Unpopular Science

Chapter 10

The cinderblock walls had been repainted with the same high-gloss white paint every summer for twenty-seven years. When the afternoon sun angled in through the big round windows, the corridor became a sea of glaring light that forced most of the students to put on sunglasses in the late afternoon between classes. Looking west down the corridor, toward the language-arts wing, it was impossible to see faces.

A verbal alert system had spontaneously developed. Like the warning barks of prairie dogs, the high-school students up-hall began calling down-hall.

“Goodwin coming!”

“Goodwin!”

“Goodwin!”

A flock of varsity cheerleaders skipped into the nearest classroom, skirls rising just enough to reveal their school-board-sanctioned thong panties. Every freshman and sophomore flattened against the wall and stared at his or her feet. Even the knot of senior girls, furtively planning a hazing ceremony for the junior j girls, hastily gave way to Goodwin.

Goodwin came, his footsteps shaking the hall, his shadow gigantic in front of him. He was vaguely satisfied with the performance of the student body. Somehow they always knew when he was angry and needed his space.

At the moment he was extremely angry, and when his eyes fell on the person who had made him angry, he became angrier.

The jerk kid was standing there talking to his girlfriend as though he hadn’t even heard the warnings. He had his back to Goodwin. Nobody turned their back on Neil Goodwin!

“Hey, you! Fast!”

Jack Fast glanced over his shoulder. “Hey, Neil. Be with you in a second.”

The skinny kid with the sun-bleached crew cut turned back to his girlfriend and continued his conversation. The girlfriend giggled.

“Hey, Fast Fucker, I’m talking to you!”

Jack Fast stopped and, without hurrying up about it, turned around. “What’s the problem, Neil?”

“Yes, Mr. Goodwin, what is the problem?”

Goodwin was startled at the appearance of Mr. Cescepi at his shoulder. Dean Cescepi was the one guy in the entire school who could intimidate Neil Goodwin.

‘This is between him and me. Dean,” Goodwin explained.

“Really? The last time you told me that was just before you slugged Tom Newton in the stomach.”

“You can’t prove I did that,” Goodwin declared.

“But I know you did,” Dean Cescepi said, then gave Jack the once-over. “Mr. Fast is a little big for you, isn’t he, Goodwin? Don’t you usually sucker punch kids half your size?”

Goodwin simmered and clenched his fists at his sides.

“Go for it, Goodwin.” Dean Cescepi smirked. Goodwin had heard the stories about Cescepi. Cescepi was said to have killed someone, literally wrung his neck when the guy tried to steal his wife’s purse in a city park. And the other guy had used a gun.

“Come on, Goodwin,” the dean goaded. “You know you want to. Look at me—I’m not bigger than Fast.” Neil Goodwin felt the urge. He did want a piece of Cescepi. That prick had been giving him grief for three long years….

“Holy smokes, you guys! There’s no reason to get into a fight.”

Neil Goodwin and Dean Cescepi turned to Jack Fast, who was wearing his goofy smile on his freckled face. “You jokers! You’re just putting me on with all that tough talk.”

Dean Cescepi grinned. Fast was inane. Some sort of idiot savant. Faced with that level of sunshiny dorkiness, who could stay angry?

“That’s right, we’re just putting you on. Aren’t we, Mr. Goodwin?”

Goodwin shifted from foot to foot. “Yeah. Just jokin’.”

“Carry on, gentlemen,” the dean said, and he wandered down the corridor just far enough so he could keep an eye on the situation.

Neil Goodwin sneered at Fast, aware that the dean’s footsteps had not carried him far off. “You the dean’s pet now, Fast Fucker?”

“What can I do for you, Neil?”

“We need to talk about what you did in calculus today.”

“I give up. What did I do?”

Goodwin snorted. “The test. Remember the test?”

“Sure.”

“You aced it.”

“Yes.”

“Don’t act stupid, Fast. Those tests were graded on a curve, and you threw it all off. I failed the test because of you!”

“Oh, give me a break!” interjected Nancy Fielding, Fast’s girlfriend. She was extremely attractive, a curious combination of retro clean-cut and sexy. Her tailored linen blazer was worn over a silk halter top that exposed a vast span of beautiful stomach. How the hell did Fast rate a piece of hot ass like that?

