Chapter One

Hero's Call: Chapter One

Milo Radcliff cursed the man who invented the alarm clock. Whoever thought it was a good idea to use a shrill ringing or beeping to wake someone up was clearly doing the devil’s work, in Milo’s opinion. If he should ever come across the man, Milo thought as he rolled over and hit the snooze button, it would not be a happy day for the fellow. He determined that the only thing worse to wake up to than an alarm clock was his mother’s voice.

“Get your lazy butt out of bed, Milo,” she said, poking him in the ribs with one of her bony fingers.

“Mom, I’m awake,” Milo said, pushing her hand away from his side.

“You’re going to be late for school.”

“I’ve never been late to school in my life, mom,” he said sitting up in bed.

“And that’s cause I’m your mother,” she replied, and stormed out of the room.

Milo stood up from his bed and looked around the room. On the walls were several posters of Britney Spears, the love of his life. He crossed the room and kissed his favorite one - she was standing in the country against a wooden pole wearing a pair of cutoff jeans and a pink long-sleeved half shirt. She was the epitome of angelic beauty. The floor was littered with clothes. Milo Radcliff did not believe in hampers.

He walked out the room and into the hallway. Milo called that particular hallway the Hall of Fame. Lining the walls were pictures of his ancestors. Heroes from days long forgotten. They were arranged chronologically. The first was an old black and white picture of The Army of Justice: The Gray Ghost, Cat’s Claw, Weather Wizard, Melinda the Magician, The Ray of Light, Empress Liana, Thunder Bolt, and The Marvelous Maiden. His great-great-great grandparents. Those were good days, or so Milos was told. It had been a long time since days like that. The rest of the pictures were random snapshots of the various Heroes of his family in action. Milo’s second favorite picture was of his great-great uncle, Unstoppable Man, bursting through a cement wall. Nothing could stop him once he started moving. His favorite picture was the one of his great-grandfather, Captain Amazing, with Czar Destructo, his nemesis, in handcuffs surrounded by a horde of reporters. It was a great day for Captain Amazing, and the picture gave Milo chills every time he looked at it.

Milo walked to the bathroom and turned on the light. His mother decorated the bathroom in the childish motif of rubber ducks. A rubber duck shower curtain. A rubber duck waste bin. A rubber duck toothbrush holder. Even a rubber duck set of hand towels. He stepped up to the sink and pulled his toothbrush out the holder. The ceramic duck had a smug smile on his face.

He scrubbed his teeth haphazardly. Ever since he was a kid, people told Milo there was a certain way to brush his teeth. A certain method that made it more effective. He threw caution to the wind when it came to brushing his teeth. The dentist was not his master. Milo would not bow to his evil will. He rinsed his mouth out with a bit of water and spit the frothy mess into the sink.

After a quick shower, Milo stood in front of the mirror and did his hair, which consisted of giving his dirty blond crop of hair a quick rustle with his hand and let it dry however it sat. He walked back to his room and shut the door behind him. He threw the towel to the ground and pulled a pair of white boxer shorts with shamrocks out of the top drawer of his dresser. From the bottom drawer he pulled out a pair of jeans and slid them on. He pulled out a random t-shirt and put it on as well. It was a plain pale green with nothing on it. Milo couldn’t remember buying anything like it.

He walked back through the Hall of Fame and down the stairs, making a quick U-turn at the bottom to head to the kitchen. His mom was standing at the stove, her own dirty blond hair hung frizzy around her shoulders. She was wearing a pink and white sundress with a frilly white and red apron over that. Steam was rising from pot in front of her. A stack of waffles and a bowl of fresh fruit were on the table.

“Eat quick, or you’ll be late,” she said as Milo sat down at the table. She set down a pot of hot oatmeal in front of him. He skewered a couple of waffles and slapped them on his plate, pouring hot maple syrup on top of them. After that, he scooped several spoons of oatmeal into a bowl. His mom poured him a tall glass of milk.

