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Message-ID: <49540asstr$1098252603@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Gina Marie Wylie" <gmwylie98260@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Spitfire and Messerschmitt Ch 18 {Gina Marie Wylie} (Teen, Mf, cons)
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Date: Wed, 20 Oct 2004 02:10:03 -0400
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<1st attachment, "Davey Ch 18.doc" begin>

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

	The following is fiction of an adult nature.  If I believed in
setting age limits for things, you'd have to be eighteen to read
this and I'd never have bothered to write it.  IMHO, if you can
read and enjoy, then you're old enough to read and enjoy.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

	All persons here depicted are figments of my imagination and any
resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly a blunder on my
part.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

	Official stuff:  Story codes: teen, mf, cons.

	If stories like this offend you, you will offend ME if you read
further and complain. Copyright 2004, by Gina Marie Wylie. 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

	I can be reached at gmwylie98260@hothothotmail.com, at least if
you remove some of the hots.  All comments and reasoned
discussion welcome.

Below is my site on ASSTR:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Gina_Marie_Wylie/www/

My stories are also posted on StoriesOnline:
http://Storiesonline.net/

And on Electronic Wilderness Publishing:
http://www.ewpub.org/

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Spitfire and Messerschmitt

Chapter 18 :: Practicing Roadkill

Mom was the first one back.  She came in, saw me munching chili
and walked over and squeezed my shoulder.  "Hey, you found a use
for Phil's chili!"

"Sleeping by myself makes it possible," I told her, laughing
myself.

"I'm going to fix some tuna salad," she told me and vanished
towards the kitchen.

Wanda and Emily were next, with Pammie and Karen right on their
heels.  A lot of tuna salad started getting made.  Shellie
arrived and I got my books and things and sat on the floor in the
family room, near the coffee table.  Dad read a fair number of
magazines; Mom read more.  They were never permitted, though, on
top of the coffee table -- they lived underneath.  Too many
evenings we sat on the floor using the table for our plates while
we watched TV.

Mercedes was last.  For the better part of two hours we brought
Emily and Karen up to speed in biology, English and above all,
math.  We started with math and both Mercedes and I talked about
the first few days.  Shellie helped some, too.  It wasn't until
we got to biology that I realized Shellie wasn't in the honors
class.

She shrugged.  "My mother and step-father won't let me take it. 
They are Baptists," she nodded to Pammie, sitting across the room
with Wanda.  They too were studying.  "I want to be an engineer.
I need math; I don't care much about biology.  They just don't
hold with evolution and dissection and all of that."

"What has Pammie got to do with it?" I asked.

Pammie shrugged but Karen spoke up, "Because my uncle, the
Reverend Grissom, is the pastor and a bigger bigot has never
existed.  A mind so small you need a microscope to find it.  Of
course, he thinks when you look through a microscope or telescope
you're defaming God.  Delusions of the devil, he calls them.  He
makes my parents seem broad-minded."

"My parents quit the Catholic Church before I was born," Mercedes
said.  "I still can't believe they joined Reverend Grissom's
church.  Dad says he goes for networking.  Like he needs
networking as a tenured teacher!"

I hadn't heard him come in, but my dad spoke up.  "I think it was
Huxley who said that he personally was agnostic, but the logic of
religion was simple.  If you believed in God, heaven and all
that, there was life after death and it was someplace other than
hell.  If you were an atheist, you believe that when you die, you
cease to exist.  It made sense, he said, to maintain a healthy
skepticism, but believe in God, because the alternative didn't
bear thinking about."

"That's self-serving," Mercedes told him.

"You bet," Dad agreed cheerfully.  "I behave in a Christian
manner, as much as I can.  I even, very occasionally, go to
church.  And it is indeed self-serving because I don't want to go
to Hell and as sure as hell don't want to believe I cease to
exist the minute I die."

"Dad!"  Wanda said sharply, interrupting.  He looked at her.

"Every last one of us has at least one test by the end of the
week.  Save the religious discussion for Sunday!"

"What's for dinner?" Dad announced.

"Check the kitchen," I told him.

He gave me a mock salute, turned and left.

A few minutes later Shellie's mother was at the door.  Mom talked
to her for a few minutes while Shellie gathered her things.

"Thanks, Davey," Shellie said as I went with her to the door.

"Hey, this helps me as much as it helps anyone else," I told
her.

Then Pammie and Karen left, and while they were going out,
Mercedes' mother arrived to pick her up.  I gave her a hug before
returning to a much emptier family room.

Emily was leaning on the coffee table, her head pillowed on her
arms, sound asleep.

