Aberrant Trilogy 1: Super Charged (3 page)

He sat down in the comfortable chair and found himself lost.

A computer…

This one looked a lot more advanced than the ones he remembered in school twenty years ago. Everything was sleek and simplified. The icons were colorful and eye catching.

He reached out and took the mouse, moving to an icon of a globe that ended up being the internet.

Double clicking, he launched the browser and paused. What should he do next? His pulse quickened at the speed of the technology. There was no dialing up. It was all just ready to go at his fingertips.

This should make things easier…

Still, he had no idea what site to go to.

In the top corner there was a little magnifying glass. He supposed that was what he could use to search.

He clicked on it, and a flashing type symbol appeared. It was waiting for him to give it some input.

He sat back and thought about where to start. There were so many things he needed to find out. He needed to know all about Jeffrey and where his life had gone. He needed to find out where his childhood friend had settled down. He needed to know so many things.

But, the first thing that he needed to find, the most important thing, was at the front of his mind, and he typed it in.

“The Vestige.”

3

Disciplinary Action

I sit outside the principal’s office on one of those padded chairs that still happens to be uncomfortable. The bottom is too wide and my legs are not long enough to truly reach the floor. So, I’m sitting forward so that my feet are firmly on the carpet and I slouch backwards so that my shoulders rest against the back of the chair.

Beside me, for moral support, is Mae. She is also slouched back in her chair, and glances over at me.

“I told you not to do it,” she says.

I twiddle my thumbs together and sigh. She’s right. I should have listened to her. But, I was so sure that I could get away with it.

I groan.

“This is not how I thought my day was going to go,” I say.

We sit in silence for a few moments and the sound of voices inside the principal’s office float out.

“Maybe it won’t be so bad,” says Mae in a tone that sounds forcefully optimistic.

I raise an eyebrow and look over at her.

“You
have
to say that because you’re my friend,” I say.

She lets out a laugh.

“From the sound of those voices in there, it seems to me like you could use all the friends you can get,” she says.

Not only is my mother speaking to the principal, she is also being scolded by the superintendent
and
the teacher who spotted me on the roof. They are talking loudly. I try to hear specifically what they’re saying, but I am suddenly distracted by two other students who walk into the office. They come to a stop at the secretary’s counter. They’re talking loudly and animatedly about what else? My father’s comic series.

“You haven’t read it yet?” one of them says.

The other shakes his head. “No. I haven’t had the time. Is it good?”

The first one’s eyes widen and his jaw drops.

“Dude, you are
so
lucky! Do you know what I would give to be able to start reading the entire thing from the very beginning? You need to borrow my copies. It’s fantastic. This guy ends up finding an ancient relic called the Vestige and discovers that it gives him super powers. It lets him fly and shoot electricity!”

“That sounds pretty awesome,” the second one says.

“Yeah, and that’s not all. Turns out he’s not the only one with super powers. There’s a villain named The Drone. He ends up getting mysterious powers, too, but they’re not as powerful as Super Guy’s.”

“Wait,” said the second boy. “Super Guy? That sounds like a pretty lame hero name. Are you sure that this is cool?”

“I’m serious! You need to give it a try. The name grows on you. They’re working their way to a ridiculous showdown.”

“So, where does this relic come from?” asks the second.

“There are lots of theories,” says the first. “Some think that it’s a Native American relic from a long forgotten time. Personally, I think it came from space. Maybe aliens sent it here. Nobody really knows for sure. They’re supposed to give us the final answer in the finale. But, that doesn’t come out for a while. There’s going to be a movie, though.”

Suddenly the door beside me opens and Mrs. Mills pokes her head out. Her expression is stern.

“Shaun? You can come in now.”

I glance at Mae, and her eyes are sympathetic. She forces a smile.

“Good luck,” she says.

“I’m going to need it,” I reply, getting heavily to my feet and head into the office like I’m marching off to a battlefield. I really don’t want to be there.