“Don’t eat too fast, you’ll choke,” she said as he stuffed a large bite of waffles into his mouth.

Milo’s mother, Brooke Radcliff, bless her tormented soul, had been cursed with a case of the worries. She was constantly in a state of panic about something, whether it was Milo getting home from school safe, or her husband having an accident at the office. Milo guessed she got it from her mother, his grandma, Julie. She was a big worrier too. Their worrying is hardly ever substantiated, though. They’re both just the very definition of a worrywart. Milo shrugged it off as he usually does, and stuffed another big bite in his mouth.

When he was finished eating, and the glass of milk was bone dry, Milo got up from the table and set his dirty dishes in the sink. Brooke immediately started to scrub them with a sponge.

“You better get going,” she said over her shoulder. “You’re going"”

“To be late,” he said, cutting her off. “I got it, mom. Love you.”

“Love you too, honey,” his mom called after him. “Have a good day.”

Milo walked through the house, grabbed his tattered navy blue backpack, and stepped into the garage. His father’s car was gone. His mother’s car, a beige mini-van, was still parked in its usual spot. The walls were covered with odd bits from different holidays, and his father’s tools that he rarely used. Milo’s bike was sitting against stacks of discarded skateboards, skis, and unused lawn care equipment. He hoisted it up and threw his left leg over.

The streets were quiet. Most of the adults on the block were already at work. The kids were either at school already or waiting at the corner for the bus. Milo rode idly down the street; a cool, perfect breeze on his face. At the corner, two other kids on bikes waved him down.

The first kid, a young boy on a forest green mountain bike, had curly auburn hair and a crooked smile. He was about three inches taller than Milo, but much scrawnier. He was wearing a black Metallica t-shirt, and a pair of grass stained jeans. Slung on his back was an orange and brown backpack. He put his red and white Nike basketball shoes on the sidewalk and wheeled the bike around to face Milo.

William “Bill” Meyers was Milo’s best friend. They had lived next door to each other since they were six, and had done everything together ever since. His family was also a long line of descendants from Heroes. None of them are still living, and Bill doesn’t talk about it much, but Milo thought one of his great uncles or something was Mesmero. Bill would never confirm nor deny that whenever Milo had asked, but Milo thought he’d done his research well enough.

The other kid, a young girl on a fuchsia bike, had her sleek blond hair pulled back in a ponytail through a baseball cap. She was wearing an old white baseball shirt with maroon three-quarter length sleeves. A large maroon eight was on her back. Her jeans were clean, but had a large tear in the right knee. When she saw Bill pull his bike around, she did the same.

Calliope Bishop, Cali to her friends, moved to town three years after Bill and his family. Another child of Heroes, or more like a child of a child of a child of Heroes. Calliope didn’t like to talk about her family very much either. Milo could never figure out what Heroes’ blood was in her, but, if he wasn’t descended from every single one of The Marvelous Maiden’s himself, he’d guess she would be the next to take the title. Milo thought Cali was built perfectly for the part from looking at photos of the old Marvelous Maidens. Tall, pretty, and just the right amount of curvy, if Milo was being honest. He’d never say such a thing to her, however, as it would only result in one of his eyes being blacked at the very least.

“Hey guys,” Milo said as he skidded his bike to a halt in front of them.

“Hey, Milo,” they said in unison.

“I’ve got a totally excellent plan to get back at Devon,” he said pulling a tape recorder out of my backpack.

“Where did you get that?” Cali asked. She always got a very motherly tone when they did things they shouldn’t.

“My dad left it behind, so I borrowed it,” Milo said with a shrug. “I’ve been using it for a couple of days. It’s all part of my plan.”

“That’s awesome,” Bill said in awe, “What’s the plan?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see, pal.”

“I wish you guys would just drop this whole thing,” Cali said shaking her head. “It’s so immature.”

