King Of Bad [Super Villian Academy Book 1]

by Strand, Kai

  “I know I don’t. It’s a nervous habit. Look, we didn’t talk about what would happen here if you decided to pursue training with us.”

  “Here? You mean my house?” Jeff hadn’t thought about that aspect at all. He probably couldn’t just walk up to his parents and tell them he was a super villain and would be attending a special academy to learn how to be good at being bad.

  “Yeah, that’s usually the biggest problem for S.V.’s. Some have to just run away from home.” Pyro looked around the kitchen. “I think your parents would probably be too upset if you did, though.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Yellow gingham curtains. Photos stuck to the fridge.”

  “Yeah, I guess they would. Dad would.” Jeff remembered Mother’s concern over his hand last night. “Maybe Mother, too.”

  “The academy has done the recruitment gag in the past. You know, ‘your son has been chosen to attend this super special school.’ But visits are restricted. I mean, if you choose to pursue training, you mostly cut yourself off from your current life.”

  “Meaning, family?” Jeff asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “And friends?”

  “Uh huh.”

  Jeff sighed and leaned against the counter. Pyro wiped off the counter tops and pushed him out of the way. Jeff smiled down at the top of her head.

  “Hey look, can we get out of here?” Pyro asked. “Your house really has a weird feel and it’s making me jumpy.”

  Jeff looked around. The same pile of papers perched on the end of the counter. The same notebooks and binders stacked at the bottom of the staircase since the end of the school year. The vacuum, covered in a layer of dust, stood next to the china cabinet waiting for someone to actually use it. They may not be the cleanest family, but there was nothing threatening about them. Jeff shrugged and headed upstairs. “I’ve got to change clothes. Wait for me outside if it’ll make you feel better.”

  Jeff chuckled when he found Pyro walking the curb like a balance beam in front of the house. “Maybe you should’ve waited across the street.”

  “I thought about it.” Pyro eyed the house and then shrugged. “Let’s walk.”

  “So, we could tell my parents I’ve been invited to attend a special school or something. I think Mother would be thrilled to think someone might straighten me out. But don’t parents usually like to check the place out? Visit it?”

  “Yeah, Tubs has stuff like that covered. A lot of those kids you saw were in the same situation as you, Jeff. Getting in trouble, parents always mad, strange abilities starting to show up and scare them.”

  “How long would I be there?” Jeff couldn’t imagine another four years of school. As it was, he had a hard time imagining the two he was supposed to complete.

  “However long you want, really. If things don’t work out and you are still under age, you could try another academy or we might have to send you home again. Most S.V.’s get enough training to determine which direction they want to go in before their normal graduation. But some stay a full year longer.”

  They walked in silence. Jeff thought about the gym full of S.V.’s and was excited and nervous at the same time. Finally he wouldn’t feel like an outcast, but what if they were all better than him?

  “Why were all those S.V.’s in the gym so late at night? Are classes 24 hours a day or something?”

  “No, those kids were just putting in some extra practice time. Classes run from 9:00 in the morning to 3:00 in the afternoon. The rest of the time is free.”

  “So, I could just live at home.” Jeff liked the idea of not having to desert his friends or leave his sister unattended.

  “No, Jeff, you couldn’t. Too many questions, too dangerous. Your family or friends might decide to stop in unexpectedly and blow our cover.”

  “Right.”

  Jeff was surprised to find they’d walked all the way to the market. “Hey, you want something to drink?”

  “No thanks.”

  “I’m just gonna grab a quick soda.” Jeff swung the door to the market open just as a guy pushed his way out. The two collided and the bag the guy had been holding dropped to the ground. The telltale shatter of glass made Jeff wince. “Sorry, dude.”

  “What the hell are you thinking?” the guy yelled. “Are you blind? Or is everyone supposed to get out of your way?”

  “Dude, I said I’m sorry. It was only an accident.”

  The guy’s face bloomed with angry purple splotches. “Yeah, you’re sorry. That helps! You’re an idiot, that’s what you are.”

