u/MrRoivas

Another day, another night with little sleep. David had been planning, drawing up the blueprint for his humiliation of the Demonic Freaks. Many details were sketchy, several portions necessitated shoring up with more data from his pet wiki. But the foundation was firm. It was in this circumstance an excited David placed himself in front of much of his team in Jake's basement after their third arena ball practice. David missed the second one in his rush to get home the day before. Rinivella inquired about his absence, but he brushed her off with a breezy air and a report he didn’t not feel well the day before. She nodded without comment, and David was chagrined for a second. It seemed his tiredness was not as well hidden as he might have hoped yesterday. But no matter, he was here with victory, if he could compel the others to see it.

His work was cut out for him, as the general mood in the room was rather dubious. Jake, his most reliable companion, exuded an aura of quiet doubt. Tobias showed contentment, but then didn’t he always? David called Jake after his series of revelations the evening before. He’d browbeat his poor lunch companion quite mercilessly over the phone, and David knew his cooperation in corralling the other boys came at a cost. This was his one shot.

With a deep breath, he turned on his laptop. It was hooked up to the basement TV, and after a moment it showed his desktop screen at a size of over a thousand square inches. Then he started the slide show. David was a touch rueful. Who knew he’d ever be presenting this way when it came to a topic he cared about? 

“I’m guessing we’ve all seen the video. The one where the Knights took on the Demonic Freaks.” A few nods, others changed their expression. Yeah, they’d seen the video. An experience that inspired the same nostalgic fondness in the crowd as memories of their last dental visit.

“To make sure we’re all on the same page, I’ve gotten some highlights to show what’s in store for us.” Then he flipped through a series of slides, all on the same theme. Short clips showing the most brutal or disgraceful taken downs, boy after boy in red padding flattened by larger crimson and black figures. It ended with the worst one: A Knight in full charge against one of the Demonic Freaks. She let him run into her stick. Using the offered momentum, she lifted him over her head and then deposited him in a heap to the side, rolled him over the grass. A technical foul resulted, but the potent demonstration remained.

“What’s the point of this, hombre?”

David turned to the source of the querulous question. Marco, it figured. David hadn’t expected him to come. He had no idea how Jake convinced him. Almost wished he’d passed the jerk over, as David knew the elitist boy would be trouble from the beginning. From previous situations, David heard Marco mix in spanish like that when he wished to condescend. Well, two could adopt that tactic.

“The point is, this is what we can expect if we go up against those freaks, compadre. Anyone disagree?” No one did, but David also noticed the mood shift towards Marco. What was the point indeed? It wasn’t like they didn’t know, so why must David pour salt in the wound? Time to shift gears.

“Well, I do.” That caught attention. Suddenly everyone stared at him, full alert.

“What kind of game you playing here?” said Marco.

“One where we win. No. One where we crush them. Humiliate them, like they humiliated the Knights.”

“Nonsense.” Marco was composed and unswayed. He looked around and said, “Our resident show boater talking smack again. This is a waste of mi tiempo. Screw this.” He began to get up, and David could see his opportunity might walk out with him.

Fighting down the urge to yell at the entitled waste of carbon, David swallowed. He was in control, not Marco. There was no way he was going to lose this chance, not now. Not to this pissant would be campus king. “Do you want to lose? You want to prove the tomatoes right, that they can push us around and we’ll take it?  How long you been a juice sucker?”

Marco snorted. “Grow up, niño.” Marco was unruffled, but also hadn’t left the basement. David’s opening wasn’t closed to him yet. He turned his focus back to the crowd.

“Marco might not care about whether the reds walk all over us, but I do. I thought you all might care too.” Then he held his breath and waited. The faint hum of the overhead fan could be heard. Josh got on his feet, eyes not quite meeting David’s.

“Look, we don’t like this anymore than you. But we all saw that video. What’s your plan? Got a secret stash of alien roids? Any of those gals would make a scout for college football all hot and bothered.”

David smiled. “They’d end up disappointed. Trust me.” Josh didn’t seem hostile, but his demeanor hadn’t turned positive either. He began turning his head to random players and addressed each in turn with his gaze. “Listen, okay? It doesn’t hurt to hear me out, does it?” Shrugs from many resulted. “If you all think I’m full of it after I’m done, well, nothing I can do about that. But stay until then, alright?” Nobody left, including Marco, who scowled but remained silent.

Courage. This was his moment, however fragile. Now to get their assent before it was lost forever. “I’ve been doing a bit of reading. Checked out their rulebook. There’s interesting material in there.” David flipped through pages he’d copied word for word from the rulebook onto the slide show. No notable response from the audience. “Along with other stuff I found, it gave me ideas. Anybody remember those dumb kid movies about an animal being put on a sport team? We’re gonna be the animals.” Several raised eyebrows at that sentence. David considered it alright when he wrote it, but now he realized sleep deprivation might have eroded his judgement a tad. He pressed on. “My point is, we’re going to be able to do stuff they don’t expect. Moves that are going to slap them so hard their horns spin off.” That caught Pauls’s attention, and suddenly there was one person on his side. The guy suffered from serious anger issues, issues he took onto the field. Whispers about his home life abounded. It was to the point that former Coach Chapman could either pull him off the team or stick him in goal far away from the opposing players. David wished his first clear support could have come from Jake, or Josh, or Eli in a pinch. Hanging around the guy too long gave him a similar sense of disquiet that Tobias did. But beggar’s weren’t in a position to be picky.

“I got the feeling some of you don’t believe me.” No open disagreement. Ouch. “I got it. Here, let me show you what I found.” He flipped to the final slide, which consisted of one labeled figure. “This is a galactic wide record.” It was a time, minutes and seconds with the activity written above. For the first time his audience stirred as a unit, and not in a good way. What kind of superheroes were these reds? David grinned. Time for him to drop the other shoe, with an impact he hoped would shatter the thickest of doubts. “Here’s the other part of that record.” Click, and another number slid into view. 

He let the paired stats speak for themselves. They’d get it, same as he did. 

Eli piped up first. “No freaking way.” 

“Yes, way.” David’s smile widened to the point it threatened to hurt. This was the tipping point. They would be his in seconds. 

Josh spoke again. “My gramma could do better than that. Like, literally. Got the photos and everything!”

“No lie.” David turned back to his computer and did a few more clicks. A previous slide came into view. “Now with that in mind, let’s take another look here.” It was a page of the rulebook he’d gone over. “Can anybody here see what’s missing?”

Wait for it. Let them figure it out. May they feel the hope and triumph he’d obtained for themselves.

Tobias sounded off and said, “Ain’t no rule saying dogs can’t play basketball!” He slid perfectly into the stereotype, a grumpy umpire shooting down the mean coach outraged a bunch of plucky losers could beat his team of handsome heels. Many laughed, and David made silent thanks to Tobias for the assist. They were buying it, all that remained was getting them to sign on the dotted line.

“You got that right. Now, this is going to take some effort to pull off, and I don’t think Rinivella is exactly going to be onboard with what I got in mind.” Nods, some grim. There was no sign she was sandbagging their training, but an endorsment of a plan to annihilate her former charges? Fat chance. “That means we have to do this on our own. Extra practice after hers.” Happy faces tightened and turned their focus from pleasant imaginings to the sudden bearer of bad news.

“You think the Demonic Freaks are going to let us stomp them? They’re bigger, heavier, and more experienced than us. Don’t you understand? You’ve seen how they look at us. Anyone going to tell me they haven’t noticed how little the aliens respect us?  This is our chance! Our chance to make them see us differently. We’re not cute, soft, adorable, small little cuties,” David saying the alien slang term with the same dripping sneer when one used pussy as an insult. “We’ll be the ones who kick their sorry butts and make them run crying home to their daddies. Let’s make them regret ever coming here! I don’t know about you, but I’ll practice till my legs fall off if it means a shot at that! Anybody not on board with that, go with Marco. Guzzle tomato snatch till your lips crack. Me, I know where I’m gonna be.”

“You got me all wrong.”

The sound from an unexpected direction knocked David off his beat. He saw Marco, now with a different expression on his face. “Oh?”

“I don’t like them anymore than you do.”

“That so? I seem to remember somebody inviting them to our parties.”

Marco snorted. “You think I invited those putas rojas? Bri asked me, in the way that said what would happen if I didn’t.” David pursed his lips but felt compelled to believe him. What the guy said made sense. As for an offer someone couldn’t refuse, Marco was the type to do that kind of thing himself when it suited. Game would recognize game there.

“So, they asked, and you obeyed like a good dog. Why change your mind?”

With a shrug, Marco let the insult bounce off him. “I make it a policy to not get in the way of rolling boulders.”

“And now?”

Marco looked him in the eye with the intensity of the noonday summer sun. “What you’re saying, is it all real? No crap?”

David matched his unshakeable regard. “One hundred percent.”

“Then I think we’re going to be the boulder rolling over some stuck-up pendejos. Sounds good to me.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two days later, the lacrosse team was at practice, the real practice. David took a day to design some drills and plays to run, and then it was off to the races. Most of them weren’t much different from what they’d been doing before lacrosse got cancelled, but there was a need for tweaks. In addition there were a few whole new things he wanted them to do, adjustments to acknowledge the differences they’d soon face on the field. It was a few minutes after he started them off with the standard passing and running drills as a warmup, that an unexpected visitor came tromping over to him. 

Her name was Rachel. The name belonged to a blonde whose hair was always in a ponytail and was probably the reincarnation of a long dead Viking warrior. She was an inch or two over six feet, a fact that seemed impossible until one met her parents. Her mother was a small and demure five nine, and her father either got bottle fed human growth hormone while in infancy or was an undercover grizzly bear gone native. When hunched over he broke six and a half feet. Rachel matched his build, with any softness being that of a well fed linebacker who found mass, whatever the source, a good way to trample opponents.

She’d shot up early in life. Fifth grade left her taller than many of the teachers. A boy named Sandler thought it a good idea to taunt her. Calling her an ogre and the production of exaggerated booming noises when she walked by provided amusement without end for him. This lasted all of one week. Without any warning, she charged him like a rhinoceros on the blacktop. David remembered how his eyes bugged out, and the speed with which Sandler took off at a sprint. In his panic he chose poorly and ran off school grounds. That meant Rachel was free to follow, no teachers to act as bodyguards. Neither of the two were in school for a week. Sandler for reasons unknown, Rachel because she got suspended. A tale which had inspired wonder, awe, and a touch of fear amongst the other ten-year-olds. Suspension was a punishment for older kids, the ones who were caught smoking or cussed out teachers. What could Rachel have done? None of the other fifth graders ever found out exactly what happened. When Rachel came back, she acted ignorant of the incident, smiling when somebody tried to ask about it. All she’d say was, “Sometimes punks get what’s coming to them.” As for Sandler, he spent the rest of the year glancing around doorways before his entrance or exit from any room. He also jumped and yelped whenever he got tapped on the shoulder, a tic the meaner students took swift advantage of. His family moved away the next year.

Now she was heading over to David with clear intent. The fresh appointed coach turned to her with care. He’d not interacted with her much and was unaware of any potential beef she might have with him. Yet it paid to be on guard around her. Casual seemed the right approach. “What’s up?”

“I heard you’re doing double practices. I want in.”

David frowned. “In?”

She looked down at him, hands on hips. “Everyone knows about the crap that head red cunt pulled with lacrosse. If you’re doing this, its cause you’re trying to punch back. I want in.”

David regarded her, teeth on edge. She often spoke in crudities, more so than the average teenager. It struck him as forced, in the same way Alexander’s act had. He tried to ignore it and said, “Why are you so interested anyway?”

Rachel wolf smiled at him. “No trying to deny it. I like that. You know I do lacrosse too, right?” David nodded. The school didn’t have a girls’ team, but there were private leagues in the area, Rachel a member for a bit longer than him in one of them. “Well, those assholes didn’t start with the Knights. They did my team first.”

David winced on reflex. He saw what happened to the Knights and couldn’t imagine how much worse a bunch of girls would have fared against the Demonic Freaks. Then he realized this was performed in view of Rachel, and how she might interpret the reaction as an insult worthy of vengeance. He looked at her and backed up an inch. It proved unnecessary, as although she displayed anger, it didn’t seem directed at him.

“Yeah, it was pitiful. Turns out they have a hard time believing guys being the stronger ones here isn’t a joke.” Her expression was worth a bushel of lemons. “Saw no problem nailing us too. Gave a friend bruised ribs, the shits.”

David acknowledged her grievances with a nod, but then spread his hands. “Sure, I get that. But I’m not in charge of who plays, that’s Rinivella.”

Rachel rolled her eyes. “You think one of those is gonna say no girls allowed?” 

He didn’t respond. In truth, he was unsure about the prospect. Sure, she was an absolute beast, one glance was enough to see that. Few of the guys threatened her in height, and none beat Rachel in sheer desire for a win. But David knew his teammates and was certain they would follow his instructions, including Marco. He wasn’t so sure about this acolyte of aggression.

She stepped in closer. “Look, I’ve noticed Ax hasn’t been around much lately, annoying little prick. Say you’re subbing me in for him, easy.”

David’s face turned to stone, and he stood up straighter. “His name is Alexander.”

With a wave of her hand Rachel flicked away the correction. “Whatever. Point is, you’re down a guy. She’ll have no reason to refuse.”

David shook his head. “Well, I got a reason. I don’t want you if this is how you ask.”

With narrowed eyes, Rachel said, “What is your problem? Who put sand up your vag?”

“You did. His name is Alexander.”

Puzzlement now marked her mien along with anger. “Since when? Dude drowns himself in the garbage, that’s why he’s Ax.”

“Not anymore. Said so himself. I call people by their names and expect others to do the same. Got a problem with that, Ogre?”

She threw back her shoulders and drew lips back far enough to show incisors, but David stood firm. Worst came to worst, it was her against the entire team. Of greater importance, David held the key to what she wanted. He waited, staring her down. She deflated first. Rachel tried to play it off with a wide yawn a few seconds later, but David knew he’d won.

“Fine. Little dork’s name is Alexander. Happy?”

“Not quite. If you want to play with us, I’m the coach. That means you play how I ask you to play, do the drills and everything else as I tell you to. Otherwise, I’m busy.” David turned his body to face the field. He noticed a few of his team falter, keen interest in the conversation between him and Rachel the obvious cause of their distraction. David shouted, “Hey, did I tell you to stop? Keep at it!” They slid back into rhythm, small motions of their heads in between movements a betrayal of continued curiosity.

A big, disgusted sigh rolled in from the side and behind. “Okay. You’re the coach. Anything else? Want me to lick your boots, call you Daddy?”

David turned around and said, “Shake on it.” He held out his hand. It was firmed up, in expectation of the kind of grip he felt was incoming. As predicted, she made sure to use a tight squeeze. David didn’t flinch, which seemed to satisfy her. Contract sealed, he said, “Got your gear?”

That produced a smile with a touch of smugness. “Yes.”

“Get dressed and come back. I’m about to have them switch to something else, you can wait until then.” Rachel nodded, and that was enough. David knew she’d adhere to his terms, though perhaps with a bit of boundary pushing. He’d be sure to push back each time. No problem there.

The other players didn’t have a problem with it either. In fact, a few of them seemed downright happy to have the Ogre on their side. That was good, it would make her integration into the team easier. Although David couldn’t admit it when she said it, it turned out to be true that Rinivella hardly objected to subbing in a girl. Especially one who was the closest thing they had to a pet brax to practice with. The days flew by for David, who found himself a busy boy. Between extra practice, research to come up with more strategies, and engaging in the bare minimum to take care of Melissa, homework and sleep started to get lost in the shuffle. He didn’t care. Let his grades slip from B minuses and C pluses to C minus all around. It didn’t matter, nothing but the plan mattered. His beautiful, glorious plan. 

[First] [Prev]

He’d watched the video for hours, again and again. Halting at moments, replaying specific sections for over a dozen rounds of analysis. It was the record of the utter embarrassment of a match between the Knights and the Demonic Freaks, as David called them in his head in lieu of a proper team name.

Necessary chores got finished with a bare minimum of effort, non-critical ones postponed. Melissa’s laundry could wait. David understood now that the oh so mighty tomatoes could be hurt if one had the gumption to try. Everyone who he once trusted or relied were proven failures in their duties, so this was a task borne alone. Nothing special about that by now.

His normal bedtime passed by without note as he sat down with the sole objective source of information available to him. It was within that their weaknesses would be revealed, he must force himself to catch it. What he sought eluded him, but the exercise did deliver partial fruit. The taboo intuited during his conversation with Kaa’syi was further validated.

