The Impossible Pitcher

by Charles Curtis

  “Can’t wait to do the same to you on the field next year!” Flab called after him, a reminder they were attending rival high schools in the area next year.

  Kenny stopped on a dime and turned, flashing a grin.

  “Counting the days until I get the chance.”

  The offensive line cackled behind Flab, who howled with laughter until Sophi turned around and hit his arm.

  “Hey! That was ridiculous and embarrassing. There’s such a thing as being a sore winner. Have a little sympathy, he was being sweet.”

  Flab cowered a little. Did Sophi just include a warning zap in her smack? After all, I didn’t embarrass myself in front of the whole locker room in return for Flab’s silence just so he could blow our cover now.

  She whirled around and grabbed me to walk away, with Dex following. We headed toward a food truck handing out small cups of hot chocolate.

  “I wish they’d grow up.”

  “Yeah, but that was weird, right?” Dex replied. “If that was me, I wouldn’t want to show my face to the opposing players and shake their hands. So were you going to do it, Alex?”

  “Sure, I would have shaken his hand,” I said. “But there’s something about him that’s weird.”

  We began walking toward a kiosk offering fur winter hats with ear flaps. Sophi pointed to them, telling me I’d look “so cute” in one. Before I could tell her, there was a zero percent chance I’d wear one, someone bumped into Dex, spilling some of his hot cocoa on his puffy jacket.

  He looked up angrily at the perpetrator and began hissing before he realized who it was and greeted her instead: “Hissssssssss … Hiiiiiiii!”

  Dex was staring up at Huma Despana, all 5-foot-10 of her, most of her head and face covered in the furry hood of her white jacket. She was an eighth grader and Strange Country Day’s best basketball player, female or male. For some reason, that didn’t mean much to the other kids at our school. I’d overheard a few too many cracks about her and didn’t think she deserved any of it. Maybe she took out that aggression on the basketball court.

  “I’m so sorry, Dex,” she said, barely above a whisper as she wiped what she could of the cocoa off his coat. She hurried away before my friend could say anything. The next noise I heard was something like a gurgling sound out of his throat. Was that a purr?

  “She knew my name, you guys.”

  “C’mon Dex, everyone knows our—”

  ZZST!

  A warning shock from Sophi. For one moment, it felt like we were normal teenagers again.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  After Winterfest, we headed to our usual spot to hang out: a clearing in the woods Sophi found that was part of an abandoned farm not far from the center of town, located behind some new houses on a cul-de-sac. The only challenge? Avoiding brambles, tree roots, and branches littering the path on the way there. After getting scratched up a bunch and barely avoiding a twisted ankle, we arrived and cleared snow off the grounds, mostly joking with Dex, who was still grinning about his encounter with Huma.

  “I still don’t feel right about Kenny.”

  “What’s the problem?” Sophi replied. “I thought he was sweet.”

  “It’s not that. What if he has no idea he has powers?”

  “That’s a bad thing?”

  A rustling sound caught our attention from the fringes of the clearing. All three of us jumped up. I grabbed the metal shovel stuck in a nearby pile of snow, Sophi took off her gloves and Dex immediately jumped on to a low-hanging but stable branch on one of the trees. I made a signal to Dex by pointing two fingers to my eyes, asking if he saw anything from his vantage point. He shook his head.

  Was it one of our protectors coming to warn us about something? Someone we knew from school or town that our guards would let through? Or had our position been compromised and our protectors already taken out by whoever rustled the brush? I silently counted to three, eliminating the first and second options—if it was someone we knew or a protector, they would have shown their face by now.

  Sophi looked at me, pointed her ten fingers at the direction of the sound and concentrated on the target. Just then, the brush moved slightly, knocking snow off one of the trees.

  Zzzzzzzzzap!

  Sophi’s blast of electricity nearly hit its intended target, but what was there sprang from the woods in a blur … and with a hiss, Dex pounced on it from his branch.

  “Dex, no!” Sophi screamed.

