Billy: Messenger of Powers Read online

  The feeling of relief disappeared, however, when he cast a quick glance back into Mrs. Russet’s room.

  Once again, the teacher was holding the ceramic frog.

  Once again, she seemed to be whispering to it.

  And once again, Billy thought it winked at him.

  Billy turned and walked quickly away, not knowing what else to do.

  He did know, however, that this was the strangest day he could ever remember having, and that nothing could possibly top it.

  Looking back, however, Billy would later think that he had only been half right about that.

  CHAPTER THE SECOND

  In Which Billy begins a Very Strange fourteenth birthday, and first Fights back…

  Billy’s birthday fell on a day that was more than two months into the school year. It was in late October. This meant that he was one of the youngest kids in his class. If he’d been born one month later, he wouldn’t have started school until the following year, making him one of the oldest kids in his grade. But as it was, his relative youth made his already-small frame even smaller when compared to his classmates’ comparatively robust physiques.

  Most of the time this didn’t bother Billy too much. But it did mean that he could fit in a locker. And Cameron Black was only too happy to remind Billy of this fact at every opportunity.

  Since that strange first day of school, things had proceeded fairly normally for Billy. He was getting mostly average grades, which his parents were satisfied with, if not overly excited about. But he was definitely getting above-average levels of attention from what Billy was coming to think of as the Torture Brigade. It had, of course, Harold Crane in it, as well as Sarah Brookham, a girl he’d accidentally spilled his milk on one day, and a few other people whom Billy had annoyed by having the audacity to live on the same planet they did.

  And it went without saying that the founding member of the Torture Brigade was Cameron Black. He was in four of Billy’s six classes, and seemed to figure in every minute of Billy’s life. The locker-stuffing didn’t occur every single day, but Billy could be sure that every single day would bring some new agony at Cameron’s hands. It ranged in severity. Some days, Cameron settled for throwing dirty looks at Billy in the halls. Others, there would be a foot waiting to trip him at just the most embarrassing moment possible. And on others, Billy would be grabbed by the Torture Brigade and stuffed into an empty locker. Cameron said the same thing every time the locker-stuffing happened: don’t move until the bell, and don’t tell anyone I did it.

  On the morning of Billy’s birthday, he woke up the same as he did every other morning: wondering what the Torture Brigade was going to do to him today. This time, however, he had the added bonus of waking up to the sight of fire.

  For a moment, Billy’s sleep-fogged brain was not able to figure out the significance of the flame, and he almost went screaming out of the room looking for a fire extinguisher before he realized what the fire was: a candle. It was stuck in a blueberry muffin, which was being held only a few inches in front of his face by his mother as she sang “Happy Birthday” to him.

  Billy sat up in bed and grinned wearily at his mom as she finished the song. His mother was a bit overweight, and had probably never been a beauty queen. But her face was kind, and usually had a smile for Billy, like it did now.

  Billy looked around. “Dad?” he asked.

  His mom’s smile faltered for just a moment. “He had to go in early today, honey. A bunch of the other guys called in sick.”

  Billy smiled sadly, not wanting to add to the obvious distress her mother felt at his development. Neither of his parents made much money, because they weren’t very educated: Billy knew that they hadn’t even finished high school, though both of them had eventually taken high school equivalency tests that essentially allowed them to say they had graduated. His father had gone on to take some night school classes at a nearby community college while working day shifts as a janitor in an office building, and when Billy was ten his father had finally gotten a two-year degree. His father had then continued his nocturnal education, this time taking classes to become a certified paramedic, and only a few months before had managed to land a job with the Los Angeles Fire Department. This was great news, because it meant that for the first time in Billy’s life his family was making enough money to cover expenses. But it was also terrible news because now his father was on call whenever he wasn’t working overtime, trying to dig the family out of a huge load of debt that had accumulated over the years.