The door is closed behind me and I find myself in front of the three staff and my mother. She has dark circles under her eyes and her arms are crossed tightly in front of her.

“You can take a seat, Shaun,” the superintendent, a man with a very bristly gray mustache, says. He motions to an empty chair next to my mother, who is standing. I feel awkward sitting, but what choice do I have?

“Make yourself comfortable,” says Principal Thompson. “We’re going to be here for a bit.”

My mother looks away from me. Is she really that furious with me? I stop looking over at her and focus on the desk in front of me, that way I don’t have to make eye contact with any one person in particular.

“Shaun, I’m just going to cut to the chase,” says the principal. “This isn’t the first time you’ve been caught doing something like this. And, frankly, your teachers and myself are very concerned not only for your safety, but for the safety of your classmates.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt anyone,” I say. “I was just trying to film a video for my channel. Really.”

The superintendent picks up something from the desk and hands it to me. It’s my iPhone with a shattered screen. It won’t even turn on.

“Looks like that wasn’t a success,” he says.

My mother glares down at me this time. I swallow as the beat-down continues.

“Do you know that if this thing had hit someone when you dropped it over the edge that it could have given someone a concussion?” says the principal.

There is a pause as the question sinks in. All the air seems to be sucked out of the room.

I look up at the principal with my head as low on my shoulders as it can be and try not to shrug.

“I guess I didn’t think of that,” I say.

“You’re right,” the principal goes on. “You didn’t
think
. Which seems to be a frequent occurrence in recent months.” The man takes a seat at his desk and picks up a pen to tap on the shiny wood finish. He seems to mull over his next words before speaking them. “Shaun, I know that things have been rough for you since your father died. I lost my own parents at a young age, so it’s not a mystery to me that the reason you’re acting out is because you’re hurting inside.”

I want to roll my eyes just listening to this man attempt to connect with me. Does he
really
know what I’m feeling inside? I’m pretty sure that my situation is completely different from his. But, I don’t want to dig myself into a bigger hole than I’m already in.

“Be that as it may,” the principal goes on, “the roof is off limits to students. Even the janitors are not allowed to go up there without express written permission from myself, and that is with proper precautions. You might have fallen over the side, or you could have even stepped through a vent or a shallow area. All those things would have caused hundreds - if not thousands - of dollars worth of repairs. Not to mention that you would be charged with criminal trespassing.”

A horrible twisting feeling churns in my stomach now and I am starting to get dizzy. Criminal trespassing? That seems a bit harsh.

There is another pause while all eyes look on me.

They’re waiting for another excuse from me, but I really don’t have one to justify such a harsh punishment.

“Like I said,” I say in a soft voice. “I wasn’t thinking.”

The principal nods and sets his pen down on the desk with a
clack
.

“Well, Mr. Boding,” he says, his hands folded in front of him. “You’re going to have a lot of time to think about things because from this point on, you are suspended for thirty days.”

I sit up straight.

“Thirty
days
?” I say.

Mom’s eyes practically bore through my skull.

“That seems a little much!” I protest. But, my disciplinarian’s expressions are all stoney.

“It’s either thirty days, or we report you to the local police,” the principal says. “I don’t know about you, but I would rather be house-bound for thirty days instead of having something on my permanent record. That could cause a whole lot of problems including when you start looking for a summer job.”

I want to continue protesting, but Mom speaks up for the first time.

“We will take the thirty days,” she says. She comes over to me and grips my shoulder tightly. I can feel her nails digging into me. “Is that all?”

The principal nods.

“That is all. We will reassess your situation in thirty days, and I hope for your sake that you have made some improvements.”

Mom nods and pulls me to my feet.

“Thank-you very much,” she says, and then she drags me out of the office.

4

Wit’s End

“I am without words.”

Mom grips the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles are white. She doesn’t look over at me as she speaks. Her eyes are glued straight ahead and her back is rigid with her shoulders squared. She seems like a panther ready to pounce on its prey.

