Unfeigned Reactions

"Hey, Pinky!" Zave was waiting in front of the dining hall, hands thrust deep in his pockets, his braids covered by his knit team cap. "What happened to you yesterday? We missed you at practice. You okay?"

Alan groaned internally as he approached the building. I don't need this now. It took forever to bring Fermat up to speed and he had tons of questions that I couldn't answer. I'm glad no one else knew about the meeting. I just don't want to talk about it. Not now, not yet. I told Fermat so. After all, Sugi hasn't been sentenced yet. It's not fair to talk about it as if he already has been.

"Pinky?" Zave's voice broke in on Alan's musing.

"Uh, hey, Zave." Alan raised a hand in greeting. "I'm okay. I... uh... I had some stuff to work out."

He passed the older boy, who turned and, with one or two long strides, caught up with him before they reached the steps.

"'Stuff', huh?" Zave sounded doubtful. "Coach said you'd been excused from practice, but wouldn't tell me why. He told me to give you some space, or else I would have talked to you last night about it." He reached out and grasped Alan's shoulder, forcing the younger boy to stop and face him. "Coach doesn't just do that, y'know. So, what happened?" When Alan said nothing, he added, "You know I've got your back, don't you, Pinky?"

Alan sighed and nodded. "Yeah, Zave, I know. It's just... I really can't talk about it. Not now, anyway. Ask me again in a couple of days."

Zave gave Alan's face a searching look, then nodded. "Okay, then. A couple of days it is. But I'll want straight answers then." He inclined his head in the direction of the doors. "C'mon, let's get inside. It's freezing out here, and I'm starving."

The rest of the day went as normal, though Alan felt as if there was a weight hanging over his head, ready to fall on him. He was unusually subdued during lunch, which both Jason and Qaeshon noticed, though neither of them made a comment. Instead, they sought out Fermat.

"What's with Pinky?" Jason asked softly as he stood behind Fermat in the tray return line. "He's been a sourpuss all day."

Fermat sighed. "It'll p-pass, Jase. Just don't a-ask him right now. A l-little later, maybe. During d-dinner."

"You know something. So, why not tell us?" Qaeshon was behind Jason and was straining to hear the conversation. "We're his friends, too."

"H-He asked me not to tell," Fermat explained. There was a pause as he handed the tray to the woman standing before the dishwasher. "Just be p-patient. It'll c-come out s-soon."

Alan made it to practice, and Coach Evans sought him out. "If you need to talk to someone, Alan, I'm here. I'm no stranger to this sort of situation."

The offer earned him a small smile. "Thanks, Coach. I'll keep that in mind."

At dinner, however, it was Jason who finally broke Alan's internal tension. He cleared his throat, and took a deep breath.

"Hey, Pinky?"

Alan glanced over, his fork midway to his mouth. "Yeah, Jase?"

"I, uh, I heard on the news that Sugi was finally sentenced today."

The whole table fell silent, and all eyes turned toward Alan. Alan ate what was on his fork, then put his utensils down with deliberation. He took a drink of milk, and ran a tongue over his lips. "Yeah, Jase. I know. The District Attorney discussed it with me and my dad yesterday afternoon." Turning to Zave, he added, "That's the answer to your question this morning. I had to meet with him about this mess. And I didn't think it was right to talk about it until Sugi had actually been sentenced."

"It's cool, Alan. It's cool."

"What was his sentence?" A.J. asked. "Will he go to jail or be on probation?"

"The news report said he'd be in jail, but mostly because of the steroids. Distributing near a school, possession of illegally obtained drugs... there were a couple of other charges." Jason scowled. "He's supposed to be serving the assault charges at the same time, but he's going to be in jail for eight years."

"How much did he get for the assault charges?" Kay asked. "Did they charge him with E... with the other assault? Did they go for hate crimes?"

