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Message-ID: <50033asstr$1104304206@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Gina Marie Wylie" <gmwylie98260@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Spitfire and Messerschmitt Ch 24 {Gina Marie Wylie} (teen, mff, voy, cons
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Date: Wed, 29 Dec 2004 02:10:06 -0500
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<1st attachment, "Davey Ch 24.doc" begin>

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

	The following is fiction of an adult nature.  If I believed in
setting age limits for things, you'd have to be eighteen to read
this and I'd never have bothered to write it.  IMHO, if you can
read and enjoy, then you're old enough to read and enjoy.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

	All persons here depicted are figments of my imagination and any
resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly a blunder on my
part.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

	Official stuff:  Story codes: teen, mff, , voy, cons.

	If stories like this offend you, you will offend ME if you read
further and complain. Copyright 2004, by Gina Marie Wylie.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

	I can be reached at gmwylie98260@hothothotmail.com, at least if
you remove some of the hots.  All comments and reasoned
discussion welcome.

Below is my site on ASSTR:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Gina_Marie_Wylie/www/

My stories are also posted on StoriesOnline:
http://Storiesonline.net/

And on Electronic Wilderness Publishing:
http://www.ewpub.org/

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Spitfire and Messerschmitt

Chapter 24 :: Tentacles Enter the Plot

Mercedes, Shellie and I walked to my house after school.  It's
not really that far, a little more than a mile, and we talked
about nothing important.  All of us, I was sure, were thinking
about what was going to happen when we got there.

The family room was straightened up, although I'd heard that Mom
was going to replace the carpet instead of having it shampooed. 
Well, the carpet was getting kind of old.  Still, we didn't pause
there, just passed through.  Inside my room, books were put down,
and then there was nothing but each other.

Mercedes kissed me, using her tongue.  She wrapped her arms
around me and hugged me tightly, and I hugged back, enjoying the
press of her body against mine.  After a couple of minutes she
pulled back and smiled at me.  "Are you okay with this, Davey?"

"I'm okay with it if Shellie is okay with it."

Mercedes turned to Shellie, who was standing silently, watching
us.

"Is it okay, Shellie?"

She smiled shyly.  "I don't know.  Two weeks ago having Davey
speak to me was the biggest thing in my life.  When he stood up
for me... I didn't care about anything rational or reasonable.  I
wanted to make love to him.  I thought I was dreaming, that it
couldn't happen.  But it did happen.  So many nice things have
happened to me since school started.  I think about Davey and
realize that maybe it hasn't been all that nice."  She reached up
and stroked the right side of my face, not touching my ear.

"Shellie, I used to be terrified at the thought of calling up a
girl and asking her out.  I met Mercedes and after that, it
didn't seem like that big a deal at all.  Then I met you and I
wonder whatever I could have been thinking.  No one, Shellie, is
as lucky as me.  Maybe there have been a few bumps in the road,
but I don't mind.  I have you; I have Mercedes.

"Maybe we aren't the typical high school sweethearts, but I don't
care about that.  I want to make you happy, I want to make
Mercedes happy."

"And I want to make love to you Shellie," Mercedes told her. 
"Like Davey says, though, it's something you have to want... but
you don't have to want it as much as me, because I have it pretty
bad right now, girl!  I love Davey, but I love you, too.  And I
want to kiss you and hold you and love you... I want to see you
smile when you come, and I want to see the goofy look on Davey's
face when he watches us together.

"But only if it's what you want."

"For a long time, I never thought about myself when it came to
being happy.  I thought I'd meet someone I liked and we'd do
those things people do when they make love and I hoped I'd like
it.  Davey made love to me, Mercedes.  He made me happy; I know I
made him happy, too, but I never expected it would be so
wonderful for me.  I'm totally spoiled."

It was Shellie who stepped forward and pulled Mercedes to her,
and leaned in to kiss her.  I smiled at that.  I'd noticed that
when it actually came time for things to happen, Shellie could be
counted on to get things started.  She might be shy, but once she
set her mind on something, she made it happen.

