The Last Hero (Book 1): Ultra

by Blake, Matt

  “Man, it’s obvious how damned much you love Ellicia.”

  I felt my cheeks flushing. “Keep your voice down.”

  “Why? Everyone knows—”

  “Which is fine,” I said. “I’d just… I’d just rather not right now, okay?”

  “So you’re admitting it?”

  “Admitting what?”

  “That you like Ell—”

  “I didn’t say that!”

  “You kinda said that.”

  “Damon, please.”

  Damon held his lion paws up. He was literally the only person in the school year of four-hundred taking advantage of the fancy dress rule. “Hey. I’m just saying. She’s cute, and she’s not been snapped up by one of Mike’s boys yet. She’s about to get smoking hot, so I say get in there before she does. Because when she does, you really won’t have a chance. No offense.”

  “None taken.”

  Damon’s words were all well and good. I could see he was just looking out for me, in his annoying, beyond weird way.

  But the truth was, I was never getting a girl like Ellicia. I was never getting a girl.

  I wasn’t the kind of guy girls went for. I didn’t even know how to talk to a girl, for heaven’s sakes.

  Besides, the fact that Damon was so sure Ellicia would be at the game wasn’t reassuring in any way, shape or form.

  It was damned terrifying.

  I reached the field. I could hear the crowd starting to applaud. Under my arm, I held my helmet. I went to snap it on right away.

  “Why you putting that on already?”

  “’Cause I don’t want anyone to recognize me.”

  “Man, they won’t recognize you. Nobody’s looking at you.”

  “Yes, but they might be looking at the only frigging lion this side of the Bronx Zoo!”

  I went to pull my helmet on when I saw Mike Beacon looking right at me.

  I couldn’t believe it. I seriously thought he’d let it go, just for this one day. That he’d be too focused on impressing his football mates, the crowd of girls, to give a hell about me.

  But there he was. Muscular. Short blond hair. Bright blue eyes. Standing at the top of the hill just before the field. Staring at me. Smile on his face.

  I felt my guts turn to mush right then.

  But even more so when I saw Ellicia standing right by the side of the field.

  Also looking right at me.

  “Keep moving, squirt.”

  I felt someone push into my back.

  “Come on, Kyle. Field is straight ahead.”

  I couldn’t move. My legs were locked. I literally could not take a step closer to that field, no matter how hard I tried.

  I was stuck. Stuck in the gaze of Mike Beacon, the guy who’d made my school years a misery on nearly a daily basis.

  And the gaze of Ellicia.

  I saw her chocolate brown hair swaying in the breeze. I saw those thick-rimmed glasses perched on the end of her nose, which actually made her look hella hotter. I saw her sparkling blue eyes that always made me feel fuzzy inside, ever since the day I’d first met her.

  I saw her, and I knew there was only one thing for me to do.

  I turned around, and I ran.

  I saw the confused looks of the people behind me in line as I powered past them. I heard voices calling out, asking what the hell I was doing.

  I said the only words I knew would get me out of a situation like this.

  “Restroom!” I shouted, clutching onto my stomach. “I need—I need the restroom.”

  I heard the laughter erupting but knew it wouldn’t matter. I had my helmet on. Nobody knew who I was.

  “Restroom!” I said, trying to work my way around more people. “Seriously need it. Scuse me. Thanks. Thanks.”

  I kept on going with no regard for the stupidity of what I was doing until I reached the changing room restroom and slammed the door shut.

  I pulled off my helmet. Let out some deep breaths. “Shit,” I muttered. “Shit, shit, shit.” I was trapped in here now. Trapped until the game started, at least. Hopefully, the game would be so good that I’d be forgotten. Hopefully, none of the students would even notice I was gone.

  I sat down on the toilet. Waited.

  And then I heard a knock on the door.

  I went still. Completely still. I didn’t say a word. If I just stayed quiet, I could—

  “Kyle, are you in there?”

  I could recognize the voice. Mr. Preacher, the history teacher. Fortunately, he was old and senile, so he wouldn’t even care about the football, let alone the fact that I was on the loo. I was one of his favorites. Not like he was going to publicly shame me.

