Matt Archer: Monster Hunter (Matt Archer #1) (5 page)

I sat down at our usual table in the corner of the lunchroom
and stabbed the muddy burger with my fork. When it didn’t leap off the table,
yelping, I cut off a piece and tried a bite.

“It’s not bad.”

Will wrinkled his nose. “Dude,
I
wouldn’t even eat that. What’s the
deal?”

“Trying to gain some weight. You know, pack on some muscle.
Hey—think you could do some weight training with me?” I asked.

Will pushed his chair back. “Who are you and what did you do
to my friend?”

I laughed. “Oh, come on. It’s not like I’m asking you to go
shopping for dresses with me or something. I just want to bulk up some.”

“You must really have it bad for Ella,” Will said. “You’re a
natural born runner, dude. I can try to help you train, but honestly, you’re
wiry and you’re gonna stay that way.”

My shoulders slumped. Mike was an idiot to think this would
work.

“Wiry’s good, though,” Will said. “Being fast and
flexible—that’s better than a mountain of muscle any day. Means you can fight
more efficiently.”

I rolled my eyes. “This isn’t about fighting Carter. I just
need to get stronger, okay?”

“Why?”

“Because I want to.” I clenched my jaw and glared at him.
“Are you going to help me or am I doomed to pulling all the wrong muscles
trying to learn this crap from a magazine?”

Will frowned like he didn’t quite believe me. “Yeah, okay. I
do strength training after school on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

“Thanks.” I went back to slamming down my mud pie.

* * *

I made it through the afternoon, but I didn’t know how. My
stomach rolled from my huge lunch, and my arms were sore again. It wasn’t until
last period that things started looking up.

I didn’t get to sit behind Ella in history. I got to sit
right
next
to
her. I watched her twirl a strand of her hair with one hand, and tap her bright
blue fingernails against her desk with the other. Every fidget, every stretch,
every scratch of her pencil, every yawn—all of it was duly recorded in my
brain. God had been on his A-game the day He made her.

“All right, people. Essays on the Battle of Gettysburg are
due Friday. Extra credit to those who can recite the ‘Gettysburg Address’ to me
from memory,” Mr. Anderson said as the bell rang.

Everyone sprang up, eager to escape Greenhill prison. I
shoved my books in my backpack, ready to run for the bus. It sucked that Brent
had football. Even if he was a butthead, I’d much rather ride with him that
endure the bus. Ella stopped me on my way out the door. We were about the same
height, so I got to see the freckles up close. My heart thumped hard.

“Matt, I meant to ask you this morning. Have you changed
something with your hair? I don’t know. You look older.” All this was said with
a flash of white teeth recently straightened from braces.

“No, nothing new.” I smiled back. She actually noticed me
last week and this week? Yes!

“I just wondered…” She trailed off and picked at her
fingernail polish. “Well, anyway, whatever changed, it looks good on you.”

With a little wave, she was gone, leaving me to stand there
with my mouth hanging open. Maybe I had a chance after all.

On Tuesday, just in time for my muscles to get over Sunday’s
workout, I joined Will for my first after-school training session. The practice
gym, not to be confused with the real gym where we had pep rallies and
basketball games, smelled like dirty socks and was full of JV football players
wearing gray sweats. Most of them stopped pumping iron or doing crunches to
stare at me, the first flyweight ever to walk through the gym door. I wished I
could come clean about why I needed to train. Monster killing might have given
me a little cred.

I eyed the crowd of jocks. A bunch wore skeptical smiles
when they saw me coming. Two looked hostile. Then again, Sanders and McCoy
always looked pissed off. They were dumb as dirt clods and their tiny brains
probably couldn’t make their faces do anything but scowl.

I followed Will to the dumbbell rack. He pulled up a pair of
twenty-pound weights. With what I hoped was a cocky grin, I grabbed two
ten-pound dumbbells.

Will lifted an eyebrow. “Dude. Twenty pounds total? You’re
right; we got work to do. I want you up to thirty by December.”

I sighed. “How much does a guy Brent’s size lift?”

“Bicep curls? Probably thirty pounds for twelve-rep sets,”
Will said.

“Then why was he making fun of me? I’m not that far off.” I
did a vigorous set of curls in pure indignation. My biceps went on strike at
the seventh rep.

“Thirty per arm, man. Hell, Brent could probably curl sixty
with one arm if it was a single shot.” Will grinned and went back to his sets.

Well, crap.

* * *

Friday arrived with the promise of a road trip and early
release from school. I should’ve been stoked to go on my first military
adventure, but I didn’t think I’d ever been as miserable. Every muscle in my
body ached, Ella had been out sick since Wednesday, and Mamie popped out from
behind corners at random times to check up on me. Even the monster attack,
which had seemed unreal for the first few days, was haunting me again. Things
went downhill from there, sinking into a valley of suckiness after second
period.

