🚀 go-pugleaf

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               PARIAH #13: "GYM CLASS OF CHAMPIONS"
         Copyright 1994, Greg Fishbone, all rights reserved.

  Permission is hereby granted to disseminate or reproduce this
  work via electronic means only, for entertainment purposes only,
  and only if all attributions and headers remain in place and the
  text of the work (including attributions and headers) is not
  altered in any way.  Any reproduction of this work for profit of
  any form is strictly forbidden without the express written
  permission of Greg Fishbone.  Hard copy reproduction is limited
  to single copies printed for the use of the user only, and
  cannot be mass produced or disseminated in any way.  All other
  rights not specifically referred to in this notice are reserved
  to Greg Fishbone.  "Space Moose" is a trademark belonging to
  Daniel Pawtowski.  "Three Guys and a Lemming" is a trademark
  belonging to Yvonne Bennett.  "Listerine" is a trademark
  belonging to the Warner-Lambert Company.  "Pariah", "Wilcox
  Township", "Worlds Apart", "Super Seven", and all character
  names used in this story are trademarks belonging to Greg
  Fishbone, who reserves all rights to their use.  Feedback to
  fishbone@astro.ocis.temple.edu is always appreciated, even the
  critical nit-picky stuff, though I prefer unqualified praise.
  Also available at your request is a copy of "THE STORY SO FAR"
  in capsulized format.  (You betcha!)


