Chapter 2:

Tennis Anyone?

A Brave Idiot

Though the room across the hall had near double the space, John had chosen the smallest room
on the second floor as his. The captains bed occupied the entire wall beneath the window, his
dresser half the wall the door opened into, and clothes and miscellaneous wrappers most of the
floor, leaving only the wall opposite the dresser free. His small closet held unsteady stacks of
books and graphic novels, most of which were fantasy. He didnt need a television; he used the
set in the room across the hall for his gaming, and the one downstairs for his movie premieres.
At first, anyone would say that the small room didnt suit the needs of one such as John.
But, minds quickly changed when shown the reason he chose the room.
There was a door next to the closet. It opened to a staircase, the walls decorated with
sketches of characters from his movies, past present and future, used and unused, heroes on the
right, villains and anti-heroes on the left, not an open space left on either side. The stairs turned,
leading into a prop room, which looked more like an armory, containing a wide array of
weapons, most handmade and all realistic. Behind a closed door to the left was the costume
closet, a full size room with racks of outfits, sorted from Down to Earth to A New Reality.
All the magic, however, happened at the computer beside the window. Cases of empty recording
DVDs littered the floor around it, and a shelf of camcorders, from his first to the ones he used
today, hung over it, not a speck of dust anywhere to be seen.

At the moment, there was no magic. Of course, if asked, John would claim hes hard at
work. In reality, he was shutting himself away so no one could see through his happy exterior to
his sad inner core, like he always did on those rare occasions when his smile faded.
Why did Alex have to leave? He knew everyone would go their separate ways in
September. John wanted to spend as much time with everyone as he could, make every moment
count, not sit around and mope, watching good times from the past on the computer. Not even
music from his mp3 player brightened his mood; it contained the perfect mix of everything, but it
seemed to want to play all of his downbeat songs. So he sat, browsing his library of videos from
over the years.
Was it wrong of John to want Alex to have stayed? His grandmother deserved some time
with him, too, which was hard for her to come by living on the tip of Long Island, practically in
the Atlantic. As John debated this point with himself, he opened a video, dated spring eight years
ago, the day he and Alex became friends.
Johns family had just moved to their house in Rego Park, which meant a new school.
His love for all things fantastic had always put him in the spotlight when it came to any written
reports; true, they were supposed to be factual papers, and they were, but with his own spin on
things. At his old school, everyone wanted to hear him read what he wrote. At his old school,
half the class wanted to play with him in the schoolyard, knowing hed have a story for them all
to act out. At his old school, he was well liked, but didnt have any actual friends. They only
liked him for his stories, which he enjoyed very much, but if he didnt have one, he spent recess
alone. When he changed schools, he kept his stories to himself, saving them for when he needed
to write for class. Unfortunately, he knew no other way to attract attention, so he ended up alone.
During his second week, he got fed up with being silent and introduced himself to a

random kid at his lunch table: Alex. An angry kid back then, Alex ignored John. But John
persisted, following Alex around the schoolyard, walking with him after school, joining in
conversations he was having with other students. Each time, he either responded with silence
and an intense glare, or a fierce put down. Once, his limit breached, he shoved John hard and
shouted.
Why wont you leave me alone? Cant you take a hint? I dont like you!
John left Alex alone after that.
A few days later, a day off from school, John was walking around his new neighborhood
with the camcorder he had received for his birthday, looking for a star for his first movie. He
found himself at the schoolyard, next to the stairs leading in, camera focused on a praying
mantis. A very still praying mantis. A praying mantis that did a good impression of a statue.
What a lame star for his first movie; but, he didnt see anything else around to shoot.
Then he heard shouts from behind him. Thinking he finally had something worthwhile,
he aimed his camera to the source of the disturbance
and watched Alex roll down the stairs. Two older kids, probably in the sixth grade,
jumped down after him. One had spiked, blonde hair; the other, the apparent leader of the pair,
kept his brown hair in a ponytail.
John put his camera down and rushed to help Alex; he had scrapes on his hands and face,
and his nose bled.
Dont help him! The kid with the ponytail, dubbed PT by John afterward, pulled John
up by his shirt and pushed him away. We saw how he treated you in school. He doesnt
deserve your sympathy.
Yeah! The spiky-haired kid, later called Spike, kicked Alex in the stomach. You

should be glad he got what he deserves.