  Not that it mattered, Billy supposed. Even when he was home, his father was so busy and overworked that he rarely said anything or participated much in the family’s doings. It was almost like Billy was living with a stranger instead of a dad: someone courteous and helpful in a pinch, but not often there, and certainly not his first pick to talk over one’s troubles with, be they a lack of stylish clothing, girls, or anything else. In spite of all this, though, Billy still wished things could be different when his father missed a birthday or had to cancel on a family outing. Which was most of the time.

  Billy blew out the candle.

  “What did you wish for?” asked Billy’s mother, then waved her hands in mock terror. “No, don’t tell me, don’t tell me!” she yelled. “It won’t come true if you do!”

  Billy smiled and forced a laugh. He wasn’t about to tell her what he’d wished for: either a set of huge arms that he could use to beat Cameron Black to a pulp, or failing that, just for a day that Cameron and the Torture Brigade were all sick at the same time, allowing him to get from class to class for a full eight hours without feeling like he was exploring a nuclear waste site in his underwear.

  After the muffin was done, Billy’s mother fed him a big breakfast. Billy ate most of it before his mother screamed, “Oh, it’s seven-thirty! We’ll both be late!” He and his mother got in their car—a beat-up fifteen-year-old rust bucket that usually worked—and she dropped him off at the main student entrance on the way to her job as a checker at the local grocery store.

  Billy went to his locker and got his books for his first and second classes. He kept an eye out for the Torture Brigade, but strangely, none of them were around.

  First period went fine. Mrs. Russet was as hard a teacher as she had claimed to be that first day, but had never brought out any ceramic toads again, and had never mentioned the strange interview of Billy’s first day.

  Second period, too, was fine. This was unusual, since it was one of the classes that Cameron shared with Billy, and Billy could always count on at the very least a few wads of paper being thrown at his face during class.

  But nothing happened.

  Nothing out of the ordinary happened in Billy’s third class, either. Or his fourth. Or rather, nothing happened that hurt or scared or embarrassed him in any way, which actually was out of the ordinary for Billy. But he didn’t mind this kind of unusual lack of activity a bit.

  Billy began to smile a little. Maybe birthday wishes could come true after all.

  He smiled even more when he saw what was on the menu for the school cafeteria at lunch: hot dogs and French fries. Billy’s favorite cafeteria dish. His family qualified for free lunches from the school, since they didn’t make very much money. Usually this meant that Billy was eating something that everyone called “Salisbury steak” but that he was pretty sure was actually cardboard and paste shaped into a patty and drenched in some kind of sauce that was made out of old tree bark. But hot dogs and French fries were good stuff.

  Billy grabbed a lunch tray and got in line. As usual, he was alone in the cafeteria. Not that there were no other students in the room with him. Just he wasn’t standing “with” any of them. He was on friendly terms with a few kids in the school, but none of them were actual “friends” of the type he could sit with during lunch. Especially since the Torture Brigade had let it be known early on that any friends of Billy’s would risk their wrath. In spite of this separation from the other students, however, Billy gene
rally found a way to enjoy his lunch: sitting at the end of one of the long cafeteria tables, he could pretend he was actually with whatever kids were sitting at that table, instead of just sitting near them.

  Suddenly, he heard a chilling whisper in his ear. “I heard today’s your birthday, Billy-willy.”

  Billy’s blood immediately stopped circulating in his body. He knew Cameron’s voice better than he knew his own. He started to turn, but stopped when Cameron whispered, “Don’t even think about it, shrimp.”

  Billy felt a sharp pain in his right calf. He blanched. The pain came again. Cameron was kicking the backs of his legs with horrendous power. Right there in front of everyone!

  Billy saw a teacher standing only a few feet away. Mrs. Russet was on monitor duty today, but she had her back turned. Billy thought about yelling for her, but knew from experience that Cameron would put on an innocent face and the teacher wouldn’t see anything happening, so would ignore Billy’s complaints.

  Cameron started singing in Billy’s ear, punctuating each word with another snap-kick to the backs of Billy’s calves. “Happy [slam] Birth-day [slam] to [slam] you [slam]. Happy [slam] Birth-day [slam] to [slam] you….”