It hadn’t been observable the first time watch. That viewing was too dominated by the horror of the Demonic Freak’s effortless obliteration of the Knights, along with how the sport resembled football with sticks more than his beloved lacrosse. But with a clear head and determined focus, he could see it. Many moments of recorded hesitation, towers of padding who halted at crucial moments if continuation meant decking a male opponent, the majority during the first quarter. The Knights managed to score a few goals as a consequence. A few rounds of this, and suddenly they saw no problem with sending boys flat on their rears for the rest of the match.

David scowled with disgust while he confirmed his supposition. Amazing how flexible social strictures against bullying the weaker sex could be when firm adherence meant losing.

That came easy. But further attempts to pluck revelations from the video turned up barren. David knew he was tired, but he refused the siren call of sleep. Rest was weakness, anything but more repetition unthinkable. To crack this was simply a matter of raw will applied over time, and so David strummed through the video and picked different moments at random.

His mind dulled from fatigue, fingers heavy, David found himself repeating a twenty second sequence over and over. It was a moment when the Knights managed to get the ball up to the offensive line. One of their players had caught a pass directed from a middie, right before the passer got smashed by the nearest Demonic Freak. The offender must have sensed his doom from behind, because he jumped forward and avoided the incoming shove into his backside by a millisecond. He turned and floated away from the follow up jab. Then he took off at a sprint. The path the red padded athlete took went behind the goal and around to the other side, with the player avoiding being stomped by the defender on the other side in the nick of time. He danced around his middle opponent who sat in front of the goal, and then the fleet footed offender got his angle for a throw. This scored, the solo goal achieved after the first quarter. 

The quick sequence tugged at David through the sludge of his exhaustion. It was important, but how? The Knights squeezed a late point after three quarters of humiliation. Why? What made this play different from all the others which ended in quick and decisive failure?

More questions pressed through the fog. Why hadn’t any of the red freaks tried to follow the plucky Knight? It was one thing to keep position, another whole matter to sit and watch after a single failure to gain possession. In fact, as he pushed his rusted train of thought down the tracks with dogged effort, where was anticipation of his movements, any attempts to head him off? The player moved to avoid the other two from whacking him, sure. But that was after he’d gotten quite close, a necessity to get the goal from an easy angle. Such an angle should be a top priority to deny, but they stood there like statues. It took him being millimeters more than a stick length away for the Demonic Freaks to respond.

Was the play illegal, and they were caught flat footed by a clueless human gone rogue in a game he failed to understand? No, then the whistle would have been blown. Other parts of the video demonstrated this, almost always for technical fouls involving slight misuse of the stick. Did the aliens conclude the game already won, and therefore they’d let the small boy have his pointless fun? It was possible, but David thought not. The reds were eerily like the humans whom they’d taken over in a blink. Given that, David made what he deemed was a small, safe leap. The Demonic Freaks would no more let their opponents make a goal because they could afford the point than David or any of his Tigers would. Being on field meant peak performance for every moment. No, what he saw wasn’t generosity. It was their best effort to stop the goal. So why was this performance considered satisfactory? It didn’t make sense. 

It felt like he was running full tilt into a rubber wall, bouncing off each time. He was so close, he must be. This was the key to unlock his desires. Yet epiphany proved elusive. The bleary-eyed figure replayed a three second time zone near the end, mouse clicked without thought to rewind the video each time. The player danced around the middle defender right before his fateful flick of the stick, scurrying around the towering Demonic Freak in a loop.

Small, hurried. Big, slow. Frenzied movement. A single attempt to check, measured, conservative, slow. Too slow, as the further seconds would prove. David turned back to the imagined metaphor his burned-out brain conjured, running full tilt into the rubber wall. Running, full tilt.

A sudden jolt of energy went through his spine. A massive series of connected data points and joined conjectures flew into David’s consciousness all at once. Small observations and oddities pulled together into a tentative tapestry. Things the rule book said and did not say. What their new sports trainer told them to do during practice, and what was absent.

He’d found it. At least, he thought he did. But David needed proof, and the video alone was not enough. It was suggestion, not confirmation. For that, another source was demanded. Unfortunately, it was hard to imagine more than one possibility. Against all odds and what David of twenty-four hours ago would have considered, he needed to chat up one of the tomatoes of his own free will. It was a cost he was willing to pay. If what he suspected was true, then in his hands was the power to turn an expected blow out into the ultimate underdog success story.

A trickle of orange haze turned his attention to the window which overlooked his desk. Dawn’s first tendrils broke through its blinds. It didn’t matter. However long it took, the way to victory formed before him. A day without sleep was nothing in comparison. For now was not the time for rest. This target couldn’t be bullied. He’d have to charm what he wanted out of her. As much as the idea left a sour taste in his mouth, the necessity remained.

The hours in between left David with confidence he could pull it off. Figuring out where she would be during school hours took a bit more work. The right person to ask turned out to be one of the female gym teachers, Ms. Richards. The teacher told him the new coach was often in the office outside the locker room, having decided to assist with her expertise during many gym periods. The expression Ms. Richards wore while saying assist told him an essay’s worth of information. His gym period was one she declined to join the other teachers, so David to skipped the rest to talk with her. Who knew where she’d be later, and the purpose driven schemer wanted her Massiveness alone to make the interaction quick and easy as possible. Decision made; David strode to the lair of this particular dragon. It was time to steal precious treasure; one it owned in ignorance.

The plastic sign spelling out Girls next to the entryway gave him more pause than the thought of who he sought. It was a matter of moments to shake off his trepidation. If the passage was shaped anything like the one for the boys, a wall blocked off all sight of the actual change room behind a sharp bend. No potential cries of “Peeper!” need deter. He walked in and saw what he expected. A turn to the right faced him toward the door to the office.

David paused. His eyelids were made of concrete and treacle, every moment a challenge to keep them open. He took a second to pinch his right arm, hard. Slaps to both of his cheeks were added when that failed to produce enough excitement in his sluggish veins. A trifle more alert, David decided he was as ready for this as he was ever going to be. If he was on the right track, then his plan needed time to be successful. Every day was precious.

Upon entrance to the office, he was greeted with a sight that warmed his heart. Rinivella hunched over a desk, the human sized furniture ill equipped for the troll scaled female. This world was not for the likes of her, and every moment she was reminded of that fact was a gift.

“Hello.”

The greeting made her quirk her shoulders and look around. When she realized it was from behind her, it led to a careful extrication from the confinement she’d undergone to make use of the fake wooden desk. Rinivella faced him, mild surprise on her face. 

“I wasn’t expecting students. What is the reason for this visit?” Her pad translated for her again.

“I got questions, ones I’m pretty sure no one else can answer.” Some light flattery to start off, adults tended to like that.

“What sort of questions?” An ambiguous response, not as positive as he might have hoped. But it didn’t indicate hostility either, so David pressed on.

“Well, I was watching that match between the Knights and... your team, and it made me want to know more about what other sports your kind, er, the brax play.” David gulped and silently cursed himself. Now was not the time for covert hostility to peep through. While he didn’t know if your kind held the same undertone in their tongue, it was best not to leave any of this to chance. 

She paused, read his translated sentence, then frowned. David’s heart leapt to his throat. Had a careless phrase already left all his efforts in tatters? His alertness grew and wiped away fatigue, but too late, too late! What if she grew angry and turned him away? How could he ever face himself, failure locked in from a mistake so trivial?

“Ancient warriors? I don’t understand.”

His frontal cortex traffic jammed into total bafflement, her question floundering in the bog of his sleepless night. After a moment the adrenaline pumped by his heart allowed him to comprehend, and relief washed over him.

“Oh, it’s the team’s name. The school has a knight as its mascot. Um, a symbol to stand in for the school.”

“How strange. Our school age champions are identified by their sponsor when it’s necessary.”

David hadn’t missed that detail. They didn’t do team names. Okay. Which prompted another question. “Who’s their sponsor?”

“Quel’vela, of course.”

Of course, indeed. David probably wouldn’t have needed to ask any other time but missing seven hours was taking its toll. Despite this, David felt he needed to pursue this line of thought for one more step. “But why? Does she like sports?”

“I believe one of her stepdaughters wished to play arena ball, and so she found enough girls who also liked the game to make a team.”

A mundane answer. It made sense. Anything for Mommy’s girls when Mommy was a noble. “Oh. That’s cool for her daughter. What position is she?”

“Zervenqua is a Champion of the Last Defense.” Last defense? If he recalled correctly from the rule book, that was their pretentious name for the goalie. Useful information perhaps, so David vowed to remember it. “But we seem to be jumping into the outer reaches. You asked something about other sports?”

He shook his head and forced himself back on target. “Yeah, sorry. I wanna know what other kind of stuff you all play, but I can’t find it on the internet. I thought you could help.”

“I could tell you about other sports, but I don’t have infinite time either.”

“Oh, I know. I was thinking you’d have access to some sort of searchable database on your pad, along with records of the best people you have, like our Olympic records.” David held himself loose and kept his breaths slow. No showing how much this meant to him. This led to another small frown as she read his translated words, and then she spoke. 

“Ohlimpicks?” Each sound came out with the feeling of construction and care, her oversized mouth struggling with the unfamiliar phonemes.

“Uh, hmm. It’s where we get the top people all over the world competing to show who’s best, with prizes for the winning three in each event. Stuff like running, jumping, swimming, other sports.” More taps, then a smile this time.

“Ah, you mean a Contest of Champions! Humans are more brax than they’ll admit.”

David forced himself to smile at that comment, one with lips glued together. He needed more from her. “Sure. So, can you help me?”

“I’ll have to ponder the details, but I believe I can get what you need. It may take some hours though. It’s a large amount of data to translate.” 

Was this going to be that easy? No brush off, pulled rank or telling the little human to go away? It left David a trifle unmoored, all his well constructed arguments and tactics to get her to comply proven unnecessary.

“In return, I’d like your assistance.” Ha. Not that easy. This wasn’t altruism, and he’d been an idiot to expect otherwise from one of them. Their gifts of cured cancer and reversed global warming hadn’t been free either.

“Okay. But what can I do?”

His acquiescence led to hesitation on her part. She twiddled her thumbs for a moment. She then took a breath and said, “I pride myself on how quickly I can understand new athletes I am asked to coach. Team harmony is the essence of success, and my most important job is to instill that harmony.” Another thumb twiddle. “But what I sense from my current charges is...not what I would hope for. They seem wary of me. Your feminine boldness in approaching me is a pleasing contrast. It made me wonder whether it's something about your team's...composition that’s making my usual tactics unviable.”

David was drawing close to an out-of-cheese error. What on Earth was she talking about? “Composition?”

“It is the first time I’ve been head of an all...male team. The first time ever for anyone, near as I can tell.”

Her clarification left David irritated. Of course, it came back down to what was tucked in the team’s pants. It always did with these things. Might as well not exist above or below the pelvis, for all the rest of him mattered to these pervs from beyond Mars. The other half was stunned that yet again an alien needed him to decode the strange and primitive Earthlings who surrounded them. Did he have a tattoo on his forehead or something? Couldn’t they find one of those pathetic lapdogs hand-in-hand with a tomato at a nearby grocery store instead?

He realized she was looking at him with an air of expectation. His feelings and tiredness were leaving him more and more distractible. David tried to make up for lost time. “Err. Couldn’t you ask Richar-Coach Chapman about this?”

A blink and pursed lips were the initial response to that. “I attempted to do so. He was...unhelpful.”

No lie there. Richard was a coward, but also was obvious in his unhappiness with the present situation. Traitor didn’t always mean lickspittle. David had a notion he’d complied with whatever specific orders he’d been given, and not one inch more. Seemed training Rinivella on how to best replace him wasn’t on that list.

“Sorry to hear that.” She continued to look at him. What could he say? What with her swooping in and taking away lacrosse, she was lucky to have dealt with some ignorable awkwardness at worst? That he and more than half the team would be ecstatic to never lay eyes on a single red ever again? He cast about the room for a savior, his eyes coming to rest on the pad she held. “Your pad.”

“Pardon?”

Oh crap. David hadn’t known he’d said that out loud. A spike of adrenaline from slapped cheeks and flashes of anger were mere band aids on a gaping wound. The now sweaty boy was slipping. He hoped it was possible to turn his big brained goof into a conversation ender. “Uh, it’s your pad. How you need to speak from it. Yeah, that’s it. You seem very...formal. It makes us feel scuzzy. Uh, low class. Like we’d offend you.”

The titan reacted to his words. Her brow was a wide canvas for consternation. Then Rinivella swerved in an unexpected direction; She laughed. Uproariously. There was no undertext to the noise, all of it pure booming surface. It was unlike any other laugh he’d heard one of them make. Those possessed a quality which set his teeth on edge, especially ones made when they looked at boys.

She wiped her mouth. “Oh dear, it seems my mistake lay elsewhere. Here I was laboring under the belief I was missing something about the fairer sex, when it turns out the politeness setting I marked on my translation application had more to it than I thought.” Another laugh, a nitro blast compared to the galaxy sized supernova of moments before. “So much for making a high quality first impression. Quel’vela was terribly insistent on that.” Now a third laugh, smaller than a squashed balloon. “I must sound like a scion of a puffed-up has-been family from the furthest territories.”

“I guess.” David didn’t know how else to reply. 

“Time for me to examine my application settings in thorough detail. After I assist with your request, of course. I’ll make sure to get the resources of her Ladyship to ensure it happens quickly.”

David blinked at that. Her ladyship? That meant-

“Oh, please don’t. I, uh, wouldn’t want to be a bother.” Or have her be aware of his existence at all.

Rinivella waved him off. “No trouble at all. She will be overjoyed to hear there are young people interested in our culture.” She then asked David for his contact information, which made him grimace on the inside. But he told her without a fuss. From the stuff he’d read in his history textbook, he was pretty sure the human agencies that used to exist could have found his phone number, email, blood type and favorite cereal in less than a day. Whatever they used would be better. 

“Now, it looks like the class I will be heading is nearly upon us. Don’t be late on my behalf.” 

David nodded, eager for the dismissal. Mission accomplished, further interaction merely made it easier to tick her off. He left the office in a dazed now that he had what he wanted. It seemed his body had sent the message that vigilance no longer needed to be maintained, and now every minute of rest missed piled on top of him. With a slowing and staggered gait, David plodded back to the boys’ locker room to change. In a dreamlike haze he made his way to the next period. The second he sat down at his desk consciousness flipped off, the world flooding back when the bell rang. The sound clattered through his head like a bird flying into a shelf full of glass bottles. The class after was much the same. He recovered a bit by lunch. This turned out to be fortunate, as it was halfway through his second to last period his phone buzzed with a new message. With a look out for watchful teacher eyes, David glanced down. A text from an unknown number. Boo yah!

The minute the final bell rang the re-energized junior booked it out. He dashed home, threw together a bunch of emergency snack foods onto a plate and put it in front of Melissa’s door. Another evening of no interruptions was cued up. With a tap of his fingers, he emailed the file in the text to his computer. It took a while to load, the gap enough to make him almost vibrate with impatience. Finally, his computer allowed him to click the link from his email, and he dove in. It turned out to be similar to an online wiki, this one curated to focus on athletics. David wasn’t exactly a master researcher, so he started clicking on random articles. He did so for a spell, the vast amount of information conquered one paragraph or photo at a time. There were lots of ripped red aliens in athletic wear.

After about two hours, David realized he needed to come up with a more systematic method, or planning would get nowhere fast. Weeks of reading was a second label for failure. An idea came to him, and he searched for the Contest of Champions Rinivella mentioned. It produced a hit. The resultant page was tidy and organized, with a list of competition categories, how helpful. His eyes skimmed the list. David wasn’t sure what he was looking for.

He paused at one category. A scattering were familiar, ones like swimming or gymnastics. Others were nonsense words, much like basketball or curling were labels in need of explanation to anyone uninformed. But here was one which wasn’t a comfortable fit in either box. It was labeled Endurance. He knew the word but didn’t see what it meant in this context. It wasn’t a sport, nor a general type of movement. He doubted it was a translation error either. On occasion an awkward turn of phrase presented itself, but everything he’d read was understandable english.

With a mental shrug of his shoulders, David clicked. It turned out to be a kind of super category, with records being a list of times and associated top athletes. This was already different from the other competitions. Those made prominent the winners and their associated sponsor, with any sort of metrics like time or score a number one had to hunt down. What made this category special?