"The District Attorney said there wasn't enough evidence to charge him with assaulting that other guy," Alan said, his voice flat. "And... they didn't charge him with hate crimes in my assault either. Same reason." He glanced over at Jason. "What was the sentence? The District Attorney gave me a ballpark figure..."

"Twenty months," Jason said, his scowl deepening. "It should have been more."

"Damn right it should have been," Zave said, attacking his food as if it had something to do with the sentence. "Sugi messed you over but good."

"Not according to the law." Alan picked up his fork again, and resumed eating. "According to them, my injuries were minor."

There was silence again, which Qaeshon broke. "Minor? That makes no sense."

Alan shrugged. "Doesn't make much sense to me either, but that's how the law around here defines it."

Taking their cue from Alan, the boys went back to eating. Finally, Jason asked, "Did you hear anything about Ralph?"

"Yeah, what happened to him?" A.J. asked.

"The D.A. didn't know for sure because Ralph was tried as a juvenile, but he said that the judge was probably lenient because Ralph had been cooperative." Alan finished his entrée and started on his dessert. "And both Mickey and Pierce will be in jail for a long time."

"Well, that's good to know," Kay said, nodding. "Wish I could get them to pay for my music and stuff, but at least they're off the streets."

"R-Right. The whole m-mess is o-over now," Fermat declared. He glanced at Alan. "It's all o-over."

There was a murmur of agreement around the table, but Fermat noticed that Alan was shaking his head slightly. His heart sank. I don't think he really believes it.

Later that evening, Alan was online, searching for information regarding his science project. "You'd think I could come up with something cool," he muttered sotto voce. "But Dad's not really involved in biology."

Suddenly, a box popped up on his screen with the words, "Stahman4evah would like to start a vid conversation with you. Accept or decline."

Alan smiled, and clicked on "Accept", putting his cellphone mike in his ear and plugging it into his computer. The box became bigger, and John's face appeared in it. The background was the same "office" hologram that had been used before, and John was wearing the same shirt.

"Hey, John!"

"Hello, there, wildracerdude." John grinned at him. "Or should I just call you Pinky?"

Alan rolled his eyes. "Tell you what: you can call me Pinky if I can call you..." He tried to think fast, but the only thing that came to mind was Sable's usage of "Blondie".

John's grin widened. "Call me what, Pinky?"

"Uh..." The images page he had called up was still visible behind the chat box, and he could make out a picture of a baboon. "I know! I'll call you the BBB."

His brother's expression became wary. "Better Business Bureau?"

"Nah." Now Alan's face wore the wide grin. "Bleached Blond Baboon."

John's eyes grew wide, and his jaw dropped. For several breaths, he said nothing. Then he started to chuckle, which grew to a guffaw, then a belly-busting laugh. Alan, pleased with his sally, laughed too, but not as loud or long as – out of the corner of one eye – he saw his roommate give him a questioning look.

"Oh, hey!" Alan unplugged his earphone from the computer, and waved Dom over to his desk. "Let me introduce you to my roommate... that is, if you can stop laughing like a hyena." Dom, seeing Alan's intention, ambled over. "John, this is Dom Bertoli, yearbook editor and roommate to yours truly. Dom, meet my second-eldest brother, John G. Tracy, astronomer and writer."

John gulped air, getting his laughter and breathing under control, wiped his eyes, then waved. "Hey, Dom. Good to meet you."

Dom returned the wave. "Hello, Mr. Tracy. Nice to meet you, too."

John snorted a laugh. "Just call me John. Save the 'Mr. Tracy' stuff for our Dad." He paused. "So yearbook editing. How do you like it? Are things coming together?"

"Yeah, it's coming along, and I do like it, but sometimes it's crazy-making, if you know what I mean." Dom grinned. "Things never go fast as I'd like them to, and things go wrong when you least expect them to." He shook his head slightly. "Publishing deadlines are the pits."

"Oh, yeah. I hear you. I know all about those publishing deadlines," John said, nodding. "In fact, I'm supposed to be revising one of my books for a second edition, but decided to catch up with my little brother instead."