“I am just without words,” she repeats herself.

That’s a lie,
I think as I bring a hand up to rest my cheek on. The roadway blurs by me and the buildings become one giant mass of gray and blue.

Mom always has words. She just doesn’t know how to begin.

I try to start something, to cut her off and lessen the blow, but she talks over me this time.

“Don’t start!” she says. “What in the world has gotten into you?”

See? I knew that the words were coming.

“I don’t know what got into me,” I lie. I know exactly what got into me. I wanted to make my latest video and get closer to Dad. The only way to get closer to him is to get up as high as I can. But, I’m not going to tell her that. She will think it’s stupid and a lie and that I’m covering up the real reason. So, I stay silent on the subject. I look back out the window.

Mom shakes her head roughly.

“What possessed you to go up on the roof?” she continues. “Don’t you know how dangerous that is? You could have fallen over the side and broken your neck, or worse! I don’t need a phone call telling me that my son is paralyzed. Or that I lost you, too…”

Her voice breaks up for a moment and my defensive position breaks as well.

Her jaw is trembling and I can see the tears brewing in her eyes. They stem over, falling down her cheeks like streams.

I sigh.

“I’m sorry,” I say. Really, I am. I brought this hurt upon her. She’s dealing with enough - we both are. But, she’s dealing with the most. “I shouldn’t have gone up there.”

Mom isn’t listening. Her mind is elsewhere.

She pulls onto a side street.

“I’ve had enough of this…” she says, using the back of one of her hands to forcefully wipe away the tears. “I really have.”

What am I supposed to say now? There’s nothing that will make it better.

Mom glances over at me now and her eyes lock on the broken iPhone clutched in my hand.

“Your phone is ruined now, too,” she says. “You might as well have thrown hundreds of dollars off the roof.”

I clench my teeth. She’s right. My phone is now a very expensive paper weight. I need to give her
some
sort of explanation for the destruction.

“I was filming a video,” I say. “It was for my Youtube channel.”

“That again,” Mom says, really emphasizing the
that
. Again brushing beneath her eyes with the back of her hand, though there are no more tears. “You think making those videos are going to give you a good future?”

That stings. I didn’t expect it to, but it feels like a knife in my gut. I look away.

I have nothing more to say.

Thankfully Mom seems to be done as well. The rest of the car ride is driven in silence.

We pull into our neighborhood not far from the high school. The sun is just starting to get low on the horizon and the small lawn is bathed in an orange glow. The windows on our house appear to be on fire with the light.

Mom parks on the street, puts the car in park and turns off the engine. But, she doesn’t get out.

Instead she grips the top of the steering wheel and lets out a horrible, guttural sigh. Her head hangs low on her shoulders.

I would go to get out of the car, but something in my gut stops me. I wait for her to speak.

“I can’t keep doing this,” she says, not looking over at me. She keeps her eyes on the steering wheel. “I can’t keep getting calls saying that you were in a dangerous situation. I already lost your father, and I can’t lose you, too.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. “Really. I didn’t mean to get in trouble.”

“But, you did.” Mom looks up at me this time, her eyes ringed with dark circles. “You keep getting into trouble, and I just don’t have enough patience for it. There’s no way that you are just going to lounge around your bedroom for a month. That’s not what you need.”

This conversation is taking a strange turn. My ears prick up at what Mom just said.
Not what I need…

“What do I need?” I ask, my brow furrowed. I grip the straps of my backpack tightly.

“You need discipline,” Mom says. “You need structure. You need to get away from all the memories and the bustle of the city and just take the time to get out of your own head. Those are all things that I can’t provide, though God knows I’m trying.”

She drums her fingers on the steering wheel. Each one makes a single
tap
on the faux leather.

I gulp.

“So, what are you saying?” I ask, my voice soft.

Mom’s eyes look at me, but they aren’t
really
looking at me. They’re staring through my chest and there’s a sadness there. Regret.