  The kicks grew harder and harder, and Billy grit his teeth, praying for Mrs. Russet to turn around and catch Cameron in the act. But she didn’t, and the pain in Billy’s legs grew worse and worse, until finally he did the only thing he could think to do.

  He dropped his lunch tray.

  His hot dog and fries scattered across the floor, causing more than a few nearby students to scream and jump away as though the food were battery acid.

  Mrs. Russet turned at the clatter. She frowned over Billy’s shoulder.

  Billy’s heart leapt. She was clearly frowning at Cameron! Finally, someone had actually seen the Torture Brigade’s leader at work.

  In the next moment, his heart sank back down to its previous level, and then continued on a downward spiral, coming to rest on his big toe.

  Cameron wasn’t standing behind Billy.

  In fact, the bigger boy wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

  The student now standing behind Billy was one of the seniors at PHHS: one of the Older Kids who ruled the school and didn’t even notice Billy’s existence.

  Billy turned around and jumped: Mrs. Russet was standing right there.

  “For goodness sake, Mr. Jones, I volunteered for lunch duty until one o’clock. Are you going to make me late?” With that, Billy realized that Mrs. Russet hadn’t been looking at Cameron. She’d been looking at the large clock on the wall behind Billy.

  Billy mumbled, “No, Ma’am,” then stooped to clean up his mess.

  Mrs. Russet waved him away. “No, no. Just go get another tray. The custodian will clean all this up.”

  Billy turned to leave, then halted when he heard Mrs. Russet say, “But don’t you stand in line all the way through again. Just get a tray, cut in front to get your lunch, and go through to the cashier.” Billy turned, shocked at this unexpected display of friendliness. To his even greater surprise, Mrs. Russet was smiling. Or, well, actually, not smiling. Billy was pretty sure the muscles in her face wouldn’t be able to smile if you offered her a million dollars for a grin. But she wasn’t frowning, either, which was the closest thing to a smile he’d ever seen Mrs. Russet do.

  His suspicions that she was actually being nice were confirmed by her next words. “Happy birthday, Mr. Jones.”

  Billy smiled in amazement before turning away to get his tray. By the time he was back at the front of the line again, Mrs. Russet was gone and the spill had been cleaned up. There was no sign that anything had ever happened here.

  Billy frowned. That reminded him. Where was Cameron? Billy had been positive that Cameron was the one whispering to him. But where was the bigger boy?

  Billy showed his lunch pass to the cashier, who nodded him through, and continued into the cafeteria, craning his neck to see if he could find Cameron’s face among the swarming throng of students.

  The bigger boy was nowhere to be seen.

  Billy sat in silence, positioning himself near the door to the cafeteria so that he could see the students coming in and out. Cameron was not among them. Billy started to doubt that any of it had ever happened. But when he raised his pants legs and looked at his calves, he could already see a row of deep purple bruises. The kicking at least had really occurred.

  Finally, it was time for Billy to go to his locker and collect his books for his fifth-period class. He dumped out his uneaten lunch—he had completely lost his interest in food because of his curiosity as to where Cameron could have gone—then walked into the hall and up the stairs to the second floor hall where his locker was located. At the locker, he spun the combination lock to the first number.

  Before he could spin the dial to its next location, he heard a sound that again made his blood turn to dust in his veins.

  “Happy Birth-day to you…”

  Billy swung around as fast as he could. This time, he saw what he had expected to see the first time: Cameron Black, grinning evilly from ear to ear. And not just him, either. The entire Torture Brigade was there in full force. Harold Crane stood behind Cameron, his thick arms crossed across his broad chest, his hair now died booger-green. Sarah Brookham was there as well, dirty blonde hair straggling across her face as her mouth worked up and down, chewing gum at world-record-setting pace.

  Cameron shoved Billy up against his locker. “Try and get me in trouble, will you?” He pushed into Billy, leaning his whole body weight on the smaller boy. “Try and get old Russet to see me, huh?”

