A few amused chuckles came from the other students around the room. He’d developed a bit of a reputation for zoning out during class.
“Which governing body has control over the Champion Authority?” asked Ms. Dion.
A question I know the answer to, for once. Time to spit the facts.
“Worldwide?” said Malcolm. “The United Nations. But the CA has smaller chapters within many countries, including the USCA here in the United States. And they also coordinate with most major heads of state.”
Ms. Dion looked annoyed that he’d gotten the question right. Malcolm leaned back in his chair, feeling more than a little smug. Somebody whispered a joke off to Malcolm’s left, and several people snickered.
He was not the most popular student with either his classmates or his teachers, though not for lack of personality. Losing his mother and brother on Day One had pushed people away from him, rather than drawing support and kindness. It was unfair, but after five years of living on his own, he’d learned to make do.
“That’s correct, Malcolm,” said Ms. Dion. “Moving on…”
Malcolm listened to her for another minute or two, only lowering his head down to his desk once the professor’s attention had moved elsewhere. He carefully worked his earbuds out of the collar of his shirt where he’d hidden them, slipping them into his ears and smiling as he pressed the play button on his phone.
The playlist he had queued up was filled nineties alt rock. It had been just about all his older brother Danny had listened to, back when he’d been alive. It made Malcolm feel nostalgic, even if he did find some of the melodramatic lyrics to be super cheesy.
He kept his eyes on Ms. Dion, making a halfhearted attempt at looking like he was still paying attention. She said something, and then gestured to the blackboard. Malcolm’s fellow students were all pulling out sheets of paper, probably the brainstorming exercise they’d been assigned the week before.
He started to reach into his own folder, the sound of a guitar solo filling his ears, and then stopped. A chill ran up the back of his neck. It was suddenly hard to breathe. His hands were shaking, and fingers cramping. Sweat began to bead on his forehead, and his heart pounded in his chest. It felt like somebody had just flipped the panic switch, and his body was all too happy to oblige.
What the hell?
“Malcolm?”
One of the earbuds had fallen out, and he could hear Ms. Dion walking over to his desk. Malcolm shivered, his body cold and feverish at the same time. He was in pain, but he couldn’t pinpoint where it was coming from. He clasped his hands over his temples and buried his head against his desk.
Several silent seconds went by. When Malcolm finally opened his eyes, everyone in the room was staring at him. Papers were strewn across the floor, scattered as though a rough breeze had pushed in through one of the windows and run amuck in the orderly classroom.
But none of the windows are open…
On the edge of Malcolm’s awareness, he could feel something new. It was as though his body had a new appendage, a new set of muscles, invisible and outside of what he considered to be his actual body. He stretched his hand out and slowly closed it, focusing on the new sensation at the same time.
A gust of wind swept over the desk in front of him, completely ruining the carefully straightened hair of the girl sitting there and almost ripping her blouse open.
“Whoa…” Malcolm blinked, and then let out a small, surprised laugh.
Ms. Dion was pointing at him, her eyes wide, her jaw dropped as far open as it would go. One student was filming him on their phone, and then suddenly, half a dozen others were doing the same, a few of them standing up to get a better angle.
Malcolm stood up, too. He tried it again, this time reaching toward one of the motivational posters hanging from the classroom wall. He summoned the wind and casually pulled it loose, spinning it in complicated loops and twirls, and directing back over to his hand, just to see if he could.
He was still sweating, and focusing on doing whatever it was he was doing felt like exercise. Endorphins pumped through his body, and he couldn’t stop himself from grinning as he swirled gusts of wind around himself.
“You’re one of them…” said Ms. Dion. “You’re… gifted. You’re one of the champions!”
“Yeah, apparently.” Malcolm shrugged, unsure of what to say. “Huh.”
He took a step forward, and then realized that there was absolutely no reason for him to stay in the classroom. Everyone had their phone out. News of a newborn champion always spread like wildfire. Regardless of what he did, from that point forward, his life would never be the same.
Malcolm took a slow breath and walked out of the room. Several of his fellow classmates followed him, still recording, or possibly live streaming. He glanced at them over his shoulder and briefly considered using the wind to smash the devices against the wall.
You know what? Let’s see if I can give them something worth filming.
CHAPTER 2
Malcolm ran through Vanderbrook Community College’s hallways, taking long, loping steps. He could feel the full extent and flow of the wind, even slight motions in it. It almost reminded him of being underwater.
On top of that, Malcolm could also feel the extent of his power. The wind was a physical thing, waiting for him to call out to and control. It took more than just a thought to do it, more like concentrated will, but it was easy.
It felt like controlling a part of his body, and Malcolm took advantage of it. He pushed the wind hard against his back as he ran, propelling himself forward with inhuman speed.
The students he passed by stared at him in shock. The wind swept across each of them in turn, scattering locks of hair, pushing up dresses and skirts, knocking loose binders from hands. Malcolm felt like some kind of god.
A champion. Technically not a god, but it’s really a pretty minor distinction.
He burst through the front door of the college and laughed. More people were following him now, professors and students alike, filming on their phones. Vanderbrook, as small of a town as it was, only had a couple of native champions that Malcolm knew about.
Most of them had appeared on Day One of the Phenomenon, and the few that had gained their powers in the time since then had been underwhelming in their capabilities. Malcolm remembered one, a mailman who eventually earned the nickname “Sharp Eye”.
Sharp Eye was gifted with perfect hand to eye coordination, which gave him amazing dexterity and skill when it came to things like throwing balls and catching… balls. The media had still greeted him with enormous fanfare, catapulting Sharp Eye to instant local fame. He’d moved out of Vanderbrook after a while, but was still listed in the town’s Wikipedia article under the “Famous Residents” section.
A news van was already approaching from down the street. Malcolm wasn’t ready to sit down and give interviews. He flexed his hand, feeling for his new ability, and tried to do the obvious thing.
Gathering the wind around him in powerful gusts, Malcolm took a step forward, and leapt into the air. He pushed against his legs and feet with all the wind he could summon, hovered for a second or two, and then slowly descended back to the ground.
“Fly!” shouted one of the students filming him. “Come on! Take off, man! That would be so cool!”
“Yeah, well, easier said than done,” said Malcolm. He frowned, feeling outward and taking stock of the strength of his wind power. He could sense that he didn’t have quite enough to fly, or at least if he did, he still didn’t know how to focus it in a way that would give him proper lift.
Let’s try something else, then.