by Anne Harris

Antonin’s warm, quirky, criminal family are a revelation to Harry, who grew up on an isolated island with his abusive, wealthy father. Harry’s unquestioning acceptance of Antonin and his loved ones is a refreshing change from the disbelief and scorn Antonin is accustomed to from classmates. The two teenagers become friends and soon fall in love, but Harry’s father has plans to manipulate their relationship for his own gain, and Antonin’s aunt harbors a secret that may destroy them all.

This is a preview of the first seven chapters of a young adult science fiction novel I am currently marketing.

Chapter 1 — Hairy Fits

The Arctic Avenger’s blue cape billowed behind him as he lifted his hands to send glowing silver freeze-rays at his nemesis, Captain Chernobyl. “Feel the fury of the arctic, nuclear ne’er-do-well!” he cried.

“Zrack!” The freeze-rays struck Captain Chernobyl in the chest, right in the center of the radioactive warning logo on his lime-green leotard. He staggered back, his mouth a tight grimace beneath the purple helmet that covered the upper portion of his face.

He regained his footing on the snow-covered plain and clenched his fists at his sides. Glowing green energy accumulated around them until his hands were wrapped in spheres of chartreuse fire. He threw twin balls of nuclear rage at the Arctic Avenger, shouting, “Your deep freeze is due for a thaw, Snowflake! Broil in the blast of a thousand exploding suns!”

“Wompfff!” The Arctic Avenger was enveloped in atomic plasma. He threw his head back in agony, his hands clawing at the semi-transparent goo.

Antonin Karganilla, aged fourteen, bit the end of his stylus and stared at the screen of his notebook. No question, the green atomic plasma stuff was cool, but it was tricky to get the right distortion on the Arctic Avenger’s face beneath it. At the moment he looked like he had his tongue stuck up his nose. Antonin sighed and dragged the zoom icon over the face, so he could work on that section pixel by pixel. The cab he and his mother were in hit a bump and Antonin’s stylus stabbed the surface of the screen. Shit. Now the Arctic Avenger was missing an eye.

“We’re almost there,” said his mother, Rose, seated across from him in the cab. She was dressed in what he always thought of as her business uniform; dark blue suit and jacket, white blouse, pearls. Her shoulder-length hair was sleek and curled under slightly at the ends. She sat with her spine straight, her hands knotted in her lap, tension radiating from every pore.

Antonin sighed and hit undo. He’d have to fix the Arctic Avenger’s nose later, after he got to his room... depending on whether Jackson was there yet, and what he wanted to do.

Excitement and fear chased each other around his stomach at the thought of seeing Jackson again. Antonin had emailed him a few times over the summer, but never got an answer. He didn’t know if something had happened to him, or he was just weirded out all of a sudden, ‘cause they’d fooled around a little during the school year.

It was no big deal. It wasn’t like they were in love with each other or anything. Just a couple of guys messing around ‘cause it felt good. That’s all. Antonin stared for a long time at the Arctic Avenger’s broad shoulders and narrow hips, and then he saved the panel to his page folder and shut the notebook with a snap.

The cab pulled through the elaborate wrought iron gate of Saint Bartholomew’s Academy and up a winding drive, past sycamore trees and gently rolling turf. The main building hove into view like something out of a gargoyle’s nightmare. Ribbed spires, crenellated gables, flying buttresses; no ornament of gothic architecture had been neglected, but the stone gave it away. Clean, smooth, grey plastiment. The place had been constructed thirty years ago, not during the Middle Ages.

“I’ll walk you in,” said Rose as the cab pulled up in front of the building.

“No Mom, you’re not walking in with me,” said Antonin, trying to make it sound like it was his decision to make. “You did that last time and the other kids teased me about it for the rest of the term. You can’t do that to me again.”

A dark look flashed into her eyes, and hardened into stoicism. “All right. Give me a kiss now, then.”

He sighed and leaned forward, letting her pull him to her. She kissed him soundly on the lips, and then his forehead, and then she crushed him to her with that terrifying fierce strength of hers. Antonin exhaled, and found he could barely draw another breath.

“Be safe,” she murmured into his hair. “Please, please be safe.”

To his alarm, Antonin heard her sniff. Abruptly she released him, nodding and blinking. “You’ll be fine. Study hard. Stay out of trouble.”

“Yes mom, of course I will.” Antonin rubbed his forehead to dislodge the imprint of her lipstick. He frowned briefly at the reddish smear on his hand, grabbed his suitcase and opened the car door. “I’ll dial you tomorrow,” he promised, bribing his way out of the car.