  Anger coursed through Jeff. Before he knew what he was doing a blaze of flame shot out and caught the spilled bag and its contents afire.

  Jeff and the guy jumped away from the sudden inferno between them. Pyro stepped in front of Jeff and grabbed a handful of his shirt. “Time to go, kid.”

  Jeff looked at her in shock. “Did I do that?”

  Pyro gave him a warning look.

  Jeff saw that the guy had run back into the store. Pyro skipped away, dragging him with her. “Let’s go.” She released him when he finally sped up to catch her. They bolted like lightning. The excitement seemed to stimulate the fire within Jeff. His hands felt like they were going to erupt lava.

  “Pyro, my fingers!”

  They skidded to a stop. Jeff barely registered that they’d already traveled at least four blocks away from the market. He gritted his teeth against the throbbing heat in his fingers. He expected each engorged tip to pop like an over filled pimple.

  Pyro reached out to touch his glowing fingertips, but pulled her hands back at the last second. “Blow on them!”

  Jeff puffed and spit on his fingers, grunting against the stabbing pain.

  “No, no, no! Use the ice, Jeff. Where does the ice come from?” Pyro’s hands hovered around his like she wanted to help, but knew she didn’t dare touch him.

  “I don’t know.” Jeff looked between her and his fingers, but the pulsating heat made it difficult for him to think clearly.

  A siren blast startled both Jeff and Pyro. They swung toward it, ready for flight, but the police car sped through the nearby intersection and away from them. Pyro searched their surroundings. They were in a typical suburban neighborhood. Every third house looked alike; boats or R.V.’s were parked alongside garages. Basketball hoops or skateboard ramps on the streets.

  “Come on!” Pyro grabbed Jeff by the arm and pulled him up a nearby driveway and across a front lawn. She pushed him in front of her and shoved him over until his hands plunged blessedly into a cool fountain of water. A hissing steam issued as his hands entered the pool. The relief was welcome, but not complete. The heat from his hands warmed the water faster than the water cooled his hands. But it was enough to help Jeff get his concentration back.

  “The lungs.” He held his dripping hands in front of his mouth and drew a breath from deep in his lungs. He blew slowly onto his hands and a crystalline frost coated his fingers. He giggled giddily in relief. “Oh man, thanks, Pyro.”

  “Su…”

  “There they are, officer!”

  For a second time, Pyro and Jeff swung around in surprise. Two police officers walked toward them. One had his hand resting on his holster.

  Pyro and Jeff looked at each other and understood that it was time to bolt. Pyro bobbed her head ever so slightly to the left and they ghosted to the fence surrounding the neighboring backyard. Pyro cleared the six foot fence in one jump, but Jeff vaulted over less gracefully. They heard the amazed cries behind them as they jumped the fence on the far side of the yard and raced off through the baseball field of the Lutheran school.

  Chapter 8

  “So now you see what a benefit training can be,” Pyro said after downing the tall glass of water the waitress had set in front of her.

  “Did you have trouble controlling your fire?” Jeff stared at his fingertips. They were a pleasant fleshy pink with no sign of swelling, but he imagined them as the purpled throbbing ma
sses of not long ago.

  “Yeah, umm hmm.” Pyro drummed her fingers on the table and craned her neck, looking around for the waitress. She waved at her when she finally caught her eye and pointed at her empty water glass.

  Jeff drained his glass too before the waitress came to refill them.

  “I caught my little sister’s stroller on fire. That was when I admitted to myself that it was me setting the fires and not an unusually high amount of spontaneous combustion.”

  “How old were you?” Jeff asked.

  “I was only fifteen when my fire came. I didn’t get any official training for about six months though. Maybe you can appreciate that I thought I had it all figured out by that time. Of course I hadn’t, but it took me a while to really listen. I was really into some big time arson by then, had figured out that I was faster than most people and could change people’s minds for them.”

  “What? You can make people change their minds?” Jeff gawked at Pyro.

  “Yeah, well, not always a cool thing.” Pyro stared out the window; the look on her face was so haunted that Jeff didn’t dare ask for details. “And not everyone can do it.”