He halted at the running related rankings within the category, then wondered why. What made this significant to his brain? He hummed and eyed the numbers preserved with the event each year. Then he paused, and rechecked. They didn’t make sense to him. There were two categories, time and distance. Both were converted from whatever units they used into meters along with minutes: seconds, but that wasn’t the problem. Neither the time nor distance were static. This wasn’t any sort of equivalent to the thousand meters. They would run for a period and then stop. One would be crowned the champion of the for that year, but how? Some of the winners could boast longer distances than past champions, but also greater times. There was no pattern to the data David could discern.

Endurance. The word played in David’s head. Then he sat bolt upright.

No way, no fricken way!

It couldn’t be true. David must be crazed from a lack of sleep to come to this conclusion. Scarcely trusting his rogue deduction, he checked to see if they made note of galactic-wide records. They did. He checked one, after specifying it for braxon, as it seemed there were other alien species. Then he examined it again. It couldn’t be true. Yet it must be true, why would they lie like this?

Another lightning strike of inspiration hit him. He grabbed the rule book from where it lay in his room and flipped to the page he desired. What he looked for was there, plain as day. Scanning it, there remained a stubborn absence in its lines of text no matter how many rounds he looked. With a double check of the adjacent paragraphs and index to make sure he hadn’t overlooked anything in his haste, it remained missing.

David slumped in his chair, experiencing jubilation and waves of exhaustion at the same time. This was it. The key. Their nuts, or whatevers, could be placed in a vise. Once lain there, he could winch it tight. He thought back to Rinivella and smiled in the quiet of his bedroom.

When I’m done with you, you’ll hate me, and unable to do a damn thing about it.

[First] [Prev]

“Oh? I guess what they say about you is true after all.”

She was stepping out from her chair. The moment his sentence ended, she froze in place, as though the soles of her shoes were pinned to the floor.

He’d hooked her. Now was the time to reel in his catch. “Very frightening, aren’t we? Don’t worry, your friends and your sister understand. Especially your sister. They don’t blame you for shaking at the hint of approaching a boy. Far too risky. Not everyone can be Bri after all. Very smart, so good looking. Daughter of a noble, a girl who’s going places. Of course, boys talk to her. Why wouldn’t they go for the better option, the superior sister?”

Her hands tightened; fingers transformed into fists. Yes, that was it. David had punched out into the dark, and those fists were the thuds of him connecting into tender flesh. Time for more.

“While she thinks an angry boy is cute, you know better. You understand how scary we are. Why, I might do anything to you in this small and horrible place. When I tell everyone how long it took you to run away, your friends will be so impressed. Imagine how your sister will look, getting news of your bravery. I’m sure she’ll never be able see you the same way again.”

The fists shook now. Amateur. But David knew anger, knew the sensation well enough to know something many less experienced with it missed: it had a cousin. A hideous, unpleasant cousin: Shame. Anger would stride forth ahead of shame, trying to hide the horrible relation in its shadow. But there shame would be, the noxious odor apparent to anyone who had but a nose to sniff it out.

It’s why she didn’t walk away. Doing so would be admittance, acceptance of disgrace. David’s promise to tell everyone a twisted version of what happened in this glorified broom closet was no idle threat. As to why she hadn’t responded how one of David’s peers might have, with a yell or fight? Another jab in the dark, but one David felt more confident in moment by moment. There must be some rule, mirrored to the one here on Earth: Boys don’t hit girls. Elementary school brawls were one thing. But once young males shot up in height, growing hair and muscles? Nothing would be quicker social suicide than a guy hitting a girl in rage. But you don’t understand, she made me mad wouldn’t cut it. With the size difference being starker for them, their rule must be even stricter. Shame, widespread and potent if she walked away. Disgrace if she laid a finger on him to retaliate.

It was up to David to offer her a third way. Let her grab onto a root stuck out of the bank of a raging river hurtling her downstream, only realizing too late the root was a venomous snake that had already bitten.

“But you could tell them something else. Here’s an opportunity to say you did something they never dared: find out why boys scurry from their touch. A story of you having the ‘womb strength’ to ask how it’s possible to be drowning in boys and remain virgins.” He said virgin with a slight curl, making it clear what the noun meant in this context: Loser.

“Because that’s what you all are, aren’t you? Including Bri. Or should I say, especially Bri?”

Another gamble, and her face turning back to him the more he spoke was the ca-ching of jackpot. He presented a treasure more precious than she could have imagined upon arrival into this room; A way to one-up her sister. A prize worth the sting of harsh language and ill-concealed contempt, a sugary coat around the cyanide pill he was about to shove down her throat.

He witnessed with every passed moment how his sentences ensnared her like lassos and yanked her back to him. David had her now, and she was bound and helpless until he let her go. The mastery and dominance he felt was better than his highest highs during the best games. It dwarfed those moments like the sun outshone a candle.

She sat down stiff and slow, tells of anger. But it was now a simmering back burner, no longer a bonfire. She’d avoided the dual shames presented to her earlier but taking his insults must have cost Kaa’syi a considerable measure of pride. Her face was rigid as she waited for him to continue. He declined to do so, instead smiling with all the warmth and charm of a barracuda.

Kaa’syi shifted from side to side in the chair. It was old and wooden, built with librarians in mind. They never shot past foot number seven in height. She spoke first and said, “Say what you are going to say.”

“I need the magic word.” 

“What?”

His smile widened from barracuda to shark. “Please. Please is the magic word.” 

Her eyes narrowed as she glared up at him, her seated position making her head a few precious inches lower than his. But then her shoulders sagged, and she said, “Please.” As angry as she was, Kaa’syi accepted the necessity of submission to him. Outstanding, she was already following the new dynamic.

“Happy to. Interesting word, please. Short, yet it says so much. It means someone is asking, not taking. They’re willing to wait for the other person to agree. Not a practice your kind is very good at, are they?”

Once again, her eyes narrowed. “Explain.”

David pointed at her. “See, that’s exactly what I’m talking about. I have something you want, so you order me to give it to you.”

That scored a hit. Her head tilted, and she gazed at a place somewhere between his neck and chin. “I am sorry. That was...of bad manners.” She said it slow, with a halt before the last phrase. Perhaps saying it wounded her, or she was stuck trying to find the correct words. Maybe both. “Please explain.”

This was too perfect.

“Sure thing. How about this: On ‘Liberation day,’ did your Queen ask to rule our planet? Say, ‘I could do a much better job of running this place than you backwards natives. Can I take over, pretty please?’ Is that how it happened?”

Silence, as expected. He already played this card earlier, and in a more direct and upsetting way than now. This was a windup before the pitch.

“We both know what happened. Big shiny ships with large powerful lasers came down and fried millions of people without giving them the chance to surrender. Why should they, after all? We’re what you wanted, you’re bigger and stronger than us. So why not take us?”

“I know we killed your-” a pause as she must have realized she didn’t know how Fred and Tom were related to David. “Family. I’m sorry.”

“You say that as though it means anything.”

The floating translucent face behind her had lain dormant, but now it sneered at her empty platitude, urging David on. Yes, he knew what David planned and approved of it. David did this in his name after all.

She spread her arms wide, palms up. “Is that what you have to say? We killed your people on Liberation Day, and so no one wants to talk to me?”

Inside he trilled the song of glory and conquest. She’d given him an opening as wide as half the field behind the school, and now was the moment. Time for the initial punch.

“That doesn’t help, but it's not the real problem. The reason boys flee from you, and girls whisper is because you’re rapists.”

Kaa’syi stirred, but no stronger response came. That didn’t trip David up. He’d used vocabulary she wouldn’t find in her English class.

“That last thing you said, I do not know of what it means. Explai- please explain.”

He lifted his upper lip, making his mouth form a grin in the same way a melting wax statue mimicked a human being. “I don’t think I should do it. Type the word into your pad.”

She did so one character at a time, perhaps sensing the unpleasant undertone of the entire scene. But her fingers finished their task, and then her ears listened. The pad spoke a single word in her language, one uglier and sharper to David’s ears than their tongue usually sounded. 

For a single beat, the room was quiet. Then she exploded into motion. Kaa’syi went to full height and loomed over David, pyres in her silver eyes. Her bottom lip receded, making her tusks as long as her jaw allowed. The tilt of her head led to horns pointed tip first at her newfound target of indignation. The insubstantial head behind her was unconcerned, and so was David. A bull may roar when gored, but the matador always won in the end.

“You dare, you dare! I thought someone who said that way to Bri was womb strong, but that was fool think!” Her language skills melted away in the crucible of her fury. “You not strong, you small fool! You people call this planet Earth, that’s what you are. Dirt, untrue hate dirt!”

“Gonna teach me a lesson? Make me regret what I said?” He eyed her right hand, which had risen in a flash as she stood up. She followed his gaze, tore it down flat at her side.

“You wish! Thought of touching you, I rather-” her tusks grew more prominent. “You dirty me with sight!”

“Truth hurts that much, huh?” He’d made her take a blow to the jaw and gotten her riled. The follow up would be the kidney punch, but not quite yet. David needed the moment, the one when it would hurt the most.

“Truth? Truth! What you say is no true! That word, we think nothing is more bad! Those who do, no one would look at them again! They are dirt, dirt smaller and more hate fool than you!”

“I agree. Nothing is worse than a rapist.”

“Yet you lie, say we do such things! I was fool, fool for wanting to talk to you. Never again.” He could see it in her eyes, she was done with this conversation. But he wasn’t done with her.

Now for the finishing blow. “What was Bri doing alone in her car last Friday?”

She had gathered up her pad and placed it under her right arm in preparation for her immediate departure. Yet his statement made her hesitate. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Kaa’syi’s angular face considered him again. Anger dominated, but puzzlement was now in the mix. “How did you-what do you mean?”

“Your sister. She passed you along to one of her friends and made sure she was alone in her car last Friday. Why?”

“Acrilla asked me to come with her. Not Bri’Akti.”

David made sure to contort his face into the most patronizing of smiles, the one reserved for confrontations with a lying six-year-old. “Sure. Acrilla loves to hang out with you, doesn’t she? You and her, best of friends. I see you and her at our lacrosse parties, talking on and on. And Acrilla wouldn’t take orders from Bri, as your sister never uses her nobility to push people around.”

There it was. Her face was so expressive, and in small but unmissable print was now the word uncertain. It was a crack in her wall of composure, one he was moments away from sticking dynamite in.

“I’m sure she also didn’t seem irritable when you got back home. Bri was perfectly normal, her usual wonderful self Friday evening, wasn’t she?”

David had her now. There was no way she’d leave the room until she heard all. She stayed silent, but her features betrayed her thoughts. Fear now joined the mix of reactions playing out on the stage of her visage. Did she know what was coming? If she did, it wouldn’t save her.

“Go ahead, stop talking to me and walk out. I’m lying hate dirt after all. Bye, see you later.”

No response issued from her lips, but her body told the entire story. Part of her wanted to leave, to forget this whole thing ever happened. But she couldn’t. The horrible Earth boy knew things he shouldn’t. Kaa’syi must be wondering: What else was he privy too?

“Tell me.”

“C’mon, we talked about this. The magic word.”

That made her lower lips show off her tusks a bit, but she complied. “Tell me, please.”

“Right. Did you know Alexander?”

Kaa’syi’s brow furrowed. “Who?”

“You’d probably think of him as Ax.”

Looking surprised, she said, “Oh, yes. The one who smells good and ate with us.”

A tiny part of David remained locked in disbelief that the godawful stuff worked, once one accounted for literal alien invasion. But that was irrelevant, he needed to stay focused. “Yeah, that’s him. Do you know where he was Friday after school?” 

“No.”

“I do.” David leaned forward, maintaining his smirk as he was forced to crane his neck to maintain eye contact. “Care to guess?”

Silence. She might not grasp language with the same ease as her monster of a sister, but that didn’t mean she was a fool either. If Kaa’syi didn’t know where he was leading before, she did now.

“I said earlier Bri was alone in her car. A bit of a lie. She lured Alexander into there. She then took what she wanted.”

Her eyes slid away from his. “I don ot know what that means.”

For the first time since she tried to leave after his initial outburst, anger bled through his calm. “Oh, spare me. You know exactly what I mean.”

Silver eyes snapped back to his. “You lie. She would not do that!”

“Sure. Because when it comes to boys, your sister has never said or done anything that’s made you feel bad. Nothing but chivalry from her.”

Once again, her gaze faltered, and she said, “You lie.” But there was no force present. Kaa’syi’s face was stricken.

“You told me that someone who did that was the worst, that no one would ever look at them again. Is that what will happen to Bri?”

She didn’t reply.

“Because you’re gonna tell people, right? Bri’s a rapist, and that means everyone will turn on her. Nothing but respect and safety for boys. That’s what you told me a few seconds ago.”

“Could be that it was a... mistake. She thought one thing, he thought another. Many boys would feel bad for making girl think they might have chance.”

Her statement made him go back to Alexander, breaking down in a dingy shower room. As his gut boiled, a decision was made. The shimmering head, which he’d lost focus on, became all he could see. It nodded, told him that what was doing was good and right. A necessary thing, the highest thing.

“A mistake, yes. It was a mistake for Alexander to get into a car with a high-class perv. But after that? No mistakes were made. It wasn’t a mistake when she pushed him into the car door so hard it hurt. When she put in her filthy tongue so far down his throat he came close to choking, are you going to tell me that was an accident? Grabbing at his legs to hold him down after he threw her off, was that an oopsie? All the angry texts she sent, a series of misclicks?” He shoved his legs up, as tight against the side of the table as they would go and jutted his head towards Kaa’syi’s. She threw hers back in response.

“You wanted to know why no one wants to talk to you? It’s because your sister’s a rapist. You’re all rapists.”

She shook her head with vehemence. “No, never! Never would I do! Die first!”

David sneered. “And if I asked Bri, you telling me she wouldn’t say the same? Why should I believe you?”

“No, no, no. Please, you must trust, I say true. I could not, I could not!” She was perhaps eighty-three inches tall and owned arms that could snap a great many students like twigs. For all that, she stood before him with shoulders hunched, arms in supplication.

“And if you could, who would stop you?”

“My mother, my father. They would hate me forever! They would send me away, forget my name!”

“That so? Then tell your mother. Tell your father. Show them Bri’s pad, make them face those texts. Will Bri be sent away, her mother forget her name?” 

She turned her head so far, the chin was parallel to her left shoulder, crossing her arms over herself.

“Go on, say it. Say that’s exactly what you’re gonna do. You’re a good brax, and good brax protect their men. Quite valuable, incredibly small, that’s how you put it earlier, right? Poor guys can’t do it themselves. But why would they when they have you? You were so confident and brave a few moments ago, calling me a liar. I’m positive you’ll be equally brave when you tell Quel’vela her daughter’s a rapist.”

God, he could see her world shatter piece by piece. Were all tomatoes helpless at hiding their emotions, or was it her? David hadn’t interacted enough with them to tell. Not a fact he thought he’d ever regret, but a tiny bit of him did so now. That feeling was overwhelmed by a much more pertinent one, savage glee. He’d torn her neat and tidy existence away from her, shred by bloody shred.  Her sister was taken from her, leaving behind a vile beast in a skin suit as replacement. For the first time in forever, David had what he wanted.

Or did he? Revelation flashed through him. A part of his mind had been putting together bits of data, collecting them into a whole new perspective. They’d shouted at each other, berated their opponent without restraint. Yet no one interrupted. There was no apoplectic librarian demanding to know what the hell was going on; no curious teenager cracking the door to get a peep at what caused the fuss. Little wonder students considered this Privacy Central.

This gave him an idea. An idea so beautiful and wonderful, David knew he’d mourn the lost chance for the rest of his life if he didn’t follow through. His enemy was prone on the curb, curled up and weeping from all the kicks to the gut he’d delivered. Sometimes that was the sign to walk away. Then there were moments like this, when justice demanded one aim for the neck and stomp without end.

“Not gonna happen, is it?”

Kaa’syi shrank into herself and stepped back from him, closer to the door. The sight of someone like her trying to seem small in any other context would have been hilarious. For David, it was joy injected directly into pulsing veins. Every moment he spoke hurt her more, and there was no escape. All that strength and power in her body, the might of an interstellar empire behind her, both useless in this room. A brax, the natural ruler of the galaxy, reduced to a tight ball of misery, horror, and shame. But there was one more emotion he’d make her feel before his victory was complete. One felt at such an intensity she’d go to her grave fleeing from the memory.

“You asked why no one wants to talk to you. That’s why. But I’m not sure you get it. I’ll spell it out for you. When boys go quiet when you get close, it’s because they’re afraid. Afraid you might like them, want them. Because then you might wait until they’re alone. You could grab them and take what you wanted from them. Like Bri did.”