  Billy gasped. It was getting hard to breathe. Cameron gave Billy a quick shake, causing Billy’s head to snap back and hit his locker. Billy cried out quietly, his eyes crossing for a moment.

  “Leave him alone!”

  Cameron turned his head, not letting go of Billy, and Billy sagged as he saw the worst thing he could imagine seeing in this situation: Blythe Forrest.

  Blythe was in three of Billy’s classes, but since their first strange encounter she had never spoken to Billy. And now here she was, apparently taking an interest in him for the first time, and doing so because he needed rescuing. Billy would rather have been beaten up every single day and twice a day on Sundays than have Blythe coming to his rescue. Blissful fantasies that involved him asking her to come over to his place to watch a movie and ended in her declaring her undying love to him all shattered before his eyes. Girls didn’t declare undying love to the little kid they had to rescue. It just wasn’t done.

  “Stay out of this, Forrest,” snarled Cameron, turning his attention to Billy.

  “Why should I, Black?” responded Blythe, striding fearlessly toward them.

  Billy, watching this interplay, found Blythe even prettier now that she was standing up to Cameron. Of course, she was still rescuing him, so her increased beauty just made Billy more depressed about his overall predicament.

  Cameron turned around to face Blythe again. Harold Crane and Sarah Brookham both moved as if to stop Blythe, but Cameron stopped them with a glance. “Don’t,” he said to his cronies.

  Blythe glanced at the two other Torture Brigaders, disgust written large across her lovely face. “Yes, don’t,” she agreed. “You wouldn’t like what would happen to you.” She turned her gaze to Cameron. “Would they, Cam?”

  Cameron growled, and Billy could feel the big boy tense. He was sure that Cameron was about to spring at Blythe.

  Billy had one fleeting moment of thought, and it consisted of only two words: “Not her!” Suddenly terrified for Blythe’s safety, Billy shoved Cameron, hard.

  Coming from someone Billy’s size, the shove wasn’t much. In fact, Billy was so bad at shoving he actually missed. He was aiming to push Cameron in the chest, but his grip slipped, and he lurched forward, off-balance. His arms windmilled, and there was a sickening crunch as Billy’s out-of-control elbow planted itself firmly in the middle of Cameron’s nose.

  Blo
od erupted from the other boy’s face. Cameron cupped his hand below his nose, trying in vain to keep the red liquid from soaking his designer shirt.

  “You made me bleed,” he said. Oddly, he didn’t sound angry. More…surprised than anything.

  Billy looked at Blythe. She, too, looked shocked, her gaze riveted on Cameron’s ruined face.

  “MR. BLACK!”

  It was Mrs. Russet. She was hurrying down the hallway like a freight train hauling anvils down a steep hill, an unstoppable force.

  Billy sighed in relief. Cameron couldn’t pretend nothing had happened this time. He was snuffling like a walrus with a head cold, blood soaking his shirt in a widening red cone.

  Mrs. Russet looked at Harold and Sarah. “Leave,” she barked. The two junior members of the Torture Brigade showed rare intelligence as they high-tailed it as fast as they could.

  Mrs. Russet looked at Billy, then at Cameron. She swiveled at last to Blythe. “What happened?” she demanded.

  Blythe appeared barely able to speak. “He…,” she pointed to Billy. “He… hit Cameron.”

  Mrs. Russet made a noise deep in her throat, something between a cough and a guffaw. “That’s not possible,” she said. She looked at Billy and Cameron again. “Is that true?” she demanded of Cameron.

  “Well,” managed the bigger boy. “I don’t think he meant to. It was just a lucky accident for him.”

  “Lucky? Lucky?” The word seemed to enrage Mrs. Russet even more. “Get out of here, Black!” Cameron turned to go. “You, too, Ms. Forrest.” Blythe hesitated a moment, but Mrs. Russet’s furiously flashing eyes convinced her to go.

  “And you,” she said angrily, grabbing Billy by the shoulder, “you come with me.”

  She yanked him down the hall with her.