  It was definitely a person and not a wild animal rolling around with Dex in the snow. The intruder grunted and tried to get Dex off his back and head, but couldn’t get a good grip on him. They were fighting so furiously; I couldn’t tell who it was.

  Sophi kept her hands ready in case there was separation. I had the shovel held like a baseball bat, but wasn’t sure what to do—I didn’t want to hurt Dex. But it was too late—the intruder grabbed Dex from off his shoulders and hurled him across the forest with a ton of force, slamming our felineish friend into a tree upside down and back first.

  The trespasser shook his head to regain his composure … and those trademark long black curls revealed exactly who he was.

  “Haven’t you guys done enough damage to me already?” Kenny Lupino asked us. Now I knew why the protectors had let him through—they would only stop someone who was a threat and not a person we knew.

  I tossed aside the shovel angrily. “Why’d you have to sneak up on us like that?” I turned around to see if Dex was okay, but he was gone. I looked up … of course he had scampered as high as he could go in the tree line. I saw him rub his back as he sat down on a limb.

  “It’s okay, it’s just Kenny,” I called out.

  “Gee, thanks,” he said with his voice squeaking. “I’m gonna stay up here for a few.”

  Kenny smiled, wiping a little blood off a cut below his left eye. “You’re the one who resorted to scratching, tiny dude,” he called to the treetops.

  We stood in awkward silence for a couple of seconds before Sophi stepped forward.

  “We didn’t get to chat before. I’m Sophi.” She extended her hand, though Kenny backed away from it like it was a poisonous snake.

  “No way. Uh-uh. I don’t normally shy away from cute girls, but most of the cute girls I know don’t shoot lightning bolts out of their hands.” He pointed at me. “I wasn’t going to say it in front of your teammates, but I don’t know what to make of you. I heard that throw you made in the state championship was the first pass you’ve ever thrown in a game in your life, which doesn’t make a lot of sense. I also don’t know a lot of little bros,” he directed up to Dex, “who can leap as high as Michael Jordan while in seventh grade. No one can jump that high—except me.

  “I’m sorry I had to follow you guys from Winterfest,” he continued, “but as you might have figured out, I have my reasons.” He plunked himself on the stump. “So is someone going to tell me what’s going on here?”

  “Why are we supposed to trust you?” I asked.

  “You have to. I pretty much know that you all,” he pointed at Sophi and up at Dex, “have secrets.”

  “You first. Tell us your story,” I said.

  “Fine,” he said. “I was born in Hawaii. My real mother gave me up for adoption when I was two years old and I never met my dad. I spent most of the next years bouncing around foster homes before a family in the mainland officially adopted me.”

  Despite the painful subject, Kenny didn’t seem that emotional about it.

  “The only thing that gave me happiness was football. I started playing in Hawaii and was pretty good. Three years ago, my adoptive parents told me there was a school that wanted me to play for them, so I moved to the town next to this one and started at Harmon High. Right around the time I started seventh grade, I noticed I had a huge growth spurt, I could jump really high and run faster and hit harder than pretty much everyone else.”

  He pulled off his gloves to show us his hairy hands. “I also notice
d this all over my body, which sprouted in just days. I had no idea what was going on, but it made me even better at football.”

  He paused and looked down, his brow furrowed.

  “I don’t have a lot of friends. Like, any. I’ve heard girls think I’m gross and hairy. The guys on my team are fine but they don’t like me off the field, we don’t get along. After the championship game, I knew something was up with you guys. Maybe you were weird like me. So I wanted to hang out, even after you puny seventh graders ruined my title shot.” There was the ninth grader’s wolf grin again. “That’s how badly I need friends, huh?”

  I think we were too stunned to respond as he looked at the three of us. “Relax, guys. Someone talk. Be honest, I can take it.”

  I fed him the short version of our story without some of the key details. Just like him, the three of us discovered we had special powers that we never knew we had until recently. Our parents had informed us that we all underwent gene therapy to cure diseases they were told we were otherwise going to have, but the scientists who worked with us didn’t know the procedures would result in superhuman abilities. I neglected to mention my parents were those very scientists, but I did explain that some of us could control our powers better than others.

