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ABRAMS BOOKS - Ferraiolo Jack D.

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133 pages

English

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Batman has Robin, Wonder Woman has Wonder Girl, and Phantom Justice has Bright Boy, a.k.a. Scott Hutchinson, an ordinary schoolkid by day and a superfast, superstrong sidekick by night, fighting loyally next to his hero. But after an embarrassing incident involving his too-tight spandex costume, plus some signs that Phantom Justice may not be the good guy he pretends to be, Scott begins to question his role. With the help of a fellow sidekick, once his nemesis, Scott must decide if growing up means being loyal or stepping boldly to the center of things. Great for boys, comics fans, and anyone looking for a superhero tale thats also an insightful look at adolescence.

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Picture book

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Publié par	ABRAMS BOOKS
Date de parution	01 mai 2011
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781613121467
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	2 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0289€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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PUBLISHER S NOTE:
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for and may be obtained from the Library of Congress. ISBN 978-0-8109-9803-2
Text copyright 2011 Jack D. Ferraiolo Book design by Chad W. Beckerman
Published in 2011 by Amulet Books, an imprint of ABRAMS. All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher. Amulet Books and Amulet Paperbacks are registered trademarks of Harry N. Abrams, Inc.
Amulet Books are available at special discounts when purchased in quantity for premiums and promotions as well as fundraising or educational use. Special editions can also be created to specification. For details, contact specialmarkets@abramsbooks.com or the address below.
www.abramsbooks.com