  “Kyle? Are you—”

  “Yes,” I shouted. “Yes, I… I’ve got the squirts, sir. Can’t take part in the game. Sir.”

  I thought I heard sniggering. But then… no. Mr. Preacher couldn’t be sniggering. He never sniggered at anything.

  I waited a few seconds. Mr. Preacher didn’t say anything else. It was totally silent outside. On the field, I could hear the cheers kicking in. The game must be starting. Now was my chance.

  I stood up. Unlocked the restroom door.

  It was only when I turned the handle that I realized two things.

  One, how had Mr. Preacher known that it was me, Kyle, in the restroom?

  And two…

  Mike Beacon was fire at impressions.

  I heard the laughter erupt when I opened the restroom door. Saw the cameras flash. Hell, even Damon was there, lion head in his arms, laughing along with the rest of this crowd.

  Mike Beacon stood right at the front of the group. He was squatted down, straining. “I’ve got the squirts, sir!” he said, in a mock voice that was, admittedly, remarkably like my own. “Sir, I’ve got the squirts!”

  I felt like on the embarrassment-o-meter, I’d hit the peak right there. I felt like nothing would ever top this. This was my OK Computer, and nothing I did after this would ever come close, even though there’d be some damned fine contenders. Nothing.

  And then I saw Ellicia staring at me, smile on her face, and I realized I was wrong about that peak.

  3

  “Man, seriously. You should’ve seen it. It was like, straight dope. The straightest, dopiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  I listened to Damon’s ninety-third retelling of the events of earlier that day and wished I could be anywhere but here.

  Only here was the one place I actually enjoyed being. With my friends.

  What a wonderful life I had.

  “So did you legit shit yourself in front of the whole school?” Avi asked.

  “No, I didn’t legit shit myself.”

  “Just fake-shitted himself,” Damon corrected. He fiddled around with his phone. “Anyway, should be on YouTube by now.”

  “I really don’t think anyone will have actually gone ahead and uploaded it to—”

  “Here it is!”

  “Oh. Okay. Maybe the world really has gone completely down the drain.”

  I listened to Damon and Avi laugh as they watched me open that door. As they listened to me mutter those, “I’ve got the squirts!” words. They even laughed at Mike Beacon’s impressions, which was funny because they couldn’t stand the guy just as much as me.

  I tried to focus on Fallout 4. My hands were clammy. The thought of takeaway pizza that Damon had ordered didn’t exactly feel too appealing. My guts were still struggling to cope with the levels of embarrassment my body had forced upon them. Didn’t help that Avi’s food reeked of pizza. Always. Even when there was no pizza in sight. I swore he wore pizza spray or something.

  “Oh, man,” Avi said. He shook his head. Avi was a quite chubby guy with a big black beard and glasses. He didn’t go to my school—thank the Lord. I loved the guy. Straight up guy and as honest a friend as you could wish for.

  But damn, he made Damon look cool.

  “You’re gonna have to get a grip of that, Damon,” Avi said. “Would
n’t wanna lose it.”

  “You really would want to lose it,” I said, trying to keep my bleary-eyed focus on Avi’s PlayStation 4.

  “No worries if we do lose it,” Damon said. “There’s already hundreds of videos of it all over the net.”

  “Holy smokes,” Avi said, leaning over and grabbing the controller off me. “You’re internet famous, Kyle. That ain’t anything we can boast about. Unless you count the time Mick Drake set fire to my jeans.”

  “I’d rather not count either,” I said.

  “Oh, lighten up, man. Nobody’ll remember it this time tomorrow.”

  “You really think so?”

  Avi started up Fallout 4 again. He adjusted his glasses. “Actually, no. I lied. Everyone will remember it this time next year, let alone tomorrow.”

  “Wow. Thanks.”

  “You know how I am. Honest as they get.”

  I leaned back and watched Avi on Fallout 4. Damon and I chatted about a few things—new computing rigs we wanted to get installed, the state of iOS14 and the new security features the government was still trying to push through congress, some world event conspiracy stuff that always intrigued Damon. But we couldn’t speak for long without Damon bursting out laughing again, pulling that impression Mike Beacon did.

