Uncalculated Response

Alan could hardly wait until breakfast was over. When he took his tray up, Sable asked, "Are we on?"

"Yeah," he told her. "The gym at three thirty."

"I'll be there, Blondie, but don't forget your part of the bargain."

"Don't worry; I won't," he promised as he hurried from the room.

He presented himself at Coach Evans's office ten minutes later, dressed for the morning run.

"Do you have something for me, Alan?" Coach asked, smiling slightly.

Alan was almost bouncing in anticipation. "Yes, sir!" He took a folded sheet of paper from his jacket pocket. "Here it is, Coach. I'm cleared for everything but javelin."

Coach Evans read through the document, then looked up sharply. "Why not javelin?"

Alan gave a little shrug. "My shoulder's still a bit sore. I've got instructions and exercises to strengthen it, and he wants to see me back again in two weeks."

"Hm. In this case, Alan, I think I'm going to drop you from javelin altogether." He opened a drawer and put the paper in a file folder. "I can't wait for your shoulder to be cleared for it; Estevez will have to take the forward position on it."

"I understand, sir," Alan said, nodding.

"Well then, Tracy, get out there." Coach made a shooing motion with his hand. Alan grinned, and turned to go but stopped when Coach added, "See me after the run about your uniforms."

"Yes, sir!" Alan gave the coach a jaunty salute, and left the office, heading out to where the rest of the team was gathered.

Fermat straightened his shoulders as he approached the table. He'd gotten up a little early and showered, paying special attention to his now uncovered arm. A good scrub, then a layer of the moisturizing cream the doctor had given him, and his dried out skin felt much better. The arm was still a few shades lighter than the other, and looked skinnier, but he planned on rectifying the second by making time to visit the weight room. He'd also left early, hoping to put into practice what Scott had mentioned to him the day before.

It felt good to put his arm into his warmer jacket's sleeve, and hold his breakfast tray in both hands. He spotted a couple of his teammates, Robbie and Aaron, sitting together. "Now or never," he muttered as he came up beside them.

"D-Do you mind if I, uh, j-joined you?"

Aaron and Robbie exchanged glances. Aaron shrugged and Robbie looked up at Fermat with a smile. "We don' mind. C'mon and sit with us."

As Fermat put his tray next to Robbie's, Aaron said, "I see you got rid of the cast. When did that happen?"

"Yesterday a-afternoon," Fermat said as he sat down. "Feels good to have my arm b-back again." He started eating, happy he could cut his thick French toast up on his own.

Aaron studied him for a moment, drinking his orange juice as he did so. Finally, when Fermat had finished chewing, he asked, "Why?"

Fermat looked up at him, a puzzled look on his face. "Why wh-what?"

"Why are you sitting with us?" Aaron draped an arm over the back of his chair, tilting it back slightly. "Have a falling out with Tracy?"

Robbie looked from one boy to the other, confused. Fermat took a sip of milk, and wiped his mouth.

"N-No, no falling out. It's just that I feel I should... b-branch out. Make new friends." He smiled. "Who better to start with than my t-teammates."

"Really? What about your old friends?" Aaron hooked a thumb over his shoulder, pointing it in the general direction of the table where Fermat usually sat.

"I can e-eat lunch with them." Fermat took a drink of milk. "But we quizzers have got to stick t-together."

Robbie's eyes widened, and he slapped a hand down on the table. "Hey! I got an idea!" he said, his tone enthusiastic. "The sports teams eat breakfast together, right?"

Aaron nodded. "Yeah. So?"

"So, why shouldn't we?" The freshman looked eagerly from Aaron to Fermat and back again. "It'd make us feel more like a team. Kinda like when we eat after away games." He turned his gaze back to Fermat. "What d'you think?"

"I l-like the idea." Fermat waved his fork, a piece of French toast stuck on the end, at Aaron. "W-We wouldn't have to d-do it every day, or for e-every meal. Maybe we could eat d-dinner together on practice days, and b-breakfast together when we have our m-m-m... competitions. Or s-something like that." He popped the piece in his mouth, and chewed, washing it down with milk.