David thought she looked stricken earlier. He’d been wrong. That was nothing in comparison to what was on her face now.

“No.”

“Yes. It’s like you said, we bunch up when you’re around, we’re so hard to get ‘solo.’ Did you ever think to wonder why?”

“No!”

“You didn’t ask, but I’ll say it anyway. It's because inside they’re thinking, ‘Not me, please not me,’ or ‘Is it my turn?’”

“Stop it!” She clutched her head. Was she trying to block out his words? Were past attempts to chat up Earth boys on replay in a horrible new light? Whatever was going on in that disgustingly oversized skull, the agony it caused shone like an active volcano.

“And the girls, the ones who whisper and stare. I know what they’re saying. ‘Who is that thing going after next? Will it be my friend? My brother? My father?’” 

She fell to her knees, choking and gasping. David saw drops of liquid fall to the floor under her head. Spit, acid? Had he gotten to her to the point she was struggling to not vomit? The notion gave him a thrill that penetrated deeper than he thought possible. 

“That’s all we’ll ever think of you, of any brax. Dirty, filthy, grabby rapists, always waiting for their moment. Every single human being sees you and feels nothing but hate and fear for demons like you.” He crept closer to her as he spoke, each syllable a syringe of toxin plunged into her soul.

“In fact, if I saw you come in here with someone else, I know what I’d think.” He said this bent over low enough to whisper it into her ear, causing her to shy away. She scrambled backward from him by using her arms to push, massive legs trailing in her wake. He stepped closer, filled with the confidence of the wolf after it cornered a rabbit.

“I’d think she’d found it, the moment she was waiting for. That once he was alone and unable to escape, he’d be left broken and crying.”

“Goddess, no!” She then cried out in her awful language, having finally been pushed to the point she forgot to speak his. The pitiful alien scooted further until her back was up against the wall to the side of the door.

“I’m not alone. Anyone would think the same. Let me show you.” He then threw back his head. “No please, stop! Get away!” he cried. Her eyes and cheeks bulged, and she tried to press herself further into the unyielding wall. “No, please, I beg you!” He moaned piteously. David stalked her as he put on his impromptu one man show. She whirled her arms, rose to unsteady feet. She ran from him, and in her panic, she fled further from the door. Kaa’syi was trapped in an alcove of shelves. There was a chance she realized that, as she flailed at the one to David’s left. It teetered, and David grabbed his end of the free-floating shelving unit and barely saved it from tipping over. He managed to use the momentum to turn the tumble into a horizontal slide, pushing it close to the other free-floating unit which crunched up against the wall opposite the door. After he did, the play resumed. “Someone help me, please!” Then laughter, a low and dark chuckle. “Let go of me, let go!” He was now in front of her, standing between her and the door.

“Stop it, stop, you’re hurting me!” He made sure to put in a high-pitched undertone to his plea. The one the targets of playground bullies used when they begged for clemency while expecting none. Kaa’syi’s mouth was tight, her lips pressed so firmly the dim light of the room failed to hide their paling. Her chest heaved; eyes wide to the point silver was swallowed by oceans of surrounding black.

This was it. What he’d yearned for all this time without knowing it. Terror declared itself her ruler, and David was the source, a tight gripped hand behind an alien throne. The realization flowed through him like water down a parched throat. Seeing her like this sent buckets of satisfaction to settle deep into crevices of his soul he’d been obligated to ignore for years.

It was good, it was pure, it was clean. She asked for this. She deserved this. They all deserved this. Forever and ever, infinite punishment for irreparable crime. He clasped it close, this feeling of righteousness as he managed to loom over an invader so many pounds bigger than him. The paradox, the biggest of them cowed by one much smaller, made it all the righter. Better, perfect, better than perfect. Everything was magnificent at that moment, including him. David would put the entire scene in a jar and save it for later if he had such power.

But that was for gods, a state of being restricted for David to the lacrosse field. Here he was required to settle for being an avenging angel, his target smote and reeling from his wrath. He smiled at her, lips curled upward to show incisors. Then with casual precision he stepped to the side, allowing her a wide pathway to the door. She took the opening and managed to get out after two useless slaps at the handle. The door slammed behind Kaa’syi.

David picked up his backpack from where he’d set it down and followed her after about ten seconds. He walked out with a jaunt in his stride. A glance at a clock high on the opposite wall told him it was fifteen minutes past the next period. Oh well. He’d made sure to avoid absences for the entire year, so a single missed period meant nothing. Worth it.

Yes, the entire thing was wonderfully, gloriously worth it. One alien would now forever feel surrounded by those who hated her, but there was more on top of that triumph. He’d cut her; look how she bled. These things weren’t invincible. They wanted David and everyone else to think that, to believe that opposing their will was like holding up one’s fist against an avalanche. Until that meeting in the storage room, David now knew he’d operated under that silent assumption. Hatred flowed through his veins to be sure, but it was the self-consuming ember of a prisoner held bound and helpless in the enemy camp. In the end he’d declined to strike back at them in ways which mattered, unless one counted stealthy glares and a refusal to look any in the eye.

A refusal born from the reminder of his own cowardice. The first few times he’d locked eyes with a red after the invasion, that face had always floated behind theirs, as it did in that file room. It shocked and scared him, and he learned quickly to avoid looks their way. Now he was confident it would never happen again. No longer would he hide from his duty to him, to all humans who their conquerors dominated without compunction or pause.

As he swore this to himself, he registered an unrelenting glare. The librarian at the reception must have seen the retreating red. With her absent, that left David the available source of annoyance. David waved at her and said, “She said something about feeling sick and ran off. Hope she’s okay.” The glare did not abate, but David was now immune to its power as he trod out of the library with a bounce in his step.

[First] [Prev]

David stood in front of the unwelcome alien, stiff as stone. She blocked his way, but he refused to turn tail and run. Minutes ago, Richard showed him what cowardice looked like. Screw that.

Kaa’syi took a small step back, but not enough to make the space between her and David a comfortable route to freedom. “Davvid, I am glad to have found you. I have a desire to talk to you,” she said, hanging onto the middle sound in his name a fraction too long and turning a into ah.

“Who told you where I was?”

“Your friend, Jake Prince. I saw you move quick after the class was over. He told me he saw you go this direction and said there was one person this way you’d be speaking to. Your talk with the gym teacher, was it well?”

None of your business, was the response that leapt to mind and almost to his lips. Instead, he replied, “It was fine.”

“That word. It means acceptable, correct? As well as slender, or good in looks? I’ve been studying a lot to get better with...with your words.” She then laughed. Chittering at some private joke, or perhaps out of nerves. David wiped away the irrelevant thoughts before they could chain further. He didn’t care.

“Listen, is there a reason you’re here?”

No laughter at those words. “I... I have need of help. I think you can be...useful in how I need.”

Help. His left hand tightened in his pocket. Richard asked him for help, before the man showed his true character. Alexander asked him to not help, despite everything he’d told him. Melissa never asked out loud, able to rely on filial duty to do the dirty work for her. Now this over tall tomato was telling him how useful he could be to her. Yet another person thinking of what he could do for them, pulling at him until they got what they wanted. No, not another person. These things didn’t qualify.

“Well, too bad. I’m busy.”

“Busy? Doing what?”

The impulse to look her in the eye to emphasize his refusal was almost too much to bear, but he knew what would happen if he did, so he managed to refrain. “Busy walking away from a rude gir-stalker who thinks she can follow me around and make demands.” He knew he ought to be more careful with what he said, keep quiet and walk past her. But he was ground down to a raw nub, and each second with her sanded away more of his gossamer self-control. Knowing all this, he moved, deciding this would be an excellent end to the conversation.

“No, I did not...I do not think like that! I am sorry, I am failing again! Give me pardon, but no one will talk to me! I want to talk to someone who will talk back. Please, please talk to me…”

David had walked far enough down the hall her vocalizations came in from behind, and then he stopped as her final words hit his ears. Please, she said. Despite his best efforts, attending school forced him to be around the brax and understand them whenever they spoke in English. In school, at after-victory parties, the grocery store, they talked. They made statements, ferreted for information, and proclaimed opinions. Not once did they make a polite request or ask permission for anything. Kaa’syi was the first. This made her unique among her kind, in a small but inescapable way. He came to this conclusion with reluctance, but once arrived at it was irreversible. 

What did it mean? He tried to tell himself it meant nothing, to keep walking. Stubborn legs refused to move. It seemed there was the option of becoming a hallway fixture for the next forever. Or… 

“You want to talk? Fine, I know a place in the library that’s supposed to be locked and never is. Let's go.” 

Her voice floated in behind him. “But would that not a place like be of...not allowed?”

He turned enough to make the shrug of his shoulders clear. “Not going to chat with you where others might see and get the wrong idea. Take it or leave it.” Then his legs moved, and he listened to see if she would follow. In a moment she did, her hurried clomps to catch up with him sending the clap clap of her enormous shoes rattling up and down the hall.

Feeling her try to come in from behind, he stepped sideways to where he knew she’d be trying to get ahead. One more round of that and she got the message, fell in behind. This interaction happened on his terms, or not at all.

Without a word they entered the library and walked past a seated Ms. Morgan at the checkout desk. As she noticed them, the brittle blonde-haired woman took a moment to look at the clock, which showed twenty-three minutes left before next period, then back at them. David rolled his eyes after his face left her sight. At this moment it was hard to care about such things.

David led Kaa’syi to an out of the way corner around and to the back of the L-shape that made up the construction of the library room. There was an unassuming wooden door with horizontal metal handle, the kind which rotated down to open. A keyhole was present in it, the sort meant to make the door need a key to be turned open each time. Whatever bit of engineering which made that happen broke or wore away years ago. Students passed the knowledge from person to person that there was a warm and low-lit storage room nestled away for those who wanted it. It didn’t take a brilliant mind to deduce what sort of thing teenagers would consider necessary to do in that room. David had discarded the idea the moment the knowledge got sent his way with a chuckle. Whether or not he acquired the desire for that sort of pastime, having the urge in a place filled with teachers struck him as little different than making a move while parents stood outside one’s bedroom door. Not that this was anything more than theory, for multiple reasons.

The place was lined with shelves, holding plastic bins filled with folders. Perhaps old physical records, back in that ancient time when books were scanned out by hand, and people read of their own volition. It was cramped, but a few stools and a tiny cheap table floated in the center of the biggest available space in the middle of the room. Likely it was there to serve as the smallest possible place to get out and sort records.

David pulled up two stools and put them on opposite ends of the square table. He sat on his stool and waited for her. When she didn’t sit, he turned to look at her. Her shoulders were hunched, hands clenched together at pelvis level and elbows trying to hide in her stomach. Looking at her face was unnecessary; discomfort was written over every inch. A considerable number, given her size.

“Something wrong?”

She flinched as though his words were flicked fingers. “Nothing.”

“Sure.” He let his terse response hang in the air. She was the one to ask for a chat. The alien could speak up, or the door was that way.

Perhaps realizing nothing more was forthcoming, she said, “This place is small.”

“Yeah, so?” 

“We do not make rooms this small.”

“Well, we do.”

Her posture tightened in misery. “You do not feel...trapped?”

“No.”

She fell silent but did not leave. Whatever compelled her to seek out David in the first place kept her there, yet she was too uncomfortable to continue. With a sigh, the frustrated boy realized if things were to get moving, he’d need to prod them along. He scanned the space. While many of the shelves screwed into the wall, some were free floating metal racks. They could be adjusted. With a grunt, he got up and began to leverage the end of the shelves into rotation. As he did so, the hollow gap between racks became larger, widening into a bigger pocket of free space. The process left his mind free, a small corner making a note: tomatoes don’t like tight spaces.

After the expansion of their bubble by a meaningful percent, he returned and sat down. She sat down too and was breathing easier. “Thank you.” A pause. “I am sorry.”

That second one caught David off guard, so he answered without thinking. “Sorry for what?”

Another pause, a longer one. “You are a boy, yet you are the one moving things for me. I am the stronger one, I should be doing that. My father and first mother would of...think poor of me. I am a bad example of a good woman.”

David’s mind went back to their initial encounter. “Not treating me with chivalry, huh?”

“Chivalry? Ah, yes! That is correct.” First incomprehension, followed by excitement. Then trailing off, as he figured she turned the focus more onto her failure to be a good woman again.

Clueless how else to respond, David said, “It’s no big deal.”

“You are kind to say that. Most boys would never talk to me again.”

Discomfort from her praise turned into irritation. “You know, you sure speak pretty confidently about guys a lot for someone who scared to make a move on one unless they’re alone. What makes you such an expert?”

It took a beat for her to answer. When it came, the statement was laden with the feeling of suppressed emotion. “You are correct. I have not had real talk with many.”

“More like any, from the way you’re acting.”

“No, I have.” The sentence was rushed, coming out in a flurry.

“Oh? Name one this week.”

Her hands squeezed tight, locking fingers on the table. David waited for her to spit it out.

“I dropped my pad pen. It rolled under a boy’s desk. The desks, my arm is too big for under them. I asked him to give it to me. Then he…”

“He what?”

Ruddy cheeks darkened. “He threw it at me, for some reason.”

His eyebrows raised. “At you? Like your face?”

“More my shoulder.” Her words were slow and reluctant.

“Why didn’t you catch it?”

Her eyes returned to his, their depths defined by open confusion. “Why did I not what?”

David threw up his hands. “Never mind. Should have known better than to question your skills, an obvious dude magnet like you.”

“Dude magnet?”

David face palmed in his head. Of course, use slang in front of the alien, require this to be prolonged by explanation.

“A woman who finds it easy to get what they want from men.”

“Oh.”

Time to explore ways of ending this, or at least move forward. “Look, is all this what you wanted to say to me? Get to the point.”

Another round of quiet. David was quite tired of this. He was on the cusp of leaving without regret when she spoke. “Nobody speaks to me unless they have to. Why? What did I do?”

That was it? The alien was lonely, and asking him why? David couldn’t help it. He leaned forward over the table and howled with laughter. It took ages for him to stop the initial flush of pure mirth, and yet more time for the wheezed out gasps of retreating merriment to leave him in full. His eyes watered from the strain.

“I do not understand. My question was meant of true. Why be so unkind?”

“Because it's me you’re asking. Me!” As he said the last sentence, he was surprised to see her sitting there, unmoving. Despite the cramped space and being laughed at to her face, she endured. If it were someone else, he’d have felt the stirrings of respect for the show of resolve. As it was, he focused on the mystery of said resolve. “Why me? Out of everyone, why me?”

“You talked back at her.” 

“Who?”

“Bri’Akti. After you spoke of your grandfather’s medal.”

Ah. He’d been afraid of getting on Bri’s naughty list with his ill-timed jabs at her, and it turned out he should have been concerned about catching another’s attention instead. 

“Yeah, I suppose I did. Did she say anything about it later?”

“That it was cute.”

“What?” He sat up ramrod straight, the lingering motes of his earlier good humor blasted to smithereens.

“She said it was cute how when a human boy tried to be mad at her, his eyes were all over her arms anyway.”

Bile rose in his throat. Of course. That’s how that tomato saw him, how they saw anyone who made the mistake of packing a Y chromosome in each cell and existing in their vicinity. A dick, one dying to snuggle into their tender embrace. For whom could not want them, the race of almost all female clothing model Olympians?

“Does that hurt?” A hand with red cylinders the size of markers for fingers pointed at his.

David turned his head away and noticed with a lurch how his hands gripped the edge of the table, hard enough to make the knuckles turn pale; the rest of both becoming splotchy with patches of pink and white. He didn’t say anything. Speech dissolved in the block of acid holding down his tongue.

She spoke again after he failed to. “The others, the boys. The few times I try to talk to them, they pretend not to hear. Or they stay quiet, say single words until I leave. Nothing real. I see they are afraid; that they want me away. I do not know what I have done wrong.”

You are what’s wrong, said the voice in the back of his head. His lips replied with a touch of sneer, “Ask a girl then.”

Her voice lowered, her left shoulder all that was necessary to observe her droop. “Their words say one thing, their faces another. Sometimes they are of talking to each other, and then one will look at me. Though I cannot hear what they said, somehow, I know they were speaking of me. Their faces...I do not like them.”

Turns out they weren’t fans of the reds either. Good. Though it was probably all the easier for girls to dislike them, aliens served as competition. Competition for the stupid and traitorous, but details, details.

“You saw me ‘talk back’ to your sister. So what?”

“People talk to her, but not like that. Not until you.”

“Yes, and? Stop repeating yourself!”