John shoved Spike out of the way. Who deserves this?
Why are you protecting him?
Thats what friends do: protect each other from scum like you.
From there, John couldnt remember anything that happened. He knew that one of the
two punched him, and his head landed on his camera, breaking it. The next thing he knew, he
was waking up at home, nursing a fat lip and a gash on his forehead, not wearing socks or shoes
or a shirt. Alex whispered with Tom and Lena outside the room. When John asked about his
missing clothes, Alex said they were damaged beyond repair from the scuffle with Spike and
PT. The next day, Alex showed up at the door, a brand new camcorder in hand, the exact same
model as the broken one. John later found it already had a clip on it:
Youre an idiot, you know that, right? Alex shook his head, then looked straight ahead,
at the camera, at John. His nose still had traces of blood, and band-aids covered each of the cuts
on his face. A brave idiot. What made you think you can take two bigger kids by yourself? No
what made you step in and defend me? I treated you like shit! If it had been me, Id have
helped those two, or at least thanked them. He looked away. I guess thats one difference
between us. He turned back to the camera. I found out a few things about you today. Under
different circumstances, Id probably put as much distance between me and you as possible. But
I owe you. Ive probably bitten off more than I can chew, but Im gonna be there for you. Youll
need me one day. Alex stood up and left the view. He came back a second later. Oh yeah, one
more thing. Thank you. And if you ever do anything that stupid again, Ill kick the crap out of
you myself. He got up again, then the screen turned black.
It was this video that John watched whenever things between himself and Alex got rocky.

It reminded him how much Alex cared, no matter how tough he acted, no matter how far apart
they drifted.
An instant message window popped up, stopping him from watching it again.
RCMysteryInk. Randall Chipper, Johns second friend in Rego Park. Two years ago, he moved
to Pennsylvania to take over his uncles detective office and use the experience to write mystery
novels, hence the screen name.
RCMysteryInk: hey
John always chided Randall about the plain black text he used. Too boring. Johns text
never stayed the same for too long. Today, his text was a bright green.
Kick(butt)Movies: howdy, doody. you should change youre font
RCMysteryInk: and you should learn the difference between youre and your
Kick(butt)Movies: oops
RCMysteryInk: whats going on lately?
John recapped the events from earlier that day, putting heavy emphasis on his distrust of
The Mental Prybar in a Business Suit, but left out how Tom turned as meek as a kitten. No one
else will know about that until Alex knows.
RCMysteryInk: you dont have any other info on the guy?
Kick(butt)Movies: he has some sort of connection with alexs grandmother, and
the college alex will be going to...i dont know anything else
RCMysteryInc: its not much to go on, but ill see what I can dig up
RCMysteryInc: in the mean time, stop moping in front of the computer screen
and do what you do best

Kick(butt)Movies: cant film any more scenes if im short a star

RCMysteryInk: not that...go play tennis: knowing you, theres no one left worth
facing at your (<proper usage) usual spots, so why not go where my uncle used to
go?
Kick(butt)Movies: wheres that?
RCMysteryInk: 116 street on the 1 train: walk a block to riverside park and go
right
RCMysteryInk: youll find it soon enough
John typed his see-ya-laters to Randall (he hated using the word goodbye unless he
knew hed never talk to or see the person gain), and ran downstairs, skipping every other step.
He ran back up to grab a camcorder, his pocket-sized Small Wonder. He changed into a pair of
cargo shorts, self-modified to have a zipper to close the right-leg pocket instead of velcro, as the
left side had, and tucked the camera away. People kept calling it a dangerous place to keep an
expensive piece of equipment. What if he fell? The six ounce camera would never survive the
impact. True, but he never lost his footing during a match. What about pickpockets? He never
went into detail about that to anybody not Alex, but no one can touch without him noticing.
He kept his rackets clipped to a backpack, three to a side. When asked why he needed
six, he gave as many answers: so others can play if he went alone; since each racket was
different, by weight or by string tension, or by material, he could practice for any situation; he
wanted one more, so he could have one for each day of the week; because six is better than five;
because its cooler that way; and, Johns favorite, why not? Hed buy more, but each new one
needed a new reason for being there, and he hasnt yet come up with anything good.
He heaved the bag onto his back, making a mental note to lighten the load (rackets

excluded), and left.