Wanda came in from the kitchen, a glass of lemonade in her hand.
She looked at Emily, and then smiled at me.  "We have to start
taking care of how much she sleeps."

Mom came up between us, hugging us both around the waist.  "She
has a doctor's appointment tomorrow afternoon.  Doubt if she's
going to mind missing PE."

"No, I don't expect she will," Wanda said.  "I've stepped on a
few girls with bigger mouths than brains, but it hasn't been easy
on her.  Some fathead in the office started talking about her
being pregnant.  Mrs. Braud went ape and suspended the girl for
three days and gave her study hall for the rest of the year
instead of the easy "A" in office assistant.

"Emily doesn't say anything, but it has to hurt," Wanda
concluded.

This was the first I'd heard of any talk about Emily.  Then I
thought back to biology and the sniggers.  Maybe I'd heard about
it, but didn't know it.

I explained to Mom and Wanda about what had been said.  "I will
talk to her," Wanda said firmly.  "Now let's stop talking about
her."  Wanda shook Emily awake.  Emily smiled prettily at Wanda
and they went towards their bedrooms.

"You're getting a great dose of 'grown up' aren't you, these last
few weeks?" Mom asked me.

"I guess.  I keep thinking about things; stuff I never thought
about before.  I see so many things I think are wrong... and I
don't have a clue about how to go about fixing them."

"One of the worst things you can do right now," she told me, "is
jump to conclusions when you see something you think is wrong. 
Think three or four times before you rush off to fix it.  Don
Quixote tilted at windmills; it's easier to do than you think. 
And easier still to try to right a wrong that isn't as wrong as
you think."

"Tell me I did wrong, helping Emily and Karen get in Honors?" I
asked her.

"That was right," she agreed.

"I was right, too, to offer to help Emily."

"You were.  And were you right slugging that boy last week?"

"Boys plural," I told her.  "At the time I thought I was.  Then I
looked at what I'd done and why.  I decided I'd gone crazy. 
Now... I don't know.  But I can't tell if that's because now I
know they did have weapons or because it was time to get Terry
off my back."

"A couple of years ago," Mom told me, "your father and I were
having maybe the biggest fight of our lives.  We were standing on
the street, in public, yelling at each other.  I swear to God, I
don't remember what got us going.

"Right in the middle of things, with no warning at all, he leaned
close, grabbed me around the waist, spun me around and slammed me
to the ground.  Then he jumped on top of me, and pinned me down
so I couldn't move.  I kneed the bastard in the balls, I slapped
him as hard as I could... then the semi he'd seen behind me
slammed into half a dozen cars stopped at the light.

"Bits and pieces of metal and glass showered over us.  I shut my
eyes, but I didn't need to because he was protecting me.  He was
cut and bruised.  He also had a bruise on his cheek where I'd hit
him and his balls were swollen for two weeks.

"You know what the first words were out of his mouth?"

I shook my head.  "Ouch," came to mind.

"'Are you okay, sweetheart?'  That's one of those 'inch-high'
moments, Davey.  Since then, I've gone back to the attitude I had
about him in high school: Phil can do no wrong; he's my man!"

She squeezed my waist.  "Now, curl up in bed yourself."

I started off in bed, but felt antsy, not sure what I was
feeling.  I got up after a few minutes and went outside and
looked up at the sky.  There had been a thunderstorm earlier, a
little after eight, and it was clearing now.  There was a partial
moon visible in the west.  I looked up at the stars but the
clouds kept obscuring them.

I fell asleep there, my mind drifting like the clouds.

Wanda woke me up about six as she was tossing the chemicals out
into the water.  "Two days in a row!" she told me.

I laughed.  "Keep it up!"

She smiled.  "You didn't swim yesterday."

"That was the early morning thunderstorm, all those lightning
spikes," I told her.

"And your excuse today?"

"Why bother to swim?" I asked, waving around.  "Near as I can
tell, the humidity is right at 100%."

"You were the one who slept outside, crazy little brother."

"Yeah.  And now I'm going to take a shower, not bother to dry off
and come out and swim."

It really was a humid morning, already sticky and unpleasant.

I went inside and the first thing I was aware of was that it was
as sticky and humid inside as outside, and maybe a little warmer,
too.  What was up with the air-conditioning?  I checked the
thermostat, which was set right, then went outside to look at the
unit, only to find Dad already there.

He turned to me.  "I think it's dead, Jim."

"That's not good," I told him.

"Nope.  What are your plans after school tonight?"

I blinked.  Why, that would be to come home and 'study' with
Mercedes.  "Come home and study," I said limply.