Large hands closed together in a tight ball on the table. “The others, they are afraid of my sister, I can see it. They speak of more to her, but they are also of afraid. But not you. You are angry and you talked back at her. It gave you,” and then she tapped at her pad, reading. “It gave you the womb strength to tell her something that feels important. I want to know.”

David stood frozen at a precipice. If this continued, stuff inside him he’d held in for years would be freed. Timbers would burst, the dam would break, and David would be carried with the flood.

“You really want to know?” His voice was low and rigid. Tip toe, almost over the cliff he go.

“Please.”

One leg out, dangling into the void. Down he fell. Then a wave of utter calm flowed over him. David looked her in the eye, knowing the consequences. The face, the one he’d avoided for so long, popped into existence. It danced around Kaa’syi. David didn’t flinch. This was for him.

“You saw my presentation that day. Do you remember it?”

She blinked. “That was, uhh, about the medal of your grandfather, correct?” 

“Yes. Now, what did you think of it?”

“It was of...interesting?” 

David put on a show of being aggrieved. “Interesting? That’s all you can say about it? I put a lot of work into that assignment.” A lie, like his offense was. He’d presented on the topic because his grandfather had told him all about it so many times, it was more a matter of transcribing than researching. Furthermore, the emotions driving him right now came from a place far deeper and more dangerous than any trite slight over schoolwork unrecognized ever could be.

She flushed a deeper shade of red. Her angular cheeks took on the color of a magenta, long petaled flower one of Melissa’s neighbors grew before the invasion. “I’m sorry, you are of correct. Your grandfather sounds like he was a brave man. So- what is the word- strange to think of all those men fighting.”

“Strange? Why?”

Kaa’syi looked at him with puzzlement, then shook her head. “No matter how long I’m here, it's easy to forget. Our men are far too, hmm, valuable to have many fight. And their smaller size means not good at fighting.”

David nodded his head. A lot of stuff about the tomatoes was no better than rumor and whispers, but one difference was made clear weeks after first contact: the gender imbalance was about as skewed as interest in romance novels. One of the reasons far too many of them treated Earth like a sorority party where they made sure to be the one guy invited. Their males also grew much smaller than the surrounding female population, about the same size as human women. Not that David could attest to this from personal experience. His exposure to the reds came from the population which infested his school, and there was not a single male among them.

First contact, that sure was a way to refer to that day. A tendril of fury rose within and was washed away by the spectral visage floating behind her. Let her think this was an ordinary conversation, a lonely and angry boy opening up under the tender direction of a curious girl. May the mortal blow come without warning.

“Sure, that makes sense. But here, men fight. It's men who kill.”

“Kill? I don’t know that word.”

David stared her dead in the eye and slowly drew a finger across his Adam’s apple. It seemed the gesture didn’t exist in her culture, as she looked confused. In response he got a pencil out of the small cup holding writing tools on the table, mimicked his gesture from earlier, then imitated choking while holding a slit throat. Her eyes widened. Good.

“That’s right. Here, it's the men who kill.”

No reply. She was unsettled, it was all over her huge face. You can talk enough for both right now, the spectre urged. “Your sister thought it was stupid my grandfather got a medal. Do you agree?”

Kaa’syi’s expression cleared a bit as David gave her a new target for her thoughts. “No. And it was a much unkind thing to say. But it is strange.”

“Oh?”

She nodded. “He was brave, but you made it sound like his friend was, uh, not fighting anymore. Would it not be safer to have his friend be taken and let him be paid for?”

The bizarre sentence troubled his calm. “Paid for?”

“It's hard to explain with your words, I am learning.” She lapsed into silence. “When we fight with others, often some will be taken. We pay to get them back. Those who took them are happy, they have money. We are happy because our people are safe.”

Though her phrasing clunked worse than an elephant doing ballet, the meaning came through. Their technology was superior without doubt, their egos large. War would seem like a game to them, ransom nothing more than the price paid to get a player out of the penalty box.

“Well, that’s not how it works here. Grandpa Matt’s friend would have been killed.” 

“But why?”

David could have replied with the stories Grandpa Matt only told when he was near dead. The reality of combat he’d spoken of, his speech halting and somewhere far away. What it was like to be surrounded by bellows and shouts, seeing men reduced to animals, screaming for the blood of their foes. The way once killing started, it was hard to stop, any unfamiliar face a threat instead of a person. How over time it became easier to hold your pistol out and keep pulling the trigger, ignoring cried out wails like “Stop!” or “Surrender, surrender!” Grandpa Matt hadn’t done anything like that. But he’d seen those who did, had watched them in the tents later, as men washed blood off their hands and faces with the same weight given dirt.

Instead of any of that, David said simply, “Because they hated him.”

“I do not understand. He did bad things to them?”

“He was there.”

No answer from her. He plowed on. “He was there, as our airplanes blew up homes. He was there, as the army shot farmers thought to be hiding men in their huts. When women screamed, realizing their husband was never coming home, and as hungry children scattered away, orphaned by what our country did.”

He would never forget his Grandpa Matt and how he was that last year of fading away. Twice, when he’d seen him while bedridden, an aged filter gave way. Then Matt squeezed out poison kept concealed for decades. David had been next to him but was pretty sure during those moments Grandpa didn’t recognize him, only realizing someone was there to listen. It terrified the younger David at the time, yet leaving was unthinkable. Grandpa needed someone there to hear him, or he wouldn’t have said anything. It was his duty to listen and take over the burden of this knowledge. He’d never shared what happened in those moments with anyone. It was at his funeral that David felt hate for the first time. Hate for the powerful and uncaring people who’d done this to his loving, sweet grandfather. Those who’d held his eyes wide open and poured in horrors, the sole remedy to lock up all such memories tight. 

Of course, by this point hate was an old familiar friend. One he was now letting out to prance and play.

As he came back from his quick reverie, he saw Kaa’syi tap and scan her pad. Seemed he’d used too much vocabulary she didn’t know, and now she must translate. Excellent. He wanted her to understand every bit.

“That is…”

“Horrible. That’s why they hated my grandfather and his friend. Hated them all.”

The floating head nodded approval. Let what he said rock her tidy world.

“We would never do anything like that.”

David barked out a laugh, one with as many teeth as a pack of hyenas. “Oh? And what do you think ‘Liberation Day’ was?”

That response made her bite her lip and look blank. “What do you mean?”

For a second time during this encounter, David was thrown off balance. Did she not know? “You’re serious?”

“Yes?” The word was slender with uncertainty.

“What happened the day we first met you?”

“Well, I know a few of your people tried to stop us from coming. Bad, but a few.”

“A few? A few what?”

Another bite to the lip, and now she looked down for a second before returning his unyielding stare. “Killed. Yes. But we have done so much for you! Your planet is no longer being hurt by what you did to it, and you have so many,” a tap and scan of her screen, “so many diseases we have cured. Haven’t we saved so many of you, enough to make up for the few?”

“Were you ever told how many your kind deem a few?”

“No.”

“It was millions. Millions upon millions blasted from the sky, with no chance to surrender.”

“What?”

“I know, a lot to take in. Let me help you with that. Me, dead. Everyone in my neighborhood, dead. The city nearby? Dead. The entirety of what used to be New Jersey before you all showed up? Dead, and yet not enough. Stacks of more corpses, created by you.”

“No!”

“You think I’m lying? Making it up? I dare you, say I’m lying! Go ahead, look it up! Not on your pad, on our computers! Search the obituaries, find each and every name and add them together! Find Thomas and Fred Koppel!” Those last words tore out of him like stitches from a recent, sewn up wound, and now he gushed self-control in spurts. David hadn’t meant to say those names, they revealed too much. His spectral companion shook his head behind her in disappointment. This was meant to put her in her place, not struggle to stay in control, not break down and do something. He didn’t know what.

“Koppel? But is your name not…”

David hunched over the table, the tightness in his throat making it hard not to rasp. He needed to breathe, deep and clear.

“Oh Goddess, I am so sorry.” He saw her reach out with one of her dinner plate hands and move it near his left arm, the motion clumsy.

He flung himself away and spat out, “Don’t touch me!”

Kaa’syi jerked back as if slapped. That stirred a reaction in him, sensations he couldn’t process at that moment. His body was sending too many signals, the alarm from being near grabbed by one of them overwhelming all else.

“I think I need to go.” 

He felt his focus drawn to her, tight as a laser. She was getting ready to leave. This couldn’t happen. Why? What was the matter with her leaving? He hadn’t wanted this conversation in the first place. Yet now he scrambled for a way to make her stay. What was going on? 

Then in a flash it all came to him. The reason Kaa’syi’s plea tugged him to a stop in the hall. The hurt look after he’d torn away from her attempt to comfort him, why it would occur to her to try in the first place. She saw him as an equal. A person, not an alluring potential lay whose zipper she needed to unlock. Someone who might have valuable things to share with her, information worth the risk of anger and hostility. That’s what made her different from the other reds. She cared about his opinion.

That meant David had power over her.

The moment he realized this he was back, once again covered in his control. A sense of utter domination and aliveness that he hadn’t felt off the lacrosse field in years.

But first he needed to make her stay.

[First] [Prev] [Next]

Bright and early for David. He always got up bright and early. It was important. Important, yes. That was the word. It flew slip-slide-slod through his mind. A big thing to get done. It was-

“Davy, up and at ‘em! Sun’s waiting for you!”

He shook himself, and the bed shook with him. Before he knew what he was doing, his feet were in front of an open door, one swung wide to reveal the presence behind it. There stood a man taller than David, but otherwise cast in his mold. The same hair color, identical in texture and patterns of growth. Eyes which could have been David’s as well. Other facial features were subtle in difference. A sharper chin, more defined cheeks. The man was classically handsome, a trait he shared with one of his progeny.

He laughed and said, “What’s an old man got to do to be offered a hug around here?” His arms went wide, almost as wide as his grin. Its gleam was big enough to hold a household’s worth of hopes and fantasies.

David stayed planted to the floor. The man’s smile maintained its structure. “C’mon, its been ages!”

This unlocked David’s tongue. “I…yeah, um. I can’t hug you.”

“Why not?” Said through white teeth shiny enough to sparkle from orbit.

“Because you’re dead, Dad.”

Neither spoke for a moment. Then Mr. Koppel shrugged. “I admit, was feeling under the weather for a bit. All better now though. C’mere!” He no longer waited for David to fall within the invitation of his arms. They wrapped tight around him. David could not help himself and let them do so. They enveloped him, should have made him warm inside. It didn’t.

The embrace ended with hands on his shoulders, David’s Dad still all smiles and shiny teeth. The man did look much better than David last remembered him. Perhaps he really had gotten better from…

From…

Up high on his father’s left shoulder, David’s eye caught something. On it was a spatter of gray.

He pointed at it. “Dad, what’s that?”

Brown eyes followed his finger. One hand made swift sweeps over the affected area. Dust, somehow both thick and powdery puffed away. Yet the splotch remained.

“Guess I gotta toss this in the laundry again. Machine doesn’t always remove stains. But you already know that, don’t you Davy?”

Did he? It felt like he shouldn’t.

“Let’s play some ball. It’s been too long since we picked up those sticks.”

David’s eyes went from his father’s shoulder to the man’s face. It hovered a good foot above him. Was this right?

He wavered. Then went with it. “Sure dad. Let me just get on my gear.”

The man laughed again. “No need. Its only us.” He walked over the wall, pushed through it with one hand. The other waved for David to follow as he misted through the solid ghost wall of the bedroom.

After a moment’s hesitation, son went after father. They landed on the front lawn, one with bigger trees than the last morning David had woken. In both of their hands lay lacrosse sticks. David’s hands slid up and down the pole in search of a solid grip. The long bit of metal was bigger than the ones he was used to, its weight unwieldy.

“Here, let me help you with that. Everyone has got to start somewhere.” The older man went over to his son and moved both sets of fingers to their proper places. The basket went steady as the younger borrowed strength from his elder. The moment David’s dad let go, it all went wavery again.

He clapped David on the shoulder. Dust bloomed from the contact. “Don’t worry about it. You’ll have all the time in the world to get good as him.” As he strode back to his original position, more particles fell in wisps of smoke from his head and hair, which was slate from the stuff.

David struggled to both believe him and keep the too tall stick upright. He would, could get good as him, right? He had to, he must. Didn’t know why, a truth locked in heart and bone, stiff and set as stone.

“Looks like you’re having a bit of trouble. Let me show you a few tricks.” The man adjusted the glasses set on his face, glasses identical to the one’s Coach Chapman wore. He maneuvered the stick with motions both complex and beautiful. Performed tricks David’s coach had shown the team, a demonstration of what good ball control looked like. He’d challenged the boys to grab possession from him, and it took all of them working as one that day to answer it. The cradle and its precious ball had sailed, glided, and soared, all guided by Chapman’s serene control. Control backed by skill mighty enough to hold an entire team of players at bay.

David’s father moved as he had, borrowed glasses scattering motes of light.

He finished with an identical flourish, the ball sent so high it went into the stratosphere, a tiny green dot lost in blue. David waited for his Dad to catch it, the throw a promissory note fulfilled by a successful return.

The green spot became a ball.

The older man coughed, a great, chest squeezing one. Both man and ball met the lawn, huge plumes of gray dust in full eruption around his obscured form.

David tried to rush over to him, but he tripped over his feet. His shoes had gotten untied, and his stubby, useless fingers didn’t know how to stich them back together. With a cry of frustration, he threw them off, then crawled over to his father.

He was hunched over, one hand and knee on the ground. With one last rasp, he got into a crouch and looked his son in the eye. David stared back at him, his full standing height a scarce few inches higher than his father’s bowed head.

 David’s dad smiled. This one didn’t show off his teeth. “Sorry. Some things just don’t get better, I suppose.” Uncovered eye sockets turned toward feet clad only in socks. “Looks like you need new shoes. Here, take mine.” With a single smooth motion, he handed them to David.

The young boy stumbled under their weight. They near swallowed his soft, delicate fingers, their sockets dark caverns no light penetrated. He looked at his father and whined, “I can’t use these. They’re way too big.”

David’s father wiped his mouth, a motion which disturbed the granules of gray all over his face. He made another close-lipped smile and said, “Sorry, they’re all you got. His are even bigger. So I guess you gotta do your best to fill mine. You’re all we got.” As the last sentence was said, the man’s smile went shaky as David’s heartbeat.

He then disappeared in a swirl of dust and red lightning. David gasped and scrabbled for his father in the grit and gray, but he was gone. In his place was an enormous woman, except she wasn’t a woman, women didn’t have horns and tusks and white hair and red skin and eyes which glowed redder and looked straight at him.

He tried to get up, run and hide from the monster which loomed over him. But he was so small and weak. Feeble limbs and appendages tangled over themselves, slowed his retreat to an inch worm crawl.

With a thudding heart he looked for salvation. Melissa gazed down at him from her bedroom window. David waved and shouted. “Help! Help me, please! I’m down here!”

She saw him. He knew she did, her eyes were aimed straight at him. But they showed nothing inside, hollower than the empty windows around her.

The monster advanced from behind. It hungered for him.

“Don’t leave me to do this alone! I can’t, I can’t, I can’t!”

She stayed still as the dust which had once been his father.

A claw gripped his ankle.

And then David was in bed, comforter twisted around his ankles. His skin prickled from rushing hormones. His eyes scouted his bedroom. They confirmed where he was, when he was.

They also confirmed it was three forty-seven in the morning. A fact which made him groan and sink into his pillow, face palm with both hands. He hoped it wasn’t going to be a long night.

A medium night, in the end. About a three-quarters of an hour to fall back into the twilight realm of half-consciousness, some period after for full sleep. It left him frazzled, aware of frayed nerves and shorter temper. Not ideal, given the crucial conversation he must have today.

No way but onward. Unfortunate, but so was most of his life. Early classes blurred by. All focus was on the essential: Find Chapman at lunch. Tell him playing meant getting murdered by what the aliens deemed a sport.

When the bell rang for the end of fourth period, David sprinted out before the sound died in the halls. He jogged and snaked between people as they started to come out of classrooms to go to lunch. In less than two minutes he’d made it to the other end of the school to the locker rooms and where the coach’s office was. He took a deep breath to calm himself. Then a few more, the disconcertion from his early wake up yet underneath his surface thoughts. He crafted a new one, designed to pierce through all turbulence: It was almost over.

He walked in. A wooden door surrounded by the utilitarian tile and painted cement that made up the rest of this building section greeted him. Upon opening it he saw Coach Chapman, situated behind a desk in a somewhat disorganized but respectable office.

