The Shadow Club Rising Read Free Page B

to get cute.
    "Did you know Jared has a hidden talent?" she told Alec. "He can drink soda through his nose."
    "Oh, c'mon, Cheryl, I haven't done that since fifth grade."
    I have to admit, it was something I was once rather proud of—and although it always gave me one heck of a brain-freeze, it was worth it to impress friends and disgust adults, back when I was ten.
    "Now that's something I'd like to see," said Alec. "I'll bet you can't do it anymore."
    I don't know what came over me then. I guess I'm still a sucker when it comes to being challenged. So I took a deep breath, shoved my straw up my left nostril, pinched the right one closed, and began to guzzle. Drinking soda through your nose is like riding a bicycle—it's a skill you never quite forget. I downed the entire cup in fifteen seconds flat.
    Cheryl laughed and applauded, and I felt . . . well . . . stupid for having actually done it.
    "Cool," said Alec.
    And that's when I thought I saw something change in him. The grin on his face was the same, but something about him suddenly shifted, and grew colder. Or maybe it was just my brain-freeze.
    "I can do that," Alec said.
    Cheryl laughed. "I wouldn't advise it. You should leave it to the professionals."
    "No, really," Alec said, and before any of us knew it, he shoved his own straw up his right nostril—making me realize how completely asinine I must have looked—and began to drain his Dr Pepper into his face.
    "Alec . . ."
    It was a second before he gagged, coughing a spray of fizzing soda all over us. Some girls at the next table got spritzed; a guy behind us stood, fully prepared to give him the Heimlich; and from behind the counter, Solerno said, "You puke uppa my pizza, you don't getta no more!"
    Alec quickly regained his composure, if not his dignity.
    "Don't worry about it," I told him. "It takes years of hard work to master."
    But he said, with a harshness hidden deep within his smile, "Practice makes perfect."
    I looked at Cheryl, who just shrugged as if it were nothing, but somehow I knew better.
    It only took a few days more until I knew all I needed to know about Alec Smartz. The stories circulating around school painted a whole gallery of pictures.
    Painting number one: Still Life With Algebra.
    Mr. Kronisch, our math teacher, gave bears of exams that were the subject of many a nightmare. For this reason his midterms were called the Kronisch Inquisition. Alec, being new, isn't expected to take the test, but he does anyway. He aces it, throwing the curve so far into orbit that everyone else's score goes down half a grade.
    Portrait number two: Self-portrait With Saxophone.
    While still scouting out the school those first few weeks, he wanders into Mr. Musiker's room during a mostly pathetic band rehearsal (which is no great surprise, since our band's rehearsals are always mostly pathetic).
    "Do you play an instrument, Alec?" Mr. Musiker asks.
    "A few," he responds, then proceeds to borrow Chelsea Morris's alto sax and plays a number that could get him a recording deal with the jazz label of his choice. You can almost hear the blood draining from all the wanna-be band stars in the room.
    Portrait number three: Alec at the Bat.
    Alec wanders innocently onto the baseball field—but by now I've come to realize that Alec doesn't really "wander" anywhere. All his casual arrivals are as well calculated as his answers on the Kronisch Inquisition. Today the baseball team is getting ready for the upcoming season.
    "You interested in going out for baseball?" the coach asks.
    "Well, it's not my sport," says Alec, "but I'll give it a try." Long story short, now there's a new shortstop, and a grin on the coach's face that has never been seen in all his years of coaching our losing baseball team.
    When asked how he got so good, Alec says, "Nowhere in particular. I'm just good in any sport that involves a ball." It's a statement that makes all the coaches drool, and all the jocks run for cover.
    When someone enters a