Alan snorted. "Anything to keep from working, huh, John?"

"Hey, I'm sure I could find something more exciting to do... Pinky. Spider solitaire comes to mind."

All three young men laughed, and Dom took that as a cue to return to his work. "I'd better get back to my homework. It was nice to meet you, John."

"Likewise, Dom. Hopefully we'll meet face to face sometime soon." John gave Dom a sloppy salute, and Alan plugged in his headphones as Dom returned to his own desk.

"So, how are you doing, Alan?" John had settled back in his chair, a drink pouch in hand. "I saw your track meet. Looked like you were having trouble during that last bit of the race. You just about fell down that hill."

Alan rubbed the back of his neck and looked sheepish. "Yeah, I got a little sidetracked at one part of the course and had to catch up. I did come in second, though."

"Which is nothing to sneeze at," John said, his tone agreeable. "And I heard your team won the meet. We'll work on technique over Christmas vacation." He emptied the juice pouch, sucking on the straw until the plastic was nearly flattened. With careful aim, he tossed it out of the camera range, just as if he were tossing a basketball. "Damn. Missed."

"Sounds like you could use a little work on your hoop skills," Alan commented, grinning. "We can work on it when I see you again."

"Right. In your dreams, Pinky." John sobered, looking straight at the picture of his brother. "I also heard something important happened today. Your attacker was sentenced."

Alan let out a long, weary sigh. He lowered his voice. "Yeah. He was. Not exactly what I expected, though. If he hadn't been involved in pushing those steroids, he'd probably be out on probation, like one of the other guys."

"But his involvement with the steroids gave him jail time?" It sounded more like a statement than a question.

Alan nodded. "Yeah."

"How do you feel about that?" John was watching his brother carefully, though he had schooled his face to a bland expression.

"I... I dunno, really. Still trying to take it all in, I think. Kinda numb, kinda relieved." He blew out a long breath and shrugged. "I want it to be over, but, somehow, I still feel it's not. I mean, he'll get out on parole some day. What's going to happen then?"

John rubbed his chin for a minute, then ran a hand through his hair. One blond wave detached itself from the rest and drooped down to curl over his right brow. "I don't know, Alan. I don't know what will happen. But I do know that you can't live your life wondering 'what if'." He leaned forward. "After... that incident last spring, I had a hard time getting past it. I was afraid that the culprit would do some kind of mumbo-jumbo in prison and get out, or he'd hypnotize the jury and walk free. I still think about that from time to time."

Alan thought about Lady Penelope and Parker, and the excruciating pain the Hood had put them through, and he shuddered. John noticed, and cleared his throat. "It was hard coming back here, too. I'd lost all confidence, and would start at any noise, any stray beeping from the console. What helped me was talking things out to a professional."

"Like... a counselor?" Alan looked thoughtful. "Grandma said that I should talk to somebody."

John smiled, a soft, warm expression. "Leave it to Grandma to take the tiger by the tail. Yeah. I mean a counselor. Someone unbiased who you can talk it out with, and give you skills for coping." He leaned forward, his face filling the little screen. "You have the advantage that what happened to you is more or less public. There's no reason to hide anything."

The thought hadn't occurred to Alan, and he frowned a little. "How did you hide... y'know, the family business from your counselor?"

"Well..." John drew out the single syllable. "I was fortunate enough that Dad knew someone who was already sort of... involved, shall we say?"

"You mean like Mr. Trumbull? A.J.'s dad?" At John's slightly blank look, Alan explained further. "He's a lawyer, and sort of 'involved' like that." When John still didn't seem to understand, Alan rolled his eyes. "Like Lady Penelope."

"Ah!" John's face cleared, and he nodded. "Yeah. Just like Mr. Trumbull, only he was a counselor. It wasn't easy to schedule appointments with him; we're in very different time zones, but we managed."

