The Unfortunate Story of Roddy Mayhem - Julie Steimle (best large ebook reader txt) 📗

out of my room!” Morgan pointed to the open door.

Piranha shook her head, and so did Wispy who was staring at the ceiling.

“What are you looking at?” He shouted and peeked up also with intense suspicion.

“Package delivery,” Spastic said, grinning the widest of us all.

Morgan’s eyes shot down on him as if his existence offended him the most. “What?”

That’s when my sleeping bag fell through the roof, along with an avalanche of all their things—right on top of him and the bed.

Piranha’s makeup case flew open, face powder everywhere. Bottles of lotions, and nail polish and other girly do-hickeys tumbled down. Piranha caught what she could—though she did not bother to stop anything from hitting Morgan first.

He screamed.

But then came Wispy’s things, and Spastic’s. His entire tie collection fell on top of Morgan like a colorful rain. I had never been so happy to see so many bow ties, honestly—especially the huge polka-dotted clown tie. And when the rain of Wispy’s clothes and jewelry had finally finished falling on top of Morgan’s face and down his shirt, the girls gathering up their things into their skirts with gleeful giggles, Spastic claiming all his ties. I grabbed up my sleeping bag and shook out the beach sand that was on it. It smelled the same—of seaweed and surf. It was glorious. It was also a little damp. I would have to find a place to air it out.

“I’ll get you for that!” Morgan screamed, mentally upheaving everything we were trying to collect—or trying to. There was a lot of stuff.

“You’re the one who dumped ink on my bed,” I shot back. “Besides, we were just getting our stuff from home. How were we to know it would land on you?”

Wispy grinned at me, as she knew exactly how we knew. After all, we told them to dump on that bed. Both gals stepped out of their room with their arms full. They shared a look and said, “Through the floor?” “Through the floor.”

With nods, they both sank through the floor, undoubtedly coming out the ceiling and then through the next floor. Honestly, none of us ever did that kind of thing in full view of other people before. It had been our secret. But here, we knew everyone knew we could do it, so… why not?

Spastic poked Morgan in the belly button with a “Boop”—startling him enough to mentally lose control of the things he was telekinetically moving. Then Spastic dashed out of the room across the hall to his own room. I was left alone with the raging Buttman who seethed at me.

I grinned back, shoving my sleeping bag onto my bed and my hands into my pockets. “Look, I don’t want to fight you. But if I have to, I will. I know Mr. Wilderman doesn’t want us sparring and all but—”

Morgan swung his fist out at me.

I dodged.

He swung at me again.

I ducked out.

He swiped his leg under my feet, and I hopped in midair, keeping off the ground. Then he mentally threw his mattress at me.

I let it go through me.

The mattress crashed heavily against the far closets. I looked back at them and then quickly to Morgan who finally landed a punch in my stomach.

“You unleashed the demon,” he hissed in my ear.

I grabbed his wrist, not allowing him to pull back, hissing back, “Oh yeah? Well you aren’t much of one. The freakiest demon I ever met was half imp—and she had ripped a man’s heart out of his chest for attacking a friend. Don’t make me call her here.”

Morgan paled. He staggered from me when I let go of him. Somehow he could tell I had not lied. Of course he did not know that I couldn’t actually call Eve over her to New York to handle a bully for me, but the idea was nice.

He rushed out of the room, tripping over his feet. I could hear his imps screaming for him to warn everyone that Tom Brown had brought a devil to the school.

And to be honest, that stung.

Devil child. It wasn’t the first time I had heard that.

Beginning of the End

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Nine

 

 

I wasn’t summoned to Mr. Wilderman’s office as I had expected, and I did not sleep in my bed that night either. But neither had Morgan Butthurt. I think he had crashed in another room somewhere, too terrified of me. However, I did sleep in my somewhat soggy sleeping bag, back in Rick Deacon’s pajamas which I had extracted from the suitcase which I had put back into the wall. I had strung up the sleeping bag like a hammock, and when the morning bell woke me—me totally jet-lagging groggy—I felt like dying.

“That’s a weird way to sleep,” said a tall guy standing in the doorway whom I did not know. He looked like he was in his twenties, normal human, and cheery. “So you’re one of the newbies, huh?”

Unzipping the bag, I rolled out and flopped into the air, my wings holding me aloft so I would not crash into the ground. The guy drew in a breath, staring at me with wide eyes.

“So the rumors are true…. More guys like Tom Brown.” He didn’t sound upset about it though. In his face there was an incorrigible cheerfulness which, I realized, was unnatural. Was this dude cursed with optimism?

“No, not cursed with optimism,” he said, grinning at me. “I’m empatelepathic.”

I stared.

He smiled more. “I can feel and hear positive thoughts and feelings from people. And you, my friend, are full of hope.”