I watched Mercedes undoing Shellie's blouse, and then her own. 
But it was Shellie who undid Mercedes' jeans and pushed them
down.  Then the two women I loved so much were touching each
other, running their fingers over each other's bodies.  I smiled
to myself.  It was really true; Shellie had a shy facade she put
out to the world, but inside, she had an iron will and steel
determination.

She'd learned Japanese on her own.  She was acting in movies! 
Sure, it was a cartoon, but that was Shellie speaking those lines
in the one I'd heard.  She was a magnificent artist.  And she was
getting Mercedes' undivided attention when she leaned down and
kissed one of Mercedes' breasts.

In one sense, it was enormously frustrating watching the two of
them make love, with my only participation my eyeballs and my
mind.  On the other hand, it was the sexiest thing I'd ever seen
in my life.  I wanted them, but I wanted to watch as well.  And
when Mercedes moved to go down on Shellie, it was all of what had
gone before and more.

From where I was, I could watch the intent expression on Mercedes
face as she licked and sucked; I could see Shellie's head
twisting and her hips bucking against her lover's tongue.  Did I
look like that when I was going down on Wanda or Mercedes? 
Shellie?  I knew Wanda had liked it enough to let me do it over
and over again until she was too sore to go on.

Shellie let out a groan, and she bucked even harder, crying out
in her pleasure.  Mercedes had a big grin on her face, and she
pushed back and brought Shellie to another climax.

I might have just been watching, but I was dizzy and breathless
like it had been me loving or being loved.  Shellie reached down
and dragged Mercedes back up and they kissed again, and I could
see their tongues twisting against each other.  And then Shellie
had her finger inside Mercedes and it was my Spitfire's turn on
the spit, as she twisted and writhed, enjoying every second of
her delicious torment.

For a moment, they were hard to watch; there were just too many
hormones in the room and they were both coming again and I very
nearly shot off in my jeans without doing anything but watching.

They collapsed into each other's arms, hugging and kissing, but
taking their time now, going slower.  Mercedes looked up at one
point and grinned at me.  "Why are you still dressed, boy?"

I started to say something, and realized my throat was too dry to
talk.  Instead, I began pulling off my clothes.  Mercedes had
something else in mind, something I hadn't expected.  She
positioned Shellie closer to the headboard, then moved down and
started going down on Shellie again, this time her backside
wiggling in the air.

After a few seconds Mercedes turned to me and wiggled her butt
again.  "Surely, about now, you're getting some ideas."

I mentally gulped.  I'd had ideas for some time, but that idea
hadn't made the list.  I moved closer while she bent back to
making Shellie come.  I pressed my erection against her, trying
to guide it carefully where it belonged.  She was wet and slick
from her juices and Shellie's saliva.  I didn't have any trouble
entering her.

It was a new angle, unusual and exotic.  But sexy.  Oh gosh was
it sexy!

All three of us were getting pretty worked up; Shellie was
panting rapidly, soft moans and cries of passion.  Mercedes was
getting to be quite a handful, trying to stay where I wanted to
stay wasn't easy.  But I was thrusting in and out at a rapid
pace.

I came first, but that seemed to push Mercedes over as well as
she lifted up her head from her full meal deal and moaned even
louder than Shellie.  Shellie had been using both hands to rub
her own breasts, now one quickly snaked down to where Mercedes
had been licking a second before and I saw her finger tip rubbing
her clit.  It didn't take much, and Shellie came as well.

Mercedes moved forward, pulling away from me, cuddling up to
Shellie.

Shellie wrapped her arms around Mercedes and looked at me.  "I
can't begin to tell you two how happy I am to have met both of
you."

"You don't think I'm too weird?" Mercedes asked.

I sat down on the bed, and Shellie took my hand.  Mercedes
wiggled and ended up in the crook of Shellie's other arm, looking
at me.  I reached across and took one of Mercedes' hands.

