Psi Another Day (Psi Fighter Academy) (24 page)
Read Psi Another Day (Psi Fighter Academy) Online
Authors: D.R. Rosensteel
Tags: #spy, #Superhero, #Ali Carter, #Gallagher Girls, #Robin Benway, #Also Known As, #secret society
About the Author
D. R. Rosensteel is a research consultant who had no intention of writing anything but technical papers describing his theories of metaphysical psychometry. But when a hoodied teen showed him a device that turned her thoughts into weapons, and told him about a secret society of protectors who trained her in their underground Academy, he knew her story had to be written.
Rosensteel has put his research on hold to document the adventures of a girl whose face he’s never seen and whose real name he’ll never know. Visit him online at
www.psifighteracademy.com
.
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Take a sneak peek at
Leah Rae Miller’s
The Summer I Became a Nerd
and embrace your inner nerd!
On the outside, seventeen-year-old Madelyne Summers looks like your typical blond cheerleader—perky, popular, and dating the star quarterback. But inside, Maddie spends more time agonizing over what will happen in the next issue of her favorite comic book than planning pep rallies with her squad. That she’s a nerd hiding in a popular girl’s body isn’t just unknown, it’s anti-known. And she needs to keep it that way.
Summer is the only time Maddie lets her real self out to play, but when she slips up and the adorkable guy behind the local comic shop’s counter uncovers her secret, she’s busted. Before she can shake a pom-pom, Maddie’s whisked into Logan’s world of comic conventions, live-action role-playing, and first-person-shooter video games. And she loves it. But the more she denies who she really is, the deeper her lies become…and the more she risks losing Logan forever.
Only one copy left.
I have to take the chance.
I take a fortifying breath and square my shoulders before I stroll up to the glass door of The Phoenix.
I can’t believe it. The Phoenix. I’m about to go into The Phoenix!
I pull the door open, and the twinkly bell I heard from the alley sounds above me. The store is set up like a book itself. I’m standing at the end of a long empty walkway. On both sides of me, metal, A-frame racks are lined up like pages waiting to reveal their awesomeness. Spinning racks are scattered throughout the store. Collectable action figures mint-in-the-box and key chains featuring superhero logos dangle from the racks’ hooks. One spinning rack is covered top to bottom with slim foil packages containing
Magic: The Gathering
playing cards. If I wasn’t trying to be sneaky about this whole thing, I’d give that rack of commons, uncommons, and rares a big ole whirl just to see the shimmery packets reflect the summer sunlight filtering through the windows.
“Welcome to The Phoenix, can I help you find anything?” a guy’s voice asks from the end of the walkway.
Keeping my head down, I dart down one of the aisles on my left. “Just looking,” I say and then snort at my own silly attempt to sound like a man.
“Let me know if you need any help.”
There’s a hint of suspicion is in his voice, but I stay hidden. Superspeed would be handy right now. I could find my book and leave the money on the counter without being seen. “Okay.”
Then, I get lost. Lost in the bright colors of the covers, lost in the stacks and stacks of lovely, numerically organized issues. The comics are grouped by publisher and alphabetically by series. There’s Marvel’s Ant-Man next to The Avengers. Booster Gold and Blue Beetle from DC. By the time I come across Fables, my number three favorite Vertigo title, I’ve run out of shelves on this side. I zip across the empty aisle and try to focus on the task at hand. The Super Ones must be somewhere in the middle of these shelves. There’s Sandman, Superman, ah ha, The Super Ones.
I slide out the last comic in the stack.
#399?
I search the surrounding stacks, thinking maybe that money-exploiting jerk hid it from me, but I can’t find it.
Here’s the part where any normal person trying not to be recognized would give up and leave. Actually, a normal person wouldn’t have disguised themselves in the first place, but that’s a whole other matter. I, being a very nonnormal person, am going to have to ask the cashier and hope he’s some college kid that won’t give me a second look.
I take another fortifying breath and walk up to the counter. The guy is bent so far over a comic I can only see the top of his head, which is covered with brown, messy hair. I make an “ahem” noise to get his attention, but he doesn’t look up. I raise my sunglasses up a little to glance at the book he’s reading. I see a full splash page of Marcus. His whole body is contorted in agony as he screams—and I know he’s screaming because the speech bubble next to his head is all pointy—“NOOOOOO!!!!” I squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting the book to be spoiled for me, but the damage is already done. I’m at the end of my rope.
