NOT SO U

By J.J. Wade

"Everyone's favorite celebrity super is dead, and everyone thinks I killed him.

My face is plastered on every screen everywhere as the nation's #1 most wanted.

I blame the bow tie.

Now my not so super friends and I are being hunted by one of the most powerful organizations in the world, and we have no idea who to trust.

I'm quickly learning that no one is who they seem, not even me.

Without superpowers, against a world full of supers, I don't know how we are going to get out of this mess alive."

~ Eli

Shazam meets Community in this fresh twist on the superhero genre. NOT SO U takes us on an edge-of-your-seat adventure ride you’ll never want to stop. Escape into this imaginative, humorous dystopian world with a cast of unforgettable characters, including a main character anyone can easily identify with.

Fans are raving about NOT SO U:

"Extraordinary Read!!! You want a great read? This is the book to get."
~ Amkala

“Great first book! Loved the unique premise and the complexity of the characters. Looking forward to the second book.”
~Mike Scanlon, Author of Tugboats and Taxis of NYC

"Outstanding! Not able to put it down, a real page turner!”
~Ryan

"J.J. makes reading about superheroes fun and exciting again!! Reading [NOT SO U] really makes you feel like you're in the book and you're a superhero."
~Glenn Davis

"Hilarious Edge-Of-Your-Seat Adventure Ride! Could not put this down! Fast-paced, relatable characters mixed with a sense of humor that had me laughing out loud."
~ J.K. Yohe

What are you waiting for? Scroll up and click the buy now button to find out why readers all over the world are raving about NOT SO U!

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jun 13, 2022
• ISBN: 9781665562249

J.J. Wade

Lover of stories. Loves to hear them. Loves to tell them. Loves to inspire others to share them. J.J. Wade lives in the Poconos with his wife, daughter and the 2nd best dog ever, Westley. Follow J.J. Wade online @jjwadeofficial (TikTok, Instagram, Facebook, X, Threads) and www.jjwadeofficial.com

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

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Seriously, I don’t know who named them, but come on. A drunk eight-year-old could have done better.

So, there’s my 7:00 a.m. alarm, blaring away. Not sure why I bother to set it. The anticipation of continuing my slow decent into madness, here at Nottoway Southern University, has me wide awake every morning at 6:30 a.m. This university, which is better known as Not So U, is a place where us non-special, non-super types can enjoy not being super or special together.

They call it Not So U for that obviously clever reason. But also because of the Not Sos attending. What is a Not So you ask, well…me. It is a person who did not develop a super or enhanced ability when they went through puberty. We are just normal humans; we are Not So super.

And since we all attend Nottoway Southern University, a Super thought it was funny to tear all the letters off the side of our administration building, except for the letters Not So U. The school fixed them a few times over the years, but each time, a Super just ripped them down again. So the university finally accepted defeat. In fact, very few people remember that Not So U even has another name.

Let me help bring you up to speed. About forty years ago (there is a lot of debate around the actual time this all started), kids beginning puberty also started to develop super abilities. You may have picked up on the fact that we refer to them as Supers. There are four identified types of Supers.

First, I’ll start with Super Fasts, who are also known as Road Runners. They are really rare. Not because of the rarity of one occurring versus another super type, but because of the chances the person will live and survive as a Road Runner.

Allow me to explain. Your super ability, when developed, is likely to affect multiple areas of the body. So a Super Fast must learn to control their body, be constantly aware of their surroundings, and in many cases take special meds. The meds are to avoid things like a heart pumping so fast it explodes in their chest, or sneezing so hard the Super blows the back of their skull out.

Most of the news stories and obituaries about Supers are about Road Runners. You’ll read about a Super Fast who was not able to control their speed or turned a blind corner and ended up splattering the side of a building or bus. Pretty gruesome stuff.

Some can be kind of funny though. One of my favorite stories is the guy who got third degree burns masturbating. Can you imagine? You can look at me all judgy, but you know that shit is funny.

Another type are the Super Strongs, or Lennys. I know, the names are so well thought out. It probably took a committee of sixteen and cost thirteen million dollars to decide on the official names, but that’s it. So Super Strongs, officially. Unofficially, Lennys. These ones are pretty obvious.