"You mean, you had counseling appointments while you were in... you were at work?"

"Yeah, basically."

"I wonder if I could do that."

John shook his head. "I think you should see someone local, someone who can either come to you or you can go to them. I'm sure the school has the names of people who work with kids."

"Why does it have to be someone who works with kids?" Alan frowned. "I'm not exactly a kid, y'know."

"And you're not exactly an adult, either," John shot back. "I mean, you still see a pediatrician, right?"

Alan thought of Dr. Gupta. "Yeah, I guess."

"That's because kids have needs that adults don't have, and vice versa. Same for a counselor. You want someone who understands your needs as someone who isn't yet an adult – as much as you want to be considered one." John gave Alan a wry smile. "This betwixt and between business isn't all it's cracked up to be, is it?"

"No." Alan's tone was emphatic. He shook his head slowly, then paused for a moment, remembering something his grandmother had written. "Hey, this guy who counseled you; was he the one who helped Dad out after Mom died?"

"How'd you hear about that?" His brother looked surprised. "I'd almost forgotten about it."

"Grandma mentioned it."

"Ah, I see." John sat back again, a thoughtful frown on his face. He shook his head slightly. "No, I don't think so. This guy was a good friend of Dad's back in the day, and I don't think he'd have taken Dad on as a client. They were too close."

"Who was he? I mean, if he were someone close to Dad, wouldn't we have known him?"

"Nah. He moved to Canada at some point. Prince Edward Isle. That's why we had trouble connecting."

"Okay. I see."

"Oh, and if you choose someone local, make sure Dad knows. He'll want to dig into the the counselor's background for himself.'

Alan started at this bit of advice. "Hmm, I hadn't thought about that. I'll be sure to let him know."

The conversation flagged a little until John asked, "So, did you have a good visit with Gordon?"

Alan grinned and nodded. "Yeah. I learned some new stuff about Wharton, like where the quiet rooms are. And he learned never to take a bunch of teenagers out to dinner. Man, the look on his face when he got the check!"

His brother laughed. "Fortunately, he's good for it. I'm glad you had a good time." Picking up a data pad, John asked, "So, when's your next home game?"

"In two weeks; why?"

"Well, I'd like to get out and see a meet. Maybe I can talk Dad into letting me come home a week early or something."

Alan's eyes shone, and he grinned. "That'd be great, John! Maybe you can bring Virge with you, too."

"Whoa!" John held up his hands. "Dad might not like letting two of us go at one time, but I'll see what I can do. And don't count on it, yet. I'll have to convince the old man that the trip up and back is worth it."

"I'll wait to hear from you about it." The smile hadn't faded. "I mean, there's no reason why Virge couldn't come out for an away game, is there?"

"I could come out for one, too, I suppose, but for what I have in mind, a home game works better."

"What do you mean by that?" Alan's expression turned to a wary one. "What are you planning?"

His eyes narrowed in a sly, teasing expression, John smirked. "Oh, it's nothing important. Just something I thought you might appreciate."

"Oh no, you don't! Tell me!"

"You'll just have to wait. I'm pretty sure you'll like it, though."

"Not fair! Now I'm going to go crazy wondering!"

"All the better."

In the background, there was a muted beeping noise, and the lights flashed slightly. John frowned. "Did you hear that?"

"Yeah, I did. The lights flashed, too."

"Damn. Gotta work on this office thing some more." He sat up straight. "I've gotta go now, Alan. Duty calls. It's been great talking to you."

"Great to see you, too, John. Let me know what Dad says."

"Right. Talk to you again soon."

"Okay." Alan hesitated for a moment, then added softly, "Love you, John."

John smiled. "I know that, Al. Love you, too."

The box within a box disappeared, and the words, "Stahman4evah has disconnected this call," appeared where the vid screen had been. Alan clicked on the X in the upper corner, and removed his headset.

"Sounds like you had a good talk with your brother," Dom commented.

