SuperDrew and the Secrets of Donhil Corp, page 1
part #1 of SuperDrew Series
Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Other Books by BJ Pierson
Other Books You May Enjoy
SUPERDREW AND THE SECRETS OF DONHIL CORP
Copyright © 2021 by Brenda J. Pierson.
Published by Snowy Wings Publishing
www.snowywingspublishing.com
Cover layout and typography by Qamber Kids.
Cover illustration by Oh Lenic.
Interior formatting by Key of Heart Designs.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, brands, trademarks, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.
All rights reserved, which includes the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever except as provided by the U.S. Copyright Law.
To everyone who needs a hero like Drew
Two hours, fifty-seven minutes, forty-two seconds.
Drew could dump his stuff in his locker and be out of here in four and a half minutes. Fifteen minutes to walk to Taylor’s. Twelve if he really hustled. Which meant that in three hours, eleven minutes, and twelve seconds—give or take—he would finally see the payoff for half a school year’s worth of work.
He tapped his thumb against his fingers, running down the line from pointer finger to pinkie—a nervous habit he’d picked up with this latest brace. Each click was just a little different. Some were more like a clunk, others a clink. His pinkie chimed almost like crystal, the metal was so thin.
His orthopedic brace, straightening and strengthening his mangled right arm, had come a long way from the ugly utilitarian thing he’d been issued a year ago. Months of designing and tinkering, plus days in the back of Taylor’s welding shop, had turned it into a masterpiece. Gears and hydraulics, processors and tiny vid screens covered every inch of boring metal, from his fingertips to above his elbow. The joints moved so smoothly they almost—almost—disguised the pain each motion caused.
Drew glanced down at his left leg, sticking out from beneath his desk. That brace, from foot to hip, was not nearly so epic. Nasty beige plastic and metal struts helped him walk, sure, but not very well. And not without a lot of pain. It was a far cry from the ultra-modern, ridiculously awesome SuperDrew brace on his opposite arm.
But not for long.
Taylor’s text still glowed on Drew’s vid screen: Ready to really be SuperDrew? Dumbest question in the universe. Of course he was. Drew was ready to be anything other than the poor broken kid these old braces made him be.
So, of course, today was the slowest day in the history of the universe.
Drew checked the clock again. Two hours, fifty-four minutes, thirteen seconds.
“Andrew.”
Drew snapped out of his daze. Mr. DeAngelo was watching him. Had he asked a question? Crap, Drew had no clue what he’d been talking about.
But then he nodded at Drew’s brace. Drew clenched his fist to stop the clicking. “Sorry.”
Mr. DeAngelo went back to his lecture. Something about a shot heard around the world. Drew did his best to focus—he had to ace this upcoming test if he wanted to end eighth grade with an A—but there was no way he could pay attention today. Just sitting still was like trying to contain a Hulk-smash in his chest.
Two hours, fifty-two minutes, twenty-one seconds.
After making it through history, math, and English—which took approximately thirty-seven years—he worked his way through the crowded halls as best as he could. Lots of kids moved out of his way when they saw him coming. Drew still didn’t know how he felt about that. It meant he didn’t have to worry quite so much about whacking someone with his metal-shod right arm, or getting kicked in his braced leg, but it also meant he had a permanent “No Trespassing” bubble around him. Most kids were polite enough to him, but very few wanted to be his friend. No matter how nice or smart or cool he was, no matter how many gadgets he incorporated into his braces, he was still The Kid With The Braces. Cyberman, Inspector Gadget, Metallica… take your pick. I’ve got more.
Last week he’d even gotten a message from another eighth grader, asking if they could write a story about him and his braces for a journalism program. That was just what he needed, someone to write up a big sob story about poor broken Drew and his braces and make him even more of a pity-generator than he already was. He’d trashed the note after the first couple of sentences. No thanks, Random Newspaper Kid. I’ve already got enough people making fun of me as it is.
If only he could reprogram people as easily as he could a computer. Nothing drastic like brainwashing or anything. Just a little something to make them nicer. A chip in their brain that gave them a jolt when they were mean. Or when Drew couldn’t stand their stupidity any longer.
Yeah, and that didn’t sound like a supervillain’s evil plan at all. SuperDrew didn’t operate like that, no matter how tempting it might sound.
Drew stashed his books in his locker and made a beeline for the nearest exit. The walk was going to exhaust him and he’d hurt for the next week, but there was no reason to take the public transport when Taylor’s shop was only a handful of blocks away. That was the entire purpose of the SuperDrew braces: to make sure he never had to say “I can’t.”
His parents called it a cruel twist of fate that he’d been born broken, that his leg had been bent sideways and his hand mushed together like Play-Doh. He’d been given his first set of braces when he was still a baby. Without them Drew couldn’t walk, could barely stand, and his right hand was a useless mess. That’s why he’d gotten into tinkering in the first place, inventing little gears and gadgets that helped him move around—it was just luck that he’d proved to be good at it. His inventions got him up, more and more, until he’d found ways to improve upon the devices his doctors gave him. Then he’d taken it a step further and added in all kinds of awesomeness: secret compartments, computers, GPS and Wi-Fi and more. Once he completed the set, even Iron Man would be jealous of his set-up.