If you’re familiar with Of Mice and Men, you’ll get the name. If you’re not, well shame on you. Seriously, why are you reading this? Go read that, then come back and finish this.

Lennys are exactly that, strong as hell but about as sharp as a sack of wet mice. Most of the time, when a Lenny becomes a Lenny, they drop out of school. They either think they’re going to be famous or just go straight to work.

Lennys are the most employable. They can work in construction, be bodyguards, and of course, be Gladiator Games contestants. These games have replaced professional wrestling, boxing, mixed martial arts, bum fighting, and hell, just about anything.

Sure, you can argue the science of boxing, the fundamentals of MMA, and the history and traditions of wrestling. I mean seriously, fundamentals? The sporting world is fundamentally fucked, and we all know it.

None of that means anything when you watch two or more people punch each other through a building, or beat the shit out of each other with boulders, steel beams, car doors, and whatever else is available to be used as a weapon. That’s what people will pay to see.

So we’ve got strength, speed, and of course, you can’t go without the flight ability. So Super Flies (note: we left this name alone for obvious reasons) are pretty common, as far as the super abilities’ ratio goes.

Super Flies have the ability to make their bodies lighter than air. With practice and training, Super Flies can move themselves through the air, and some who master it can fly at pretty great speeds.

Some think it is chemically based, where their bodies create bladders filled with lighter gases, like Helium. And some believe it’s the person’s ability to alter magnetic forces and use repelling magnetism to fly and move.

One scientist, who was a Super Fly, described it like a helicopter’s controlled fall, with bursts of speed and thrust to reset the fall. That shit sounds good to me. In truth, I’ll care more how it works if and when I develop my own ability of flight.

As you might expect, governments jumped all over Super Flies when their abilities developed. I mean, why not? Think about it. You could give a bunch of people some automatic rifles and, bam, instant air force.

You laugh, but a small country, who shall remain nameless, tried this. A group of Super Flies were sent to attack a neighboring country. Word spread on social media, prompting a group of civilians to grab their hunting rifles. Next thing you know all of the invading Super Flies were shot down.

You see, even with the ability of flight, you are still a person. You’re susceptible to things like thin air, cold temperatures, and such. Because of that, the invasion force didn’t fly very high and were easy targets. Not so smart.

Which brings us to the rarest of the Supers, Super Smarts. Seriously, I don’t know who named them, but come on. A drunk eight-year-old could have done better.

Anyway, Super Smarts, or Wileys (as in super geniuses), are actually the ones with the most variations. Some are telepathic, others are just crazy smart. And there are urban legends of some who can see into the future and even predict things. I call it probability and statistics, but whatever.

See, with the human mind being such a mystery, add in a little superpower and you have no idea what you’ll get. This is one of the reasons why Wileys are so rare. Because if one is identified, there are certain sectors of the government who come looking, and sometimes collecting, without permission.

I have firsthand experience with this. I’ll share that story with you in a minute.

CHAPTER 2

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I’ve been noticing a lot of white vans driving around, but I haven’t heard of anyone getting free puppies or candy.

So you now know that for the last forty-ish years, when kids started going through puberty, most of them started to develop one of four types of super abilities as well.

To continue, when this all first started happening, the school systems were at a loss on what to do. Kids were coming back from summer break with the ability to smash bones and explode heads with a dodgeball. I know these examples sound pretty specific. That’s because, well, they are.

Remember Sarah Parrot, who you bullied in the fourth grade, or little Micky Baker, who you pantsed during his solo in the school’s production of A Christmas Carol? Well those kids remembered that shit, and now they had the ability to get some payback. The schools didn’t test for abilities or separate kids. So let’s just say that there are more than a few child murderers running around in the world.

I remember this time period fondly. My younger brother and I did not develop powers. Filled with a fear of losing friends, being bullied, or worse, I decided to fake that I had them. Now you can’t fake flight or speed or strength. People will want to see it or test you. But what you can fake is being a Wiley. Keep in mind, no one really knows just what power a Super Smart has or will develop. Most of the time, people just take your word for it.