“Yo, Archer. McCoy told me you’ve been coming to the gym
with Cruessan. Guess I didn’t have to worry about you checking out my
girlfriend the other day. You already have one.” Carter’s face lit up with a
nasty smile. “So, when are you and Will gonna pick out engagement rings?”

Grinding my teeth, I clenched my fists and took a step
toward him. I had no idea what I’d do from there, but I was sick of this asshat
riding me.

Carter snickered at my reaction. “Maybe Cruessan will take
you to the Winter Ball. You’re short enough that he could tuck you under his
chin during the slow dances. That would be so precious.”

A flash of magenta light exploded in my brain. I got right
up in his sneering face.

“You know what, Carter? One day Ella will figure out that
you have nothing to offer except a half-decent hook shot. What girl even cares
about that stuff? When she finally sees you for the butthole you are, she’ll
drop you in a heartbeat, and I’ll be right there, waiting.”

Carter’s nostrils flared as he shoved me into the locker
bank so hard I hit my head and saw stars. The impact jarred something loose
inside my brain, though, and I got awfully calm for a guy in my present
situation.

Right then, I knew. Monsters came in all shapes and sizes.

And I wasn’t afraid of monsters anymore.

Carter took a wild swing at my jaw. I ducked at the last
second and Carter punched the lockers. While he cursed about his hand, I popped
up behind him and slammed him face-first into his locker, then pinned his arm
behind his back. Carter struggled and stamped on my foot, trying to break free.
When I didn’t give, he elbowed me in the cheekbone with his free arm. More
pissed than I’d been in my life, I spouted off enough obscenities to fill a
dictionary of swear words and shoved him against the locker door with all my
weight.

“You are a complete…”

Well, what I said was drowned out by shouts of “Fight,
fight, fight!”

A hand clamped down hard on my shoulder. “Let go, Mr.
Archer. Now.”

Mr. Nolton, our Vice Principal, pulled me off of Carter. I
strained against him and he gave me a sharp tug.

“Young man, we’re going to the office. You say one more
thing and I’ll have you expelled.”

That didn’t cool me off much, but I stopped struggling. Once
I was quiet, Mr. Nolton caught hold of Carter.

“You too, Mr. Jacobs.”

We marched down the hall at a brisk pace. Mr. Nolton was a
tall, reedy guy with the longest legs in the world, and he dragged me so fast I
had to trot to keep up. He wasn’t fast enough, though; the news moved quicker
than we did and we had an audience every step of the way. Mr. Nolton opened the
office door, jabbing a finger to point us inside.

Once in the office, I didn’t have a clue what to do. I’d
only been sent to the principal once in elementary school, for setting off a
few firecrackers at recess. Not one of the brightest things I’d ever done, but
it had been pretty worth it at the time.

Unlike fighting Carter in a crowded hallway.

Carter seemed to know the drill, which didn’t surprise me
much. An idiot like him probably visited the office on a regular basis. He
strutted over to Mr. Nolton’s office and let himself in. I crossed my arms,
feeling defiant. Carter started the fight, so what if I finished it? Mr. Nolton
scowled and towed me to the door marked “Mrs. Stevens, Principal.” He rapped
twice, waiting for a muffled “enter” before opening the door.

“Discipline issue, Mrs. Stevens. Caught this gentleman
inflicting bodily harm on another student—Carter Jacobs. Carter’s in my office.
I’ll get his side of the story so we can compare notes.”

Mrs. Stevens was a plump lady, not much taller than me, with
soft brown hair and tough brown eyes. Like a grandma on steroids.

“A fight, huh?” she said. “Well, Mr. Archer, have a seat.”

Mr. Nolton nudged me into the office a little harder than
necessary and shut the door. I sat in the chair across from her desk. Mrs.
Stevens pulled something up on her computer, probably my file. After she read
it, she watched me. Her stare was laser-like, and I broke eye contact first,
eager to escape her gaze.

“So, what happened?” Her voice was kind and vaguely amused.

I quit examining a thread on the carpet and looked up,
shocked that she hadn’t yelled. “He said something rude about me and my best
friend, so I told him off. Then he took a swing at me. I was just defending
myself.”

She nodded thoughtfully and steepled her fingers. “Does that
make it okay to tackle him in the hall?”

I flushed. “No ma’am, not at all. I should’ve walked away.
If you want to know the truth, though, he’s a toad.”

Dumb, stupid, I just called Carter a toad in front of the
principal
? And if I
was going to mouth off, couldn’t I have come up with a better word than toad?
Maybe Lord Supreme Jackass?

Mrs. Stevens’ face stayed blank, but her eyes sparkled.
“Carter has his own challenges to overcome, but your behavior wasn’t acceptable
either.”