"Ah!  Good plan!  Good plan!  The repair guy will be here around
four.  Promise him the sun, the moon and the stars if he can get
it fixed and my boot up his butt if he can't."

"Gosh, thanks," I told him.

"Thanks?" he growled.  "I put in a heat pump because it's
supposed to save a lot of money and instead, after six months it
goes belly up and I'm supposed to say thanks?"

"I was thanking you for the opportunity to learn at the elbow of
the repairman."

He flipped me a bird and stalked off into the house.

I took my shower and hopped into the pool.  This kind of humidity
didn't happen in San Angelo often, but now and again it did. 
It's weird when it feels less humid actually in the pool, than
out.

I remembered all the admonitions about taking it easy with my
arm, even if it felt okay.  It felt a little funny for a while
after the game, but after the ice it felt fine.  I pushed just a
little bit, and there wasn't even a little twinge.  I settled
down into my usual pace and swam.  I chuckled to myself.  Lately
I'd been swimming really hard; today I could swim at my regular
pace and I felt good.  Was there a cause and effect?  Probably.

Emily sank into the water and I pulled up next to her, staying
low, with just my head out of the water.

"God," she said, "it's awful."

"Being in the water feels better," I told her.

"Davey, in a minute I have to get out.  And I don't think I can
dry off until next week, it's so sticky.  My hair is going to be
a mess."

I smiled at Emily, but then I felt a cold wind down my back when
she mentioned her hair.  Yesterday, the plan had been for
Mercedes to put her hair up in braids during lunch.  She hadn't
done it.  She'd left the study group last night, still without
braids.  Was I in the doghouse?

I got out of the pool, skipped the usual rinse and just dried off
in my room.

I was still thinking about Mercedes when we got to school,
earlier than usual.  Wanda had wanted to arrive early for some
cheerleader thing and insisted Emily come with her.  I walked
towards the biology lab, not particularly caring how early I got
there.

Mercedes was already there, sitting on the sidewalk, leaning
against the wall of the classroom, reading the biology book. 
Still no braids.  I sat down next to her.  "Can you believe how
sticky it is?" she asked.

"Our air-conditioning went out last night," I told her.

"Oh, bummer!"

I reached out and ran my fingers gently through her hair.

Mercedes laughed, "You're going to have to get used to it for a
few days.  I want to know if it's me you love or my braids."

"You," I told her firmly.

"I was planning on coming home with you this afternoon after
school," she told me.

I sighed.  "I was looking forward to it.  Except the air
conditioning repairman is due at four."

"Well, we'll have to make the best use of our time," she told
me.

I grinned.  A few things came at once to mind.

"I spent a half hour last night online looking for topics, more
time this morning."

"Last night I went to bed early, then I swam a little this
morning.  Sorry," I told her.

She laughed.  "We all bring our own skills to a project like
this."

She turned serious, "I saw an idea that might be interesting. 
Now I'm looking at the feasibility.  For a long time scientists
have been sure that there are a lot of bacteria in sea water that
they can't detect.  Bacteria and viruses that don't culture. 
It's really hard to identify bacteria just by looking at them. 
They use stains and other things to help classify them, but
scientists are pretty sure that a lot of species are being
overlooked.  What they've found are the species that are easy to
culture.

"What this article was talking about was that a company, just as
a test of their methodology, was going to take some samples of
sea water and do some PCR cloning of genetic material.  Big
chunks, then try to figure out how many different organisms are
represented, even if they can't see them or tell them apart
visually."

I honed in on a word I'd heard.  "Cloning?"  I was skeptical.

"It's not what you think.  I spent most of the morning reading
about PCR.  It's a way to take a single short strand of DNA and
replicate it.  Kinko's for DNA."

"I thought we decided we couldn't get to the ocean that easy."

"We'd only need one or two trips to collect samples.  That's if
we can learn enough to be able to do it and if we can afford it.
I have no idea how expensive it would be."

I nodded.  What would be the point of spending the money we
wanted to save, on a long shot?  "We'll look into it," I agreed.

She looked around and I followed her gaze.  There was no one
close.  "What do you think of Shellie?"  I suppose I shouldn't
have been surprised by her question, but I really wasn't prepared
for it.

"She's nice.  I think she's even more..."  I didn't know what
word to use.  "She blushes even easier than Emily."

Mercedes laughed.  "Nobly put, Davey!  She's cute.  She's nice. 
I think she likes you a whole lot more than she likes me, but she
likes me, too.  It's causing her a lot of unnecessary worry.  In
fact, I'm pretty sure she likes you a very great deal."

"Why do you think that?"

"I see how she looks at you.  And she was at the nurse's office
the other day for the same reason I was.  If she was thinking
about me that much, she wouldn't have bothered."