“This is the thing,” Goodwin said. “I fail calculus and I won’t have the GPA I need to get into the old man’s fraternity. One more F is all it will take.”

“Sorry to hear it.” Fast was still grinning.

“You’re not getting the picture,” Goodwin insisted.

“Oh, we all get the picture, Neil,” Nancy declared loudly enough for everyone in the vicinity to hear her, and everybody turned to stare. “You’re pissed off because Jack won’t stoop to your level of stupidity.” Then she laughed. Up and down the hall people saw Neil Goodwin being laughed at by the hottest babe in the entire school.

Goodwin’s face was on fire.

“Why, you’re turning red as a cherry, Neil!” Nancy exclaimed in delight, and Fast just stood there smiling like some dork from the cover of the June 1955 issue of Boy’s Life.

Goodwin exerted all his self-control in an effort to not put his fist in both their faces.

“I think we need to talk again. Fast,” Goodwin growled. “Tonight. On the football field.”

“Okay, Neil. How does 6:45 sound?” Fast said. He turned to Nancy. “We’ll still have time to make it to the movies by 7:30.”

“Sure.” Nancy rewarded Fast with an adoring smile.

“See you then. Bye, Neil!”

They were gone. Neil Goodwin was pretty sure he hadn’t intimidated them as he had intended to.

Tonight he would show that slick piece of shit and his prissy slut just how intimidating he could be—and they sure as shit were not going to make the 7:30 movie.

Sometimes Dean Alain Cescepi wondered if Jack Fast was for real. The kid lived in a different world. He was some sort of an intellectual genius but he came across as utterly naive, too. He was the only student Cescepi could remember in twenty years who used the word “gosh.”

And yet Fast had something going for him, on top of the perfect GPA. People gravitated to him. He was the certified nerd who somehow managed to be cool. Not to mention he had managed to rope Nancy Fielding, the most delectable barely-legal in the history of Larchwill High School.

Dean Cescepi didn’t know what to expect at the scheduled meeting between Jack Fast and the designated big dumb bully of the current graduating class, Neil Goodwin. Fast was a mystery. Goodwin was powerful and egocentric and stupid enough to kill somebody.

No matter what, it would be interesting.

Cescepi was crouched in the announcer’s booth at the top of the bleachers at 6:30 when Goodwin showed up with his loose-knit gang of buddies from the football team. There wasn’t an average IQ in the lot, but most of them were smart enough to be nervous. After all, they were all seniors, all bound for college on nonacademic merits. And even sports scholarships required that you actually finish high school.

Two decades of high-school administration and you got to know what kind of kids there were and how they would behave in a given situation. Cescepi knew this bunch was on the verge of doing something that even they knew was stupid. But why had Jack Fast agreed to this meeting? Jack Fast didn’t fit into any easy classification.

Hell, Cescepi thought, Fast would not show at all if he was really smart.

At 6:43 Jack and Nancy pulled into the nearby lot and came into the football field. She was clinging to his arm and they were laughing like lovers on a moonlit stroll.

Goodwin was standing on the fifty-yard line, looking stern. “This ain’t no laughing matter, Fast Fucker.” Nancy Fielding giggled at Goodwin, and Cescepi saw the kid stiffen.

“Oh, dear, you’re getting all red, again, Neil!” Nancy cried. “Did Neil tell you about this afternoon?” she asked his gang of buddies. “He was red as a cherry!”

Goodwin bellowed, “What do you think we oughtta do about this situation. Fast?”

“About you getting embarrassed whenever Nancy is around?” Jack asked innocently.

“About the damn calc test! I cannot fail another damn calc test!”

“Maybe you should study,” Jack suggested. Cescepi knew Goodwin had no intention of negotiating with Fast. He was simply psyching himself up to attack the boy. Eventually, Goodwin raised a fist.

“Knock it off, Neil! There’s no need to get into a fight about this.”

Cescepi shook his head, amazed. That kid was still smiling as if he didn’t know what was about to hit him.

Then Goodwin struck. Nancy screamed. Jack Fast raised his own arm to defend himself, but his arm moved extraordinarily fast, knocking Goodwin’s punch back the way it had come.

“Aw, gee, I’m sorry, Neil,” Fast said.

“You broke my fucking arm! You son of a fucking bitch, you broke my fucking arm!”