   "You didn't have to come all the way out to take the bus with
me," said Phil, as he and Becky-Sue walked down the school's main
hallway to the lockers.
   "I wanted to.  Besides, it was only a few miles out of my way.
Here, this one's mine."
   "You don't have a lock on your locker?"
   "I used to, but one day I was in a bit of a hurry to get to
class..."  She opened the locker and removed a lump of twisted
metal for Phil to examine.
   "Man!  This is one of those bulletproof locks, and you crushed
it like this by *accident*?"
   "I guess I'm stronger than a speeding bullet," she shrugged.
"You'd be amazed at some of the things I've done by accident.
What I wouldn't give to be normal again!"
   "Done," said Phil, putting his hand on her bare arm.  "Feel
better?"
   "Much."
   "What else do you have in here?" asked Phil, peering into the
locker.  "Extra shoes, books, and--  What's this?  Comic books?"
   "I need *something* to read during study periods." she said,
defensively.  "I like to think about what it would be like to live
in a world like that, where there are more people like me.  I
don't think I could ever be a superhero or anything, but at least
I'd be able to find a good support group.  Do you read comics?"
   "Not since I was a little kid.  After I discovered baseball
cards, I never had much money left for anything else."  Phil
flipped through the pile of comics with some interest.  "*Two Guys
and a Lemming*?"
   "Yeah, that's one of the newer series from Superguy Comics --
my favorite imprint.  They put out some pretty silly stuff, but
most of it is really entertaining."
   "I'll take your word for it.  What's the deal with this issue
of *Space Moose*?  Why is there a bottle of mouthwash on the
cover?"
   "Read the book and find out.  My theory is that the author is
getting kickbacks from Listerine."
   "Product placement," said Phil, with a sad shake of his head.
"First we get it in movies and television, and now even comic
books!  Where will it end?"
   "Here, I think you'll like these," said Becky-Sue, handing Phil
three more books that were carefully sealed in plastic.  "*Worlds
Apart*, it's a miniseries from the guy who does the *Super Seven*
books, and it's incredibly well written -- at least I think so.
I'd lend you some *Industrial Revolution* stuff as well, but it's
a pretty involved crossover series and you'd have a lot of
catching up to do.  Heck, sometimes it seemed like the authors
were confused about what was going on!"
   Phil took the short stack of comics that Becky-Sue selected for
him, and the two of them moved on to his locker.  "What's your
first class today?" he asked.
   "Whatever your first class is."
   "How does *that* work?"
   "They don't care," she told him.  "I can skip classes, drop in
on other classes, or stop going to school entirely, and nobody
ever says anything about it.  And they still give me passing
grades, no matter how I do on the tests.  It's one of the few
perks that makes my life worth living.  I really don't take
advantage of it as often as I could, and I don't feel like going
to math first thing in the morning, so..."
   "So you'll go with me to my first class."
   "Unless you don't want me to."
   "Oh, I definitely want you to," he said with an almost evil
smirk.  "Now, which way to the gym?"
   Becky-Sue was horrified.  "The gym?"
   Phil showed her his schedule card.  "First period, physical
education.  Come on, it's down this way, right?"
   "But I don't go to gym class anymore," she protested.  "I don't
even have gym clothes with me!"
   "Borrow some."  She scowled at him.  "I was just thinking that
with your powers, you could be the greatest athlete in history --
just pick a sport!  Slam-dunks from half-court, fastballs nobody
can touch, marathons completed in fifteen minutes--"
   "More like seven, six if I really push myself."
   "Really?  Wow!"
   "Faster than a raging locomotive..."
   "Anyway, you get the picture.  You can run faster, jump higher,
and throw farther than anyone else in the world!  If a mediocre
athlete can make a million dollars a year in professional sports,
*you* could be a billionaire!"
   "You would think so, wouldn't you?  Unfortunately, I don't have
any of the natural instincts you need to compete in sports.  I
can't figure out the rules for most of these games, sometimes I
even have trouble figuring out which team I'm on, and I have a
tendency to injure people and break the equipment.  All the
strength and speed in the world couldn't turn someone like me into
an athlete!  Besides, even if I could play sports it would be like
cheating to use an unfair advantage that nobody else has."
   "That's your inferiority complex talking again," he told her.
"You can do anything you put your mind to, including sports.  I'm
sure that all you need is a little practice."
   "Okay," she sighed, "I'll give it another try -- but don't say
I didn't warn you!"  They walked on for a few minutes before
coming to a hallway decorated with faded black and white
photographs of high school sports teams, and an empty trophy case.
The boys' and girls' locker rooms were on different sides of the
hall, so Phil parted from Becky-Sue with a few final words of
encouragement.
   As Phil entered the boys' locker room, all conversation
stopped.  "As you were," he snapped, like a military commander,
and the other boys seemed to almost fall over each other in their
haste to follow his order.  It gave Phil a strange, but pleasant
feeling of power.
   "So, you're Phil Richardson," boomed a muscular oak tree of a
man with a shiny bald head.  "I'm Mr. Waite, Director of the
Physical Education Department here at Wilcox High."
   "Pleased to meet you, sir," said Phil, extending his hand,
which Mr. Waite eagerly accepted with a crushing grip.
   "I hear tell you beat Becky-Sue Tyler at arm-wrestling.  That's
quite an accomplishment, something I would have never thought
possible."
   "You should have seen how surprised *she* was," said Phil, and
the big man bubbled with laughter.  "Which locker is mine?"
   "Here," said Mr. Waite, handing Phil a blue card.  "That's your
locker and combination, and--"  He shifted nervously from one foot
to the other.  "--I have another locker for you in the team room--
That is, if you want to join any of our school teams."
   "Me?  Yes, of course, you think..."  They were all watching him
now, at least out of the corners of their eyes.
   "Phil--  May I call you Phil?"
   "Uh, yeah.  That's my name, sir."
   Mr. Waite laughed.  "Phil, Wilcox Township is not exactly what
you would call a hotbed of athletic talent.  Basketball, baseball,
football, hockey...  None of our teams have had a winning season
in recent memory.  But with a single gifted athlete--"
   "I'm not Gifted, I'm Charmed," said Phil, earnestly.  "Now
Becky-Sue, *she's* Gifted."
   "Whatever," said Mr. Waite, smiling indulgently and walking
away.
   _He'll see the diference soon enough,_ Phil thought, as he
finished changing and followed the other boys outside.  _Who has
more power, the person who has super-human abilities or the one
who can take them away with a touch?_  There was no easy answer.
   The game was co-ed field hockey.  Mr. Waite was surprised to
see Becky-Sue in the class, and in the spirit of fairness and
professional curiosity he decided to make her and Phil captains of
the two opposting teams.  "I'm a captain?" Becky-Sue asked.  "Like
on Star Trek?"
   "You really don't know much about sports, do you?" Phil asked.
   "Captains, choose your teams," said Mr. Waite.  Phil looked up
and down the row of students, judging their athletic potential and
trying to remember a single one of their names.
   "Chrissy," said Becky-Sue, using her first pick.
   "Ummm...  You," said Phil, pointing his finger.
   "Tom."
   "Uh, you."
   "Wilbur."
   "Let's see...  How about you..."
   Soon the teams were picked, and Phil and Becky-Sue met at
midfield with their sticks for the first drop of the ball.  "Good
luck," said Phil, reaching out to shake Becky-Sue's hand.
   "Ow!  Don't squeeze so hard!"
   "Sorry," said Phil with a mischeivous smirk.  "I thought I'd
get in one last psychological jab before you completely embarass
me on the field.
   Becky-Sue looked at her hand and slowly wiggled her fingers.
"Pain...  It's been a long time since I felt that.  Thanks!"  Phil
gave her a questioning look.  "You're not really human if you
can't feel any pain," she explained.
   "Phil!"  He looked over to see the gym teacher, his face pale
with shock, waving to him with a white index card.  "This is for
you."
   Phil accepted the card and carefully read the neatly penned
lettering.  "I'll be right back," he announced, starting back
toward the school.
   "Phil?" asked Becky-Sue.  "What's wrong?"
   "Nothing, just start the game without me."
   "But what do I do?"
   "Hit the ball into the net.  As many times as you can."
   "*Which* net, Phil?  The one on this side of the field or the
other one?"
   Phil shook his head in consternation, hoping that Becky-Sue was
only joking about not being able to figure out which goal to shoot
at.  After all, nobody could be *that* bad at sports.  He stepped
into the building, and ten minutes later located the room listed
on the card.  The classroom lights came on when he opened the
door, and Phil could see that the room was unoccupied, except for
a single figure sitting at the teacher's desk.
   "Come on in, boy," said the man, with a slight twinkle in his
eyes.  "We haven't got all day, you know -- and shut that door
behind you."  As before, Phil found himself strangely compelled to
do what Judge Parker ordered of him.