I’m working undercover. I’m also 9 years old.
“What about you, Kent?” Little Stevie Winthrop smiles at me, his eyes gleaming with a malicious twinkle. “You down to fuck up some nerds?”
Kent Wayne: undercover Hall Monitor, at your service.
I express an evil chuckle and crack my knuckles. “Absolutely. Let’s help them with math problems until they beg us to stop.”
His eyes narrow. “Dude—what are you talking about? We don’t ‘help them with math problems,’ we yank their underwear over their heads and stick their faces in the most disgusting toilet we can find. What in the actual fuck, bro?”
“Uh, right,” I stutter. “Let’s do that second thing.”
Stevie stops giving himself a Sharpie tattoo and squares up with me, cocking his head. “You haven’t been with us too long, have you?” He crosses his arms. “How much lunch money have you brought in?”
“Uh, I just started, so I haven’t brought in any, but gimme a few weeks and I’ll—”
Stevie looks over his shoulder, catching the attention of his giant, pubically accelerated buddies Blake and Tanner. He summons them with a quick jerk of his chin. They lumber up beside him like mob guys named “Tyrannosaurus Tony,” or “Ginormous Giuseppe.”
Stevie’s eyes narrow a little further. “How many variations of the wedgie are there?”
Be cool, Kent. You’ve trained for this. “Five,” I answer promptly. “There’s mid-back, over the head, up to the pit, and—”
“Wrong.” Stevie shakes his head in deadly-soft disappointment. “The International Society for Future Assholes and Raging Douche-Bros has recently consolidated the mid-back and pit wedgie, bringing the total number down to four.”
My face goes red. “Um…ah…it’s not like ISFARD knows what’s going on with us street guys, right? I mean—”
“Kent,” Stevie interrupts in a deceptively calm whisper. He leans in close to my ear.
“I’m the director of ISFARD.”
I reach into my pocket and whip out my bright orange hall monitor strap, complete with super cool hall monitor badge. “UNDERCOVER HALL MONITOR! YOU FUCKS GET ON YOUR KNEES, PUT YOUR HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEAD, AND—”
Stevie hits me with a right hook, filling my vision with bright starbusts. I bounce off the wall and try to put up my dukes but they’re on me in a flash, punching and kicking the living shit out of me.
Only one option left. I open my eReader to Echo, activating its reality distortion powers. Magic flash.
Suddenly, my body balloons up to its yoked-out, 35-year old Man Whore frame, complete with beast-ass arms and cut-up abs. Stevie and his goons stumble back in shock.
“Oh no,” he whispers.
I flash them a malevolent grin. “Oh yes. Think you can tricycle your asses home before I deliver some shirtless pizza to your lusty AF soccer moms?”
“RUN!” Stevie screams. “GET TO THE TRICYCLES BEFORE THIS GIGANTIC MAN WHORE SEDUCES OUR—”
Shoop! Shoop! Shoop! In a matter of seconds, I’ve wedgied the living hell out of three budding delinquents, stuffed them in their lockers, and jumped in my Man Whore Mobile (a 2012 Jeep Patriot if you all were wondering). I stop by Whole Foods to grab me some quinoa and keto-friendly vegan cookies (well-known soccer mom aphrodisiacs) and park in Ms. Winthrop’s driveway.
“Who is it? If you’re selling cookies, then—” she opens the door, looking me up and down. I’m standing there in nothing but my Christmas speedo, holding quinoa in one hand and cookies in the other.
“Oh my,” she says breathily, her fingers tracing a faint line around her throat and down her cleavage. “Um…would you like to come in?”
*70s porn music*
Are you an undercover hall monitor who’s just been compromised? Never fear! Get Echo Vol. 1 on Kindle here: Vol. 1 on Kindle. Vol. 2 on Kindle here: Vol.2 on Kindle Vol. 3 on Kindle here: Vol. 3 on Kindle Echo Vol. 1 & 2 Combined Edition here: Combined Edition #kindle #kindleunlimited #sciencefiction #scifi #books #novel #book