<I was looking at her abs,> Smokey finally declared defiantly. <That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.>
We both kind of chortled at that, and as I broke the telepathic connection, I realized that Avis was speaking to us.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered. “What were you saying?”
“I was asking what was on your agenda for today,” Avis said. “Are you heading back home soon?”
“Actually, Vestibule and her cousin invited us to brunch,” I answered, “which means we should probably eat something light as well.”
“Speak for yourself,” Smokey declared. “I woke up early to finish a paper, and I’m famished.”
“A paper?” Avis repeated. “What kind of paper?”
“History,” Smokey replied. “Jim and I–”
“Oh, snap!” I yelled, and then teleported.
Chapter 7
My visit to my grandmother’s homeworld of Caeles had ultimately had numerous effects on my life. For instance – in addition to getting saddled with a fiancée – my escapades there had also involved me crossing a temporal rogue, who at one point stranded me in the planet’s far past. I had managed to get back to the present, but not before encountering a future version of myself.
With respect to Earth, my time off-planet meant that I had necessarily missed time in school. Thus, when I came back, I was behind academically. However, rather than have me try to play catch-up, my mentor Mouse just decided to take over my schooling.
Likewise, Smokey missed significant class time during that same period (the full story of which I still hadn’t gotten yet). As with me, Mouse decided to step in. Long story short, we were both essentially being home-schooled.
On the day of the costume party, we’d actually had a history paper due. Mouse, showing more leniency than normal, had extended the deadline until the following morning. Sadly, I had pretty much put it out of my mind until Smokey mentioned it. Now, of course, I had to scramble.
After teleporting from the kitchen, I popped up in my room in the penthouse. Noting that I only had about ten minutes left before my work was due, I dashed into the study at super speed, frantically searching until I came across what I was looking for: a notepad and pen.
I had, on at least one prior occasion, tried to bang out a paper at the last minute by typing at super speed. All I succeeded in doing was destroying a keyboard that wasn’t meant to take the kind of abuse that comes from fingers pounding away at Mach speed. Mouse had offered to provide me with a specially designed keyboard that could withstand that kind of treatment, but I hadn’t taken him up on it yet.
In short, I had to write the paper by hand. Unfortunately, it took longer than expected, for various reasons. (For example, I was actually writing faster than it took the ink to dry, which meant that I inadvertently smeared it a couple of times and had to start over.) Eventually, however, I got it done. Then, after switching back to normal speed, I tore the completed pages off the notepad and teleported to Alpha League HQ.
***
I popped up in Mouse’s lab, a spacious room at HQ populated by numerous large worktables, incredibly sophisticated computer equipment, and monitors showing a continuous stream of data.
Mouse himself was nearby, fiddling with a piece of equipment on one of the worktables. Contrary to what his name implied, he was a big guy – roughly six-three in height and muscular, but not oversized like a lot of bodybuilders seem to be. Dressed in jeans and a dark thermal shirt, he merely glanced in my direction after I appeared.
“Well, this is a pleasant surprise,” he remarked as he continued working.
Striding over quickly, I laid my disorderly sheaf of papers on the table next to him, saying, “There you go.”
Mouse stopped what he was doing and picked up the pages. For a second, he ran his finger along the perforated top of the pages, where I had torn them out of the notepad. His disapproval was obvious, but he didn’t make a comment. He then began flipping through what I’d written.
“This was supposed to be typed,” he noted as he perused my work.
“Was it?” I asked with raised eyebrows. “I don’t think I got that memo.”
“Ten points off,” Mouse said, tossing the pages back onto the table.
“Oh, come on,” I groaned. “You’re choosing form over substance. That’s a great paper, written or typed.”
“There are the seeds of some great thoughts in it, but from what I can tell they never get fully developed. Instead you just pile on a bunch of facts about the requisite time period, which results in you giving me a history lesson rather than any original thought, which is what I was after.”
“Man, you are hardcore. Anywhere else, that’s an ‘A’ paper.”
“Done with ‘B’ effort,” he added. “You wrote this, what – maybe five minutes ago?”
I just looked at him for a moment, then sighed. “More like two.”
“That’s sad coming from someone with your abilities,” he noted. “And I’m not talking about your powers.”
I simply nodded and looked down at the floor. I loved Mouse; he was like the big brother I’d never had, and his disapproval always stung.
“Fine,” I finally muttered. “I’ll do better.”
“I know you will,” Mouse stated. “Because next time, it’ll be twenty points off.”
We both laughed at that, and I found myself thankful, as always, that Mouse had a great sense of humor.
“So,” he droned. “The party?”
“Lots of fun,” I replied, without going into detail. “Thanks for suggesting I bring Smokey.”
Mouse shrugged. “You needed a wingman; he needed to get out of HQ… Seemed like a good fit. I’m sure you would have thought of it yourself, but I understand you had other things on your mind.”
His comment actually downplayed the facts. With my immediate family leaving Earth, my girlfriend breaking up with me, and a titular fiancée to look after, having “things