The feud between Milo and Devon Macledowny had been going on since the fifth grade. Milo didn’t know what started it exactly; maybe Devon just didn’t like him. Devon was a typical bully-type. Father doesn’t love him, mother beats him, what have you. He took his aggression out on other people, usually the smaller kids that couldn’t stand up for themselves. Once their feud had started, Devon had turned his attention primarily to Milo. It was all right with Milo, because he didn’t want Devon bullying any of the younger kids who didn’t deserve it. They went back and forth. Devon would knock Milo down in the hall, or pull his pants down in the lunchroom. Milo would answer back, only in more clever ways. Once he had put a pudding cup on his seat just before Devon sat down. The whole school thought Devon hadn’t been able to make it to the bathroom in time. They taunted him for days. On another occasion, and this was Milo’s favorite moment of revenge, he had taken Devon’s bike and put the frame around the school flagpole. No one knew how he had done it, and he refused to tell anyone. His current scheme was shaping up to be another classic.

They set off for school riding in a single file line. Milo was at the front, Cali behind him, and Bill at the back. They went on sidewalks most of the way, but about halfway to the school, they turned down the railroad tracks and cruised the rest of the way to school. They liked taking the train track because they would find interesting things every once in a while. Their personal favorite was a neon green Motorola pager that was still in working condition. They had argued for two days about who should get to keep the old beeper. In the end, they had decided to keep it between them on a rotating basis until Bill’s mother had found it and confiscated it. There was nothing of interest on the tracks that day.

Buckland High School was a miserable brick building in the shape of an L. The student entrance was located inside of the L where the two wings met. The bike rack was about fifteen feet to the left of the doors. The three of them were fairly early because of the shortcut down the train tracks, so there was plenty of room to lock up their bikes. Everyone had been locking their bikes with extra locks since the flagpole caper. Not that they needed it. Milo swore it was a one-time occurrence.

They locked up the bikes and hoofed it inside. The halls were slowly filling with students getting ready for the school day. There was a very nervous looking freshman shuffling through books and loose papers in her locker. Milo didn’t know who she was, but every time he saw her she looked nervous. A little ways down the hall, a group of senior football players were standing in a circle laughing raucously at the punch line of a dirty joke Milo had just caught the end of.

Milo’s locker was just on the other side of the jocks.  Bill and Cali bid him goodbye and walked off to find their own lockers on the second floor.

He opened his locker and a mess of books fell out. He pulled the tape recorder out of his bag, and threw it in. He picked up all the books that fell out at once. One of the nearby football players came over. He was a big, burly guy with a square jaw and a flat top. A big C on his letter jacket labeled him as the captain of the team.

“Can I give you a hand with that?” he asked, pointing to the books.

Milo gave him a suspicious look. It felt like a trap.

“Sure…” he said slowly and turned the books towards him so he can grab one or two. He took one of his meaty paws and slapped the books out of Milo’s hands and onto the floor. Then he took the same hand and pushed Milo back against the locker by his face.

“That’s great, Ronnie,” Milo said, picking his books off the floor. “Thank you.”

“No problem, geek,” Ronnie said to a boisterous chorus of laughs from his friends.

Ronnie Adler. Football Captain. Prom King. Grade-A jerk.

Once his stuff was safely back in his locker, Milo set off for his first class.

History was always Milo’s favorite subject. A lot of that had to do with the fact that he was learning about not only Heroes in his family, but Heroes in general. Heroes had a large part in the shaping of American history, and knowing that he came from a long line of Heroes, made it that much more interesting for Milo.

He walked into the class and found it filled with students already. The walls of the classroom were decorated with both pictures of past U.S. presidents and Heroes. Devon Macledowny sat on the opposite side of the room as Milo’s assigned seat. He was wearing a black sleeveless t-shirt and jeans that looked like they hadn’t been washed in days. His shoulder length hair had a greasy sheen to it that made Milo sick. Devon gave Milo a dirty look, but Milo simply shot back a sly smile.