With his notebook under one arm and his suitcase clutched tightly in the other, Antonin walked up the shallow steps to the main building of Saint Bartholomew’s Academy.

Kids stood about in clusters on the broad steps and the manicured lawn on either side of it. Antonin searched the crowd for Jackson, or at least Sari or Ted. Who he found, however, was Marcus Hanover, leaning against one of the fluted pillars of the main archway, surrounded by cronies and admirers. A year older than Antonin, Marcus was tall, with wavy chestnut hair and an upturned nose. Marcus was the most popular of the popular clique, and he maintained that position through the ruthless application of ridicule and, when necessary, brute force. Accidentally, Antonin caught his eye. He looked away, but it was too late.

“Hey, Garglezilla!” he called out. “How’re things at Monster Mansion?”

The other kids snickered. Antonin pretended to ignore them and went on through the large, carved wooden double doors to the school’s main hall.

When he first came to St. Bart’s, Antonin had made the mistake of telling everyone the truth about his family. He really did have an aunt who had died and was reincarnated in the body of an organic robot, and an uncle who was an aquatic plant-man with a twenty-foot tail, and they really did all live together in a big mansion in the middle of Polish Siberia. Okay, so maybe they weren’t all related by blood, but they were his family, just the same. Now everybody thought he was a big fat liar making up stories to make himself look cool. Marcus had dubbed him Garglezilla, and it had stuck. But it wasn’t the name part that bothered him. It was that no one, not even his friends Sari and Ted, believed that Tumcari, his uncle and his best friend, existed. Antonin sighed and turned down the hall to the north wing and the boys’ dormitory.

The first thing Antonin noticed when he opened the door to his room was the punching bag. When had Jackson gotten a punching bag? He walked over to the large, oblong object hanging suspended from the ceiling. The low round table and brocade upholstered chairs that usually sat in middle of the room had been shoved aside to make room for it. A jagged hole in the ceiling and a dusting of plaster chips on the thick burgundy carpeting attested to its recent installation.

An action figure stood atop the dingy canvas bag. Antonin recognized his green and purple outfit and his golden cape. It was Captain Invincible. “Cool,” he whispered under his breath, setting his suitcase and notebook down on the displaced table. He picked up the figure. Since when was Jackson into superheroes? Antonin glanced around the room. Jackson’s desk and his bookshelves were bare. A duffel bag lay on the lower bunk, unzipped and spewing forth clothes. Something was wrong. Jackson always took the upper bunk.

Antonin looked back at Captain Invincible. He was dingy and scratched. His hands and his face and the edges of his molded plastic cape were worn smooth and shiny and almost colorless. The comic book and the cartoon series had been cancelled years ago, but Antonin still recalled his epic battles against the evil forces of Dr. Contagion and the Poisonauts.

From out of nowhere an arm wrapped around Antonin’s neck and another hand pushed his head to one side and suddenly he was in a chokehold. “Drop it,” said his assailant. It wasn’t Jackson.

“Shit!” gasped Antonin. All his mother’s paranoid imaginings raced through his mind. She was right, he thought, I am going to be kidnapped by organ-leggers. He brought his heel down on his attacker’s foot and threw his head back, connecting with something he hoped was a face.

From the groan behind him he gathered he hit his mark. The grip around his neck loosened and Antonin turned to face a boy about his age, though taller, with short blond hair and a muscular build. A little blood trickled from his right nostril but he didn’t seem particularly fazed by it. He wore jeans and a black T-shirt that said “Maniac” in big white block letters. Fair enough, thought Antonin, swaying a little under the glare of the boy’s pale blue eyes.

“Give me that!” The kid pointed at Captain Invincible, still clutched in Antonin’s left hand.

“What, this?” Relieved that it wasn’t some masked assassin, Antonin jiggled the doll in his hand. “Make me,” he said, and lifted his right leg while pivoting on his left to drive his heel into the kid’s stomach.

But the other boy was fast. He slid out of the way and grabbed Antonin’s foot. Antonin jerked back but the kid’s grip was strong. He twisted Antonin’s foot and Antonin turned into a heap on the floor with a throbbing ankle. He shook his head and got himself oriented just in time to see the kid diving at him, teeth bared. Antonin’s heart stuttered to a halt as the kid grabbed him by the collar. The punch was short, quick and to the nose. It stung.

