of their own accord, my hands found their way to her waist and the next thing I knew, we were dancing.
It was admittedly a little awkward for me at first. The only girl I’d had inside my personal space for more than a few moments at a time was my ex, Electra. That said, it didn’t take long for me to loosen up.
“So,” Vestibule droned after a few seconds, “you seem to be adjusting well to West Coast living.”
I raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“Well, this is what – the third event you’ve attended out here in the past few weeks?”
“Fourth,” I corrected.
“Really?” she muttered, seemingly surprised. “Getting sucked in by the glitz and glamour, are we?”
“It’s not like that,” I insisted. “My mom and grandparents are traveling abroad at the moment. The rest of my family is trying to keep me from spending a bunch of time by myself in an empty mansion.”
As I spoke, I reflected on what I was saying and – although it was generally true – it was a complete understatement of the actual facts. My mother and grandparents were actually off-planet, traveling the stars and finally bonding as a family unit after decades apart. It was time they sorely needed together, but it did leave me on my own to a large extent (although, in all honesty, I wasn’t completely alone).
“I assume that this extended family you’re talking about is your cousin Avis,” Vestibule remarked, interrupting my thoughts.
I nodded. “Yes, but you already know that. You’ve been at a couple of events that she invited me to.”
“Must be cool to have one of the most powerful supers in the world finagling invites for you to exclusive events.”
I frowned. I got the impression that Vestibule was trying to tell me something, but in a roundabout way. She had mentioned my cousin Avis – formally known as Rara Avis – who was indeed one of the preeminent capes on the planet. She was also a fixture on the celebrity circuit, with a reputation for partying hard, so getting tickets to star-studded events and such was no big deal for her. More to the point, Avis had recently been reaching out to me since my immediate family had left, probably at the behest of my mom or grandparents (or perhaps even my father, who was her paternal uncle). To be fair, however, Avis’s sisters – Monique and Vela – had also made overtures.
“I remember when I was trying to decide which team of supers to join,” Vestibule continued. “I must have gotten invites to a thousand galas, movie premieres, con–”
“Wait a minute,” I interjected, almost coming to a stop on the dance floor as I finally caught on. “Are you saying that all this – all these parties and premieres I’ve been getting invited to – are just a recruiting junket? An attempt to get me to join the A-List?”
“Officially, I’m not saying anything like that,” Vestibule replied. “But unofficially…”
She trailed off, which essentially let me know that I had guessed right.
“Why are you telling me all this?” I asked.
Vestibule looked away for a moment, and I sensed a small emotional conflict within her.
“You were going to find out eventually,” she admitted after a few seconds. “And when you did, you were going to discover that I knew about it, and I didn’t want you to think poorly of me.”
“Think poorly of you?” I repeated, finding it an odd choice of words. “What do you
mean?”
“I didn’t want you thinking that I’m only being friendly as part of some recruiting effort. I wanted you to know that I’m hanging out with you because I think you’re a lot of fun.”
“Well, I knew that,” I almost exclaimed, grinning. “I’m major fun.”
“I’m serious,” she said, trying not to giggle. “I didn’t want you getting the wrong idea about me, which could still happen with your buddy telling you what a selfish, brainless airhead I am.”
“You mean Smokey?” I asked. “He didn’t say anything like that.”
“Oh, really?” Vestibule muttered in a skeptical tone. “I saw the look he gave you earlier – like he was shocked I could string together two syllables.”
“Not true,” I insisted, shaking my head. “He was just surprised that you knew how to conjugate verbs.”
Vestibule immediately started giggling, and I found myself chuckling as well, taken in by her ability to laugh at herself.
“Look,” I said after a few moments, “I admit I had some preconceived notions about you, but I was wrong. So whatever I or my friends thought before is irrelevant. As far as I’m concerned, you and I started over with a clean slate, and if you give him a chance, I think the same can be true of you and Smokey.”
“All right,” she said with a nod. “I’m willing to put forth the effort.”
“Great,” I uttered. “I know Smokey will as well.”
“Good,” she declared. “Now, since you mentioned giving people a chance, I thought I should say something: my cousin thinks you’re cute.”
“Huh?” I muttered in surprise. “Your cousin?”
“Catalina,” Vestibule replied, tilting her head towards an area just off the dance floor.
I looked in the direction indicated and saw Vestibule’s cousin, who generally went by “Cat,” talking to a guy dressed like a cowboy. She was our age and very pretty, and I’d actually met her the previous week at the movie premiere (where she’d been Vestibule’s plus-one). However, she tended to do her own thing at events rather than hover around her famous cousin, so I really hadn’t had a chance to get to know her.
Isolation Page 1