  “What about the invisibility thing? When did you figure that out?”

  “I learned that in training.” Pyro looked at Jeff and smiled. “Don’t get all excited, not everyone can do that either.”

  “Where does it come from?” Jeff asked.

  Pyro squinted at him. “You have to believe it.”

  “Huh?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know how else to explain it.”

  The waitress set plates in front of them heaped with the burgers and fries they’d ordered. “Anything else?”

  “Mustard and honey,” Pyro said. After the waitress left, she said to Jeff, “The real benefit to training is that they teach you how to feel where the abilities come from so if you’ve got it in you, they’ll help you discover it and develop it.”

  “Well, after losing control today, I definitely need help. But isn’t it kinda strange to you that the academy develops villains? I just feel like there is something really wrong with that.”

  Pyro sighed. “Jeff, you’re going to be bad whether the academy teaches you or not. That’s how you’re made.”

  * * * *

  The next day a letter came in the mail addressed to his parents announcing that Jeff had been identified as a prime candidate to attend an exclusive boys’ school on the east coast geared toward helping at risk youth learn to channel their abilities to their greater good.

  His parents ate it up. They researched the place online. They called the dean of students to ask how they’d identified Jeff as a potential student and to learn more about the school. They made arrangements to fly out east to visit the school.

  Jeff and Sandra and their parents visited that following weekend. Jeff was amazed at the establishment they visited. It was a real school. Tubs had an office there and teachers and students seemed to know him. Jeff was dying to ask him how he managed the charade, but didn’t have an opportunity. Jeff’s parents were thoroughly convinced that he would benefit from such an experience. Jeff whined to them about having to leave his friends. Mother argued that it might be his last chance to learn to walk the straight and narrow. Jeff complained that he didn’t like being held to a schedule. Mother scolded that it was about time he learned responsibility. As he suspected, his parents didn’t listen to any of his arguments and in the end they handed Tubs a big fat tuition check.

  On the plane ride home the next day, Jeff and Sandra ended up sitting a few rows behind their parents.

  “Jeff, aren’t you a little nervous about this?” Sandra asked.

  Jeff stared out the window at the topside of the fluffy clouds. “Yeah, I am.”

  “Can’t you just promise to be good or something?” Sandra asked.

  Jeff turned to Sandra. Her eyes were round and watery with worry. Her bottom lip was held prisoner between her teeth. Jeff smiled at her. “I won’t though. I can’t be good. You should know that better than me.”

  A sudden thought struck Jeff. He gasped and studied Sandra’s face.

  “What?” She leaned away.

  “Sandra, do you…um…can you…” Jeff gnawed the inside of his cheek. If he asked her and she didn’t know what he was talking about she’d really think he was crazy. But could he handle not asking? No. “Sandra, can you do anything that other kids can’t do? Like run really fast or hear super well. Anything unusual?”

  Jeff could already tell that her answer was no by the screwed up expression on her face as she examined him.

  “Jeff, what are you talking about?”

  “Nothing, I guess. Never mind. I’m just saying that sometimes I feel like I’m better than anyone at being bad.” Jeff shrugged, hoping to bring the conversation back to somewhat normal.

  “You’re like king of bad,” Sandra said. She shifted into the middle of her seat. “Remember the rotting cat you left under the school bleachers during the playoffs? That was genius.”

  Jeff chuckled. “Yeah, the maggots were pure bonus. I bet the teacher who found it still has nightmares.”

  “What do you suppose they’ll teach you at that school?” Sandra asked.

  “I don’t know, standard stuff, I guess. It didn’t seem that bad. Maybe you’ll end up there with me one day.”

  “Dope, it’s a boys’ school.”

  “Oh yeah.”