Aaron shrugged. "I guess so. You can bring it up tonight if you want." He brought his chair back down to sit securely on the floor. "Just don't ask me to endorse the idea. It's all yours." Standing, he picked up his still half-filled tray. "See you tonight."

The other two responded in kind, and he sauntered off. Fermat glanced over at his companion. "What's w-wrong with him?"

"I dunno," Robbie said, shaking his head. "I mean, he's not th' most outgoin' of people but I never seen him act like that."

"Do you eat t-together often?" Fermat poured a little more syrup on his meal.

"We usually eat breakfast together." Robbie shrugged and drank some more milk. "Rest of th' day, I don' know where he sits."

"Hm." Fermat looked thoughtful for a moment. He felt uneasy, but couldn't put his finger on why. Then he sighed, and brightened. "S-So, what classes do you have this y-year?"

Robbie chuckled. "Well, I got Miz Gerrick for math..."

"G-Gerrick?" Fermat made a face. "I had her l-last year..."

Alan found himself slightly winded by the end of the run, and resolved to start running between classroom buildings – but not in the halls, as that was frowned on. He stopped in at the Coach's office after changing clothes.

"Here, Alan." Coach Evans took out a gym bag with the Wharton crest on it, and the name A. Tracy embroidered near the zippered opening. "I've got to take everything out and check it, then you'll sign for it and the cost will be added to your account. Understand?"

"Yes, sir." Alan was bouncing on the balls of his feet in anticipation. The coach smiled, and handed him a data pad and stylus.

"Two white sleeveless shirts for home games, number 25, with matching shorts..."

The list was fairly lengthy and included warm-up jackets and pants, skin-tight thermal shirts and leggings for cold days, away game clothing in Wharton blue, and even matching socks. Alan shivered with delight at seeing his name emblazoned on the backs of the shirts and jackets. When the list was completed, and everything had been checked off, he signed the pad and handed it back. The coach went over it once for good measure, then put the pad aside.

"Everything is marked as yours so it won't get mixed up with anyone else's – we hope. The school's laundry will clean them for you; just be sure you get them out in the first laundry pick up after a game." Coach Evans extended a hand, and Alan took it. "Now, you're official. Make sure you're at practice this afternoon." They shook hands, then the coach went back to his desk. Before sitting down, he asked, "Oh, about tomorrow's game. You're not going to be able to compete, but if you can come handle the equipment, or ride the bus to the game..."

Alan opened his mouth to say something, then stopped and thought a moment. "Would it count against me if I didn't go at all? My brother is here from out of town.."

"Hm." Coach Evans looked thoughtful as he sat down. "I guess it wouldn't hurt for you to miss this meet, especially considering you have family in." He nodded. "Go ahead and have fun with your brother. But next week, be prepared to compete!"

"Yes, sir!" Alan grinned. He slung the gym bag across his chest, and tucked it behind him. With the strap let out to its longest length, it fit nicely under his backpack.

"You'd better move it if you want to make class on time." The coach motioned toward the door with his head. "See you this afternoon, Alan."

"Right!" Alan turned to go, giving a wave as he sprinted from the office. His heavy, running footsteps echoed through the empty gym, then there was a bang as he hit the door with his hip on the way out.

He arrived at math class just as the bell rang, sweaty and breathing heavily. He whispered a quick, "Hey!" at Fermat as he sat down, and got an equally soft, "Hi, Alan!" in return. Then class began, and Alan turned his attention toward Mr. Graboski.

"So, why didn't you sit with us this morning, Brain?" Kay asked, not looking in Fermat's direction.

Alan put down his cheeseburger and shot a glance at Fermat. He opened his mouth to say something, but Fermat chose that moment to answer Qaeshon's question.

"I thought I m-might sit with one of my t-teammates," Fermat responded, frowning. "Do I need your p-permission to do that?"