Damn. He was an incurable optimist. And I liked him. I stuck out a hand. “Roddy Mayhem.”

He grasped my hand with a wider grin. Immediately I felt as if I had been plunged into an icy room, dark thoughts surging through me. It felt as if all my hope was being sucked from me like water out of a drain.

I jerked my hand back from his grip.

The guy licked his lips, smirking at me now. “Oh, and I also thrive on the stuff.”

He then walked away.

I was shaking. His imps were cackling at the prank that was just pulled on me. The dude was not an empa-whatever-pathic. He was a leech that sucked out positive thought… like a Harry Potter dementor. Of course he was cheery all the time. He stole happiness from others.

I hated him.

Spastic trudged into my room, his face drawn as if he had been crying. That was not like Spastic at all, and I knew immediately what had happened.

I grabbed him. “Oh! Hey! It was just that dementor-jerk. Let me find you some chocolate.” I then called to the imps to steal some for us.

But Spastic shook his head as three fat chocolate bars landed on his head. He grabbed one, muttering as he tore open the wrapper, “No. I mean, yes I touched that soul sucker dude… but my roommate. He hates me.”

I stared at him. “So does mine.”

Yet he continued to shake his head. “No. Not the same. Your roommate is a nasty pile of dog vomit. My roommate is just terrified of me. He’s a mafi—a guy hiding from the Italian mob. And he says I look like Antonio Pisco—this dude who shot his school teacher. I mean, I’m a likable guy, right? But his imps are shaking like they were peeing their pants and saying stuff to call me—like they are also scared of me.

I rolled my eyes, “Imps are not that smart, Spastic. They absorb the negative attitudes of the host sometimes. That’s why there are evil ones.”

“I know.” He shook his head more, adjusting his crooked tie. He took a big bite of his chocolate, talking from the side of his mouth. “But the dude’s imps just, like, you know are seriously of the same mind as he is. They’re not thinking I’m one of them. I don’t get it.”

I gave him a noogie, taking up my own chocolate bar, feeling for the horns that weren’t there—jealous, to be honest, that he didn’t have any. “Dude. Don’t let it get you down. At least he won’t pull pranks on you at night.”

A smirk crooked up in the corner of his mouth. “Did your roomie come back?”

I shook my head, opening my chocolate wrapper. “Nope. I told the guy about Eve and—”

“How she can rip your heart out with her fingers?” Spastic looked impressed with me, as I had told him all about what Eve and Tom had done for me while we were on the plane over there. “Classic! And perfect too, because you know, if she were your friend, she might do it.”

I grinned. It was kind of nice to have a scary friend to fall back on. Admittedly, think that was why Spastic and the rest liked being part of the Unseelie Gang. It was a kind of protection from the outside world.

“Hit the showers, kiddos,” a teacher said, walking by. However, he halted at my door and narrowed his eyes on me. “You. Are you the one who put those blankets and sheets in the hall yesterday?”

I stared back, blinking at him.

But that only made him glare more at me. “Well, did you?”

Shrugging, I said, “My roommate got then dirty, and I didn’t know what else to do with them.”

With an impatient yet tired look, the teacher’s shoulders hung a little more heavily as he said, “The laundry chute is down the hall. And so you know, since you are new here, roommate wars are not allowed. If you are having a disagreement with the guy you share with, you have to report all infractions on rules. Got it?”

Like that was going to happen. I shared a look with Spastic.

“And that includes no girls in your room,” he ground out.

So Morgan Butthurt had tattled. Typical.

I nodded off-handedly.

“Go wash up,” the teacher said again and walked on.

Popping onto my bed, I grabbed the sleeping bag hammock I had made and stuffed in in the space between the floor and ceiling. There was a gap there, just enough space for lots of stuff, but not as sturdy as the wall so not as secure. But would Morgan know about it? I wasn’t sure.

Anyway, I grabbed clothes and the washing stuff that I was given at Rick’s penthouse, and with Spastic we hit the showers.

Ok, can I just say that I don’t like public showers? I mean our showers were as open as open could be. Boys were walking around butt naked, and the bigger ones teased the smaller ones. And when Spastic and I came, all eyes stared at us as we changed. Honestly. How hard was it to build a stall with a door? I mean, I hated washing at the YMCA. And the gyms where I snuck in for a quick clean up, they were no better.

But anyway, I hung my PJs and other clothes on a hook and scrubbed down. Spastic stayed near me, his rapid eyes taking in all the people staring at us like he was waiting for one to grow claws or scales and attack.

“Those are some fancy pajamas,” someone said, pointing at them. “Did you steal them?”

Blinking, trying to not be so exposed to all eyes, I replied, “No. Tom stole them for me.”

The guy halted