  Chapter 9

  Two weeks later, Jeff settled into his new dorm room at the academy. It had been quite a show getting there. He, Sandra and their parents had flown to the bogus school again with Jeff’s suitcases, guitar and Pucker. A big deal was made to get Jeff settled in to his new room. Tubs had told them that Jeff’s assigned roommate hadn’t arrived yet, so Jeff could pick whichever side of the room he wanted. His family spent the night at a nearby hotel and came back one last time the next morning to say goodbye. After they left, Jeff packed up all his stuff again and he and Tubs flew back across the country to the academy only 30 miles from Jeff’s home.

  There he unpacked his stuff all over again.

  The room was cramped even though it only had a single bed, small bedside table and a dresser. A small closet took up a corner of the room and the furniture occupied the rest. But Jeff was glad to have a room to himself.

  He’d just finished hanging his favorite poster, a picture of a lake at night that Jeff could stare at for hours, when a boy resembling the professional wrestler, Randy Orton, barged into Jeff’s room.

  “Knock much?” Jeff asked.

  The kid walked right over to Jeff and punched him in the nose.

  “What the hell was that for?” Jeff grabbed a wad of tissues to catch the flowing blood.

  The kid glowered back and then moved over to Jeff’s dresser and picked up each item and examined it.

  Even Pucker seemed wary of the bulky boy stumping around the room. She floated behind a clump of fake seaweed on the far side of the fishbowl.

  “What’s that all about?” The kid pointed to Pucker.

  “My sidekick.”

  The kid scrunched his meaty brow, deep in thought.

  “Get the hell out of my room!” Jeff said.

  The kid shrugged and left.

  Testing his nose for a break, Jeff mumbled to Pucker. “What was that, anyway? Official villain greeting?”

  * * * *

  According to Tubs, the teachers’ quarters and the supply rooms were off limits. Intending to turn in the opposite direction if he saw a mop, Jeff left to explore the academy.

  The first place he purposely sought out was the cafeteria. His stomach had been growling since their airplane landed and his throat felt like a desert. Tubs had explained the cafeteria stocked food and drink 24 hours a day, but hot meals were only served during standard meal times. It was 7:30 in the evening, therefore not a standard mealtime. A smattering of kids sat in small groups or alone throughout the large room. They all looked at him when he entered, b
ut no one greeted him. He selected a sandwich, apple and milk from a cooler and found a table to sit at.

  “Oh look, a new loser. Who are you?” a zit faced girl, maybe Jeff’s age, challenged from two tables over. She sat with two other kids, another girl with blue hair and a pierced nose and a small boy with rat-like features.

  “Jeff,” he said. It was strange to feel such open animosity from people. He wasn’t sure how he should act. He snapped right back at her, “Why, who are you?”

  Rat boy snickered.

  “What’s so funny?” Jeff asked.

  “No one uses their own name around here,” the boy wheezed in a high, thin voice.

  “What’s your name?” Jeff asked.

  “They call me Cracker,” the boy replied. “That’s Tears and this is Flame.”

  Jeff looked at the blue haired girl Cracker had called Flame. “Do you have fire too?”

  The three kids laughed. The zit-faced, Tears, said, “No, she’s gay.”

  Jeff couldn’t make sense out of what the kids said, so he ignored them and ate.

  Tears got up and walked to Jeff’s table and slid onto the chair next to him. “Where you from, Jeff?” She over-pronounced the J in his name the same way he over-pronounced the M in Mother.

  “Close,” Jeff answered. “Why do they call you Tears? Cry baby?”

  Crackers snickered again. Jeff realized the other two had stealthily moved to his table while he was busy with Tears. He felt like the prey of a pack of velociraptors.

  Tears smirked. “Who would you not want to see with their neck sliced?”

  The question took Jeff aback, but he involuntarily pictured Sandra lying in a pool of blood with her head severed. The image sharpened in his mind. Suddenly, he was convinced he’d found Sandra like that. His heart beat fast and his breath shortened as panic took over.

  Tears grinned. “An open book! Oh goody.”

  Jeff blinked a couple times. The image of Sandra faded and he realized it had been a fabrication. He growled under his breath when he saw that his hands shook slightly from the shock of the image.

  Blue haired, Flame, stared at his fingers. “Watch out, guys, he has fire and he’s not afraid to use it.”