  It annoyed me at first. And I kind of wanted to put Damon straight. He’d done plenty of similarly stupid crap in his time at school, only problem was, he was so oblivious of social norms that he genuinely didn’t care.

  But as much as I wanted to stand up for myself, I knew that I couldn’t. Because it was just who I was. I was the sixteen-year-old freak who shat himself before the football game. That wasn’t contrary to anything else I’d done before. I was viewed as a bit of a nerd, I knew that. I didn’t exactly do many nerdy things, in all truth. My hair was short, dark, fairly trendy, I thought. I didn’t wear glasses—not that glasses were a bad thing. I dressed as well as the next guy, I thought.

  The difference between the average popular kid and me? I didn’t stand up for myself. I was scared of standing up for myself.

  Hell. I’d go as far as saying I was scared of other people.

  That’s what made me a nerd.

  That’s what made me the antithesis to the social butterfly.

  And that’s just who I was.

  “Seriously, though, dude,” Damon said as he sipped back on his Coca-Cola. “It’s about time you started being a man and told Ellicia how you really feel.”

  I felt my skin tingle with cold.

  “Oh, he’s still stanning on that Ellicia chick?” Avi asked.

  “Stanning?” I asked.

  “Yeah, y’know. Eminem. Stan. Obsessing. It’s a hip-hop thing.”

  “Right. ’Cause you’re so hip hop.”

  “Don’t ever say hip hop like that again.”

  “Right. Sure. Got it.”

  “But seriously,” Avi asked. “Known her since sixth grade and you still haven’t come clean with Ellicia?”

  I was both relieved at being off the me fake-shitting myself conversation and annoyed that the conversation had veered into the territory of the girl I’d been mad about since I first laid eyes on her. “I dunno. I’ll get round to it. Not like there’s a rush.”

  “Man, there’s always a rush,” Avi said.

  “That’s what I’ve been tellin’ him for ages. She’s blossoming. She’s gonna be straight fire soon. How you gonna feel when she’s straight fire and you missed out on her while she’s still all humble?”

  I kind of got Damon’s point. But it irritated me to hear anyone using the term “straight fire,” especially my best friend.

  “Anyway,” Avi said. “Probably doesn’t matter much anymore. Not after you full on shat yourself.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “Sorry, sorry. After you fake shat yourself. But point stands. Doesn’t matter. She’s not gonna touch you with a bargepole anymore.”

  I felt my stomach sink. I wasn’t sure I could feel much lower about my self-esteem. “Thanks for the pep talk.”

  Avi turned. Winked. “Not a problem, Skids.”

  I bit my tongue through Avi’s nickname and tried not to flip.

  “When have you ever been such a ladies’ man, anyway?” I asked. It wasn’t exactly me flipping—me flipping just didn’t happen. But it was as close as I was going to get.

  “Actually,” Avi said, hitting pause. He leaned over. Held his phone out. “I’ve been chattin’ to a girl lately.”

  Damon’s jaw dropped. “You’ve been chatting to a girl?”

  Avi grinned and nodded. “Hell yeah. We’ve been getting close a few weeks now. Here she is.”

  Avi held out his phone. I felt bad for expecting to see someone less-than-attractive, or maybe even someone out of a video game.

  But instead, I saw a… genuinely attractive female human being.

  “Whaddya think?” Avi asked.

  “This… this isn’t a wind-up?” I asked.

  Avi shook his head. “Ain’t no wind-up.”

  “And she’s actually met you?”

  “We’ve Facebook met.”

  “Facebook met?”

  “We’ve chatted on Facebook.”

  “So you haven’t actually met?”

  “We’re in the process of meeting, man. Besides, it’s closer than any of you two’s got to any action.”

  He put his phone away. Me nor Damon couldn’t exactly argue.

  As I watched Avi return to his game, I couldn’t shake that minuscule irritation once again. A bad kind of irritation. But I felt something like jealousy. Jealousy that my friend, who I was no more nerdy than, less so if anything, had been chatting to a girl.

  “How’d that come about?” I asked.