"Yeah, I did." Alan rolled his shoulders one at a time, then with a sigh, went back to his search.

"Alan!" The urgent voice was accompanied by someone shaking his shoulder. "Alan! Get up!"

"I don' wanna get up," Alan mumbled, swatting at the hand. One eye pried itself half-open and glanced at the alarm clock. "No' time t' geddup." He rolled to face the wall and pulled his covers up over his head.

"I know it's not time to get up, but you gotta see this!" There was a sigh, then in tones of both exasperation and delight, the voice added, "It's snowing!"

That got Alan's attention. He levered himself to one elbow, blinking in the half-gloom. Dom had the blinds on their window halfway up; the glare of the security light behind the building threw his figure into sharp silhouette as he peered out. Alan rubbed his eyes, pushed back his blankets, and slithered to the floor, joining Dom at the window.

"Whoa!" he breathed as he looked out. The small, glistening flakes were floating lazily to the ground, illuminated golden by the halogen lamp on its tall pole. "That's awesome."

"Isn't it?" Dom's tones were as hushed as Alan's. "I can never get enough of it. We don't see it much in Florida."

"How long has it been coming down?" Alan asked, not bothering to pry his gaze away from the gauzy apparition.

"I dunno. I woke up to use the john and noticed it on the way back." Dom craned his neck to see what effect the snow was having on the ground. "Must not have been long though. It doesn't seem to be sticking."

"Don't know why not; it's sure been cold enough lately." Alan turned to his roommate. "Do you think they'll cancel classes?"

Dom shook his head. "For this? No way. It'll take a real whopper of a storm for Wharton to cancel. They won't even consider this a nuisance." He blew on the window, fogging it, and drew a smiley face in the quickly evaporating mist. "Now, if we were in Florida, that'd be a different story."

"I hope it snows all day," Alan said, his tone fervent.

"Me, too, Alan. Me, too."

"H-Hey, A.J.! Come look!"

A.J., who was busily combing his hair in the bathroom, stuck his head out. "What is it?"

"It's sn-sn-snowing!"

"Really?" A.J. came out, still combing his hair, and joined Fermat at the window. "Hey! Cool!"

Fermat grinned. "And here I th-thought you'd say how b-boring it is, the way you d-dismiss the cold w-weather."

A.J. stopped combing and shook his head. "Nope. First snowfall is always special, especially when it's early like this. It doesn't seem to be sticking to anything much, though. I doubt we'll get much of an accumulation."

"It's s-sticking to the trees," Fermat said, pointing to the large oak that sat directly across from their room. "Makes the bare branches look c-cool."

"Yeah, you're right. We may get some slush on the walkways then." As A.J. turned to go back to the bathroom, both boys could hear a loud, sharp crack.

"Hey!" Fermat pointed to something falling on the other side of the tree. "A b-b-b... limb is coming down!"

"Looks like a big one, too!" A.J. had rejoined Fermat at the window. "Let's finished getting dressed and see where it came from."

In a few minutes, both boys had joined the small crowd surrounding the branch. "Wow. That's big," A.J. said, giving a low whistle..

"And l-look at how much fungus and l-lichen is on it. It looks pretty r-r-rotted." Fermat shielded his eyes and gazed up, getting a smattering of snowflakes on his glasses for his trouble. Nevertheless, he pointed upward. "I think it c-came down from th-there. About 30 feet up and t-to the left."

The others looked up, and a murmur of agreement swept through the handful of students. Suddenly, a voice called out, "Okay, boys, break it up!"

Fermat turned to see Mr. Magnuson and Mr. Culp approaching. They had a driven up in a golf cart, one that was towing a small, open trailer. The trailer was full of metal spikes that looked like needles for a giant. "Move away, boys. This is a dangerous place to be standing," Mr. Culp said. "Another branch could come down at any moment."

The boys backed away, most of them turning in the direction of the dining hall. Only Fermat and A.J. remained, and A.J., too, seemed to be anxious to move away.