She saw my expression and looked around again.  "Messerschmitts
aren't the only prey of Spitfires.  And Messerschmitts were
effective against more than Spitfires.  Davey, I don't think you
and I will ever have a typical relationship.  You know how I feel
about you, I know how you feel about me."

I was tempted to mention that I had role models who were maybe
more like what she imagined than she might suspect.  But I kept
my mouth firmly shut.

"So today at lunch," Mercedes went on, "Shellie sits between
us."

I swallowed and turned and directly faced Mercedes.  "I
understand this is something you've dreamed.  I don't want you to
think I disapprove -- but what I am, is not sure.  One thing I'm
sure of: I'm not going to do anything that would hurt Shellie. 
Or you.  Or me."

She nodded, her eyes going to a couple of our classmates who were
walking towards us.  "I don't want that either.  I'm sure,
though, that it will work out."

The morning seemed to flow past rapidly.  And when it came time
to go to the Office class, I made a point of waiting for
Shellie.

She saw me and I could see concern in her eyes.  This time she
talked.  "You and Mercedes are friends."

"Yes," I told her.  "We met on Labor Day; we found that we had a
great deal in common."

She bit her lip.  "I heard about what Emily said yesterday in
biology.  About living with you.  Someone said you're the father
of her baby."

I had to stop.  I wanted to pound on that someone.  Why did
people say that sort of thing?

"The father is in jail in San Antonio, awaiting trial for rape,"
I managed.  "She's my friend.  She wants to have the baby; she's
still not sure if she wants to keep it or let it be adopted.  She
needs friends right now.  Her mother kicked her out, that's why
she's staying at my house."  I laughed bitterly.  "It was my
mother and sister's idea she move in... but it's okay with me.  I
stand by my friends."

"I heard about Friday in the cafeteria.  Is that what you were
doing?"

"It's complicated.  I think maybe, more than anything, it was
because Mercedes, Emily and Karen were there.  Terry Toohey and
I..."

"He's picked on me, too," Shellie said, a little forlornly.

"If he does it again, let me know."

We got to the Office class and the boring routine commenced.

About twenty minutes into the class my screen blinked.  The
speakers were off; they bugged too many people.  I looked to see
what had beeped, thinking it was a typical PC bug, that my
computer was about to crash or lock up.

Instead, there was an email from someone named 'Chibasama.' 
Curious, I opened it.

It was a cartoon; a big-eyed, ancient crone labeled "Mrs.
Saunders" standing in front of a class of skeletal students, most
of them in poses that showed they died asleep.  She was reading
from a piece of paper.

I looked around and saw Shellie looking at me, a small smile on
her face.  I carefully forwarded the email to my Yahoo account
and then deleted it, after looking at it for a few seconds.  Had
Shellie really done that?  I was certain she had.  It was a
fairly simple drawing, but very well done.  What could Shellie do
if she had more time?  And she had to have done it on the
computer.

After class, as we walked to lunch, I told Shellie how much I
liked the cartoon.  "That was cool.  Not to mention altogether
too real!"

She smiled again.  "It's something I do."  I swear, she looked
around like Mercedes had before school.  "My parents don't know
I'm an anime fan.  They'd freak."

"Anime?"

"A kind of cartoon.  Japanese Saturday morning cartoons, only
they are about ten times more popular over there.  I'm trying to
learn Japanese.  I wish they taught it here."

"I understand we're lucky to have Spanish, German and French. 
That was a really cool cartoon."

Sure enough, Mercedes had arrived first again, and this time she
sat on one end of the bench.  Shellie made to let me go first,
but I waved her to sit.  She looked at me, and then at Mercedes,
then she sat down.

"Shellie sent me this cool cartoon during Office," I told
Mercedes.  "You'd have to have Mrs. Saunders to truly understand,
but she is so boring!"

Out of nowhere, Fesselhof appeared, standing next to the table. 
Rob wasn't there yet, so there was an empty seat next to Emily. 
I met his eyes and shook my head.

Rob appeared and went around him and sat down.  Fesselhof turned
and walked away.

Rob watched him go, and turned to me.  "If I was a betting man,
I'd say we'll hear more about that later."

"I am a betting man," I told him, "and I'm keeping my money in my
pocket.  You're going to win."

"Ah, a betting man?" Rob said, adroitly changing the subject.

"Davey plays poker on Saturday nights with the Chief of Police,"
Mercedes announced.

"Which is something I'd bet he doesn't want advertised," I said.
"Not to mention your father and mine are there."

"Gosh!  I'd really like to tape that game!"  Rob said, obviously
excited.