eighty stories above street level, watching from the shadows as one of my personal top five dumbest villains tries his best to wrap his mind around a hostage situation of his own creation. His name is Rogue Warrior, and he s six feet five inches of bad skin and steroid-fueled muscles. His hostage, an attractive woman (of course, she s attractive it s hard to get money for an ugly hostage), is going with the traditional scream my way to freedom attempt. It s not going well for either of them.
No fancy tricks! Warrior yells to the cops at ground level. You get me my money, or I swear to God I ll drop her!
Upon hearing this, Rogue s hostage finds a whole other screaming gear, one that threatens to tear a hole in any eardrum within fifty miles. I quickly size her up: five feet seven inches, one hundred thirty pounds. Dropped from this height, she d hit the ground in less than thirty seconds.
I check the clock on the top of the building a few feet to my left. 8:45. It s time.
Do it or she s dead! he yells. You hear me!
Of course, they don t hear you, I say, dropping from my perch. They re eighty stories down.
Bright Boy! he yells, and whirls to face me.
She s screaming like a fire alarm, and I doubt they hear her, I say.
His face scrunches up, as if he doesn t want to believe what I m saying, but is aware enough of his own shortcomings in the brains department to know that he should. They can hear me, he says meekly.
No, they can t. Listen, Rogue, I know you have a problem with the whole planning aspect of planning a crime, but next time you decide to do this hostage thing, you might want to choose a location where the cops can actually hear your demands. Otherwise, you might do something stupid. Like this.
Shut up, Bright Baby. Where s your daddy, Phantom Justice? Huh? He smiles, proud of his joke, then looks to his hostage for some supportive laughter. All he gets is a shock-induced stare.
I guess it s true what they say, I respond, steroids can make you strong, but they can t make you funny.
His smile disappears. Go ahead, he snarls, make another crack about steroids. You and your daddy will be scraping this lady off the sidewalk with a putty knife. That wakes her up and she starts screaming again.
All right, let s just drop the tough talk and calm down, I say over her screams. Rogue Warrior is a plus/plus speed and strength like I am, but all the steroids have given him a distinct size advantage. On the other hand, he s ridiculously bulky. He may still be faster than the average person, but I m not the average person. To me, it looks like he s moving underwater. I could hit him fifteen times before he could lift an arm to defend himself. But he s holding a hostage and I m just the sidekick. My orders are to distract, not engage.
Ugh, I say. Her screaming is giving me a headache.
His face breaks into a big, dumb, evil smile. It s a bully s smile. I like it.
I feel myself getting angry, but anger isn t going to help me in this situation it s only going to get in the way so I push it aside. Right. Any way you could let her go, and you and I can settle this?
Ha! You re kidding, right? She s my bargaining piece!
OK so what are you asking for? I ask.
Five hundred million.
Seriously?
Do I look like I m joking? he asks, shaking the woman for emphasis.
Is she all you ve got? I ask.
What do you mean?
Well, she s just a civilian, right?
Yeah.
So you re nuts if you think the city s going to pony up five hundred million for someone other than a political figure or a celebrity, I say. I mean, no offense, lady, you re really pretty, and I m sure you re nice, and all life is sacred, blah, blah, blah but come on? Five hundred million? The city can buy a bridge for that price.
Is that so?
Yeah.
The bully smile creeps back onto his face. Well maybe I should just drop her, then. He swings her back over the edge. I mean, seeing as how she ain t no good for leverage no more. Maybe all she s good for is showing the world that you and your daddy don t always win, huh? How d you like that? He lets go of her, then quickly grabs her again before she can fall too far. She screams, starts sobbing, pleads for her life. Rogue Warrior starts laughing. Yeah, baby, talk to me. Tell me what you ll do for me if I let you live.
He s toying with her. I suppress the urge to take him on. He s strong and stupid, and only one of those is a weakness. Play to his strength and he wins. Stay patient stay patient
Whoopsy! He drops her, then quickly grabs her again. I m just sooo clumsy!
She s screaming and babbling.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see one of the shadows behind Rogue Warrior shift. That s the signal.
Hey, idiot! I shout. Were you born stupid, or did all the steroids make you that way?
His jaw tightens. What d I say? Huh? Make another steroid crack and see what happens!
So, show me, Steroid Warrior! Show me what happens when a juiced-up moron like you gets angry! Come on!
Oh, you re gonna die, Bright Baby! But first-say good-bye to the nice lady! He tosses the woman over the side, like she was nothing more than an empty coffee cup. He rushes me. Even with his bulk, he s fast. Lucky for the falling woman, I m faster. I leapfrog him, land on the building ledge, then propel myself off the side of the building. Phantom Justice s giant black cape flaps over my head, heading straight for Rogue Warrior.
Hey! Come back here, you cowa-ooof! Rogue Warrior s insult is cut off by Phantom s boot hitting him in the face.
Your night of evil is over, scu- is all I hear of Phantom s speech before I m out of earshot. That s OK. I ve heard it before, and I ve got a little something else to focus on at the moment.
At this rate of descent, I only have twenty seconds left to catch up to the plummeting, screaming ex-hostage before she becomes an ex-screaming ex-woman. I straighten out my body like a diver to make myself as aerodynamic as possible, but there s still no way I m going to be able to reach her in time. I flip open the secret compartment on my belt buckle and hit the third button from the left. Small propulsion units on the bottom of my boots click on, giving me a short burst of speed, allowing me to close the distance between us.
She s falling with her back toward the ground, eyes closed, waving her arms and legs in a futile attempt to swim back to the roof of the building. It s slowing her down a little, which is good. But now I have to do a little kung fu at 150 mph in order to avoid her flailing limbs and find a good grip on her. It s not working.
Hey! I yell. She opens her eyes, and just the fact that she finds herself looking at a human face in this situation startles her into stillness. I use that moment to grab her waist and pull her close. She wraps her arms around my neck and presses up against me. Her nails are digging into my back. She smells like lilacs. My heart starts pounding, and not because the street is closing in.
We pass flagpole FP-12. I reach up with my right arm as my instincts override my hormones. I feel the cold, smooth metal hit my hand; I clamp down tight enough to stop our descent, but loose enough for us to swing around. My tendons crack as our momentum carries us up and over once twice. On the upswing of the second revolution, I push her off me and toss her in a high arc toward the roof of the neighboring building. She flies silently. Either she trusts me, or she s all screamed out.
I swing halfway around, then plant my feet on the flagpole and use it to push off, like it s a diving board. I zoom on a line drive, hit the roof, somersault once, then pop up sprinting. I look up over my left shoulder, just in time to see the woman heading my way. I check my footing I m running out of real estate. I look back, tracking her like a fly ball that, I hope, wasn t hit out of the park.
She hits my hands. I wrap my arms around her, then somersault twice to stop our momentum. When I pop up, she s cradled in my arms. I look down. We re two inches from the edge of the roof. I take a deep breath, then let it out slowly. Now s not the time to reveal to the panic-stricken woman how close I came to misjudging things.
I try to keep my composure, but my legs are shaking. The woman nuzzles her face into my neck. She s breathing heavily, and each breath sends a fresh set of shivers across my skin. Her blouse is torn and disheveled, and I can see the top of her bra: pink lace. Her chest is heaving up and down. Her breath is tickling the hairs on my neck.
The activity below my belt starts before I can even think to stop it. I realize what s going on and start thinking about baseball, about sharks, about world geography anything to try to put the brakes on.
That was amazing, she whispers, her lips pressed up against