"No," Kay responded coolly. "You don't. But not everyone will see your butting in on their breakfast as a friendly thing."

Fermat's frown had become a scowl, and the French fry that had been heading toward his mouth stopped midway. "What do you m-mean by that?"

"Aaron Blanding's in my lit class second period and he asked me why you'd want to sit with him." Qaeshon stopped to take a swallow of fruit punch, then wiped his lips with a napkin before continuing. "He asked if you had, and I quote, an 'ulterior motive'."

"What kind of 'u-ulterior motive'?" Fermat now sounded suspicious and a bit confused.

Jason intervened, speaking softly. "Fermat, that rumor might not be out there in your face, but it hasn't died, either." He turned toward Qaeshon. "Am I right, Kay?"

Kay nodded. "Yeah. You are."

Fermat's eyes opened wide. "You m-mean, he thinks I'm h-h-h... interested in him... that way?"

"That's what he was getting at." Qaeshon blew out a breath, and his demeanor changed. "Listen, Brain. It's okay that you sit with people other than us, but you have to be careful. A lot of people have heard this rumor and they're still talking about it, quietly." He grimaced. "It's hard to prove a negative, y'know what I mean?"

Alan, who had been surprised at both Fermat's action and his defensiveness, now dropped his jaw at Qaeshon and Jason's statements. Closing his mouth, he sighed heavily and shook his head. "Man, I thought we were all over that! I thought everyone knew Sugi had started that stupid rumor and..."

Jason cut him off. "Only a few people – other than us - even think that Sugi started it; no one really knows, Alan. It's not like he's taken out a page in the school newspaper and admitted it to the world. And even if he did, there'd still be people who'd rather believe the rumor for whatever reason. Sugi still has friends on campus, and though they won't come after you the way he did, they won't be so quick to forget either."

"Is Aaron one of Sugi's friends?" A.J., who'd been listening in, asked.

Qaeshon shrugged. "Who knows?. I don't think Aaron's been involved in the same kinds of sports Sugi was. But they may have known each other... or they might have been total strangers. The point is that the rumor is still out there. Maybe not being whipped up by Sugi and his pals, but it's not dead yet, and won't be for months – if it ever dies at all."

The boys at the table fell silent for a long time, until Alan finished his burger and asked, "So, why did you sit with Blanding this morning, Fermat?"

Fermat finished chewing on his last French fry, and said, "It wasn't j-just Aaron; R-Robbie Bennett was there, t-too. They're my t-teammates; I thought I should get to know them b-better outside of qu-quizzing."

Alan stopped to think about that for a moment, then nodded. "It... sounds like a good idea. I mean, I'm getting in thick with the team and all..."

"Speaking of the team," Jason cut in again, "what did the doctor say?"

Alan grinned, and proceeded to tell his friends all the good news.

"Hey, Blondie!"

Alan turned at Sable's call. He was already in uniform, and waiting outside the gym. "Hi, Sable." He eyed the case again, this time with interest. "They're taking pictures of the table tennis team right now, then the soccer team, so we've got a few minutes."

"Wicked," Sable said, pulling him toward a bench around the corner from the gym door; one that sat in the bright afternoon sunlight. "Need a place to put things down, and since I can't do this in the photographer's lighting set up, the sun'll have to do."

She put the case down and opened it, taking out a clear piece of thin plastic. "I'm used to working with heavy stuff, lots of contrast, but I think I can go more subtle for you." She held the plastic up to his face, close to the cheek. "You sure have a good tan, Blondie." Looking at the plastic, she noted where the squares of color seemed to blend in with Alan's skin, and nodded. "Yeah. I know just what we need."

"Good!" Alan was beginning to fidget. "How long will this take?"

Sable took out a tube and gave him quelling look. "You don't rush the artist, okay, Blondie?" As she squeezed out a bit of brownish goo onto her fingers, she asked, "So, where's this brother of yours?"

"He'll be here soon," Alan assured her. "He's going to watch the practice."