So when I was fourteen, I dyed my hair black. And I mean black, like ink in a pen black. I added a blue streak down the right side and put some red eyeliner around my left eye. With my clothes all black, torn, and Goth like, I parted my poker-straight, semi-long hair down the middle and started the school year.

Immediately, people took notice. Most automatically assumed I had powers and didn’t even bother to ask. Others, the few closer to me with a little more comfort, did ask. I always said the same thing, I’m still sorting them out. They can get a little crazy, so best just to wait until I learn a bit more.

And it worked! People were talking to me. I could enjoy being part of my school again and hang out with friends and make new ones. My last year of junior high was awesome—for four whole weeks.

I was walking home from school one early autumn afternoon, and I remember this day being a pretty great day. Until I suddenly felt large, powerful arms wrap around my body and my feet instantly leave the ground. Before I realized what was happening, I was being carried in the opposite direction I’d been walking. And then everything went completely black.

Not because I was knocked out or anything, but because they covered my head with a black hood. I heard the universally recognizable sound of a van door opening. Then a second pair of hands grabbed my wrists and led me into the van.

Step up, I heard a voice say. Terrified, I complied. The arms that had me wrapped up let go. The hands holding my wrists moved to my shoulders and turned me around.

Sit, the voice said again. The voice had a very authoritative tone, but calming at the same time.

My heart was racing. I was breathing so fast and hard. It seemed like I wasn’t getting any air. Then I heard the voice again.

Calm down, breathe easy. Everything is going to be OK. I started to calm down. My breathing regulated. I believed I was going to be OK, which was odd.

Your voice. I say softly, You remind me of someone.

Is that so?

At this point, the van was well on its way to its mysterious destination. I can feel the accelerating and slowing, the turns and the hills, but I’m oddly calm. I can be a bit of a smart ass when I’m calm.

It is so, I reply. You sound like a character on one of my most favorite TV shows ever. It only was on for one season, but it was amazing. It was like a western, but in space, and there’s this captain and his crew, and….

The voice interjects, Doesn’t sound like something that would interest me.

Well, it should, I argue back. You sound exactly like this one character, who was the muscle of the group. And he would always act like he was all tough and shit, but really he would—

My nervous rambling is cut short by, Kid, settle down. The tone is a bit calming, and I instantly stop my rant. Now, my name is Agent Cobb.

There is dead silence for a good minute.

You’ve got to be fucking with me! Are you kidding? Seriously?

What? yells Agent Cobb.

That’s the same name! Your name is the same as— The excitement in my voice grew. Seriously, how did this guy not know? I can’t be the first to tell him this, I mean…

Stop! Cobb commands.

I do, almost immediately. I’m just sitting alone with my thoughts. My mind is only able to focus on my thoughts. The voice. The character. This is crazy. Why would my kidnapper introduce himself? My thoughts start to spiral.

I was so fixated on the owner of the ever-so-familiar-sounding-voice, I didn’t realize the van had come to a stop. I hear the door slide open and, in the next instant, I’m being ushered out of the van and to—hell, I have no idea. All I know is I can hear people near and far, and what I think are vehicles moving about. My imagination immediately assumes I’m in a large warehouse or hanger.

I hear Agent Cobb’s voice in my ear, and I realize that he is the one ushering me along. Everything will be fine. Just be cool. Be yourself, and this will go easy for you.

So now I believe I will be fine. I’m cool. I’m easy and myself. One small problem. Myself is the epitome of a fourteen-year-old asshole kid.

I sense another person stop close by, who Agent Cobb instructs to take me to interrogation room C. He also says that I haven’t demonstrated, whatever that means. The other person takes hold of my wrist, and I willingly walk along, following their lead. Remember, why fight it? Agent Cobb did say everything will be fine.

I hear a metal door open directly in front of me, and as I’m pushed forward I can hear Agent Cobb’s voice boom out again. As you were.

I can hear the sound in the warehouse resume just before the metal door clacks shut behind me. Room C is not very far, only a few steps past the metal door. I’m turned ninety degrees and ushered into what I assume is a room.