Mr. Hanson, the school’s best history teacher, entered the classroom. He was a short, squat man with a massive belly and a horseshoe pattern of graying black hair. A goatee of the same graying black sat bristly on his face. He was wearing a light blue, short-sleeved button up shirt and a pair of khaki slacks.

“Good morning, class,” Mr. Hanson said. His voice was gruff and agitated at something unspecified. “Today we’re going to be discussing the effects of Hero involvement in World War I.”

He turned to the board and picked up a piece of chalk. He started to write something on the chalkboard when Devon’s voice cut through the classroom.

“Get bent, jerk.”

Mr. Hanson turned with a disgruntled look on his face.

“Who said that?” he asked, but everyone knew the voice. No one answered. He turned back to the board and finished what he was writing. “Now, Dark Shadow was an integral part of reconnaissance in…”

“Eat a butt, fart sniffer,” Devon’s voice cut in again. This time, Mr. Hanson didn’t give any one the benefit of the doubt.

“Mr. Macledowny, I do not find that funny.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Devon pleaded.

“One more outburst from you, Devon,” scolded Mr. Hanson, “and you’re going to the see the principal.”

“But…” Devon started, but the teacher cut him off.

“Zip it.”

He turned back and continued to write on the board. Several minutes passed before Devon’s voice cut through the class for a third time.

“My dog’s butt looks better than you do,” Devon said. “I should pound your face in. Maybe it will look better that way.”

Mr. Hanson broke a piece of chalk on the chalkboard. He whirled around with fire in his eyes.

“That’s it, Mr. Macledowny,” he screamed at the top of his lungs, “Get to the office. Now!”

“But I didn’t say anything,” Devon pleaded.

“Now!”

Devon picked his books up off his desk and slunk across the room. Just before he left, Milo held up his father’s tape recorder and gave him a victorious smile and a wink. He stopped to say something to Mr. Hanson, but the teacher ejected him from the room with a stern look. If looks could kill, the one Devon shot Milo would have been a bullet to the heart. Milo laughed on the inside.

After class, Milo walked to his locker to grab his geometry book. He threw his history book in along with the tape recorder, grabbed the other book, and shut the door. When he turned around Milo found Devon’s cruel, acne-ridden face two inches from his.

“You think that was funny?” he growled.

“Well, that depends on your definition of funny,” Milo joked.

“Your definition of funny got me three days of in-school suspension,” he said and poked Milo in the chest with a sausage like finger.

“What can I say,” Milo said brushing his finger away, “You shouldn’t have said that stuff in class.”

“You’re going to pay for this, Milo,” he said with a glare and stalked away.

Bill and Cali sidled up almost immediately.

“I heard what happened in Mr. Hanson’s class,” Bill said with a smile. “That was brilliant.”

“It was not brilliant, Bill,” Cali replied in her motherly tone. “Milo got Devon suspended. He’s going to want revenge, and I don’t think it’s going to be very small scale after what happened.”

“Oh, ease up, Cali,” Milo said, giving her a soft push, “That gorilla isn’t smart enough to find his way home on his own. What could he do to me?”

“You mark my words, Milo,” Cali said disbelieving, “Whatever he’s going to do to you isn’t going to be good.”

“Consider your words marked, Jen,” Milo said and turned towards Bill. “I’m going to see the Captain after school. Do you want to come?”

“Are you kidding me?” Bill burst out, “I love the Captain.”

“Cool,” Milo said with a nodded. “I’ll meet you by the bike rack and we’ll head over. I’ve gotta get to Geometry. Someone told me Mrs. O’Brien is giving out a pop quiz dissecting angles or some crap and I haven’t studied. Catch you later, guys.”

“Later,” they both said to him.

Milo hurried down the hall toward his next class with Cali’s word echoing annoyingly around his head.