"Three amigos," I said with feeling.

"I love you both," Shellie told us.

"And I love you both, too," Mercedes told us.

A little later, I went out and made sure the coast was clear.  We
hotfooted into the shower and shortly afterwards we were sitting
at the dining room table, looking like earnest young high school
students, intent on their studies.  Of course, Mercedes was
playing footsie with Shellie and I was occasionally tickling
Mercedes.

My dad was the first one home.  He grinned at me and tossed a
book down on the table next to me.  "I saw this today at lunch. 
I took The Man out to eat, I filled him in on what you might
need.  He wanted to stop at the Book Exchange, so we did.  I saw
this and remembered it from when I was your age."

"They had books back then?" I asked and he laughed.

"Yeah, we had books back then.  You were talking about a science
fair project.  You said you want to do something about the
ocean."

"It's not looking like we can afford it," I told him honestly.

"Well, the book is food for thought."

It was an old book, in a plastic bag.  "The other side," my
father said dryly.

Not sure what he meant, I turned the book over, and found that it
was really two books, not one.  "They are called 'Ace Doubles.' 
That one cost forty cents new and five bucks now," he told me.

The picture on the front was a garish nuclear explosion, with a
tidal wave at its foot and something that looked like the Loch
Ness monster sticking it's head up from the big wave.  A man lay
on a tropical beach, face down, looking back over his shoulder. 
He's toast, I thought.  Nessie food, assuming the wave didn't get
him first.  That close to an atom bomb and you'd probably be
radioactive toast.

I put the book back down, and Mercedes picked it up and looked at
it, through the plastic cover.  She didn't look at it as long as
I had.

My father laughed.  "Have you ever heard the phrase, 'Don't judge
a book by the cover?'"

"Of course."

He waved at the book.  "That came around in the thirties and
forties, because of some of the covers on pulp magazines and
books.  Ones like this did nothing to change anyone's mind.  It's
a good story by a good author."

"Andre Norton?"  I considered that.  I'd seen a few books by him
on library bookshelves.  "Is he any good?"

"Things were different back then.  Andre Norton is a woman, Alice
Mary Norton.  They thought she'd sell better if her name was
masculine."  He waved at the cover.  "A cover like that
guaranteed you'd sell five or ten thousand books, so they didn't
care if it had hardly anything to do with the story.  Mind you,
there is a nuclear war in the story and there are monsters."

"And this is supposed to help us find a topic for a science fair
project?" I asked, very skeptical.

"Davey, I remembered the book after all these years for a reason.
 I didn't sit down and reread it this afternoon, although I could
have.  Hell, when I was your age, I could practically have
recited it from memory.  It was one of my favorites.  I remember
the hero wasn't much older than you are, and he was a diver,
helping an older brother who was a scientist.

"One thing the hero did was study octopi.  In the book, octopi
got smart because of nuclear testing, and when mankind nearly
wiped itself out in a nuclear war, they took us on.  One thing
about the book that stood out in my memory is that it doesn't
have a happy ending.  The hero survives, civilization isn't
totally destroyed, but it takes a pretty serious hit.  One of the
things he was doing at the end was studying octopi.

"And I say this because a few weeks ago I was getting some
tropical fish for someone's mother for her birthday over at the
pet store and saw a salt water tank with a small octopus in it."


He gave me a salute, which I thought was strange.  "I will leave
this matter in your no-doubt capable hands."  He started to go,
then turned back.  "And keep Thursday after school open.  Come
over to the plant.  The Man will see you then."

"The Man?  A cop?" Mercedes asked.

"A man, but not a cop," Dad told her.  "The Man who keeps the
computers humming.  And let me tell you, he does a good job.  I'm
like a light bulb; there are a dozen guys at my level in the
company who could replace me in a minute.  I don't think they
could do as well, but they would do okay.  The Man -- he can't be
replaced.  I pay him more than he could possibly make anywhere
else.  If he quits, he takes a cut in pay.  If he asks me for
something new, I get it for him.  If he wants to take six weeks
off between Thanksgiving and New Year's every year, he takes six
weeks off."