I shrank down in my seat as she watched me in silence. Two
minutes ticked by, then three. Finally, she smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile, but
I’d take what I could get.

“I’ll let you off with a warning and two weeks detention,”
she said. “You’re a good kid, Matt. From what I’ve seen, you haven’t been in
trouble much. I’ll chalk it up to raging testosterone this time. Next time,
you’ll be suspended. Do we understand one another?”

I nodded like a bobble-head doll. “Yes, ma’am, absolutely.”

I also should’ve remembered what Brent said about pushing
and shoving in football games—it’s always the second guy who gets caught.

Just then, the secretary poked her head in. “Matt’s uncle is
here. He says he’s checking Matt out early.” The secretary scowled, as if the
idea that I’d get to leave school before last bell was personally offending
her.

“Thank you, Miss James.” Mrs. Stevens turned back to me.
“Matt, I’ll call your mother later today to discuss the terms of your
detention. Why don’t you try to blow off some steam over break.”

I nodded. Fort Carson would see to that. And so would Mom
when I got back home. At least I’d be on the road before she heard about it.

“Let’s not keep your uncle waiting,” Mrs. Stevens said. She
smiled again; this time it was more friendly. “I’ll see you a week from
Monday.”

I hopped out of my seat and backed out of her office as fast
as I could, practically bowing. Once free, I spun around without looking and
ran smack into Mike’s chest.

“Chief, what were you doing in the principal’s office?” he
asked.

I shifted from foot to foot. “Long story.”

Uncle Mike’s lips tightened. “We have a ten-hour drive. I
have the time.”

On the way to the parking lot, I owned up to the fight. Mike
was scowling by the time I got into the Jeep. My bags were already in the back;
he must have stopped by my house on the way to pick me up. I stared out the
passenger window with my arms crossed, not in the mood to see the stern look on
Mike’s face because I didn’t know what to say in response. I was still too
angry.

Mike started the engine and backed out. He drove all the way
to the highway before he said anything.

“Okay, Captain Mayhem, what were you thinking, fighting at
school?”

I didn’t answer.

“Matt, if you get in trouble, Dani will put you under house
arrest and monsters will roam free. Is that what you want?

A cold sliver of guilt slipped into my insides. “No. I’m
sorry, okay? I know what’s at stake, and I won’t get into another fight.”

“That’s right, you won’t.” Mike’s voice held a sharp edge
I’d never heard. “After next week, you’ll know better.”

That pissed me off more. “Carter gives me crap for
breathing, Uncle Mike. It was high time I stood up for myself.”

He pulled over to the side of the road and glared at me.
“What’s Carter going to do to you by slinging insults? Nothing. Over the next
week you’re going to be trained in hand-to-hand combat, among other things. You
get in a fight with that kid at school, and next time you’ll do him serious
harm. I have to trust that you can show some self-control. Suck it up and act like
a man.”

He pulled back onto the road. “For the next week, I’m not
Uncle Mike. You call me sir or Major Tannen.”

Shocked that Mike would snap at me like that, I glared out
the window and didn’t say another word until we crossed into Wyoming two hours
later. We stopped for dinner at the Colorado border and had a perfectly normal
conversation about the Broncos’ imploding season. I felt like things were
starting to thaw, but after dessert Mike disappeared to the men’s room with a
garment bag. He returned wearing a crisply ironed, Army-green Class B uniform:
olive-colored trousers, long sleeve shirt covered in commendation ribbons, gold
oak leaf insignia for a major’s rank, tie, and black shoes shined within an
inch of their lives. Seriously, if those shoes could talk, they’d be screaming
from the rub-down they’d taken.

“We’re leaving,” he ordered.

Wondering what the heck had gotten into him, I left the last
bite of my pie and scurried out to the Jeep, dreading whatever came next. He
hardly talked the rest of the way and I shrank down in my seat, thinking Major
Tannen was one scary dude.

I had to admit though, once we made it to Fort Carson, it
was kind of awesome to see dozens of uniformed soldiers saluting as Mike walked
by. He led me to a little house on the edge of the base that served as quarters
for visiting personnel. The building, consisting of two whole rooms and a
bathroom, was square, with walls made of cinderblocks painted gray and a floor
of the same kind of ugly, thick vinyl you see in hospitals. The only furniture
I had in my room was a metal bunk, a metal footlocker and a metal folding
chair. A small, gray-tiled bathroom, with just a sink, shower and toilet,
separated my room and Mike’s. His room didn’t look any nicer, except he had a
desk. It was metal, too.

“Bed,” Mike barked. Then he shut the door to his room,
leaving me alone.

I sat down on the Army-green blanket covering my bed,
wondering how I got here.