“Hey Coach, I need to talk to you.”

Coach Chapman looked up. “Shouldn’t you be at lunch?”

“I can eat later. I need to talk to you.”

“I heard ya. What’s on your mind?”

“It’s about the new sport, the different team we’re supposed to play against.”

The Coach’s eyes stayed steady, but his lips tightened. “What about it?”

“You’ve seen the video they got of the Knights? That wasn’t a game. It was a slaughterhouse, and they were the pigs.”

“I’ve seen it.”

David waited for him to continue, but nothing came forth. “Well, aren’t you going to stop it? This has gotta be a joke.”

Coach shifted his body away from David in his chair. “And how do you propose I do that?”

Thoughts and feelings lurked in the background. David plowed forward to stay ahead of them. “Come up with an excuse. Forfeit for us, say we’re underage, that it would blaspheme their precious Queen to play against them. I don’t know!” His final words came out harsh, restrained with great effort from the volume he wished to express himself with.

“David, I can tell you got a bit of a bee under your bonnet. I’m gonna ask you to calm down, and think for a sec. They have no reason to accept a forfeit. If you read the rules, you’d know none of y’all are underage. I checked, and as a matter of fact the girls facing us are all about a year younger than our team on average. As for that last thing you said,'' and here the Coach leaned in and looked David straight in the eyes, “One of them came to me. A messenger from Quel’vela. You know who that is, right?”

David nodded with a grim expression. He knew. The Coach mirrored his motion.

“I was told her Ladyship is taking a personal interest in this, and that ‘it was my duty as a loyal subject to the Queen’s representatives’ to make sure every single one of my boys knew what an honor it was to hold her attention. Do I make myself clear?”

David nodded again, dejected. He hadn’t been in possession of full detail. But a part of him knew since he’d watched that video. This was happening because it was bound to, they were being forced into it. Consent was not required. David wanted to dispute his arguments, find a hole.

“But why? What’s the point? We’re going to lose. Painfully.”

Coach nodded. “Yup. That’s about right. There are always going to be opponents who are stronger, better. Sometimes playing means losing. I think you might have forgotten that. This has been a good year for us, a great year for you. Don’t think I haven’t noticed your pride about how many points ya get each match. Not many folks have the privilege to be Tiger Woods or those Williams sisters; too elite to be beat. I’ve seen the fire in yer belly, you got good technique and field sense. But you ain’t Lebron James or Babe Ruth. And for all their talent, they played on a team. Teams can lose. Am I gonna hear you tell me David is too good to for that?”

He shook his head while a fight to keep the flush of shame from rolling up his neck took place. A childish voice in the depths of his being cried, but it’s not FAIR! He strangled it. Life was unfair.

“No sir.”

“Thought not. Now that you’ve put your big boy pants on, need a little favor from you.”

David’s downcast eyes turned back to Coach Chapman. A favor? What could David do for him?

“People can see how hard you go for the win. They respect that, despite you not being much of a team player. If anyone else comes in with poor attitude like you showed, I’m asking you to help me set them straight.”

His words stunned David. He didn’t have beef with anyone on the team, except perhaps Marco. Even there it was more a mutual casual dislike than serious hostility. But respected? David had never bothered to ponder about how most of the team thought about him. Jake liked him enough to consider him a better lunch buddy than the others. Alexander glommed onto them, perhaps because their efforts to drive him away were less mean than others. Beyond that, David considered the others based on field performance. Which ones showed more competence performing their appointed positions, those who took it serious versus those in perpetual need of warnings about goofing off. It unsettled David to have this new perspective thrust upon him.

David said, “Okay.”

“Glad to hear it. Now, I’ve got some other stuff to do, so I think it's time you grabbed your lunch.”

In a flash David remembered the other reason he was there. A matter more important than the horrible fate that awaited the team on game night. “Sorry sir, but there’s another thing I needed to tell you.”

A dark brown eyebrow raised. “Oh? And what’s that?”

“It’s about Ax. Uh, I mean Alexander. He needs help. Gotten in trouble with a girl.” David hated referring to one of them with that word, but it couldn’t be helped. Fixing this was more important.

Coach Chapman sighed, a deep and irritated sound. “That kid. Knew he’d push too far one day, land in a whole heap of trouble. What’s her name, and what’d he do?”

Seeing the Coach’s obvious train of thought, David rushed in to correct him. “Oh, that’s not what I meant. It’s the girl, she pushed too far.”

His forehead furrowed. “Oh.” The coach cleared his throat and gathered up a few papers spread out on his desk, tightened them into a tight pile and then clacked it on the surface. “Well, what’s going on between them?”

David licked his lips. A part of him was back with Alexander in the shower, being begged not to tell anyone. It was hard to ignore that, but it was necessary. What went on in that car once could never be allowed again.

“She got him into her car and then uh, hassled him. He managed to get out and ran home. Ever since she’s been filling his voicemail and sending him texts, nasty ones.”

“Hassled him?”

“Umm.” A search party went to the back of his head to shake off dusty memories of the sort of phrases Melissa would use to describe reports from her job. “Touched him...inappropriately.”

Coach pursed his lips. David’s attempt to choose his vocabulary with precision was vindicated.

“This happened in her car? On campus or off campus?”

David scratched the back of his head. “Started on campus, I guess. Then off campus, the car was moving.”

“She did this while driving?” 

Hearing the hint of incredulity, David mentally slapped himself for his storytelling sloppiness. “No sir. She has a driver.”

“You saying she has a driver, and she did this in front of him?”

Another mental slap, and an inner vow to make sure to get in enough details so the Coach wouldn’t speak with that tone. He’d banish it with more of a complete picture, while letting Alexander have the dignity of not having every dirty detail examined under a microscope.

“She put up a privacy screen between the driver and passenger parts of the car before she umm, made her move. And it's Bri who did it. She has a driver. I mean, everyone has seen Bri and her sister get in that car together with her.”

Coach Chapman zeroed in on him, scorching him with the focus and intensity of his sudden regard. “Who?”

That word. David didn’t like that word, not how Coach Chapman said it. “Bri. It was Bri.”

Silence reigned in the room, an unexpected and undesired coronation. David looked at the coach, and realized the coach was no longer quite looking at him back. A slimy thing grew and twisted in David’s gut. He waited, hoping. Hoping he was wrong, desperate to quiet the ever-engorging worm that already whispered to him. It told him things he refused to hear. He drowned it out with mute mental pleas, trying to believe what he saw in front of his face was a lie.

The coach spoke. “Well, I’m afraid I’m going to need more to go off of than a rumor.”

Please no, please no. Over and over again in his head, quiet pleas now screams. David urged his train of thought back onto track. He could fix this, he needed to say the right words,  ones to force his coach to stop looking anywhere but his face.

“It’s not a rumor, sir. We found him in the showers, he was hiding from her. She’s threatening him and his dad. We must stop her, or she’s going to keep doing it. He needs help, we can’t do this on our own. You’re a mandatory reporter, you have to tell someone. Report it, please!” David was now hunched over the front of Chapmans desk; palms up and open in front of him. Coach continued to look away, not showing any visible response.

“If he-said, she-said is all you have for me, I got work to do.”

David felt punched by a fist big enough to slam his entire body, ramming into every fiber of his being. A cherished part inside crumpled and blew away, destroying something he hadn’t known he’d possessed.

Chapman could be relied on, same as the sun rose in the east and snow was cold. This man escorted Marco last year to the urgent care center when the guy deemed it prudent to play through a case of bronchitis. He’d lifted his players up after bad games, slapped them down when their heads got too big or overreacted to events during play. There’d never been a single reason to doubt his genuine concern and best wishes for each one of the boys under his watch. But now-

Was it all a lie? No, it was worse than that. The going had gotten tough, and he balked. Except that was far too kind. He’d laid down, let them roll over him. Gave them permission to break him. Just like her. She’d laid down, stopped caring. Gave herself the go ahead to fall apart, force David to pick up the pieces, wipe up the messes of the various pills and bottles that led to night after night of vomiting. Every single one another rock tossed into the bag of responsibility thrust onto his back without request or warning.

The pills and bottles eventually stopped, but not because she realized it was wrong, or what they did to him. It was because they couldn’t come by mail, and it became too much of a bother for her. Unlike groceries, David wasn’t allowed to buy those sorts of things for her. So, she lay in bed instead. More rocks in his bag.

Now the coach was tossing back the rock of responsibility David presented to him like a trusting fool, placing it on his shoulders while avoiding his eye. Fury rose within, the worm of despair exchanged for a giant serpent of fire.

“You’re pathetic.”

Eyes turned toward him; ones set in a face beset by blankness. “What was that?”

“You heard me, Richard,” David said with a sneer.

David was now subject to his full-frontal scrutiny again. A few minutes ago, he would’ve quailed under the sort of grilling that gaze put him through. Now it made his sneer curl so much it threatened to turn into a snarl.

Richard’s voice was smooth and controlled, but David saw his eyes. They didn’t tell of inner peace. “Alright, I understand you’re a bit upset, but I’m to be addressed with respect.”

“I’m never going to address you again. Goodbye, Dick.” And with that, David stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him, half wondering if he’d be followed. He wasn’t.

David held himself very still. The fire serpent of rage curled around him and constricted tight. It hissed at him to go back in there, to give Dick a piece of his mind. But it was useless, he was useless, they were all useless. How was it a half hour ago David thought different? What could have possessed him to believe an adult could be helpful or make his life easier? Of all people, he should have known better.

She’d been nothing but a burden for years. A lesson to be heeded. No one would save him. Doctors and pills hadn’t saved him from her, and Richard wasn’t going to save Alexander from Bri, or any other boy if she decided to shift her attentions.

Christ, he felt so stupid. That little bit about accepting losses, that playing meant the occasional beat downs from superior foes? A lie, tawdry and self-serving. Richard was a tiny, scared little ant, terrified of crossing any red and getting stepped on.

David’s short fingernails saved him from scratching bloody gashes in his palms. Pain signals beamed down channels after being ignored for who knew how long. He forced himself to unclench and remove edges from abused flesh. That puny man in the big office wasn’t worth it.

He walked to the hallway entrance, greeted by a large figure blocking his way out. The height and pudge made her unmistakable. Kaa’syi was there, waiting.

[First] [Prev]

Coach Chapman was absent that day, a substitute in his place during the different gym periods. David would have to wait until he came back, he hoped the morning after. Until then school was in session, a predator within its walls.

Contemplating it made David squirm. He shared classes with a thing capable of reducing a... well, not friend, but tolerated companion to an emotional crater. It was unknown what the red thought of David’s little outburst in Social Studies. Was it possible that he might be next, a convenient target to vent her frustration on? A vow was made: Never let her within ten feet and find a way to make her forbidden from lacrosse victory parties.

Then he remembered: lacrosse victory parties required lacrosse. Instead, they would be doing...something else. No solid information yet, merely that it was a “special privilege” to be playing it. How special that privilege was had been written all over the Coach’s face. 

These pleasant thoughts accompanied David as he strode back to the gym locker room which had housed horror a few hours earlier. A part of him fantasized about turning around without a word and walking away. Walk away from whatever new garbage the loving Mistresses of Earth wanted to dump on his team’s head and forget about it all. The dominant portion was split, half not wanting to abandon his fellow athletes, most of whom were decent guys who enjoyed running around with sticks. The other half considered what there was to look forward to after he refused to join in: More time being needed by Melissa, ignoring the door that never opened and pretending not to feel the suppressed heat in his belly, growing ever hotter the longer he spent in that house alone.

Thus, his decision to play ball. If this new sport used balls, that was. Aliens, who knew? Always could be thrown into a gravity suspended sphere of jello and tasked with vibrating it into prettier colors than the other team.

He joined the others out on the field after putting on his gear. It felt safer going out in padding, for all that David knew it wouldn’t protect him from anything that mattered. Didn’t hurt though, and if worst came to worst he’d be told to take it off. About half of the boys on his team adopted a similar attitude, others doing no more than lacing their cleats.

They didn’t have long to wait. A brax tall enough a safe exit onto the field necessitated a bent neck on the way out for safe exit onto the field strode toward them with confidence and authority. She wore enormous blue trunks, which in tightness and utilitarian cut resembled bike shorts, extending down to skim over knees much farther off the ground than those joints ought to be. Her top was decorated with red and green stripes, made from something that seemed more like cotton. It was close enough to human sportswear the effect proved somewhat disconcerting, like if a goblin was spotted in tutu at a local production of the Nutcracker.

Her arms claimed such mass that the tallest of human bodybuilders would need years of training and a personal chemical lab to get close to their casual, bulging cords. The thighs were equal in their titanic proportions, each hill in her form fitting shorts telling of sinew and fiber ready to leap into action. If some human shoulders were wide enough to land a 747 on, hers qualified as an aircraft carrier.

In the face of this red She-Hulk, David felt himself shrinking on instinct, trying to disappear into the crowd of boys who all showed similar signs of discomfort. Seeing this display, David’s upper lip curled into a mini silent snarl. No, this was unacceptable. Whatever happened next, he would bear it with a straight back, face set firm and forward. Submission to these things might be necessary, but never abasement. He’d kill himself from shame before that. With that in mind, he forced himself to uncurl and stare at her left shoulder.

She tapped at her version of the electronic pad all her kind carried with them. A cool and uninflected voice came out of it, speaking mechanical, crisp English. It unspooled a prepared speech. The team was informed who the hued giantess standing before them was, as if it wasn’t obvious. They were told what an honor it was to be chosen for this, how Rinivella personally trained a great number of champions who went on to compete for the Queen’s pleasure. The end came with a blast of rhetoric meant to inspire, all about how Rinivella would dedicate herself to making them worthy of the sport arena ball, but in turn expected nothing but the utmost from her charges. The desired inspiration might have happened on some level, if the text-to-speech synthesizer didn’t recite the script with the same passion that could be expected from a knock off brand doll.

The machine spoke its last and Rinivella cleared her throat to add on. The harsh notes of her native tongue created a sharp contrast to the porcelain smoothness of the digital copy. As she completed her sentences, it was a half blink worth of a pause before the pad transcribed her words.

“Since I must use this to talk, it is required for one of you to speak at a time. With that said, any questions before we begin our practice?”

A hand shot up to the front and left side of David.

The ruddy bulk shifted her stance to face the would-be asker. “Such enthusiasm is pleasing. Go ahead.”

The hand went down, and with the face no longer blocked by a vertical limb David saw Eli. “Are we going to be able to do the Tiger dance at the end of the game?”

After an uncomfortable pause where Rinviella listened to and tapped at her pad, the coach replied, “What is this, ‘Large predator display?’”

Perhaps driven by nerves, Eli blurted out, “It’s this thing we do at the end of the season. A bunch of guys in the audience will come with tiger masks and wait for the clock to buzz. Then they’ll take off their shirts, cause they paint themselves with blue and black stripes, like the cat. Well, not like the real cat. Tigers have orange and black stripes. But we’re the Blue Tigers, so blue and black for our stripes. Then they do a dance standing in their seats. It’s fun, you know? And the school recently made that rule about always keeping our shirts on, including guys, but it’s something we’ve always done, so it’s okay. Right?” Eli squeezed his neck into his shoulders a bit near the end of his question monologue, his voice having grown ever thinner and more uncertain.

The machine brax translation took almost as long as the original speech, so the coach could not respond at once. When she turned her attention back to Eli, David didn’t have to see her face to know she wasn’t smiling.

“I hope I am misunderstanding you. Because what you are describing is...disturbing. I know things are different here, but to think children would be allowed to debase themselves in such a way...If I’m not misunderstanding you, whoever approved this has much to answer for. I require that person’s name. Now.”

David flicked his eyes back toward Eli, who’s eyes bugged out in turn. “No one. No one! It’s something we’ve always done. No one told us to do it. Honest!” Eli wasn’t going to point fingers at anyone to throw pressure off himself. Good. Eli had never struck David as that kind of person, but it never hurt to get in the moment confirmation.

A hmph sound came from the coach. Whether the sound was ambivalent or disbelieving, it was hard to say. But the matter was dropped, as she said, “Many of you are not wearing your full equipment. Explain.”

David could feel the frisson of in trouble energy which sparked between the seated boys. By some wordless agreement Eli spoke up again. “We didn’t know what you would want us to wear.”

“I was assured the informational guide was brax corrected by the best translators. Was it unclear?”

There were more uncomfortable stirs. This time Jake took the lead, voice managing to be smooth despite the scrutiny. “Didn’t read it.”