The kid wrested Captain Invincible from Antonin’s grasp. Antonin was amazed he still had it. He lifted his hand to to his nose and came away with a smear of blood on his thumb. Well, okay, thought Antonin, he’d gotten the kid on the nose right off the bat so they must be even now. Still, sheesh.

“Don’t make me do that to you again,” said the kid, walking away, shoulders hunched like a mountain range. He placed the doll back on top of the punching bag, wedging it between the canvas and one of the three chains that connected it to the hook in the ceiling. “Leave my stuff alone.”

Antonin sat up, rubbing his stinging nose. “Who the fuck are you, and what’s your fucking problem?”

“I don’t have a problem, but you will if you mess with my stuff again.”

Antonin’s stomach clenched as the awful realization washed over him. He glanced at the duffel bag on the bottom bunk, the bare shelves, and then the punching bag. Maybe Jackson hated him now, and had asked for a different roommate. Or maybe the headmistress found out what they’d been doing and assigned them to separate rooms. Either way, he was stuck living with this freak now, and it was so unfair that tears rose to his eyes, forcing him to pretend that his nose hurt worse than it did.

The kid gave the bag a roundhouse kick that made Antonin’s attempt look like the schoolyard-kung-fu-showoff-bullshit that it was. This kid was good, really good; fast, powerful, not to mention built like a brick shit house. Antonin caught himself eyeing his biceps and looked away.

He could have gotten a lot worse than a bop on the nose. He was going to have to be careful. He remained sitting, but couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “What’s the big deal? It’s just a doll. I was just looking at it.”

The kid frowned and ceased his assault on the punching bag. “It’s mine, and it’s not a doll, it’s an action figure.” He picked it up and made it swoop through the air.

Why Antonin was pursuing this he couldn’t even say, but it was better than thinking about the possible reasons he wasn’t rooming with Jackson. “I know what it is. It’s Captain Invincible.”

The kid paused and gave him a look of surprise. “Yeah, that’s right.”

“I used to watch the series. Read the comic book too.”

The kid wrinkled his nose in a sneer. He was tan, with freckles. A white scar bisected his right eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Well who did he defeat to save the metropolis of Vargos from plunging into the sea in the second season?”

Antonin crossed his arms. “That’s easy, the Tectonic Terror.”

The kid shrugged. “Anybody could know that.”

“Oh yeah?” countered Antonin. “Well maybe you can tell me what secret weapon Dr. Contagion used to defeat Captain Invincible in issue #187 of the comic book.”

The kid put the toy back on top of the punching bag and turned to face him with a glower. “Captain Invincible was never defeated.”

Antonin shrugged. “Not in the cartoon, no. But the comic was different. Lots of villains got the drop on him there.”

The kid’s face turned red and a vein popped out on his forehead. “You’re lying!” He clenched his fists at his sides and stalked toward Antonin.

Cripes. Antonin scrambled to his feet and got ready to defend himself, mentally running through all the moves his Aunt Magnolia had shown him. “Remember,” he heard her voice in his head. “Unless it’s a sparring match, always fight dirty. Disable your opponent as quickly as possible. Best way to do that is cause them a lot of pain.”

“You’re lying!” the kid repeated. “I never read the comic book. That’s not true.”

Antonin shook his head slowly, waiting for him to get close enough so he could kick him in the balls. “If you didn’t read it, then you wouldn’t know. Of course,” he added, “Captain Invincible was always triumphant in the end.”

The kid stopped advancing, and some of the blood drained from his face. He stared at Antonin for a while, deciding what to do next. Finally his hands relaxed and he nodded. “See, that’s what I’m saying.”

He went back to the punching bag, grasping it by the chains it hung from and levering his legs up between his torso and the canvas. Then he hooked his feet on the chains and leaned back. He hung that way, upside down, and swung for a little while, then started doing sit-ups. His shirt slipped down, revealing a rock-hard abdomen.

“Whatever,” muttered Antonin, tearing his eyes away and attending to the task of unpacking his clothes.

oOo

“You won’t believe this kid they stuck me with, what a freak!” Antonin told his friends Sari and Ted in the student lounge that evening. The lounge was probably Antonin’s favorite place at St. Bart’s — with a twelve-foot high ceiling and dark oak beams, it reminded him of his family’s mansion, Wotroya House. Though Wotroya was not quite so grandly furnished. Here, the fifty-square-foot room was generously equipped with overstuffed sofas and chairs, study and game tables, vending machines, even a fireplace.