I contemplated Blade, Hammer and Willy Coy.

I spoke with dead seriousness.  "Rob, trust me on this.  The last
thing you want to do is show up to that poker game with a camera
in hand.  It would be beyond a bad idea."

"The police chief, eh?" He laughed.  "I imagine it would be a bad
idea."

We ate and talked, then went back to helping Emily and Karen with
algebra.  Shellie paid avid attention, too.  Then it was time for
geography and I smiled at the others and walked with Shellie
towards Colonel Terrell.

"I don't want to come between you and Mercedes," Shellie said.

"Shellie, you aren't, okay?"  I paused and added, "Mercedes likes
you and wants to be your friend.  I want to be your friend. 
Don't worry about it."

She stammered, "I, I like you."

"I know.  Mercedes knows.  And we like you.  Friends understand
these things, Shellie."

She looked at me, then away.

Geography was another assault by Colonel Terrell against the
bastions of those who would not participate.  He pointed to the
guy who'd had to deal with Louisiana.  "Tell me the area of the
largest state?"

The guy glowered at the Colonel.  "I don't know."

"Sure you know.  And you know to put the word "sir" on the end
when you answer me.  This is a review from yesterday."

Instantly books were being opened.  Yeah, the areas were listed
for each state on that page with the capitals.  It was so obvious
and clear, that the guy had no choice but to dig into his book
and looked down the list.  Fortunately, the answer was clear and
near the top.  "Alaska, 570374 square miles," he read the numbers
one by one.

Colonel Terrell grinned.  "Sir."

Their eyes met.  "Sir," the other said reluctantly.

"Now, Mr. Morelli, would you care to speculate how large the
population of Alaska is and where it ranks among the states?"

The guy shook his head.  "I don't know."

Colonel Terrell made a come along gesture.  And after a second,
another.

"Sir, I don't know."

"Would you say Alaska has a lot of people, just a few, or a
moderate number?"

"Not many," he replied, and added more quickly when Colonel
Terrell stared at him.  "Sir."

"In fact, not very many at all.  It ranks 48th."

Then one by one, we went down the size and populations of the
states.  We had no way to know the populations, but by the end of
the period there had been a considerable discussion of the
reasons why people would live or not live in a state.

He concluded the class by saying, "I could be cruel and tell you
that you needed to memorize the states, their capitals and their
areas.  I could be really cruel, and throw in population... all
before the next quiz.  I'm not a cruel man.  At the first test,
you will need to know ten states, ten capitals; it's up to you
which.  The second test twenty, the third thirty..." he pointed
to Shellie.  "And you, you know all the answers.  On the fifth
test, what do you expect I expect?"

"To know them all," Shellie said without hesitation.  She waited
a perceptible moment to add, "Sir."

It finally dawned on me.  Shellie was smart; she was in honors
English and Algebra, she should have been in honors Biology.  Her
not calling him "sir" was deliberate, done in cold blood, with a
fair expectation of the consequences.  Or, in this case, lack of
real consequences.  Mild, meek Shellie was sitting there looking
at him with no expression and dissing him to his face.

Yesterday Colonel Terrell had been pulling my chain.  Shellie was
jerking his.  Were the two related?  And what the hell was going
on?

After class I decided on the simple approach.  "What have you got
against Colonel Terrell?"  I asked her.

She looked at me.  "He gave me a hard time the first day.  He
reminds me of my real father.  I always had to call him sir."

Past tense?

I tried to be mild.  "I think the Colonel likes to make points
using us as examples."

"And I'm not a teaching aid," she told me flatly.

I nodded; it wasn't a comfortable thing, that was for sure.

"Three years ago my father was stationed in Tucson.  I was going
to the elementary school on base.  We were out on the playground
one morning; all of a sudden they made us go inside.  The last
thing I remember was a pillar of smoke over towards operations. 
That was my father, burning up."

I shut my mouth.  We were nearly to the point where we should
part for PE.  Shellie stopped and looked at me.  "You didn't tell
me how sorry you are."

"Why?" I asked.  "I'm a human being; I'd hate it if one or both
of my parents was killed.  I'd hate it even more if people went
around telling me they were sorry.  What good is that?"

"I hated him from the first I could remember.  I never met his
expectations.  When he would read to me when I was little, he'd
point and make me say the words.  And say sir.  Always, I was
supposed to call him sir.  My last memory of him is a pillar of
smoke in the distance."

She walked away without saying anything else.

As I started dressing out for PE, Fesselhof appeared at my
locker.  "You need to start sharing the wealth, Harper!" he said,
laughing as if he thought it was all a joke.  "You can't have
that many girls to yourself!"