"Will you be t-taking the t-tree down?" Fermat asked as Culp started pulling the metal stakes from the trailer.

"We'll have an expert out here soon to tell us what to do to, Fermat," Mr. Mags told him. "In the meanwhile, we're going to cordon this off. You'll probably have to use the side entrances until further notice." He waved in the direction of the sidewalk and Oakwood dorm. "You'd better get a move on, now. Breakfast waits for no student."

"Y-Yes, sir." Fermat turned, walking across the slightly slushy access road to join A.J. on the sidewalk. He kept glancing over his shoulder as he did, and saw Mr. Culp holding one of the stakes, while Mr. Magnuson used a heavy sledgehammer to drive it a short ways into the ground. Once satisfied that the first was in securely, Mr. Magnuson moved over a bit, and the two men planted another.

"C'mon, Fermat." A.J. pulled on his arm. "I'm hungry."

Fermat's stomach rumbled in agreement. "Right. L-Let's go."

"Hey, Zave?"

"Yeah, Pinky?"

"What happens if it snows on a day when we're supposed to have a meet?"

They were heading back to the gym after the morning run. The ground – for the most part - had been wet and muddy, with a bit of slush where they'd run on the macadam. The snow hadn't increased; it still came down in a steady, light cascade. It deadened the sound of running feet, and made visibility tough for those few team members who wore glasses.

Zave sighed. "On the days when snow makes it impossible to have a match, but it's not too dangerous to travel, we get up really early and travel to Worcester."

"Worcester? Where's that? And what's there?" Alan pulled his snow-laden cap from his head as they entered the gym.

"Worcester is sort of in the middle of the state, and one of the colleges there has an indoor track. You can hold a whole track and field meet there. Running, throwing, jumping – you can do it all." Zave smoothed a hand over his braids. "It's a great place, but it does take time to get there, especially when driving conditions make the bus drivers cautious."

"What about cross-country?" By now they had reached the locker room. Alan swiped his ID badge through the device on his locker, and the light on it turned green. He pulled the door open to reach his clothes.

"They usually come up with something, even plowing an outdoor route if necessary." The older boy shrugged. "Cross-country usually gets suspended or canceled when the weather turns really bad."

Alan made a sour face. "That stinks."

"Yeah, I agree." Pulling out his school uniform, Zave headed for the showers. "But it's better to suspend it than risk a major injury." He turned to point at Alan. "And speaking of stinking..."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Alan closed his locker door with an elbow, as his hands were busy carrying his uniform. "I get the message."

The cottony. light gray clouds grew darker as the snow turned to rain later in the day, disappointing all the students, and not a few of the staff. Walking back from classes, hunched snugly in his warm coat, Fermat noticed from afar that the old oak seemed to be ringed with bright yellow. As he got closer, he realized why. Mr. Magnuson and Mr. Culp had set up a series of the tall spikes around the tree, far out from the trunk, enclosing the length of the longest branches. Bright yellow nylon rope had been threaded through the eye-like openings, and a long strip of "Caution: Do Not Enter" tape had been fastened to the rope. Spikes had been driven into the ground on both sides of Maplewood's entry stairs, making it impossible to get into the dorm that way without entering the protective circle. There was also a sign hung on the rope just before the staircase, telling all and sundry to "Use Side Entrance". There was no sign of the fallen branch.

He sighed, and shifted his backpack to a more comfortable position. I'm not looking forward to lugging my stuff all the way down to the elevator, but I guess it can't be helped. Glancing back up at the tree, he tried to make out if any of the remaining limbs were covered with fungus and lichen as the fallen one had been. The rain and snow darkened the oak's bark, making it difficult to see anything in the muted light. As he climbed the steps to the side door, he thought, I wonder when the experts will get here, or if they've already been and gone. I expect there are lots more branches like that one. I just hope they don't have to take the whole thing down. It'd be a shame to lose such a beautiful old tree like that.