*** *** ***

Nature, Sweet and Sour

Riko breathed in. He detected three, maybe four different species of flower around him, only a
trace of the tennis courts recent coat of paint, and a fresh pile of dog droppings not far from
where he lay. If he concentrated on just the flowers, he could eliminate the other scents
completely, but he chose not to. He always wanted a reminder of where he lived so he wouldnt
get too attached; his true home doesnt have any nauseating smells. And the sounds! Everything
in this city made noise, some loud enough to make someone like him go deaf. Over time,
however, he learned to tune out all unnecessary sounds, as he assumed everyone else did.
He breathed in again, putting his surroundings out of his mind. There was only him, and
the ground on which he lay. He could feel movement around him: the thumps of tennis balls as
they landed; the pounding of feet running from side to side; the skittering of a colony of insects
hard at work. Deeper, wider. Creatures scampered about in the train tunnel under the park. A
bicycle skidded to a halt at the entrance to the courts, its rider hopping off and bounding to the
bathroom. A critter dug into the ground, but ran away when a dog barked at it, up into a tree
within arms reach of Riko. He slid his arm to it, laid his hand at its base
and marveled at the sensation of life running into him! It had a pulse, it breathed, and
grew, though at a pace so incremental only those with his training would notice. Whats more,
thousands more creatures lived inside it and in its branches. The otherwise unnoticed movement

mimicked the hustle and bustle of a city. Combined with the actual city around him, the feeling
was euphoric. Life went on all around him, and he could feel so much of it, yet so little. He
reached for his wrist with his free hand, felt for the band he wore, the reason he couldnt feel as
much as he wanted to.
Hi!
And with one sudden word, it all vanished in a heartbeat. Riko sighed and pushed
himself up into a sitting position. Hello. He tried to keep his voice free of disappointment,
though glad for the interruption. He nearly got carried away.
Flowers and grass rustled as the youthlate teens, judging by his voicestepped around
Riko and sat down in front of him with barely a thud. No one to play with? the youth asked.
Riko nudged his tennis bag with his foot. My partner canceled on me earlier. I came
just to enjoy nature. The bag is a formality.
Arent you in the wrong place to enjoy nature?
Youd be surprised.
Nothing surprises me.
I doubt that.
Wanna play me?
Makes me wonder why you sat down. Riko grabbed his bag. Sure. Lets go.

Earth, Wind, and Tennis

Riko followed his opponent onto their court, running a hand along the chain-link fence.

Other matches raged on either side of them, the bouncing of the balls and the thumping of the
feet only pausing for a few seconds between points. Guttural grunts and forceful shouts
proceeded and succeeded hollow thwacks as rackets met balls. Perspiration wafted through the
air, mixing with the nauseating scent of the paint on the hard surface below. It caused his head to
hurt.
As he dropped his bag by the fence, he breathed in: along with paint and sweat, he picked
out the flowers he laid in before, the leafy smells of trees and grass, and the river to the west. He
concentrated on the flowers, and sneezed the other scents away.
The wind changed from a gentle breeze to a fierce gust. Some players around him
paused and waited for it to pass. Those in the middle of a point tried to keep going, but most
failed because of the suddenness of it. Riko, on the other hand, knew how to use the air around
him to his advantage, similar to how he felt the movement on the ground. Legally, it would be
considered cheating if anyone knew he did this, and its accuracy, but he didnt do it to gain an
edge over an opponent. As the gust died down, matches resumed play. Riko, two of his abilities
now active, readied himself, poising himself to serve from the corner of the court.
Ready? he called to his opponent, who had introduced himself as John Goodcard
earlier.
Bring it! Enthusiastic kid. Probably competitive by nature.
Riko raised his racket and tossed the ball up. He sensed it fly through the air, up to his
preferred service height, then swung his racket. It connected on top and on the right side of the
ball: a direct hit, meant for power rather than spin. The ball shot through the air, slamming
exactly where he wanted it to be, and bounced high and away from the court. John somehow
was ready and waiting for it; he hit the ball back with more force than Riko thought possible on a