"Cool." Sable dabbed a little of the smooth cream on his cheek and critically studied it. "Wrong color." With a cotton pad, she removed the bit of make up and rifled through her other tubes until she found one she thought would work. "Let's try this."

Alan forced himself to stand still as she dotted a bit of this color on his cheek. She made an approving hum, and nodded, then smeared a bit more on his face. Using her fingers, she smoothed it over his scabs and scars.

"Got to build this up so that the edges don't show," she explained as she added to the patch. Alan wanted to nod, but didn't. The stuff felt heavy, like the topical antibiotics had when he was still bandaging the cheek, and smelled waxy. Her fingers were warm and gentle, moving smoothly over the bumpy spots. He was surprised to realize that he was taller than her, and he noticed the light roots of her dark hair as he kept his face still.

"Okay. I think I got enough on there." Sable took hold of his chin and made him turn his head one way, then the other. "Yeah. Looks good. Now to take the shine off, and you're good to go, Blondie." She pulled out a powder compact, opened it, compared it to his face, then shook her head and tossed it back in. Grabbing a new one, she squinted a bit from his cheek to the compact. "Yeah. This'll work."

Rubbing a wide brush into the compact, she gently stroked on the powder. The brush tickled and Alan was sure a few grains of the powder had gotten up his nose; he felt a strong urge to sneeze. He held it in with difficulty until she was done.

"There. That should do." Sable turned to get a mirror, and Alan let go with his sneeze.

"Ouch!" she said, holding up the mirror. "That sounded like it hurt!"

Alan rubbed across his nostrils with a finger. "Nah, it's okay." He moved his face so he could see the cheek, resisting the urge to run his fingers over the fresh make up. "Hey, that's great, Sable," he said, smiling. "It's like there were never any scars at all."

"Glad you like it, Blondie." Sable tucked the mirror back in her case. "Now, where's that brother of yours?"

Almost as if on cue, someone called out. "Alan?"

"Damn! I didn't want him to see me like this!" Alan hurried over to the gym doors nearest them. They were locked. "Great! He's gonna..."

Scott rounded the corner. "Alan, someone said you were..." He stopped in his tracks, and looked from Sable to his brother and back again. "Uh, someone want to tell me what's going on?"

"Ah... um... yeah." Alan said, trying to keep the damaged cheek from his brother's view. "Scott, this is Sable. She... uh... works here." He made a motion towards Scott. "Sable, my oldest brother, Scott."

Scott's eyes flicked from one to the other; he folded his arms and raised an eyebrow. "That doesn't tell me what's going on."

Sable, on the other hand, was examining Scott with interest. Her eyes traveled up his form then down again. "Don't worry, hot shot, nothing illegal or immoral's going down. I was just giving your brother a few... tips." She stepped forward, holding out a hand. "Sable de la Croix."

"Scott Tracy. Nice to meet you." Scott dropped his belligerent stance and shook her hand., but again his gaze went from Sable to Alan and back again. "What kind of tips?"

"Uh, just photography tips," Alan said, moving toward the front of the gym. "I gotta go; they'll be taking our pictures any minute."

He tried to pass by Scott on the side where his brother would be less likely to see Sable's handiwork, but Scott had sharp eyes. He grabbed Alan by the arm. "Wait a minute. Something's weird here..." He grabbed Alan's chin with one hand, and despite the teen's attempt to stop him, angled Alan's face so he could see the cheek. "Uh huh," he said with a grin. "Right. You sure they weren't cosmetic tips?"

Alan sighed and his shoulders slumped. "Okay, okay. Sable offered to help me hide this mess for the camera, all right? The photographers can retouch my portrait, but not the team pic. I'm washing it off as soon as they're done."

"Well, if you're washing it off, Blondie..." Sable rifled through her case once again, and came up with a small jar of cold cream. "You'll need this."

"Thanks." Alan took it with a heavy sigh. He wished he could wipe the mischievous grin off his brother's face. "I'll be back soon."