“What? Why not?” David didn’t need to turn his head to see the shrug he knew Jake would be doing right as she finished.

“Did anyone read the material?” She placed hands on hips, and her shoulders rotated as she scanned for less disappointing pupils.

“I did.”

David blinked in surprise. That was Tobias. He turned and saw him near the back, smiling. On anyone else David would have deemed it smug, but it was Tobias being Tobias. A lack of a grin would be far more concerning, as he’d seen himself.

“Outstanding. At least one here knows how to follow orders. Since I’m sure you read with care, explain who is in proper attire, who is not and why.”

Tobias’s smile was unwavering. “None of us are. Our pads aren’t up to standard. At least, I don’t think so.”

A thunderous clap as dinner plate sized hands closed together. “Excellent and correct. Your equipment is inadequate. Can’t be helped for right now, but Our Lady Quel’vela will ensure your team is outfitted in the proper manner. Be sure to have proper gratitude.”

David’s face grew tense with the effort to not show what he thought of that. Shower candy and glass beads on the locals, that was all one needed to have simple primitives fall in love. Failing that, oblige them to scrape and bow with performances of appreciation till the day they die.

“For now, you will be given some spare equipment until personalized gear is available. I have dropped the bags at the other end of the field. Those wearing pads, open those bags and collect your sticks. The unattired will put on their uniforms and return to do the same. Depart!” Another thunderclap boomed from palm meeting palm. The crowd of boys scrammed, minor scuffling as bodies got in the way of others who moved in conflicting directions.

David jogged down to the end field where there were indeed large black bags with zippers, another universal solution to a common problem. A few of the more energetic sprinted to the bags and proceeded to open them. They started pulling out long black metal poles, longer than the ones they used for lacrosse by at least a tenth, if not more. Leaving the others to keep on divesting the bags of poles, he hefted one. It was heavy, more like a naked barbell than a lacrosse shaft. As he glanced around, David spied another open bag and hands disgorging its content. This one held white cradles meant to go on top. They looked roughly about as tall as a defense shaft head, but much wider at the base, close to a square. These came with yellow nets. He would have called them pre-strung, except that didn’t seem quite the right word. No knots or ties were visible from the front, the fibers melding into the back of the frame with nary a seam visible.

Looking at them closer, that was the sole size available. No variation for different positions as far as he could tell. If the term positions made sense for this game. Despite himself, David felt a bit foolish for not looking at the rule book, ignored by all. Well, everyone except for Tobias for whatever reason. Who’d have figured him to be studious?

Head attached to his chosen shaft, David waited for the laggards who needed to put on their pads to come over and do the same. After everyone was equipped the coach said, “I saw a number of you run over to get your gear. While the enthusiasm is appreciated, I need to have your energy focused on actual practice. Which will begin now!” A pair of hands clapped and boys jumped.

Whatever David thought practice would be, it wasn’t what transpired. Rather than anything that resembled the passing, running or shooting drills he’d experienced, the coach squared them off in pairs. They were informed she was going to be teaching them proper sparring forms and indicated the correct canned motions. Fake attacks with their shafts at various angles and directions, with the defender doing prepared moves to guard against the attack. They performed as commanded for a few minutes at a time, with Rinivella calling for frequent breaks. David became glad for those breaks, as the extra weight of the shaft became bothersome after a short period of use. By the end his arms ached, despite practice being short at an hour long. The team was then instructed to hold still as Rinivella used her pad to take photos from multiple full body angles. She told them this was all that was necessary to calculate their measurements and purchase them personal athletic gear, which they would get before the match. After that she reminded them of the rule book and made it clear that all would have to read it backwards and forwards by the next practice. Once that was done, she let them put away their shafts and released them to the locker room.

David was disturbed by the practice, and the protestations of his arms with each motion couldn’t distract him from that. It had been kinda a relief that arena ball was close enough to lacrosse they used nets on tops of sticks. Near enough that during the minute spent waiting for those changing in the locker room, he’d let himself hope that it was close enough to lacrosse that he’d be able to transfer his skills and ignore whom he’d be playing against. A chance to focus on his moves and enjoy being a god of the close-enough-to-lacrosse field. But those drills…

What kind of game was arena ball anyway? David regretted not reading that friggin booklet. As that regret sat down and got comfortable, he flitted to a related thought: His true coach mentioned an already played game between the Knights and the...alien Whoevers. It was available to watch from their website. David decided to take a look. While reading the rulebook would help, nothing was better for understanding a sport than watching it. He’d do it after he finished up the Melissa checklist that night.

A few hours later, David exited out of the browser tab, his face stiff. Arena ball was not about running. Passing existed, sure. But it was to facilitate getting the ball to the attackers, and once it did...The game consisted of boys being smashed to the ground by red tanks a head taller with more padding than linebackers. Over and over, whap went the shafts, down came the boys. Out the ball plopped from grounded nets, and soon another point for the freaks.

Seeing the aggression happen without penalty, again and again, led to David flipping through his rulebook on a search for material that would make sense of the mayhem. Horror grew as he saw there were indeed rules about player contact. The head wasn’t allowed to be rung like a bell. Other than that? Whap went the shafts, down came the boys. The rule was near identical to human lacrosse in the technical sense, but the text and practice were manifestly different things. Checking happened in lacrosse. Here, checking was the game, and the body slams he saw made that term a sick joke.

This is what David and his team were being forced into. What a special privilege they should be honored to have. A tiny part of David urged him to hysterical laughter at the thought. He squashed the urge with practiced ease, but the rest of him suffused with a reaction he could not contain. They’d be crushed. Humiliated. Paraded around as yet another example of why humans were no longer the dominant species on their own planet, a demonstration of why they were allowed no power over their own fate anymore and didn’t deserve it.

He could see it. Humans running around, play fighting with each other, winning. Humans winning at something, anything was unacceptable. It might give them ideas above their station. That sort of thing must be torn away, ripped to shreds in front of their eyes. Let it be ground into their faces, learning there was nothing that couldn’t be taken away.

He had to find and talk to Chapman tomorrow. This wasn’t about Alexander anymore. The entire team was threatened by those things. He’d see that, wouldn’t he? If David explained it right, Coach would understand what was at stake for his boys and leap to protect them. It was his job.

As these words played through his mind, David couldn’t ignore the doubt that lay under them. Could he rely on Coach Chapman? Yes, he could. They tried to banish Coach, to send him away from the school. But he was back. That meant he’d fought them, snatched back his job from the thieves. He’d fight for David and his team.

[First] [Prev]

The weekend proceeded as expected, which was the best David could ask for. He coaxed Melissa into taking him to the grocery store. She wasn’t snappy at him, nor did she cry and try to apologize when he took her government issued standard income card. Tantrums didn’t happen often, but occurrences were so excruciating when she did the tension only left him when he exited the car without incident.

Another triumph: he’d noted peak vs slow times on the weekends when he managed the trip. Slow times meant less chance to see them, always in groups. Decreased the probability that he was forced to stand in silence behind them as they scanned item after item, their unnatural, large bodies demanding hideous amounts of sugar and fat. This excursion was a success in that regard, red confined to the produce and soda isles where it belonged.

He also introduced the concept of driving classes to Melissa. Every item on his to-do list which depended on Melissa was checked off, an achievement left unfulfilled more often than he wished. She told him she’d think about it. “When I’m up to it.” The best response possible in the first round. It would take multiple requests and reminders before shame overrode lethargy. More check marks, but on a future set of lists.

Monday arrived, and what was supposed to be the best part of the day unfolded. The team finished their warm-up laps and passing exercises.

“Alright folks,” Coach Chapman said, “time for drills. Today’s focus: Defense. I’ve noticed some of our defensemen have been getting a bit sloppy, letting stuff through y’all oughta be blocking. Going to rotate through our defensemen, three at a time until I’m satisfied each one is guarding proper. Tobias, Alexander, Eli, you’ll be my first set of defenders down field. David, Jake and Josh will be your attackers.” The coach assigned a set of players to the up field and told the rest to do more passes until he called them in for a rotation. David liked attack drills the best. The flick of his wrist that led to the swish of a ball hitting net always satisfied. This was at least second best though, as it still involved him using his skills to score. That was what he tried to keep fixed in his mind, and not on the guests who were currently up in the bleachers.

They came at the beginning of practice, Bri and three of her cronies. When the coach asked them what they were doing with politeness reserved for students caught slacking off in gym class, Bri told him about the invitation from Ax. “He kept on talking on and on about lacrosse, so we decided to see what all the fuss was about. He made it sound so interesting.”

“Interesting,” repeated the one who stood to her left, nodding. Then she spoke words in their native tongue, followed by a guffaw that made the hairs on David’s neck stand up. But there was nothing to be done about it, with them sitting on the bleachers as though they owned the place. Which he guessed Bri might.

He did his best to keep his head on the drills. The coach ran them down mid for pseudo down field charges and switched up their attack angle each time. First, he focused on passes. The attackmen circled around for an opening and finished off with a charge to bully their way through the defenders.

After many rounds of that, the coach switched them off to the passing drills. It was a heavy running day. They had to gallop up and down the sidelines and pass the ball to the player on the other side. By the time the coach let them cut for a break, David’s jersey was drenched despite not wearing gameday padding. The day sun suffused the air with its heat, a south wind for added humidity on top.

David sat with distinct gratitude, the coach directing his players to settle as a double row in front of the bleachers while he gave advice to the defensemen. David grimaced as sweat dripped from sopping bangs into irritated eyes. He whipped off his top and used the clothing as an inadequate towel to whisk away the moisture from his head and hair. It mostly relocated rather than removed the salty water, but at least his bangs weren’t soaked.

After he set his defensemen straight, Coach Chapman called the practice and allowed them an extra ten minute break to cool down or hit the showers. Fat chance of that, as none of the boys ever used the showers, but the thought did count. They lounged around the grass near the bleachers, drank water from large bottles, bulged Adam’s apples attesting to their thirst. Several of them took off their jerseys as David did to wipe themselves. Others enjoyed the effect the warmest of breezes could have on soaked skin.

A certain lack of movement made David tense. He took care not to make sudden motions and turned his attention to the source of his concern. The four aliens sat still, and while he kept resolute in his refusal to look them in the eye, their stares were obvious. Sidelong, circumspect looks which made their attention more cause for alarm. David didn’t like it, the act a violation in ways he couldn’t describe, the sensation penetrating to his bones. He looked to his right and saw that many of his fellow athletes noticed as well. Most radiated uncertainty and discomfort. A few whipped their shirts back on. David turned to his left and spotted Ax, the odd man out. He grinned like a cat locked in an aviary for the night.

No.

Ax stood up; his mouth so wide with displayed teeth it looked like it would split in two.

No!

“My, it sure is hot today. The Ax is in desperate need of something to cool him off.” He reached for his bottle in a way so casual, it was cringe personified. Helpless to do anything but watch, David saw Ax lift the bottle up to his face, pausing for a heavy moment. Then he squeezed it all out over his torso, soaking his shirt. Ax did so without shifting his eyes for one moment from his audience in the bleachers.

Desperate disbelief turned into wordless bile for David. He turned away with a snap. His cheeks burned, and not from exertion. Leaving became a dire necessity, before the impulses which gripped his hindbrain made their way down into muscles and he did stuff that would get him kicked off the team. It was all he could do to walk away from the field at a smooth pace, rather than jerk his motions with rage like a stop motion puppet missing frames of animation. As he strode off toward the gym lockers to grab his sports bag, he heard Ax continue and say “My shirt is soaked, I can’t go home like this. Guess I’ll have to take it off!” Low hoots came from the bleachers. One of them.

Acid poured in alongside the pool of bile. David allowed what Ax did at the party slide. Can’t blame a fish for swimming. But that was talking to them. This was...it made him another Marco. No. Worse than Marco. Marco may have inflicted them on the team for every party to come, but he limited himself to conversing. Not once did he touch them, even took a blatant sidestep to avoid glancing contact in a narrow home hallway. From comments that David could not help but to overhear in crowded rooms, there was an open invitation to lay his hands on them, and probably more. Yet Marco demurred.

Not Ax.

Tired as David was, he decided to run. The sports bag was awkward, but it was the lone tactic left to squeeze down his rampant feelings. He sprinted until his throat was tight from exertion, angry arms into submission, no longer able to clench. He moved until he no longer saw Ax’s face in his mind, all smiles for the murderers who took everything from him.

--

Sure as the tide, Tuesday came. For the first time in months Ax did not inflict himself on David and Jake at lunch. They saw him surrounded by chests and hair, pure white and deep green, crowns nestled around pointed horns. The expression on Ax’s face was rapturous.

David poked at the food purchased that day. Jake noticed and said, “Stomach problems? Practice later, gotta eat.”

“Not hungry.” Jake looked at David with unamused eyes, shrugged and then attacked his own food, no perturbance shown for his lunchmate’s turn for the laconic. David threw away most of his tray. He’d purchased it with funds from Melissa’s credit chip, so it was the alien government’s money he wasted. 

After lunch, his last three periods gave him grades from the latest round of tests, Cs to B minuses. Worked for him. As he went down the route to the gym lockers, he hoped that somehow, they wouldn’t be back in the bleachers. Let there be one thing sacred, free from them. The one activity all his and his alone.

May they be satisfied with that clown was the silent prayer he sent to no particular deity.

David walked into the locker room with the expectation of the usual scene, boys from the closer last period classrooms tying up cleats or pre-gaming with a bit of deodorant under the armpits. Instead, Josh was looking at a piece of paper, bits of tape flopping from the corner edges.

“What’s going on?”

Josh said, “Practice is cancelled.”

“What!” He must be mistaken. Coach Chapman did not cancel practice for love, money, or declarations of war. Sudden downpour turned the field into an equal mix of mud and hate? Keep going. Six players out with the flu during the winter? They had an excuse, no one else did. No hypocrite was he, as last year when the coach got the flu bad enough for it to turn into pneumonia, he’d made sure to summon a woman who coached girls lacrosse for a private league to sub for the two weeks he was out. Practice was not canceled.

Without words, Josh handed him the sheet of paper. It read in large plain printed letters,

PRACTICE IS POSTPONED DUE TO UNFORESEEN CIRCUMSTANCES UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE

David felt his heart rate rise. Unforeseen circumstance? Further notice?

“What does Chapman have to say about this?”

Marco walked in. “Yeah, where is the man? Didn’t see him today in my gym class. Another teacher had to switch between the two groups.”

Eli said, “That’s the thing. He isn’t here. No one’s seen him today.”

The boys stood around in indecision as more teammates arrived from their classes. Those already present explained what little was known to the laggards. No practice, no coach, no direction on what to do instead.

Jake said, “Well, guess I get to finish my homework and watch Netflix before my sister goes to bed for once. Later.” Unflappable, typical Jake. Others followed his lead and filed away with murmurs and mutters.

David found himself in a deserted locker room which was empty as he. The others had homes to go to. Sisters, brothers, pets, video games, movies, backyard pools. For him there was a house with a checklist to be marked, a woman in bed and a door that never opened.

Wednesday. No practice, no coach. Confusion edged towards worry amongst the team. Thursday, the usual day off from practice, and no coach to explain. Friday, more nothing. A total information blackout. As the weekend came with no word, David stumbled up to a mental abyss filled with fear. Was lacrosse simply gone? Would the finals and David’s expected triumphs be yanked from his grasp as he reached out to hold them? The weekend left him distracted and muzzy with worry. It was hard to perform the check list that Saturday and Sunday, most of it accomplished through exertion and sheer force of will. The process made him drained and quiet. He remembered his obligation to press Melissa for the driving class sign up but couldn’t bear to follow through. His first check list failure in weeks.

Monday bought relief and elation. Coach Chapman had been spotted! Practice must be back, and he’d explain all. The world wobbled back to its proper axis.

It was a keyed-up crowd of high schoolers that greeted Chapman on the field after they changed, all eager to get back to the grindstone of drills. David could feel the excitement drain a bit as Coach approached. He came off all wrong, with none of the self-assured confidence which defined his usual aura. In his arms was an open top cardboard box, filled with heavy items based on how he held it. Laying it down, he fished out a clipboard tucked under his arm. He looked down at it. All happiness was gone, tension left in its wake.

“We’re gonna be starting off with a few announcements. Given recent events, it was deemed essential to make a change to the school dress code. It is now mandatory to keep students' torsos covered by a shirt or similar article of clothing at all times while at school or during school related activities. This includes athletic ones. Due to our current placement in the calendar, new student handbooks will not be printed until next year as usual. But the new rule is in effect as of now and is reflected on the school website.”