I felt like shit; I knew I felt like shit.  Colonel Terrell might
be a teacher determined not to leave anyone behind, but I was
still uncomfortable with his methods.  My conversation with
Shellie had left me sick to my stomach.

I carefully closed my locker door, picked up my glove and Rob's.
I carried Rob's over to his locker and handed it to him.

Fesselhof wasn't done, following along behind me.  "You can't
ignore me, Harper.  You have a duty to your teammates!  You got
all that pussy at your table!  Share some of it!"

Rob saved me.  He had a ball in his hand.  He tossed it, a soft
lob.  He'd moved so that Fesselhof was looking right at him, too.
 The lob went over Fesselhof's right shoulder, Fesselhof made a
grab at it, way too late.

"Hey, guy!" Rob said, his voice conversational.  "I'll give you a
hint on how to find a girl: learn how to catch.  Yesterday you
blew the one that came to you.  Yesterday you fanned each and
every time you stepped up to the plate.  Everyone else on the
team got a hit, at least.  Not you."

"Fuck you!" Fesselhof retorted angrily.

"I can catch, I can hit," Rob continued, ignoring him.  "I'm
sitting at Davey's table now.  You figure it out... loser."

Rob turned and walked away.  I walked with him, simply because if
I'd have stayed I'd have decked Fesselhof.  To my surprise, the
half dozen people around us turned and walked with us, leaving
Fesselhof alone.

We did our warm-ups as usual, then the jog around the field.  And
of course Coach Delgado reminded me that I owed four more.  I
sighed, and started around again while everyone else went to work
on the various drills.  I'd just finished the first lap when
Mercedes fell in next to me.

I lifted an eyebrow and she glowered at me.  "That butthead from
lunch told me he'd keep me entertained while you were running,"
she told me.

I winced.  At least if Mercedes was running with me, it meant
Fesselhof was still walking and talking.  "I threw a little high,
a little hard.  Lucky him, he got his glove up in time, so he has
a bloody nose not a busted face.  I got ten laps."

"Four for me, three left," I told her.

"Pick up the pace," she told me.  "I don't want anyone to think
we're dogging it."

So we did.  I was surprised at how good of shape I was in; we
were zipping along pretty fast, but we could still talk.

"He mouthed off in the locker room, too," I told her.  "A lot of
the guys, all that were around, turned their backs on him and
walked away.  Next time, do just that.  He's an asshole.  No one
loves an asshole, even the person whose asshole it is."

Mercedes looked at me and shook her head.  "You're just going to
let it go?"

"Words," I told her, "offensive sure, but you could have gotten
totally screwed if he hadn't blocked the ball you threw at him. 
What would be right about it if you're screwed and the asshole
bastard doesn't get screwed too?"

She looked at me and laughed.  "I do believe, Messerschmitt, that
you are flying under false colors.  You have to be on my side."

"Oh, yeah!" I said, grinning.

"Okay, I will leave the bastard alone... unless he touches me. 
Then I'll break every bone in his body."

"You feel like doing that, think about those waves in Blue
Crush," I told her.  "Think about what you'd like to do this
summer -- riding waves like those or breaking rocks in a prison
uniform someplace."

"You are just a bundle of cheer," she said.  At least she was
smiling, though.

I finished the fourth lap and stopped at Coach Delgado.  He
pulled a stopwatch out of his pocket.  "Six and a half minutes."
I blinked.  That was pretty darn fast.  I was breathing a little
hard, but not much.  That and I was surprised he'd timed my
laps.

"How's the arm?" he asked.

"No problems, Coach," I answered.  "Yesterday, right after the
game it felt weird, but after the ice packs, it was fine.  I swam
just a little this morning and skipped my chin-ups.  No
twinges."

"Muscles work by converting chemical energy into motion," he told
me.  "Hard work by muscles generates a lot of waste products that
your body has to scavenge.  Some of it comes right out; some
sticks around a little longer.  Don't push it.  We won't ever ask
you to overdo it; you could get really messed up if you did. 
Skip pitching drills today; just take batting practice and
fielding.  Don't push on the throws.  If your arm starts to feel
tired, or you feel the strength going out, let me know."

He waved at where Mercedes was running.  "You talked to her?"

"Yes, sir.  I told her she had to be cool."

"A birdie told me you've had words with Fesselhof before."

"Yes, sir.  Nothing much."

"Stay cool yourself.  It's not worth it, particularly if you want
to play ball."

In a few minutes it was my turn to bat.  We would each get a half
dozen pitches, then it would be someone else's turn.