"Wait a minute, Sprout." Scott had his phone out, and was pointing the internal camera in Alan's direction. "Since you're doing this for the camera..."

"No! Absolutely not!" Alan held a hand up before the camera lens, but not before Scott got his picture.

"What d'you think?" Scott asked of Sable, motioning her to his side and showing her what he'd caught.

"Hey, not bad." Sable looked from Alan to the photo and back again. "Yeah. I do good work."

Alan rolled his eyes and shook his head. "I'll be back with the cream pretty soon. Scott? Meet us down on the track, okay?"

"Sure, Sprout." Scott was busy composing a text message. "After I send this off to some interested parties."

The locked door that Alan had tried opened and Xavion stuck his head out. "C'mon, Pinky. It's time!"

Alan looked flustered, glancing back and forth from a smiling Scott, intent on his phone, to a gesturing Zave. Finally, he threw his hands up and sprinted toward the gym, disappearing inside.

"Ah, yes. Pinky." Scott murmured, his smile widening. "I forgot to ask about that. Hm... he doesn't want me to call him 'Sprout'..." He pressed a final button with a flourish, then folded up his phone and turned to Sable. "Now, where were we?"

"Alan, pay attention!" Coach Evans said sharply. "I know you have an audience but your focus needs to be here, not the stands."

"Yes, sir," Alan said with a nod. He backed up again, shook his arms, and let out a breath. Then, when he was ready, he headed full-tilt down the grassy lane. He hit the launching board and sailed out over the sand pit. His feet hit the surface, burying deep into the sand and his body fell forward. He caught himself with his hands and waited for the coach to tell him to get up.

"That would have been an impressive jump," the coach grumbled, "if you hadn't marked the plasticine. Get up and let's try it again."

Alan blew out a frustrated breath and shook his head as he got up, brushing the sand from his hands. He took the rake and smoothed surface of the sand again before his next try. A quick glance into the stands showed Scott sitting about halfway up, conversing with Sable. To Alan's eye, they were sitting a bit too close together and Scott's attention seemed to be focused more on the girl than on the field.

Having finished with the rake, he put it back in place then returned to the end of the lane. A quick limbering shake, a deep breath let in and out, and he headed down toward the pit again. Hitting the launching board, he pushed off hard, ending up in the sand at nearly the same place as before.

"Much better!" Coach Evans said, his tone approving. "Not a mark! Let's try it one more time, then work on the high jump."

Three jumps into the high jump, Alan was getting frustrated. Xavion was again working on changing Alan's own technique to the "Fosbury Flop".

"Why can't I do this my way, Zave?" Alan pleaded. "It feels better to me. I keep hitting the bar with my shoulder doing this flop thing."

Xavion looked at the bar, and at Alan, then at the pad he held in his hand. "Do you think you can clear that height with the way you do it?"

Alan squinted at the bar. It was higher than his bed, that was certain, but he felt confident he could clear it... if he were allowed to use his own technique. He glanced over at Zave and nodded. "Yeah. I can."

Zave folded his arms, and with a quick motion of his head, indicated the crossbar. "Show me."

Moving with care, judging the distance with his eyes, Alan stepped back. He shot a quick glance toward Scott, now alone in the stands and watching intently. A quick deep breath, a swallow, and off he ran.

The approach was good; he could feel it. His leading leg was positioned just how he wanted it; he pushed off strongly, using more force than he would when hitting the mattress. Up he went, not feeling the bar beneath him, not seeing it before him, and when he reached the apex of his jump, he threw his following leg and arm up and over. This set him turning, and within seconds he had flipped over entirely, landing on his forearms and knees in the thick mat. There was clapping coming from somewhere, and he glanced up to see Scott standing up, applauding. His brother paused to give him a thumb's up, and Alan returned the motion with a wide grin. Then he climbed off the mat and approached Xavion.

"Well?"

Zave swiped a hand across his mouth. "I guess I can talk to Coach about it."

Alan grinned. "Thanks, Zave!"