This monologue from the coach stirred those near David. This was it? What was behind the coach acting this weird?

“Hand down please, questions can be asked at the end of the announcements.”

David looked around and realized a teammate near the back had been waving his hand with great energy, now withdrawn at the coach’s command. 

“Furthermore, lacrosse is suspended for the rest of the year.” The sentence was said with the passion of a stock report.

“Huh?”

“Why!”

“What the HELL!”

“Paul, language, we’re at-

“SCREW THAT! You tell us why we’re getting cancelled at the end of season for no goddamn reason!”

The sandy haired Paul and multiple other boys sprang to their feet, all firm lips, tight cheeks, and twitching extremities. They perched on the balls of their feet as though prepared to charge the hapless coach.

Chapman said nothing while he failed to look them in the eye. The coach who fearlessly stared down high schoolers inches taller than him, ones riled by athletic conflict? That colossus was nowhere to be found. He contemplated the grass beneath his feet, statuesque in silence. As seconds stretched on, one by one the boys who’d flared skyward sat down, their the harshness of their faces dissolved into downcast features.

Without warning or preamble Chapman resumed. “Due to the excellent performance of our team, we have been given the privilege of selection for a special initiative.” He flipped one page up on the clipboard. “To promote intercultural harmony, we will play our final game against a team of young players from the home of the illustrious Quel’vela.”

That was Bri’s mother. David bristled at the mention of not merely one of them, but a big shot. A tyrant who with a crook of her red finger could make any insignificant human bow, no matter what meaningless official title they were allowed to hold.

“You all will be instructed in the rules and regulations of the game we will enjoy. I have printed out packets. The box will now be passed around.” The coach scooted the box to a boy in front near the right edge and went back to his previous position in front of them. With a clear of his throat, Coach Chapman continued in a tone so drained of human feeling phone assistants were more lifelike.

“Given the expected difficulties in making sure each team member is appropriately aware of how to play, special assistance has been granted to us. You will be coached by Rinivella, who has promised to make sure you are fully prepared for the match. In turn she asks every one of you to give your utmost efforts and follow her as you would follow me.”

Rinivella. Another one of the aliens, it must be with a name like that. David’s teeth clenched at the thought of having to take orders from one of them. Followed by more bafflement and horror as he processed the rest of what he was hearing. No more lacrosse? A new replacement game? None of this made any sense, it had to be an elaborate prank. A con, a fraud. They couldn’t do this to him, not this too!

“Coach. Coach!” A voice from the back. David turned and saw Eli. He’d raised his hand earlier, and now he waved it again.

Coach Chapman replied, with enough life in his voice to sound utterly spent, “Yes, Eli?”

“What about the Knights? Are we going to play them?”

The coach’s face went from human and exhausted to a blank mask so quickly it felt like it merited a sound effect. “As the other best school for this region, they were given the same privilege of a match against the...guest team. The game was recorded, and you are all invited to watch the match through a link on their website.”

For the moment worry toppled anger in David’s chest. What could be in that video to cause Coach to react like that?

“Practice with Rinivella will start tomorrow. Appropriate equipment will be provided based on measurements taken at a later time. She expects promptness and hard work.” Without ceremony, the coach abandoned the field, the boys left behind with a packet and many questions.

David and the rest of his teammates exchanged looks. Fear, confusion, and continued anger ping ponged in the crowd of athletes. 

“Well, screw this. I’m outta here.” Jake spoke with a flippancy in his voice betrayed by a compulsive scratch to the back of his head while he stood. He went to the locker room to change. Soon others followed one by one, then in a disorganized lump. David came up at the rear. A short half hour earlier he’d been filled with contentment, assured that lacrosse would be back. Now it was gone, gone forever. For if those red things got rid of lacrosse for the remainder of the year, why not next year? All years after? They were better than the butt scratching monkeys who once deemed themselves king of the Earth, why wouldn’t their sports be superior too?

A thought itched in his mind like a scab. Why the bizarre beginning bit? Shirts must be kept on during all school related activities, including sports? It wasn’t like people regularly ripped off their jerseys during games, perhaps for a moment to wipe away obnoxious sweat.

Wipe away some sweat-

David froze with a jolt as he stood near one of the locker benches, not having yet begun to change. End of practice. Shirts. Ax. A wide grin soaked in water. Riveted brax in the bleachers.

Ax. Ax! That little piece of garbage was the cause behind this disaster. He’d gotten practice cancelled, made the coach quiet as a church mouse. It was his fault they couldn’t play lacrosse anymore, the reason why David had lost his final remaining love.

Ax hadn’t shown up to harass David and Jake at lunch, same as the last few days. With a start, David realized Ax hadn’t been among the crowd out on the field minutes before. The slime was hiding from the team he’d betrayed.

David’s resolve hardened into a ball of hot tungsten in his stomach. He’d find Ax at lunch tomorrow. He would tap him on the shoulder and wait for him to turn around. Once he did, David’s fist would descend and pound his stupid grin away. It’d smash until all beneath broke. Let them tear him away from his crumpled foe, it was the sole way he’d be forced off.

They would take him off the team, punish with suspension, or perhaps expel him. It didn’t matter, none of it mattered anymore. What mattered was getting back at the one responsible for all this.

[First] [Prev]

Wrapped in his armor and a metal pole at the ready, David Koppel kept light on the balls of his feet as he circled around the defender. The guardian, Tobias Hawke, had made a valiant effort to deny his opponent his prize, body and weapon both deployed in this task. The brown-haired warrior knew Tobias well, having run with him shoulder to shoulder in common cause many a time. But circumstances changed, and now they were adversaries.

David orbited, twitched his hips and shoulders to indicate one direction. The defender went for the feint and twisted in preparation for the continued battle of mass and wills. Tobias was no fool. Despite going for the false juke, he kept his commitment partial, eyes on his medium height rival. But such caution was insufficient. David used the opening created by his hip fake to dash around in the opposite direction and sprinted past to the defender’s right. Tobias attempted to adjust to the quick shifting tide of fortune on the field, but it was already too late. David saw his angle, the perfect gap to be pierced with a well-placed arc. A soft whoosh of air followed his swung pole. In a flash, he was rewarded with the sight of a ball swishing into the net.

FWEEEE!!! Whistle blown, end of play.

“Alright gentlemen, bring it in.”

David took off his lacrosse helmet and jogged over to where his coach sat on the sidelines. He gave a nod to Tobias. The other boy wore his usual resting grin face, an indication of no hard feelings, now or ever. Coach Chapman got his full attention as he placed his face guard under his armpit.

The Coach started up as the team shuffled toward him for his post-practice comments and criticisms. “I’d say good hustle, but that’s to be expected by this point. All y’alls put your full gumption into practice, and it cheers this old man’s heart.”

David bowed his head to hide his small grin. No matter how many years his coach lived in Jersey, the Georgia would always shine through in moments like this. “Now of course, the real trick is to keep it up when playing against the Towland Devils Friday night. They’re the last hump we face to getting to the Final, and c’mon guys, do I really have to say how much of a big deal that is?”

About half of the boys shook their heads.

“Right, so let me shine a bit of a light on the Devils. I’ve been watching some of their games, and here’s a few pointers...”

David began to tune Coach Chapman out. Their team, the Tigers, had smashed all the competition. They'd lost their second game of the season because three of the best defensemen fell sick at the same time, and that match almost tied. All other contests? The opposing teams had managed a solid loss at best. At worst, curb stomps. David had zero doubts it’d be the same when it came to the Devils, no matter what Coach thought they brought to the table.

He was interrupted in his wool gathering. “-And that brings me to you, David. Now, we’ve talked about this before, so I think you can guess what I’m gonna say.”

David smiled with beatific innocence. “Congrats on getting more than five goals for three straight games?”

Coach shook his broad, tanned head, but a quirked lip showed his good humor impervious to insubordination. “Nice try, but no. You spend a lot of time running around and doing everything yourself, acting like you can’t rely on your teammates. The guys we’ve faced have been lackluster enough you’ve gotten away with it. But just because you've done alright not being a team player so far, doesn’t mean your luck won’t run out. And in that moment, you’re gonna need your team to stick by you. Understand?”

“Alright Coach, alright.”

Coach continued to give quick personal pointers to the remaining teammates. With that done, there was one thing left: The end of practice ritual. Coach Chapman said, “Now Friday, what’s most important?”

“To play as one!” The boys called back.

“And why’s that important?” The coach said with a smile on his face.

“Cause that’s how we win!” The high school boys of various grades made their way to the locker room to change. Time to stop being gods of the lacrosse field and become ordinary high schoolers again, with unfinished homework and chores yet to be done. But that was okay. Friday was a short time away, and divinity would be David’s again.

David’s house was about a mile away. That was good, because if someone offered him a ride, he could refuse, and no one would think it weird he was willing to walk that far. Anyone who drove him might want to go inside. Not worth the risk, not once. 

Already there was the slight heaviness which accompanied him whenever he headed home. He would look at the trees as he strolled, think about the homework that needed completion and come up with the most effective strategies to use the rare times he required her to act. Despite all his best efforts, the heaviness would sit in the background, a weight on every thought, one that left the faint taste of steel in the back of his throat if he made the mistake of paying attention to it.

He was back quicker than he expected. No matter how many afternoons he used the same path, it was somehow always shorter than he’d banked on. Time to get to work. As he picked his steps with care around the cracked and ill shaped stone slabs that formed a path across the lawn, he went through the black painted front door. He put his backpack and gear bag down by the coat rack next to the entryway and went to the kitchen down the hallway. It was Wednesday, and that meant pasta night. He flipped open the pantry door and grabbed the can of sauce and box of pasta from where he’d instructed Melissa to put them. His hand patted around with the expectation of something else. A frown formed on his face when his hand didn’t find it. No garlic. David needed to start and rotate the laundry, and then there was reading that was due tomorrow. A year ago, neglected reading threatened to drop his borderline grade of C minus down to the depths of D plus in history. That came close to costing him lacrosse. He’d lost a lot these last few years, David would be damned if lacrosse slipped out of his fingers too.

No choice then. He had to fit his entire checklist in, and that meant a journey upstairs and asking her. David retreated towards the entryway and swung up around to the staircase. Carpeted steps muffled his footsteps as he walked past his bedroom on the left and the bathroom on the right. The door which never opened got passed by without a glance down the small left hallway and left him in front of the backmost bedroom door. With a deep but silent sigh he knocked on the door.

David gave her a moment. “Hey mom. Do you know where you put the garlic powder?”

Sounds of stirring, so faint that if David hadn’t listened hard for them, they would have passed him by. “Garlic powder?” A pair of words said in such a dull monotone it was hard to tell if it was a question or a flat restatement.

“Yeah mom, garlic powder. We ran out, so I put it on the grocery list. You remember?”

A long pause greeted his words, along with another sound of languorous movement. “I think I forgot.” One whole sentence, substantial as half rotten leaves blowing in the breeze.

David breathed harsh through his nose. The ghosts of disappointments past reached up and tried to choke him, squeezed the back of his throat tight with unhappiness. He ran one of his hands through wavy brown hair, an attempt to shove down useless and unneeded feelings.

“I’m sorry.” This last remark was different, tinged with something dangerous: the hints of a woman doing her best not to cry.

He responded, quick as a blink: “Don’t worry mom, it's okay. You got the sauce and pasta. I’m fine.” As he said the words another voice cursed in the back of his head, I wrote it down for her what does she want I can’t hold her hand

He crushed that voice as he made his way back to the kitchen. The difficulty increased with every repeated incident but thinking about that wasn’t helpful. This reinforced the necessity of obtaining his learners permit, quick as he could. He technically could have done so two months ago, his 16th birthday having come and gone. But the process required Melissa’s signature. That always involved engineering the perfect moment to ask her something off schedule. Anything unusual needed more effort, too much effort. Being able to drive was necessary for the increased freedom and ability to get things done without her. Another thing on the long list of have-tos he always carried in his head.

The pasta needed to be started. It’d be plain with watery and bland sauce, deprived of the spare seasoning from dried garlic to hide it, but swift and available were the virtues of the moment. Tasty premade sauces were for houses run by people who had jobs. The time the dried pasta took to cook in the boiling water was also convenient, as it allowed him to sort a load of laundry from the bottom of the chute and start another right when the alarm went off in the kitchen. He’d done enough rounds to get it down to a science.

The process happened without incident, the bowl of pasta delivered with a knock to Melissa’s door after he scarfed down his. She’d pick it up when he wasn’t around to see her, so he got his backpack from the entrance and went back to his room.

His bed was unmade, the wooden chest of drawers half open, clothes draped partway out. He threw his sports bag into the open closet door, where it flopped to the ground on top of some of the shoes littered there. The part kept clear was his desk, where did his homework and used his laptop. David got his history textbook out, flipped to the assigned section and began to read.

It was a part about the second Iraq war, the one on its wind down when he was young enough the Wiggles were his primary form of musical entertainment. David eyes glazed over as he trudged through text, progressive passages blurred over while he tried to process words about Congressional AUMFs and controversial sound bites and terrorist threat levels and all the other blah blah. What did any of it matter anymore? As that cliche went, history was written by the victors, and the USA was never going to be victorious again. That required a USA.

He plodded through to the end of the curriculum mandated pages. It would have to do, David hoping he'd taken in more than it felt. He checked it off his mental list and went to the next entry. David glanced at his open backpack, where a binder poked out from the left side. Its most prominent sheet of paper plucked by his fingers, large letters proclaimed a “CULTURAL EXCHANGE PROJECT,” with a list of criteria. Students must bring an object representing some part of their culture to increase inter-student understanding between the native and foreign exchange students they’d gotten some months back.

David felt his lip curl back. Foreign, that was a word for them. Whole bunch of other words he could use but wouldn’t. Not worth the potential trip to an undisclosed location, surrounded by marines in skintight armor who could look down on Andre the Giant.

Shoving the unproductive opinions aside, David marked off each bullet point and compared it with the speech he’d prepared about the subject of his presentation. Making sure to hit every requirement was how a student with limited time and energy could keep mediocre efforts earning those precious Cs, a minimum for continued qualification for after school sports. As he did so, the feelings he'd buried made his mind go back to the moment the assignment had been introduced.

-

“Ya kidding, right?” The question broke through the sound of shuffled paper as the other students assembled in the history class read the text of the project.

“Pardon me, but I’m sure I didn’t hear one of my students rudely interject without raising their hand,” Ms. Loren Anderson said.

Jake Prince, the student who committed the offense, raised his calloused hand. He was on David’s team, one of the middies. Decent player, but Coach Chapman was constantly on his butt about his hair, the long blond bangs he sported often threatening to obstruct his gray eyes as the game went on. Ms. Anderson tried to wait him out while she scanned the classroom for other hands to call on. No one gave her what she wanted, and she sighed. The visible dip of shoulders in the light pink blouse the young teacher wore gave it away. “Yes, Mr. Prince?

“You’re kidding, right?”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean.”

Jake placed his palms up on his desk, no doubt to highlight his incredulity. “This is Show and Tell. You’re assigning us Show and Tell. In high school.”

Ms. Anderson gave him a smile that didn’t have an ounce of merriment in it. “If Show and Tell involved presenting a five-minute speech with points given on clarity, relevance and thoroughness, you must have gone to an interesting elementary school, Mr. Prince.” The comment earned a chuckle or two from the other students, but the laughter died after a second or so.

“I think you might be looking at this the wrong way. Consider what an exciting chance for learning this will be. You’ll get to observe and have explained a small fraction of a truly alien culture. An opportunity few other high schoolers will be able to claim.” With that last sentence she gave a small nod towards the foreign exchange students, who clustered together in the middle of the room in their group of four. No need for these children to huddle in the back or to the sides. They were surrounded and unafraid.

David felt his gaze involuntarily follow the direction of the teacher’s nod and fall on the back of the three as they faced forward. He jerked his eyes back, but not before he noticed one of them was shuffling her thighs in her hard chair desk. Seems it was a touch small for her. She was growing with alarming speed, as he was sure from past glimpses her white-haired head hadn’t been quite so high up a few months ago. The chair was produced with ordinary teenagers in mind, not her. She was getting too big for her seat, and now it caused her pain.

Good. If she wanted to be comfortable, she could have stayed away.

Not too long after, class was dismissed. David hurried out, and not just because he wanted to get to lunch, but because the further from them the better. An additional reason not to linger was the chance he’d feel their eyes drilling from the back. There was no time for that sort of thing with regular girls. These girls, ones with red skin, silver eyes, dainty tusks poking out of their mouths, and small horns jutting out of their heads? He’d never have time for them.