Wanda came in a few minutes later and said she wouldn't mind
driving Mercedes and Shellie home.  I walked each of them to
their doors, but didn't even hold hands.  I would just smile and
then go back to the car.

On the way back, Wanda was being Wanda.  "I guess there's no
chance for me, is there?"

"Pardon?" I asked.

"Jack and I are limping along, Davey.  It's not like it was. 
Please god, Davey, don't tell anyone, but now the poor bastard's
got performance problems.  He thinks God is punishing him for his
sins."

I grimaced.  I had a little trouble imagining having performance
problems.  Every time I saw Mercedes and Shellie, practically, I
got a hard on.  Knowing it was going to be days before we could
make love again, maybe a week, was hard to bear and I got hard
thinking about it.  On the other hand, I glanced at my sister and
promptly got so hard I had to rearrange things.

She must have caught the movement out of the corner of her eye. 
"Yeah!  I need it!"

"I'm a little tired," I told her.

"Two at once?  And you're just a little tired?"  She laughed at
her own wit.

There wasn't anything I could say to that.

"At least get up early tomorrow," she told me.  "I can start your
day off with a bang."

	I remembered the offer the other day from Karen, or at least, so
I'd been told there had been an offer.  Karen certainly hadn't
acted like someone who had wanted to use me as a training aid to
learn how to go down on a guy.  She behaved no differently than
she ever had.

	"You, right?" I asked.

	"Well, I understand Karen is no longer in need of instruction. 
Of course, I mean me, silly.

"If Karen wants to get some, she just has to stretch out her
hand.  And watch her back, because one of these days Pammie is
going to get caught.  There are times I think Pammie wants to get
caught."

	"That would be a mess."

	"Wouldn't it?" Wanda agreed.  "I told her the other day, that if
she wanted to freak out her parents, she should just tell the
fuckers.  She shouldn't mess up someone else while she's at it."

	I thought about Chuck; I hoped he was being careful.

	After dinner, I contemplated my desk.  I had some algebra to do,
so I did that.  I had Shellie's backup, now sitting in a drawer.
I wished I could think of a plausible reason to get Wanda out of
her room so I could look at more on Shellie's disks.  But no one
in the house was going to think I went into my sister's room for
anything other than sex.  And I really was tired.

	I made a snap decision; looking at the book my dad had given me.
 Instead of reaching for the book, I turned on my computer.  I
typed "Octopus" into Google and looked at the list.

	Oh yeah!  One point six million entries!  I could read through
them in no time!

	Still, the first entry was general, "About Octopuses," the URL
was <a
href="http://www.marinelab.sarasota.fl.us/OCTOPI.HTM">www.marinel
ab.sarasota.fl.us/OCTOPI.HTM</a>.  I started reading.

	Thirty feet long?  I contemplated meeting a thirty-foot octopus
underwater and decided I'd rather not.  By the fourth paragraph,
I was hooked.  "Octopuses have the most complex brain of the
invertebrates (animals without backbones).  They have long-term
and short-term memories as do vertebrates. Octopuses learn to
solve problems by trial-and-error and experience. Once the
problem is solved, octopuses remember and are able to solve it
and similar problems repeatedly."

	I contemplated those sentences.  Hey, we can think up an IQ
test.  I'll give it to Terry Toohey and his friends, Fissionhof
and a couple of octopuses.  Or was it octopi?  Didn't matter, I
was pretty sure even an octopus was smarter than Fesselhof.

	I finished the first article, looked at a couple more and then
changed my search criteria to "Octopus IQ".  The results looked
really interesting and I read for another hour.

	I looked at my notes when I decided to stop.  Some of the
articles said octopuses could see color; other articles said they
couldn't.  Some scientists thought octopuses were smart; others
didn't think so.  I smiled to myself.  If there was disagreement
among scientists, then there was something we could research.

