Kex by Judy Colella (children's books read aloud .txt) 📕

“Okay.” The gym was right on the other side of the trailer park, which meant only about five minute’s walking distance. “I have my kick-boxing class tomorrow and should do some practicing for it.”

“Don’t you have a tournament coming up or something?”

“Yup. I really don’t like those things, but…”

“What’re you talking about, Erik? You won last year! I mean, you totally owned the challenger!”

Great, he thought. I’m good at kicking people. Dammit, I want to be a game programmer, not freaking Jet Li. “Right. Doesn’t mean I really like it, though. It’s exercise. That’s all.

"Whatever.”

A voice on the loud-speaker called, “Erik Exford to the test area, please.”

“Gotta go.” He gave the other boy a light punch on the arm and went out.

That night, as he was heading home from the gym – he’d passed the road test easily – he thought about the upcoming tournament and how much he would rather be involved in an on-line game tournament instead. Nothing like –

“That’s him!”

He turned quickly, the tone of voice making it unmistakable that the “him” was, well, him. Three shapes, silhouetted by the streetlamp behind them, rushed toward him. He could see enough to know they weren’t after him to invite him out for a drink. Well, fine.

It was over in a matter of minutes. Erik shook his stinging right hand, his left one still fisted, ready, in case one of his attackers was stupid enough to get up. “What the hell was that for?” he demanded, angry.

No answer. One of them was cradling his arm, another his head, and third…oh. He was unconscious. Ah, well.

“Next time you want to show how brave you are, try one at a time!” He’d abandoned his multi-syllabic three-dollar-word defense a long time ago, mostly because he no longer needed it. At that moment, however, he was tempted to toss a few choice phrases their way, just because he could. But…no, not worth it. “Oh, and leave me the hell alone.” Pretty sure they wouldn’t try anything else, he turned away and continued toward home.

“Oh, honey, what happened?” asked his horrified mother as she stared at his bloodied knuckles ten minutes later.

Erik chuckled and went to the sink to rinse them off, ducking to avoid the overhead light fixture. “Nothing I couldn’t handle, Mom.” He dried his hand with a paper towel, not wanting to stain one of her cloth ones, and leaned down to kiss the top of her head. “Gotta get up early for work. Good night.”

University. As a word, it was impressive. As a campus, this University was even more so. Located right outside a small town in the Northeastern part of the country, it was the local seat of higher learning. Because of its reputation for turning out successful, sometimes famous, graduates, it also attracted a student population that hailed from every State and all parts of the globe.

Most students never even knew about some of its sections, never entered a large portion of its massive buildings, while others made a point of visiting all of it at some point or another during their four-year stay. Divided into focused areas, the University had several buildings for each discipline – the Arts, Business, Sports, Science, History and Social Studies, Computer Studies, Mathematics – and a world-famous football stadium. The professors, mostly the older ones, travelled its walkways on golf carts; with the distances between one section and the next being considerable, the students rarely walked. They jogged, ran, power-walked, roller-bladed.

The worst part of the school year was the beginning when the majority of students had no idea where they were going or how to get there. By late fall, though, things would have settled into a kind of rushed routine. Fraternity and Sorority initiations were over, class schedules finalized, and everyone knew, more or less, how to get where they had to go. By that time, too, friendships had been formed or were established, something that was true of animosities as well.

Football season was the hallmark of the first semester, and if the team was doing well, its members were automatically the University’s heroes. Not surprising, really, since the sport paid most of the bills. The spring semester saw the baseball team shine, but some of the athletic students never set so much as a toe inside the stadium. The sport of choice for those students was among the many others offered – karate in all its forms, track and field, hockey (both ice and field), boxing, wrestling, gymnastics, and the less common ones like golf, archery and fencing.

Every once in a while, a new student would come along who defied all of the established expectations. In this particular year, that student was a young man who everyone thought should be on the exalted football team, but whose interests lay elsewhere. He was a computer science major, a well-spoken, often friendly sort who scared the daylights out of anyone who didn’t know him. At six-foot-seven, the handsome giant with a lean, powerful build and piercing gray-green eyes could intimidate a roomful of people merely by entering it. The way he held himself, his total disregard for the envious and sometimes antagonistic stares from the other young men, made it pretty clear that he was fearless, capable, self-confident – basically everything all the guys wished they could be. The girls found him fascinating, desirable, and were instinctively drawn to his raw strength (not that all of them were willing to admit this).

He was known simply as Kex. No one dared call him anything else, nor had the courage to ask him about his odd name. Not to his face, anyway. That might have had something to do with his membership on the kick-boxing team, and rumors that he had single-handedly won every competition in that sport without much effort. But there was another reason. His intellect. A math major made the mistake one day of flinging a condescending remark at him, figuring Kex wouldn’t get it. A few minutes later, having been treated to a response filled with words he didn’t understand, the foolish young man had excused himself, vowing never to underestimate Kex again.