He’d come down there looking for Jackson, and instead found Sari and Ted at one of the sturdy round tables, engaged in a two-player game of PerilQuest, their tense faces lit with furious colors from their open notebooks. They didn’t look up, but Antonin went on anyway, throwing himself down on a burgundy leather couch that also faced their table. “First thing this kid does, he attacks me ‘cause I’m looking at this doll he has. A Captain Invincible action figure. He put me in a headlock and shit, but I got out of it, right?” They both paused their games and looked up at this. Antonin licked his lips and leaned closer. “He’s all like, ‘Put it down, give it back,’ and I’m like, ‘Make me,’ right? Then we got into it over the comic book. He thinks he’s some kind of Captain Invincible authority or something. I thought he was going to jump me again, but he didn’t. And he’s got this punching bag that he hung in the room, and he’s all the time beating up on it. What a spazz! Where’s Jackson, anyway?”

Sari looked up at Antonin, her hazel eyes wide. She had straight, short brown hair and a tan from her summer on the kibbutz. “Didn’t he dial you?”

Antonin’s breath caught in his chest. The way she was looking at him, it was obvious Jackson had dialed her. He looked down. “No.”

“He’s not coming back this year,” said Sari. “His parents hired a tutor so they could take him along with them on their dig. He’s so lucky.”

Sari was lucky, thought Antonin. She’d heard from Jackson. Antonin hadn’t gotten so much as a text message from him all summer. And now he wasn’t coming back. And Antonin was stuck with this freak of a new roommate. He slumped back against the couch. Life wasn’t worth living.

“Hey, don’t worry man, that guy was a jerk anyway,” said Ted, shoving his thick dark hair back from his pale forehead. Antonin knew Ted was only saying that because Jackson was always capping on him, but he appreciated it anyway.

“Yeah, forget about him, there’s lots of other cute boys here,” said Sari, nodding to where Jeremy Ungunande sat talking to Beryl Weishopft and Hilal Vasananda.

“Ptch, he’s straight,” said Antonin. “Him and Beryl have been together since like sixth grade.”

“So?” Sari tilted her head to one side and continued staring, dreamy-eyed, at the tall, dark-skinned boy. “He’s also lusted after by every straight girl in St. Bart’s. That makes him equally unattainable to both of us, and therefore, perfect.”

“Hey you guys.” It was Shawan Gordon, Ted’s roommate from last year.

“Shawan, my man! Whassup?” Ted jumped up, raising his hand high in the air.

Rolling his eyes, Shawan indulged Ted and gave him a high five.

“Hey, you been by our crib yet?” Ted enthused. “Did you see the dope holo player the homeys laid on me? That shit is fly!”

Shawan leveled an exasperated look at Ted. “Look man, I thought I explained this to you last year. Nobody talks like that anymore, and even if they did, it sounds flat out ridiculous coming from some skinny little white kid, okay? Talk like yourself, man.”

Ted sat down again. “Sorry man. Forgot.”

“S’alright.” Shawan reclined in an armchair, hooking one leg over the side. “So, you all hear about this new kid? Big blond dude, Harry Fitzsimmons?”

Antonin raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “That’s his name? Oh my god. No wonder he’s such a spazz.” He snorted with laughter. “Hairy Fits, more like.”

Sari and Ted laughed.

“Hairy Fits. That’s great,” said Mark Witherspoon, passing them on his way to the vending machine. He stopped and talked to Jeremy, Beryl and Hilal. They laughed, and Antonin heard the words Hairy Fits being repeated.

“Looks like you’ve coined a nickname,” said Ted. “Good for you.”

Despite himself, Antonin felt his chest swell with pride. He’d never coined a nickname for anyone before. He had to admit it felt good. Besides, this was different. This kid deserved it. “Yeah, well, I’m stuck rooming with the nut job. There has to be some compensation.”

Shawan leaned forward. “You’re rooming with him?” He ran his thumb down the side of his nose. “Well listen Antonin, if I were you I’d watch my sweet cherry-fairy-pie self around that guy. Word is he killed a kid the last school he was at.”

“What?” said Antonin, feeling the blood drain from his face.

“Oh yeah, over at Holyoke, he beat some kid to death with his bare hands. Mmm-hmm. He’d be in prison if his daddy didn’t have more money than God. Instead they send him here, which figures.” He gave Ted a pointed look. “We get all the rejects. Anyway, he is cra-zay, and he’s got the power to back it up, you know what I’m saying?”

Antonin swallowed. He knew exactly what Shawan was saying.