  “Sophi—she’s my girlfriend—was supposed to have a serious heart problem, so she’s got a nuclear-powered battery in there that somehow means she can control electricity.”

  “Oh, so you two are dating, I get it now.”

  “Yeah, that’s right.” I paused and glanced at Sophi, expecting her to do or say something to back me up. Nothing. I continued anyway, “Dex’s DNA is spliced with a cat’s, in case you hadn’t figured that out already. I’ve got what are called nanobots swimming in my blood, which release oxygen and give me increased athleticism in quick bursts. All of us were projected to have disorders and diseases that were cured by the procedures.”

  Kenny squinted at me, his fang-like teeth emerging as he processed the information.

  “Increased athleticism. Like, throwing a football really hard and really far?”

  THUD.

  Dex landed with perfect balance from his spot high in the trees. He let out a low growl.

  “I can’t control my abilities,” I answered, “and sometimes they don’t work at all. Don’t blame me.”

  He turned his attention to Dex.

  “A cat, huh?” he said. Kenny pulled off his knit hat. Up close, the suspicions I had before the championship game were confirmed: his ears were pointier than a typical human’s set. I guess he thought the same thing as he took his phone out of his pocket, holding it up. The camera snapped, and he looked at the selfie. “So what am I supposed to be?”

  “A wolf,” Dex piped up.

  “How do you know?”

  “We just do. Plus, all I know is every time I’ve seen you, my hair literally stands up and I start to freak out. Cats and dogs, including wolves, don’t get along. Makes sense, right?”

  Another spike-toothed grin from Kenny. He seemed to be taking this news pretty well. “No, I freak you out anyway because I’m huge.”

  Dex didn’t laugh. “Do you realize your life could be in danger?” he said, his voice less squeaky than usual. “This isn’t all fun and football or whatever. We’re being watched, and we don’t know who it is or why they’re doing it.”

  Kenny was finally serious, narrowing his eyes at Dex as he stood up. “Honestly, I’m not afraid. I’ve had to protect myself for a long time and I’m not about to let something terrible happen. I can handle the pressure.

  “We’re not done,” he added, pulling his hat over his ears. “I have somewhere I need to be, but I want to hang out more with … my kind.”

  “Sure!” That was Sophi. Dex didn’t look pleased at hearing her response and I wasn’t all that enthused either. “We’d love that.”

  Kenny headed out past the slightly singed brush he had entered from.

  “Kenny?” I called out.

  He stopped. I shuffled my boots a little and unclenched fists I didn’t know I’d been clenching. “I just, uh, I wanted to say sorry about what happened in the state championship … and I hope we can keep all this a secret.”

  He looked at me as if I was crazy. “Relax. It’s all part of the game.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  That Friday, Dex, Sophi and I entered the cafeteria from the history building when our phones buzzed at the same time.

  Unknown number: Bros! Chica! Wanna chill? Come to the mall after school, like 4ish.

  Let me guess … Kenny. I rolled my eyes. Chica? Bros? Plus, how’d he get our—

  “I gave him our numbers,” Sophi said as she picked up a tray. “We need to make an effort.”

  “Says who?” Dex answered, squinting at the digital menu on a flat-screen TV hanging over the entrance. “He followed us to our hangout and snuck up on us. He threw me against a tree. I don’t care if he’s …”—he darted his head around as students milled past us— “… special.”

  Sophi shook her head at both of us.

  “Alex Ptuiac?”

  I turned around. Just outside the cafeteria doors was a blond-haired coach with graying temples in a Griffins sweater over a collared shirt and warmup pants. “Got a sec?”

  I nodded to Dex and Sophi to tell them they could go ahead. “I’m Tom Boynton. I’m the tennis coach here.”