A whistle blew, and Xavion flicked his hand towards Alan's shoulder. "C'mon. Coach wants us."

"What do you th-think?"

Fermat looked around the table. They'd stopped at a buffet this time, one not too far from the school. Their quiz match had been at one of the private schools in nearby Pittsfield and, as had happened before, they pulled out a close victory. Some of the players had scoffed in private as the opposing team had girls on it as well as boys, but their scoffing was silenced when St. Joseph's took an early lead, one that the Wharton team had to scramble to surmount.

The other quizzers glanced at each other. Mikal Enjaian shrugged. "I guess so. We don't have a whole lot of time to really get to know each other outside of the meets."

Tom Lopez nodded. "I can go for it, as long as it's only twice a week."

"I don't know that it'd help with teamwork," Wei No added, "but it's not going to hurt."

They all looked toward Devdan, their team captain. Fermat crossed his fingers; if Dev didn't think it was a good idea, then the whole thing would fall through.

Dev, seeing that everyone was gazing his way, started a bit. He smiled widely. "I think also that it is a good idea. If you would remind us at practice, Robbie, then we can dine together afterwards. And on competition days, we can break our fasts as a team, as the sports teams do." He glanced around. "Is there anyone who cannot make it to our common mealtimes, or who would wish not to participate?"

No one answered. Dev clapped his thin hands together once. "So, it is decided." He rubbed his hands together. "Now, who else is ready for some dessert?"

"So, where's Sable?" Alan set his tray of Japanese food down on an unoccupied table. The mall food court was busy; it always was on Friday nights.

"Working." Scott added his own tray, a wrapped Philly cheese steak sub taking up the vast majority of a cheap paper plate. The brothers sat down together, and each were quiet for a few moments as they unwrapped food and condiments before settling down to eat.

"I thought you would have asked her to come." Alan said between bites. He took a long pull on his soda's straw.

"I did; she said she had to work the dinner shift at Wharton, then had other things to do afterwards." Scott took a big bite of his sub. Bits of chopped steak, sautéed onions and peppers, and gobs of melted cheese oozed out onto the plate. He made a sound of approval, picked up a paper napkin and wiped his chin. When his mouth was clear, he shook his head. "Man, that is good! I gotta get Onaha to make these sometime. I miss this kind of food!"

Alan motioned toward his plate of rice, stir-fried vegetables and teriyaki chicken. "This is okay, but Onaha does it better. I just don't get it at school much." He leaned towards Scott. "Do you really like her? Sable, I mean."

"Well, yeah. I mean, she seems to be an interesting gal. The goth stuff... I think that's just for show." Scott shrugged. "I haven't had a lot of time to talk with her, but at least she's conscientious."

Alan frowned. "How do you get that?"

"Because she's working in Wharton's kitchen when she could be here with me." His point made, Scott took another big bite of sandwich.

Alan shook his head slowly, as in disbelief. Just as he was about to scoop up some rice with his plastic fork, a phone rang close by. Scott put down his sandwich again, and picked up a napkin to wipe his hands, but Alan already had his phone out. "It's mine," he said, checking the caller ID. With a sigh, he answered, holding the phone to one ear, and putting a finger in the other.

"Alan Tracy here... no, I'm sorry; I was at track practice." Scott listened to Alan's side of the conversation while trying to look as if he wasn't. "Yeah, I was cleared... thanks. When? Tomorrow?" Alan glanced up at Scott, and took in a deep breath. "Yeah. I can. Tomorrow morning. Ten? Sounds good. No, no, I won't need a ride; my brother's in town and can drive me. Call Mr. Wolfe? Would you? Yeah, thanks. Okay. I'll see you tomorrow at ten. Berkshire County Jail... in Pittsfield. I can get the address; my brother's rental has GPS. Right. I'll call if I change my mind. Thanks, Detective. Goodbye."

Scott had stopped eating. "I take it that was about seeing Sugi?" he asked, his tone soft.

Alan nodded. "Yeah. Tomorrow morning at ten."