When I got to the plate, Coach Wells called to me, "I want some
ground balls, out towards first and second, Harper."

I grimaced.  It was pretty easy to just windup and hit the ball
with everything I had.  Controlling it was something I'd not
given much thought to.

I swear, the first time it was an accident.  The pitch came, and
instead of trying to loft it over the fence I just hit it
solidly, aiming level.

The pitcher jumped out of the way, and the ball whistled past
Fesselhof's ear a fraction of a second later.  He hadn't even
moved.  I swallowed.  A foot to my left and I'd have sent him to
the hospital.  I hadn't even been aware he was there, either.

"Not so hard, Harper!" Coach Wells commanded.

In a way, it was already too late.  Maybe a dozen pairs of eyes
had followed that ball.  There wasn't a person who saw it fly who
didn't know what happened earlier.

Fesselhof turned white as a sheet and then stared at me, his face
turning blazing red as he got angry.

He ran to Coach Wells and started screaming at him that I'd tried
to kill him.  Well, important lessons come in all sizes and
shapes.  Fesselhof quickly learned it's not a good idea to come
and scream in the head Coach's face.

Coach Wells just stood calmly, his arms folded, his face tight. 
After a few minutes, Fesselhof looked around.  Everyone in
earshot was watching them.

"Are you finished?" Coach Wells asked Fesselhof.

"Harper tried to kill me!" Fesselhof started up again... but ran
out of steam much faster when the Coach just stood watching him
wordlessly.

"Harper!"  Coach Wells called and beckoned to me.

"Did you try to hit Fesselhof?"

"Sir, I don't know how to pull the ball.  I was concentrating on
the pitch and how I wanted to hit it.  I wasn't paying any
attention to who was in the infield."

Who was going to believe that?

"I've noticed you suck big rocks when it comes to pulling. 
Twice.  I've seen you pull a pitch twice.  Coach Neville, make a
note.  You need to take Harper in hand and work on that."

"Yes, sir!" Coach Neville said.  He was a younger man, one I took
to be just out of college.  I'd heard Coach Delgado talking to
Coach Wells; it was "Bud" and "Jim" between them.

"What about Harper?" Fesselhof was still spitting mad.

"He said it was an accident," Coach Wells said.  "In any case,
you were more than a hundred feet away from the plate.  All you
had to do was put up your glove and catch the ball.  Or, if you
were afraid, you could have turned tail and run.

"I'll see you in my office, Fesselhof, five minutes before the
end of the period.  You can hit the showers now."

The Coach waved around.  "Who told you morons it was a break? 
Get your asses in gear!"

I went back to the plate.  Coach Neville called to me, "I want
you to bunt the rest of this set of pitches."

I nodded, and the next pitch was a whistling fastball, up and in.
 I poked my bat at it, not really a bunt, and the ball rocketed
down to first base where someone I didn't know was taking
Mercedes' place while she was working on her laps.

He caught it, but it promptly popped out of his glove.  I
grimaced.  The high and inside pitch was the pitcher telling me
to watch my step.  And now the second string first baseman was
going to hate my guts, too.

Coach Neville called out to the pitcher.  "I want some changeups
and curves.  Outside."

The next ball was a curve, well outside.  I reached across the
plate and put the bat in front of the ball.  It went straight
down and nearly hit me coming back up.

"You're still trying to hit," Coach Neville told me.  "Don't. 
Just put the bat in front of the ball.  If you move your right
hand further along the trunk of the bat you can control it
better."

Yeah, I'd seen that a million times on TV and in live games.  It
had always seemed like a good way to get your fingers mashed to
me.

Still, I tried it on a changeup that came next; he was right.  It
was easier to get the bat where I wanted it.  I'd already figured
I wanted to the ball to hit below the bat's centerline so it
would go down, rather than up.  It went right down the first base
line, turning foul about three-fourths of the way to first base.
I smiled.  It was Mercedes there, now.

She'd charged the ball, but when she saw it was headed foul she
let it go, then picked it up as soon as it was well foul.

Finally it was someone else's turn, and I went back to end of the
line.

Chuck Bradshaw was ahead of me.  "Interesting way you have of
settling scores, Davey."

"It really was an accident," I didn't think anyone was ever going
to believe me.

"Coach was right," Chuck said flatly.  "He was a wuss.  A pitcher
can make a case you're trying to bean him, not an infielder.

I shrugged.  "I'd just like to forget it."

"Fat chance!" he said with a laugh.  He looked at me, then around
us.  The baseball team was practicing, the rest of the freshman
boys were playing flag football, the freshman girls were playing
basketball.

