After lunch was physical fitness, the non-costumed kind. Easy breezy, even though in this case, it wasn’t exactly remedial since I was in pretty good shape. My body was a monument to spite, each muscle fiber carved out of anger, grief, and a desperate need not to be weak in at least one aspect of my life. Technically, I was auditing the course, but it was a full class and after the coach/teacher checked to make sure I knew what I was doing, and I found a ‘spotting partner’ who was a big guy named George, he left me alone.
George considered himself an unsophisticated farm boy, and he even had a hint of an accent from the Texan unity, which only disappeared when he was stressed. He repeated the whole ‘I’m just an unsophisticated farm boy’ thing pretty much every time anyone pressed him, a folksy mantra that was about as authentic as a three-dollar bill. He did ask me if I was going to try out for the ‘a-plus football program’ when I pushed a bit more iron than was normal for my size, which was already a lot.
“Can’t do it, I’d get disqualified.”
“You an alpha? He asked bluntly.
I nodded, “Class two. Just enough to make sure that I can never participate in any sports.” The official stamp of ‘otherness’ that kept me out of any legitimate competition. My childhood dreams of sports glory had died a quick death alongside my superhero aspirations.
“Wahl,” he drawled slowly, “Thar’s rules and then thar’s rules. A bit of physical enhancement’s usually just noted and ignored. Have you seen some of those monsters that play running backs? Alpha or not, they could squash both of us into a ball.”
I severely doubted that, given what I could do to a ball with a focused thought, but I just nodded, playing the part. “Mine is an automatic disqualification. Microkinesis.”
“What’s that?”
I sighed, launching into the well-rehearsed lie. “A very weak form of telekinesis, like a nudge. It’s not good for more than just pushing dust around, but it’s strong enough to foil a pass or an interception. Some wide receiver gets butterfingers while I am nearby, I can guarantee I know where all the fingers are going to get pointed, even if he just fucks up.” I’d perfected this sad-sack story to avoid exactly this kind of attention.
“Dude, that sucks. I’d hate to have to work under those kinds of restrictions, and if it had just been a bit of enhancement, I can guarantee that the coach would be looking at you. Is that true for other sports too?”
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I thought about it a little, “Most of them, although I might try for wrestling or kendo as long as they don’t try to put me in the ring with might-based class threes. That sort of stuff is WAY out of my reach.” Like trying to arm-wrestle a tsunami.
“Can you play basketball?”
I grinned as I started cleaning up the weights. Between the two of us, we were attracting a LOT of female attention in our gym clothes, and while I tried to dodge it, George just seemed to soak it up, which I was fine with. Let him be the sun; I was perfectly happy being a distant, vaguely interesting moon. “That depends. Do you think I will cheat?”
He laughed, “I don’t really care. This class is a gimme for the team, easy pass to bring up our GPA. I just gotta stay busy for three hours, and the weight equipment for basics is Nautilus trash. I do my own sets in the morning before I even get here.”
Ironically, it was NOT that easy to cheat with a nudge. My range was too short to affect anything I didn’t really have my hands on, and it would be a huge waste of energy, but I had to build my brand as that ‘weak-ass alpha’ to counteract any unearned popularity, and I did a great job by sucking completely at basketball. I didn’t even have to fake it, since while I could run around the court all day and steal with ease, I’d never really played that much and could reliably miss the rim with every shot, especially when I tried to hit it. Still, some of the guys were looking forward to playing with me again, since after I realized I was NEVER going to be Mister Basketball, I was pretty good at the passing game. I was the king of assists, the duke of deflection, the guy you wanted to have the ball for exactly two seconds before you needed to get it the hell away from him.
The best part was that the hot shots who could sink the ball from half-court were fawned over. The power forward, whatever that was, who made sure that every rebound was snatched and passed off to someone who could actually shoot, wasn’t really much of a celebrity. Heck, the only reason I even tried shooting occasionally was because otherwise the defenders would stay a few feet back and try and block passes instead of staying close where I could get around them. My utter incompetence was a strategic asset. My life in a nutshell.
“Well, on the plus side, at least no one will ever accuse you of cheating if you play basketball. Great hands, but you shoot like my sister,” George said as we headed to the locker room afterward.
I nodded. I think I could have found a way to use my abilities to increase my rebounds and tip a few shots, but it would have been a huge waste of energy. I was guessing George had assigned himself as my designated mentor, and I could do a lot worse… at least no one had assigned themselves as my nemesis, although that didn’t happen as much to big, athletic guys. Be pleasant but not too friendly, and people leave you alone. I’d probably make a great wing-man, which might have been George’s goal. George Pendergast was affable enough, and I needed to start building a new contact network. Considering that the “unsophisticated farm boy’s” family ran one of the largest agricultural conglomerates in the Midwest, acting friendly was probably a good start. You never know when you’ll need a friend in high places, or at least in places with a lot of corn.