I’m instructed to sit in a cold, metal chair and place my hands on the table in front of me. I comply and my wrists are handcuffed. Then I’m left to sit there in the cold and quiet. My escort is still standing there. I can hear them breathing, but they say nothing. I figure it’s best to avoid fraternizing with the help.

I’m only there a few minutes when I hear a door open. My hood is yanked off my head, and the rush of bright, unfiltered light pierces my eyes. A voice speaks.

So, how are we this afternoon?

We? I ask, still squirming and trying to shield my eyes. They’re not adjusting, and I need to buy some time so they can adjust.

Well, you, I suppose. The voice continues, "How are you this afternoon?"

My eyes are starting to adjust, and I am starting to make things out. Sitting across from me is an older guy with reddish, thinning hair and gold framed glasses. A bit older than my dad at this time. Standing behind him are two younger guys. One is short, fat and pale like a ghost. And the other is tall, dark and obviously in shape. All three are wearing your standard government goon slacks, shirt and tie get up.

How do you think I’m doing?

Completely ignoring my response, the older one across from me continues on.

Well, where are my manners? My name is Larry. He gestures to the short, fat guy. This is my partner, Daryl.

My eyes widen and a small smile begins to form on my face. This could seriously make all this shit worth it.

And my other partner, Oh shit, here it comes! Dwight.

Motherfucker!

The room goes dead, and everyone is staring at me. Oh, shit. I said that out loud.

Something wrong? Larry asks with a stern, puzzled look on his face.

Uh, I don’t know, Mr. Newhart. Is there?

Obviously confused, and a bit off script from my outburst, Larry composes himself and continues.

So, Ellie

Eli, I correct him.

Eli?

Elly, I correct him again.

That’s what I said. Elle.

Elli, I correct him one more time, just to push that button.

Enough! I said it correctly! Larry bangs his hand on the table, showing both his anger and that he’s done with the name conversation. I might have pushed that button too hard, but then again, fuck this guy.

"Yeah, but I said it with a y, and that’s still wrong." At this point, I was doing my best to hold back laughing in this stupid man’s face. Like I care if he calls me by the correct name.

Wa-wait, your name is Elle, he firmly states as he straightens himself and fixes his tie. I guess the cool, casual approach isn’t working, so he’s going with plan B. Jackass is still saying my name wrong.

OK, you’re right. It’s Elle to some. Which is actually true. You see, people have been getting my name wrong all my life. I just find it easier to answer to both instead of correcting them. But this guy? Like I said, fuck this guy.

So, Elle, He affirms. We have collected you and brought you here today to discuss your new superpower.

I lied, I interject.

You lied? Larry asks skeptically.

Yep, I don’t have any powers aside from my wit and good looks.

You know, if I had a dollar for every time I heard that. He laughs and looks to his partners, sharing a chuckle.

You’d have enough money to stop licking other people’s fingers at KFC! I finish his joke.

Larry’s disposition changes immediately. This can go many different ways. You keep it up, Elle, and you will find yourself making more trouble than I think you can handle. You little shit.

Me? You grabbed me! Snatched a kid right off the street. Threw me in a van, drove me to a secret location and touched my ‘no-no’ place. Or, at least, that’s what I’m going to tell people. I turn to my nameless escort still standing silently behind me. Can you find me a doll? I want to practice pointing for the jury.

ENOUGH! Larry stands and pounds both fists on the hard, metal table. I can see Dwight trying to cover his mouth with his hand, obviously concealing a laugh and a smile. Take this one to the chair. We’ll find out what we need one way or another. Larry turns towards the door.

If you want to know if I have a dollar, all you—

Listen, you little shit, Larry spins around and puts his face inches from mine. I’m going to enjoy hearing about your screams. In fact, Daryl?

Daryl stops biting his nails for a second and looks up at Larry.

Will you record Elle’s session for me? I’ll review it later when I need a laugh. Daryl nods and Larry exits the room.

Dwight and Daryl start to remove my handcuffs and force me to my feet.

You can go. We’ve got it from here, Dwight says to my former escort.

Dwight and Daryl both have a hold of me by my shoulders and wrists, and are escorting me down a long, brightly lit hallway. The walls and