"People understand things, Davey.  They know when someone doesn't
want to talk about things.  They respect that.  The problem is
there are assholes that don't respect anything.  Of course, they
don't get much respect themselves.  Stepping on worms, Davey,
it's an art.  You want to mush it, but you don't want to get the
goo on yourself.  You do want to be careful, though.  After a
while you can find yourself having more and more trouble
recognizing friends and enemies.  Ease up a little."

I nodded.  

"We're going to the dance Friday after the game.  It's the last
home game before we play two on the road.  I'm taking Pammie,
Jack's going with Wanda.  You and your friends should be there."

I thought that was an odd thing to say, but I didn't say anything
to that.  "Sure."

"We play Abilene," he told me, quite unnecessarily.  Everyone in
town knew the schedule by heart.  Abilene was a league team, and
very good.  "A warm-up for Midland next week, Odessa the week
after."  Those were also league teams and major, major football
powerhouses.

I waved at the diamond.  "How come you guys aren't practicing?" 
I'd never paid any attention to practice times, until ten days
before; it had never been something I thought about in regards to
myself.

"Why, that's because from three-thirty to six, Monday through
Thursday we practice, except yesterday.  Saturday is our off day.
 Sunday we have warm-ups and films."

"You were awesome last week," I told him.

"Yeah, well it's not a big secret.  Jack's back, as of tonight."

"It's called depth," I told him, something my father was always
talking about.

Chuck laughed.  "I guess."

A few minutes later we were called in early.  Instead of hitting
the showers, though, Coach Wells called a team meeting.  Speaking
of the devil, Jack was there.

"I want to be blunt," Coach Wells told us.  "I want to win.  You
want to win!"

There was a lot of cheering at that.

"Exactly!  We can!  We will!

"But, there are things you can do and things you can't.  Never
raise your voice to me or one of my coaches.  If you do, I don't
care who you are, you're history.  You all read and signed a
contract for behavior to be on this team.  Grades and civility
head the list, performance on the field comes last.  It does
count; I was ready to make one cut already, and there are still a
few of you who need to improve your performance.  You know who
you are.

"So, we lose a player, but gain another."  He gestured at Jack. 
There were a lot of stomps, choruses of whistles and cheers.

"You did well yesterday, particularly you underclassmen."

Chuck laughed, "We didn't do squat, coach!"

"You will," Coach Wells promised.  There was a chorus of
good-natured laughs.

"We have some outstanding players this year.  We have outstanding
leadership, both among you players and on the coaching staff.  We
can do it, men!  We can win the whole she-bang!

"I know they don't shut down the town for a baseball game like
they do for a football game, but win a few games and we'll be
filling the bleachers!  You will find that there is no headier
drug than a few thousand people screaming your praises!"

He looked around.  "And, a donor has come through for some new
uniforms this year.  We've worn Yankee pinstripes for years and
years, it didn't seem very much like something a Cougar would
wear, but..."  He spread his hands, looking helpless.

"The new uniforms are dun brown, like a cougar, with black
piping.  Like a cougar.  They are killer, men!  Killer!  Tomorrow
we'll get you fitted out for them.  We'll wear them for the first
time Saturday.  We'll take Lake Terrace and pound them to pulp!"

There were more cheers... then we were off to the showers.

As I was sudsing off, Chuck was next to me.  "Someone might think
it was pretty funny to suggest that maybe Mercedes should shower
with us to show her team spirit," he was speaking loud enough to
be heard over the showers.  I mean, his voice boomed.

"Now, maybe a few of you remember Davey Harper ripping off twenty
chin-ups yesterday.  Some of you, particular you underclassmen,
might not realize what a chin-up is.  It's the same as pressing
your body weight, guys.   You wonder why the ball flies when
Davey hits it?  Try a couple, ten chin-ups, yourself.  Not so
easy.  Rip them off?  Like to rip your head off!

"Oh, yeah.  Mercedes showed a little temper today.  Maybe you
like pain.  You have something to say to Mercedes, you will be
polite.  We seniors, this is our year.  We know what the football
team can do; we're going to kick some serious bootie this year,
like most years.  And this year, well, Jack and I talked it over.
 The baseball team is going to do more than kick bootie.  We want
to be perfect, guys!  Perfect!  We'll do that as a team, pulling
together.  We'll have a lot of fun along the way.

"You get in the way of the team, of the fun... it won't be
pretty.  Not pretty at all!  But you know that!  We're going to
have a kick-ass year!"

Two dozen naked guys grunting "ho-ra!" is something, I figured,
you acquired a taste for.  I canceled that thought.  It was
something you might get used to, but it hadn't happened yet.  Not
for me.

<1st attachment end>


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