	I looked at the clock.  A little past ten.  I picked up the book
that Dad had given me and read the first page, thinking I'd just
get a feel for it.  The hero was a high school boy who'd been
dragged off to an island in the West Indies.  I smiled to myself.
 Griff Gunstan and I had completely different outlooks.  I'd have
been ecstatically happy if I could go off to the West Indies. 
Particularly if I could take Mercedes and Shellie.

	The smile froze on my face.  Like I knew what Shellie wanted,
right?  Not!  Shellie didn't talk much about what she wanted to
do.  She did things; I knew she did things but she never talked
about what she wanted to do when she grew up.  I grimaced again.
Time to put that phrase in the trash heap.  We weren't legally
adults, but we were getting close.  About the only thing more
adult than having sex would be having babies and supporting your
family.

	All of which wasn't really what I wanted to think about. 
Mercedes and I wanted to run off and live on an island where we
could be close to the ocean.  What if Shellie didn't want to?

	I put the book down on my desk.  It could wait for another day.
In the meantime, I climbed into bed and lay looking up at the
ceiling.  It was time to bring a little thought into my
relationships.  Shellie had been a surprise almost from the first
time I met her.  Emily had been like that at first, but once I
found out about what had happened to her, she wasn't the
continual surprise that was Shellie.  Mercedes wasn't either.  I
doubted if I was causing many surprises for my friends, myself.

	I sighed and rolled over, closing my eyes.  I really needed to
think about things.

	I thought I was dreaming; someone was sucking on my erection and
I was enjoying it very much.  Then I realized it wasn't a dream.
I opened my eyes and saw it was starting to get light outside,
and that Wanda was keeping her promise.

	I had no idea how long she'd been at it before I woke up, but
once awake I was well down the slippery slope.  She used her
tongue on the head of my cock, and then pulled her mouth back. 
Her lips were nearly as effective as her tongue.

	I thought I was about to come, but she stopped.  "So, you awake
yet, Davey?"

	"Awake and about one second from shooting," I told her.

	She giggled.  "Well, I know how to take care of that."  Without
another word she lifted the hem of her long t-shirt, showing she
was nude underneath.  She straddled my midsection, pushing my
erection inside her.  "This is better than that!"

	She hadn't pulled her t-shirt off, so I reached out and did it
for her so I could get my hands on her breasts.  It was a mystery
to me as it always was.  Wanda's breasts were a lot larger than
Mercedes' or Shellie's and not nearly as nicely shaped.  But god,
did I like holding them!

	She groaned and pressed her hips down while her hands went to
cover mine, pressing them down harder on her breasts.  I
remembered that several girls I'd seen, included Wanda, rubbed
their breasts a lot harder than I would have dared.  So I let her
control things, and I did think I was a little rough, even if it
was obviously what she wanted.

	I was so distracted by her breasts that I'd forgotten that I was
close.  Wanda reminded me, though.  "I thought you were about to
come?"

	"I was.  God, Wanda, I like your breasts!"

	She giggled.  "You and everyone else!  Now rub harder!"

	So I rubbed harder, and she really pressed down over my
erection.  I was afraid I was going to hurt her there, too,
except it was just as clear that I wasn't anywhere close to
hurting her.  She squirmed and groaned, then started doing
something with her muscles.  Her stomach sort of rippled and I
felt her vagina contract around my hard on.  A few seconds later,
it happened again, only this time the contraction was stronger.

	With a groan myself, I came, pushing back against her as hard as
I could.  The contractions milked the sperm out of my erection,
while maintaining my interest, so to speak.

	Wanda collapsed down atop me, giving me a kiss that left my ears
ringing.  "No performance issues here," she said, wiggling
against my still-stiff rod.

	"I think it's nine tenths mental," I told her.  "And you are ten
tenths woman.  Jack is crazy."

	"If he ever figures out what a harem you've got," she said,
"he's going to explode."