Drew grinned. Forget Iron Man: even Donhil Corp will be impressed. And that meant everything.
Drew took a pit stop at the convenience store on the corner, admiring the classic rocket and old-school VW Bus-shaped transports outside. Another one had been designed to look futuristic, but Drew just thought it looked cheesy. He’d be eligible to “drive” one of the self-driving transports when he turned 14 this summer, and he still hadn’t decided what he wanted his to be. He’d been planning on a Batmobile, until half the guys at the high school down the road had gotten ones of their own. Now Drew really had to think outside the box. An X-Wing fighter, maybe? Or a USS Enterprise? The Serenity, a TARDIS… there were just too many options, especially when you were an uber-geek like Drew.
He picked up a candy bar and soda—all the nutrients he’d need for half a day at least—and booked it the rest of the way to Tay’s.
Drew limped into the shop exactly fourteen minutes later. Tay’s favorite electronica radio station streamed from the speakers, blasting over the industrial fans that kept the heat from suffocating them. Taylor was busy in the back—Drew could tell from the little popping sounds—so he plopped into one of the cushy, custom-welded chairs Tay kept around for the rare customer visit. Drew knew they were mostly for him. He hated the necessity, but appreciated it nonetheless. After that walk his entire leg ached like his brothers had whacked it with their baseball bats.
Drew leaned back and breathed. It smelled like grease and hot metal. One of his favorite smells on earth. Right up there with freshly baked bread and rain on top of a mountain.
A few minutes later Tay came out, welder’s mask flipped onto his forehead, sweat and grease smeared across his face and overalls. He was more than ten years older than Drew and a lot darker-skinned, thanks to his dad being from one of the islands out in the Pacific. Drew had only seen him clean at holidays and family gatherings, and then he hardly recognized his cousin. “Hey, my man. I thought I heard you come in,” Tay said, grinning from ear to ear. “You ready?”
If he didn’t hurt so much from the walk, Drew would have jumped out of the chair. “Are you kidding?”
Taylor waved him into the back workroom. Drew took a few minutes to cruise around and check out his cousin’s work—lots of gates and metal doors, a few little art pieces with nasty sharp edges (not that Drew cut his finger on them or anything), and a handful of gears for Aunt Liz’s machining shop. Nothing as interesting or intricate as the work Tay did on the SuperDrew braces, but that was one of the reasons he had agreed to do it in the first place. No one gave him as much of a challenge as Drew.
After Drew had scoped out the workroom he climbed onto the ancient dentist’s chair Aunt Liz had found for them at the Salvation Army. He stretched out his bum le
By the time he was done Tay stood next to him, a cloth-covered bundle in his arms. “Here you go, my man. The new and improved SuperDrew leg brace.” He pulled the cover off with a flourish and held it out for Drew to inspect.
Drew’s heart skipped a beat and he forgot to breathe for a minute. It was beautiful. The metal leg was everything he’d dreamed it would be: Tay’s iconic stylized blue-and-purple welds wound around the mechanical components like vines and smoke. And those components. Gleaming aluminum struts and bronze hinges and… Drew couldn’t take it all in. This was more than a brace. It was a work of art.
Taylor started giving Drew a tour of his new brace and all the gadgets attached to it, pointing out each one in turn. “You’ve got a tool compartment on the front of the thigh, stocked with ultra-light carbon fiber tools. Should be most anything you need, but there’s room for more if you want any additions. We’ll have to calibrate the hydraulics in the knee joint like we did with your fingers, but it’ll be just as strong as your grip. There’s a survival knife built into the inside of the calf, Swedish fire steel, and another small compartment with some paracord and extra power sources for the vid screen and processors in your arm. Weight-cancelling thrusters around the ankle will help minimize the strain of lifting it. This thing ain’t exactly a featherweight.” Tay grinned again. “And here. A surprise from your mom.”
Tay hefted the brace forward so Drew could get a better look at the ankle. A tiny cylinder perched there, like some bizarre metallic fruit. It took Drew a minute to work out what it could be. “A rocket?”
Tay grinned. “State-of-the-art prototype ion rockets straight from Aunt Louise’s engineering company. She calibrated them for your skinny butt herself. Said they’d be your birthday and Christmas presents.”
Holy crap. His mom gave him rockets for his leg brace. “I am the luckiest kid alive.”
“And don’t you forget it,” Tay replied. “You’d be sunk without a family of fabricators and engineers.” Taylor put the leg down next to Drew and started showing him how to strap it on. With so much metal, it was quite a process.
The music paused for a commercial break. Drew perked up when he heard two of his favorite words: Donhil Corp.
Tay groaned. “That’s the fifth Donhil commercial I’ve heard in the last two hours.”