service return, and with impeccable aim as it hit the opposite side of the court, far out of reach.
Love, fifteen, John said.
Huh. Riko didnt expect this. Normally, he played with people like himself, able to do
things others cant. He would know if this kid had anything like that. Could John just be that
good? Riko felt himself growing more excited about the match as he set himself up for the next
serve.
He tossed the ball up. This time, he hit not on the top, but across it, giving it enough spin
to land directly in the center of the court and away from where John should have been standing.
Unfortunately, John had begun moving as the racket made contact with the ball, giving him
ample time to be close enough to the ball as it came his way to at least put it back over the net. It
came back slow, and Riko felt it spinning backward rather than forward; when it lands, itll
bounce in a supposedly unexpected direction. Both players ran: John centered on his side of the
court; Riko to where he expected the ball to go after it bounced. Only as the ball hit the ground
did Riko realize what John had done.
John had changed hands before returning the shot. Having only played right-handed
players, Riko didnt know if changing hands would cause the ball to spin differently, or if more
or less power was put into the shot, or any other of a hundred variables. Caught off guard, the
ball bounced away from him, giving him less than a second to turn around and volley the ball
back over. It flew high; Johns feet left the ground; the ball whizzed by Rikos ear at a dangerous
speed, bouncing just behind him and out of reach.
Love, thirty.
When playing people different from himself, Riko payed little attention to the person,
only the movements of his or her feet on the ground. Even those like himself rarely changed

hands in the middle of a point unless crucial to keeping the ball in play. John, on the other hand,
had ample time to think about what he wanted to do. If he even thought about it; for all Riko
knew, John could be showing off. Doubtful. This kid knew what he was doing, and Riko
intended to give him the best tennis he could muster in his current form.

*** *** ***

Why Alex Wanted to Leave Earlier

Alex wondered how long it had been since leaving earlier that afternoon while watching the
holiday traffic out his window crawl an inch every minute. He knew traffic would be slow and
had warned Duncan and asked if they could be on the road by seven that morning. Instead, here
they were, not even past the exit for Flushing Meadows Park and CitiField. Especially CitiField;
the Subway Series wrapped up today, and both the Mets and Yankees had a game apiece.
"Why so quiet?" Duncan asked. "Surely, you wouldn't want to spend the next several
hours in silence?"
"Hasn't it been several hours already?" Alex hoped the ferocity in his voice would be
enough to keep Duncan silent.
"You'll be home before you know it. That's surely the reason you're so upset. Who was
that boy you were with earlier? He the reason you're so glum?"
"No!" Mostly it was Rose he missed. He knew the distance between them would be
permanent soon and wanted to be with her every waking moment of every day until then.
However, deep down, someplace he'd deny existed to anyone, he did miss John's antics.

"There's something intriguing about that boy."

A red flag went up in his head. Why the sudden interest in John? "He's about the most
ordinary person you'll never meet."
"Why do you say that?"
"Why do you need to know?"
"Surely, you can ask him, on my behalf, to have lunch with me sometime?"
"Surely, he doesn't play on that side of the street."
"I think he would be a stellar addition to our school."
Fed up with Duncan's incessant prying about John, Alex turned to face him, ready to
berate him about boundaries and how John would sooner take a swan dive from the Empire State
Building than go near any place with "law" in the name. A second too late, he remembered
John's admonition about making eye contact with Duncan and keeping his mind closed, whatever
that meant. Once he met Duncan's gaze, he felt as if his brain was is a death grip while a knife
sliced away at the rotten bits.
As he blacked out, he realized what John meant.

*** *** ***

Another Piece Falls Into Place

Duncan regretted forcing his way into young Alex's mind, but having failed with the other boy
earlier in the afternoon, drastic measures were needed. He already knew Alex would be essential
for his plan, but the discovery of the other boy---Alex's friend, no less---could prove problematic.