  This was the other thing that kept happening to me. I’d already gotten offers from local basketball and soccer teams to join while I was in my football offseason. I wasn’t sure if I was going to do a sport in the winter or spring, especially given the increased danger we were feeling and the fact that it wasn’t right to use my powers on the field. But I was feeling an itch after football faded into the snow.

  “You ever pick up a tennis racquet in your life?”

  “A few times in gym class when I was younger.”

  “Listen, you give me two months, and I’ll make a player out of you. I saw what you did out there.” Who hadn’t, at this point? “And you’ve got everything you need. That arm of yours is going to make for one heckuva serve.”

  “I’m sure, coach.”

  “I’ll give you a few days to think about it and—“

  “GET YER HANDS OFF MAH QUARTERBACK!”

  A heavy, fat hand landed on my shoulder as Boynton smiled at its owner.

  “Coach Schmick, I was merely telling your quarterback how he could improve his footwork and stamina this spring.”

  I looked up at the patented mirrored sunglasses covering Schmick’s eyes as he snorted. “Tom, you know as much as I do that is some Grade-A horse pucky. He’s workin’ on his footwork in the offseason with some good ol’ fashioned football drills, ain’t cha?” he boomed.

  I nodded, my face turning maroon as some of my classmates stopped to watch the drama—however lighthearted it was—unfold.

  “That’s my boy,” SLAP. His meaty palm hit my back.

  “Coach, go easy on the kid.” We all turned to see Assistant Coach Carson walk up with a tray of food.

  “You like this? My assistant telling me what to do,” Schmick said. “You win one dang ring and suddenly you get big britches.”

  Carson winked at me. “Coach Boynton, I apologize on my colleague’s behalf. Just being protective, you know.”

  Both Carson and Schmick walked away, the latter grumbling under his breath.

  “Alex, it’s your choice. Give me a call if you’re interested,” Boynton said.

  I didn’t know if tennis was the sport I’d want to play while waiting to begin training again for football, but I still wanted something athletic to do. Questions swirled about my powers, too. Would they suddenly return consistently when I was in the heat of battle? Was that right?

  It couldn’t hurt to try. I had a free period at the end of the day, so before meeting Sophi, Dex and Kenny, I went to our gym building and stopped by the coaches’ offices and asked the assistant
if I could borrow a ball and racquet. I then made my way to the squash courts near the weight room—like I said, my school was funded by some very rich people. I didn’t even change into my gym clothes, instead opting to keep on most of the uniform we were required to wear: I removed the navy blazer and yellow tie that went along with our white shirt, khakis and loafers.

  I started hitting against the wall in the cramped space and got into a decent rhythm for someone who played tennis maybe four times in his life.

  Smack-thwack, bounce. Forehand. Smack-thwack, bounce. Another one. Smack-thwack, bounce. I tried a backhand, which doinked off the frame and hit the ceiling.

  I remembered what Coach Boynton said about “one heckuva serve.” I stood as far back as I could and aimed at the opposite corner. I tossed the fuzzy florescent yellow ball up in front of my right shoulder and swung as hard as I could.

  Whifffff.

  I missed it by two feet.

  “Eye on the ball, Tooey,” I said out loud.

  Toss, look, swing. Thwack. Contact this time, but right into the floor.

  I took a breath and closed my eyes to visualize the serve I’d seen on television when watching the U.S. Open. I could see them flick the ball high above their heads, bending deep at the knees and arching back before springing forward in one motion and letting it rip. I took another deep breath, opened my eyes, and concentrated hard on aiming for the corner.

  Squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

  As I tossed the ball up, my ears rang, the feeling of water shot through my veins and I felt myself go through the motions as if I didn’t control them. Bingo.

  POW.

  A perfect serve came off the racquet as my eyes refocused, the ball bouncing just to the right of the corner and caromed off the left wall.

  POP.

  I was on the floor writhing in pain a millisecond later as the ball found my inner thigh, mere inches from where it would have hurt much, much worse. As I rolled on the hardwood floor, I saw a figure outside the Plexiglas wall laughing and clapping. Hey, Coach Carson.