“Do you have a copy of
The Super Ones
#400
?” I say, abandoning my faux-guy voice.
He finally looks up, and I recognize him. Not only do I recognize him, I
know
him. I could probably tell you what shoes he’s wearing (black and white chucks with frayed laces) even though his lower half is hidden behind the counter. I know this because he’s kind of been my geek idol for a while now and I’ve…paid attention.
Last year, he got in trouble at school because he was wearing pornography. At least, that’s what the students were told, when in reality, he was just wearing a T-shirt sporting an Adam Hughes drawing of Power Girl. Ridiculous, I know. I mean, Adam Hughes is one of the best purveyors of the female form in comics today, even if he has a tendency to overexaggerate certain body parts.
Ever since then, I’ve had a thing for Logan Scott. Not an actual
thing
since I have a boyfriend and that would be bad, but he’s got these cute freckles on his nose and cheeks, probably from playing soccer—he’s the Natchitoches Central High School’s goalie—and he’s always reading, comics mostly, but every once in a while, I’ll catch him with a high fantasy book with dragons or elves on the cover. Not that I’m stalking him or anything.
He has really nice eyes, though.
His brow furrows when he looks at me. “Sorry, we’re all out.”
“Really? What’s that?” I point at the book he’s currently stuffing under the counter.
“It’s…” He trails off as he takes in the way I’m dressed. He tilts his head to the side like he’s trying to see behind me. I whip around, thinking someone else is there, but the store is still empty. When I turn back, a knowing smile plays at the edges of his mouth. Sighing right now would be bad, but he has perfect boy-lips—not too full, not too thin.
He props his chin on his fist. “Do I know you?”
“Uh, no, I mean, I don’t think so. I’m just passing through town. I mean, I don’t live here or anything so how could you know me?” I say in a rush.
“Okay.” He squints like he can pull a confession out of me with his eyes alone. “That’s too bad, because this is the last copy.”
He pulls #400 out and waves it around, which sends electricity shooting through me because: (1) it’s right in front of my face, and I can see the amazing cover, and (2) the way he’s flopping it around is breaking the spine, which breaks my heart. You’d think a guy who works at a comic shop would be a little more careful.
Instinct kicks in, and I throw out my hands like he has a gun pointed at a puppy. He stops and lays the book on the counter between us.
“Why is it too bad?” I ask. “I’m a paying customer. I give you money, you give me #400. That’s how these things work.” I tentatively reach for #400, but he slaps his hand down flat on top of it.
“It’s too bad you’re just passing through, don’t live here, and don’t know me, because this is my copy, and if you
weren’t
just passing through, lived here, and knew me, I might let you borrow it.”
He smiles that knowing smile, and more of that electricity shoots through my body, but for completely different reasons: (1) that smile is the irresistible kind I can’t help but return, and (2) his voice has a soft, smooth quality that makes my brain turn to jelly.
I shake these thoughts from my mind when a voice in the back of my head shouts, “Quarterback boyfriend!”
“Well, by passing through, I meant visiting. I’ll probably be around for the next couple of days so I could have it back to you pretty quick.”
He scratches the back of his neck. “Hmm.”
“I promise,” I blurt out, my hands clasped together. I can’t believe I’ve been reduced to begging. “I’ll have it back to you in a couple of hours even.”
There’s that smile again. He might be adorkable, but he’s not being very nice, teasing me like this.
“We’ll be closed in a couple of hours, so I’ll give you my number, and you can call me when you’re done.”
“Perfect. No problem at all.” I nod again and again until I think I’ve given myself whiplash.
He presses a button on the cash register, and blank receipt paper rolls out of the slot on the top. He hands me #400. I devour the cover with my eyes as he rips the receipt paper off and jots down his number. When he reaches for the book again, I jerk it away, thinking
Mine!
“I just want to put this in there so you don’t lose it,” he says slowly, like he’s trying to calm a hostile beast.
“Oh.” I hand him the book. He slides the piece of paper behind the last page. “Can I get a bag? I don’t want it to get any sun damage.”
The bag might be another piece of evidence I’ll have to find a hiding place for, but I might never have the guts to come back to The Phoenix. I want a memento, darn it.
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