After delving into Alex's memories, learning all he could about John, he began working out the
details of a new plan in his head.
His cell phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket and flipped it open. "Yes?"
"We got it, but there's a problem."
"Surely, you did everything as instructed?"
"Yeah, but the bastard swallowed it, and the place flooded too quickly for us to finish the
job."
Duncan nearly slammed his fist into the steering wheel, but managed to force his anger
away. If the crystal is inside someone, it'll leech their energies until there's nothing left and
destroy itself unless it finds a new source immediately. The situation, though dire, was far from
impossible. Anger would get him nowhere. "Check the listings for medical services that can
cater to our kinds. Surely, there's at least one near our Manhattan location. In the meantime, I'll
have no choice but to return." He disconnected the call, then dialed his employers' number. "It's
me. I'll have to make a few adjustments to the plan."
He forced his car into the exit lane as he spoke. He made sure to leave out the discovery
of John, though; as far as they knew, the boy died nearly twenty years ago.

*** *** ***

Strings of Destiny

Riko dueled John at the net, each meeting the other swing for swing, barely a second
between thwacks as the ball passed between them. Whispers of astonishment traveled around the

court, wondering how what they saw was possible. Riko himself wondered the same. The whole
point was to get the ball past your opponent, yet John kept hitting it back, and with his
considerable amount of skill, this couldnt be accidental. John wanted to prolong the point. But
why?
One thought too many. The ball got around him. Game, set, match: John. The crowd
cheered, a few people shouting for John to become a professional player, all equally excited for
him. Buried within, Riko heard some compliments for himself, being a great competitor, also
worthy of being a pro, but most of the praise went to the alarming show of skill from the young
man that can use his racket with either hand.
All Riko could do was stand there, awed and stoic, tennis gone from his mind. John
Goodcard. A regular human being. But not a regular human being. Familiar somehow. Why?
Those thoughts repeated themselves in Rikos mind, over and over, as if the repetition would
uncover at least a trace of reason.
Riko?
Trapped in his own thoughts, Riko tended to ignore his surroundings; Johns sudden
speech caught him off-guard. He took his hand away from his wrist and let go of his abilities.
Sorry. Miles away.
Come back so I can congratulate you.
Riko found himself caught off-guard again. For what? I lost.
Who cares? That was the best Ive played in ages!
Huh. Good sportsman. Thanks. Youre actually the first person to beat me in two
years.
Glad to be of service.

Service?
I thought it might not happen once or twice.
How so?
It took me a while to get anything past you once you got moving. Youre as fast as a
fox.
Um... Riko dismissed that last comment as coincidence.
I should come this way more often. We need to play each other again.
Sure. Riko held out his hand. John shook it once.
Well, see ya! John walked away, a bit faster than the pace in which he had walked onto
the court earlier, his rackets clacking against each other as he moved.
Again, Riko stood, awed and stoic. His hand barely touched Johns, but in that moment,
he felt an amazing, overwhelming energy from within the boy. For a human to have such
incredible Spirit, something which is rare among those like Riko even, its unthinkable. And it
nagged at his memory, telling him that he knows theres something more to this than whats on
the surface, but he couldnt think of what it might be. The only thing he was certain of: he would
definitely see John again.
Well, sort of.

*** *** ***

Blank

When Alex woke, the car was exiting the highway onto Woodhaven Boulevard. Though glad to

be out of the traffic jam, something felt...off. He couldn't remember much of anything beyond
climbing into Duncan's car. Here was a conversation about...something...Alex got mad over it,
then...nothing. One thing definitely stuck out in his mind, however: John's warning. "Keep your
eyes away and your mind closed." Alex's mind felt scrambled and it happened around Duncan. It
wasn't concrete, but that was proof enough that John knew what he was talking about.
"Finally awake, I see." Duncan slid his cell phone into his pocket. "You were
complaining of a headache earlier. Surely, that little nap helped alleviate the pain."
"Yeah..." As if on cue, he rubbed at a dull throbbing on the side of his head.
"I'd rather not take any chances, should you become ill again. I turned back and will drop
you off at your friend's. Your grandmother already knows. I have some aspirin in the glove
compartment if you like."
"I'm fine." Aspirin sounded great, but he didn't want anything else to do with Duncan. A
change of schools was in order. So was a carefully worded apology to both his mother and
grandmother.
"I wonder if your friend is home?"