Cescepi couldn’t quite believe his eyes. Goodwin’s right arm was indeed wobbling at an unnatural angle. He was on his knees on the artificial turf, holding it. “Oh, that’s terrible,” Fast said. “It’s an elbow break, too.”

“You’re hyperextended,” Nancy pointed out helpfully. “The whole joint failed. You’re going to need to have the joint replaced.”

“Huh?” Goodwin grunted, confused and in pain.

“They can work miracles with stainless steel,” Nancy said. “Three or four surgeries, maybe eighteen months of physical therapy, and you’ll be able to write your name again.”

“I guess you’re not gonna get that football scholarship, though,” Fast said regretfully.

Goodwin looked as if he had been slapped, understanding dawning in his mulelike eyes.

Of course. No college was going to give a football scholarship to a kid who couldn’t play football. Even if he could pick up a ball again in eighteen months, there would be no place to play, so he’d never get a chance at another scholarship.

Neil Goodwin’s future had been crushed and ruined along with his elbow joint.

Goodwin launched himself at Jack Fast, rising off the turf with a bellow that was part pain, part rage, and his ruined arm flopped at his side while his good arm sought Fast’s throat.

Jack Fast blocked Goodwin, just as he had before, but the forearm blow was so powerful it sent Goodwin’s arm flying around his back, shattering most of the bones of his forearm and wrist. Goodwin collapsed, moaning.

Goodwin’s friends were getting agitated.

“Maybe one of you should call an ambulance,” Nancy suggested.

The boys looked at one another, then one of them remembered his cell phone. He yanked it out, then looked at Nancy questioningly. Actually, he was looking at the slight scoop in the very low front of her low-ride jeans.

“Nine,” she suggested.

He looked up at her face, then at his phone, nodded and poked a button.

“One,” Nancy said.

He nodded again, poked the phone, looked at Nancy.

“One.”

“I already did one.”

“You need to do another one.”

“Oh.”

He poked it and began conversing with the emergency dispatch. Goodwin’s moans were becoming sobs.

“That was a pretty good block, Jack,” said one of Goodwin’s buddies.

“Thanks, Larry.”

“Maybe you should have played football.”

“Aw, jeez, thanks, but I’m not that good.”

“Okay,” said the boy with the cell phone. “Thanks a lot. No, no hurry.” He closed the phone and looked triumphantly at Nancy. “They’ll be here in a while.”

“How long?” Goodwin gasped.

“I don’t know. They’ve got some real emergencies to get to first. Not like you got anything else to do— for the rest of your life.”

The boy guffawed and gave Nancy a thumbs-up. She rewarded him with a smile that he never forgot, then Jack said, “Sorry we can’t stay. We’ve got a 7:30 movie to catch.”

“Jack, wait!”

Dean Cescepi jogged up as they were getting into Jack’s car.

“I was up in the booth. I saw what happened.”

“Oh, Christ,” Nancy Fielding exclaimed. “You’re not going to get all legal on him, are you?”

Cescepi smirked. “Ms. Fielding, Jack was only defending himself from Mr. Goodwin’s assaults, as I plainly witnessed. But I have got to know, Jack—” Cescepi was grinning conspiratorially “—how’d you do it?”

Jack smiled. “East German judo.”

Cescepi’s grin faltered.

“Freedom-fighters in East Germany developed it in the 1960s. My dad taught it to me.”

“East German judo?”

“Okay, how did you really do it?” Nancy asked when they were driving away.

Jack held out his right arm. “Pull off my sleeve.”

Nancy pulled the sleeve of his windbreaker off and gasped. Jack’s arm looked artificial, smooth and plastic and swollen to twice its normal girth.

“What is it?”

“Human amplification technology. I found the plans on the MIT website.”

Nancy stroked the arm. “Pneumatics?” she asked.

“No. Too slow and bulky. It’s magnetic fibers in flexible resin. Electrical currents make the fibers constrict. You bunch them together to imitate muscles.”

“Wow,” Nancy said, enjoying the feel of the arm. “What other kinds of human amplification can you do with this stuff?”

“Any kind,” Fast said, but it took him a few seconds to see where she was heading. “Oh!”

They never made it to the 7:30 showing of Charlie’s Angels in the Matrix.