  “Miri? Oh, I just saw her on Instagram. Thought she was cute. We got chatting.”

  “Wait,” I said, shaking my head. “Am I in some alternate reality? You followed a girl on Instagram who you thought was cute and you… you got chatting?”

  “I just believed in myself, man. Believe in yourself some more. Girls like that. Everyone likes that. When you believe, you can do anything.”

  “Profound.”

  “Plus, I read a hell of a lot of dating blogs.”

  “Ah. That makes more sense.”

  “And I used some foolproof chat up lines from the top reviewed online dating guide on Goodreads.”

  “Again. Making much more sense. I’d like to see you use that in person.”

  “4.6 stars, man. 4.6 stars out of 5. Da-ting book of the year.”

  Again, I kind of felt cheated that I hadn’t thought to read a book like that myself. Maybe Avi was right. Maybe I did just need to loosen up, believe in myself a little more.

  I was mulling over the thought of asking Ellicia out—as impossible as that was—when my phone buzzed.

  I read the message. And as I read it, I felt sicker—somehow—than I had for the entire day.

  “You okay, dude?” Damon asked. “Gone pale.”

  I put the phone down. Swallowed a lump in my throat. “Yeah, I…” I stood up. Headed toward Avi’s door.

  “Skids?” Avi asked. “Where you headed?”

  I got ready to leave Avi’s house, the truth of the message sending nerves tingling through my stomach. “Sorry, guys. It’s been fun. But there’s somewhere I need to be right now.”

  “Can’t it wait?”

  I wished it could.

  4

  When I walked into my Staten Island home, I knew right away what I was going to face.

  The walls of the hallway were dark, and the wallpaper was curling at the edges. As I walked past them, I tried not to look at the photographs pinned up to the wall. Some people liked to be reminded of times they’d once had. Of the things they’d lost. But I didn’t. I didn’t like being reminded of the day my parents’ lives tore apart. The day that changed my life, forever.

  I could hear crying in the kitchen. Mumbling. I knew without seeing that it was Mom. I
held my breath as I pushed open the kitchen door. It wasn’t that I didn’t know what I was going to face. Nobody could accuse me of not being prepared.

  But it never got easier.

  Grief never got easier.

  That was something I had come to understand in my sixteen mostly miserable years on this planet.

  Mom was on her knees. She was sweeping something from the kitchen floor. It looked like the remnants of a smashed dinner plate. Tears were streaming down her cheeks.

  “Mom?”

  She looked up. Stopped sweeping right away. She forced a smile, quickly wiped the tears from her eyes as if it’d cover up the fact she’d been crying effectively. Her light brown hair hung limply by the sides of her head. She looked older, more wrinkled, every time I saw her. Her skin was pale like she desperately needed a holiday. She never dressed up—right now she was in gray joggers and a white T-shirt, which had turned a shade yellow. “Kyle,” she said. “He’s… He’s… I can’t…”

  “Where is he?”

  “In the living room,” Mom whispered. “I just don’t think I can watch him do this anymore. I don’t think I can handle it.”

  I felt my stomach sinking when I heard the upset in Mom’s voice. I walked over to her. Hugged her. It felt nice when she hugged me. The smell of her hair always took me back right to my earliest memory, when she was holding me in her arms, rocking me from side to side.

  “Sorry to bring you home from your friends.”

  “It’s okay. We were pretty much done anyway.”

  “You always say that.”

  “What?”

  “You always say that. You were pretty much done. Kyle, I’m… I’m sorry. I just don’t know how to handle him when he’s like this. You’re the only person who can get through to him.”

  I pulled back from my mom’s hug. Wiped her salty tears from my face. I smiled at her. “Don’t worry. I’ve got it.”

  “You’re a good boy, Kyle. A good boy.”

  I turned around and nodded. She was right about that.

  Just a pity the “good boys” didn’t get anywhere in life.

  I walked up to the living room door. Part of me just wanted to turn around and run away. Mom might think I was the only person who could deal with Dad when he was upset, but the truth was, I was just winging it too. I didn’t really know what to say. Didn’t really know what I was doing.