Every member of the football team knew Kex, or at least knew about him, and more than one had tried unsuccessfully to convince the formidable freshman to go out for the team. He seemed to have some kind of aversion to the whole idea of football, which baffled the players and their coach greatly.

“Maybe he got run over by a football team when when he was a kid,” suggested one of the new players who, in fact, had never met the subject of their speculations. “I mean, come on! If this guy is the size you say he is, what could possibly be his reason not to play? And what the hell kind of name is ‘Kex’ anyway?”

“It’s my name.”

The deep, quiet response had come from somewhere overhead, it seemed, and the young man gulped before turning around. He was hardly short, so it was disconcerting to find himself staring not at a face or into a pair of eyes, but rather at the upper part of a chest. And if the way the shirt covering this chest was any indication, it was a very well-muscled one, too. Several words came to mind in that instant, but the only ones that came out were, “Sorry, dude.” He forced himself to raise his glance and now was looking at face that was strongly attractive – high cheekbones, nicely-sculpted jawline, slightly cleft chin, and eyes that bore into his with an intensity he felt was a little unwarranted.

“I’m sure you are,” said the giant.

"Look, I, uh, right. Never heard one like it, that’s all. Don’t be offended, okay?”

“Offended?” Kex shook his head, sighing. “I can’t be bothered being offended. Not by something stupid like that.”

“Hey, Kex,” said one of the team members to whom the new boy had been speaking. “What’s up?”

"Not much. Just wanted to give this to Jake.” He held out a sheaf of papers toward one of the other boys.

They were in the Student Union, and the one named Jake got up from the deeply-cushioned chair in which he’d draped himself and took the papers. “Thanks, man. This’ll help a lot.”

Another boy stood also and peered over his friend’s shoulder at the papers. “What’s that?”

“Cheat codes.”

“For football?”

They all regarded the one who’d wondered about Kex’s name, their stares disbelieving.

“What are you – a ditz? Football? Really?” This from a boy named Randy, one of the team’s finest players. “Kex is a computer genius – these are codes to one of his games.”

Not sure if he liked the description, Kex rolled his eyes. “Anyway,” he said, “let me know how they work out. I’m about positive I’ve gotten rid of the glitches, but if gameplay isn’t smooth, it won’t matter.”

“Cool. Thanks, Kex. By the way…” Jake draped an arm over the shoulders of the first boy. “This is Taylor Kroll, our latest wannabe quarterback. Taylor, this is Kex, in case you hadn’t figured it out.” He grinned.

Kaylor the Troll. I know. “Nice to meet you.” Kex put out a hand, which completely swallowed the other boy’s when they shook. “Good luck on the team.”

“Uh, thanks…Kex.”

“Gotta go – Jake, call me.”

“You got it. Thanks again!”

When the frightening student had gone, Taylor collapsed onto a nearby sofa, clearly shaken. He was also somewhat confused. “That guy is a computer geek?” he asked no one in particular.

“Yup. He’s also a kick-boxing champion, and writes comic books.”

“Really!” Taylor had known a boy in high school who was into the whole computer thing, a total geek who was one of the fattest, ugliest little toads he’d ever met. His pathetically small group of friends were the same way, so this – a nerd with looks, personality and strength – was a whole new experience for him. “Is he any good?”

“Yes to all of the above. Come to think of it, one of his characters in his Viking Lord series has a name that’s kinda the reverse of yours,” said Randy, grabbing the top sheet of paper from Jake.

“What?”

“Yeah. He’s one of the bad guys – a total creep with the I.Q. of a shoelace!” Randy laughed. “Kaylor, I think he calls the guy. He’s some kind of troll.” He shrugged and asked Jake if he could borrow the codes later.

Because of their interest in the stack of cheat codes, none of them noticed that Taylor had turned an odd shade of gray. For while nothing about Kex had looked familiar, there was no mistaking the name of that comic-book character. One of the beatings Taylor had administered to his geeky classmate had been punishment for a name one of his friends had called him – Kaylor the Troll. The kid, Harvey Something-Or-Other, had avoided a pounding by giving up the author of the insult: Erik Exford. It really didn’t take a whole lot of mental gymnastics to put together the end of the fat boy’s first name and the beginning of his last. k…Ex…Kex. Damn. “Aw, shit!” The worst part of it was that obviously, Erik hadn’t forgotten. And now….

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m, uh, yeah, I’m not feeling well.” Taylor got up and left the Student Union quickly, casting terrified