“They’ve been talking up this new product of theirs for a month,” Drew said. “I wonder what they’re gonna do this time.”
“You’re the only 13-year-old I know who gets excited about new consumer products.”
“They aren’t just products, Tay. They’re inventions. Awesome inventions! First they come out with super-healthy junk food, then ultra-fast, self-driving, customizable, hovering transports! Donhil invents the stuff of everyone’s dreams. I can’t wait to see how they’re gonna top those.” Drew kept talking, even though he could tell Tay’s attention was wandering. “These guys are the holy grail of tinkerers. They’re world-class. Gold medalists. The whole shebang.”
“That reminds me. Have you heard back about that internship?”
“Not yet.” Drew clicked his fingers together, thumb-to-index-middle-ring-pinkie. He’d been expecting an answer to his application for a week now. Then it would be his turn to be a world-class tinkerer. He couldn’t wait to show Donhil what he could do.
They’d accept him. They had to. How many kids applying for this internship could say they’d turned their braces into a tinkerer’s dream? He’d probably already invented more gadgets than some of the guys Donhil had hired full-time. There was no way they could reject him.
“Here’s hoping your smarts can get them to look past your age,” Tay said. “Then again, these should help, too.” He gestured toward the SuperDrew braces.
“Yeah, they should.”
Drew couldn’t take his eyes off the brace. Cheesy as it sounded, he’d dreamed of this moment for months. It might be Tay’s work, but it was Drew’s design. What better reference could he get for that internship than these babies?
“How does it feel?” Tay asked.
“Good,” Drew said, flexing his ankle a bit. He slid off the table, putting his full weight on the new brace. His leg still hurt—it always would, no matter how awesome of a brace it was in—but he could already tell it was a million times better than his old brace. He walked around, doing deep knee bends and standing on his toes and even kicking the garbage can in the corner like a ninja. Already more flexible, stronger, with less pain. And looking like a superhero, if he must say so himself. Drew couldn’t be happier.
Taylor pulled over his wheelie stool and sat on it, checking the straps and snaps and connectors. Satisfied it wasn’t gonna fall off, he rolled himself to a desk crammed in the corner, returning a minute later with a weird, bulky bracelet thing. It looked like one of those tracking anklets they used on the crime shows his dad liked to watch.
“I know it sucks to have to wear even more crap on your limbs,” Tay said, “but those rockets won’t be any good on just one leg.” He bent down and strapped the anklet onto Drew’s good right leg. “This will balance the thrust and help you fly straight.”
Drew lifted his leg once Taylor had finished. The anklet was super light, and once it settled on top of his sneaker it really wasn’t that bulky after all. Drew checked the Bluetooth connections on his wrist brace, finding the controls for both sets of rockets. A few minutes of programming and he had them all hot-keyed and ready to go.
Taylor moved back to the SuperDrew leg brace, inspecting everything one last time, then nodded. “Okay, you’re good to go. Don’t be stupid with it or you’ll break something.”
“Stupid? Me?” Drew grinned.
“Yes, you. The guy who tried to outrun a car when he got his first upgrade.”
“Come on, Tay, I was eight.”
“And the guy who figured he could not only climb the tallest tree in the neighborhood, but jump off from halfway up.”
“I didn’t break anything important.”
“And the guy who tried to wrestle Uncle Mark and had his entire wrist brace crack. It took me two weeks to get it stabilized.”
“Okay, okay, I get it! I’ll be careful.”
Tay raised an eyebrow.
“Within reason.” Drew grinned again, and Tay laughed and rolled his eyes.
Drew stomped around the shop for a few more minutes. He watched his feet as he walked, rolling the ankle and knee joints as far as the brace would go. Slick as snot. Just like they should be.
“Let me know when you’re ready for the next install.”
“Actually, I’ve already got this idea…”
Tay laughed and shook his head. “Of course you do. Too smart for your own good again.”
Drew smirked. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard it, or even the first thousandth time. Everyone said it, all the time: he was too tall for his age, too skinny for his height, and too smart for his own good. Drew liked to add one more to that list: too stubborn for his own brokenness.
Taylor handed Drew an invoice. As always it listed all the supplies Taylor had used and the amount of time it took to weld them in place—a bill of several hundred dollars—but the amount due line at the bottom said “Whatever.”
Coolest. Family. Ever.
“Thanks, Taylor. I owe you one.”
“You owe me about a thousand by now.”
They bumped fists and Taylor settled in front of a large, partially-welded gate. “Say hi to Aunt Louise and Uncle Gerald for me.”
“Will do. Same to Aunt Liz and Uncle Atoni.”
“You got it.”
Tay slid his welder’s mask back over his face. Drew was smart enough to look away before the blindingly bright sparks began to fly again.
Drew zipped up his hoodie as he stepped outside. Early spring in Minnesota was still chilly, especially for a kid who couldn’t wear long pants over his leg brace. But most of the snow was gone, at least for now, and it wasn’t that far of a walk back home. With this new brace, he could make it there faster, and with less pain.