	That served to shrivel me right up.  "I've had a couple of
explosions already," I told her.  "I don't need even one more
little one."

	She moved and I slipped out.  "I liked you better hard, but I
guess it was my fault you're not."

	"Some, not entirely."

	She was still on top, and she kissed me again, and drew one of
my hands to her breast.  "I'm serious, Davey, I like this and I
like you.  You have a wonderful natural aptitude for sex.  I hope
the rest of your harem is going to be okay with my sharing a
little of that aptitude."

	"Mercedes is," I told her honestly.  "I don't know about
Shellie."

	"She looks like such a shy mouse.  I assume that she's not like
that in bed?"

	I grinned, but shook my head.  "I don't tell them about what
you're like in bed, I'm not telling you anything, either."

	"All I want to hear from you, little brother, is that you want
to keep putting that lovely cock of yours right where it was a
minute ago."

	I met her eyes.  "Yes."  A simple word, but a big meaning.

	She got up and smiled at me.  "Now you've made my day, too!"

	I showered and swam.  I'd done a dozen laps when Emily came out
and joined me.  I slowed down some and talked to her about
school... although mainly she wanted to talk about Rob and
movies.  Then she tired and I went back to it, swimming extra
hard to make up for the time I'd spent going slowly for Emily.

	When I got to school, I sat down next to Mercedes, sitting as
usual with her back to the wall, next to the biology lab.  "I
looked up octopuses last night," I told her.

	She grinned at me.  "I didn't have any better ideas.  So I
looked them up too."

	"The scientists are in general disagreement about a couple of
things," I told her.  "Can they see in color?  Are they really as
smart as some of them think?"

	Mercedes nodded.  "I tried to think of a couple of ways to check
out if they can see in color.  Then I took them to my dad and he
shot them full of holes."

	"Oh," I said, disappointed.

	She shook her head.  "No.  If it was easy, Davey, they'd already
have done it.  We need to think long and hard about this."  She
punched my arm.  "Did you read any of that book?"

	"About a chapter.  Then I got to thinking."

	She raised an inquisitive eyebrow.  "Thinking about what?"

	"You and me, we want the ocean.  What does Shellie want?  The
more I think about Shellie, the more I think she's smarter than
the both of us together.  More determined, too."

	She bent over double, laughing.  Finally, Mercedes wiped away
tears.  "Davey, do you think I'd fall for just any guy?"  She
glanced around; there was no one close, because it was still
pretty early.  "Do you think I'd fall madly and passionately in
love with two people who didn't stand out miles from the crowd?"

	"Shellie," I said, feeling helpless.  "What if she doesn't like
the ocean?"

	Mercedes shook her head, she was back to laughing.  "What does
Shellie like?  Japan.  Tell me, Davey, have you looked at a
map?"

	That stung.  Since Colonel Terrell's geography class I'd looked
at lots of maps.

	"Davey, Japan is an island in the middle of the ocean.  Well,
maybe not in the middle, but it's a series of long skinny
islands.  There aren't very many places in Japan, Davey, where
you're more than an hour's drive from the ocean.  Why do you
think Godzilla, a sea monster, is so popular there?"

	I blinked.  Well, Davey, great geography expert, that was true.
Too bad you didn't think of it yourself.

	"Davey, people who care about each other accommodate themselves
to their partner's wishes.  No one can do 100% of what someone
else wants, and you can't tell the other person to go fly a kite
all the time either."

She reached between us and started tickling me.  "For instance,
I'm never going to make an issue about how you spent your
morning."

I stopped laughed, suddenly sober.  She leaned close; there were
people coming.  "Like I said, it's going to be a while before you
learn to fake that happy, bemused look on your face."

I tried to regain my balance.  "I can't bluff worth a damn at
poker, either," I growled.  "I was trying to set everyone up the
other night, before Fissionhof arrived.  I guess they all knew."

"You're an honest guy, Davey.  You've never learned to lie. 
Don't.  Fake it, maybe, but don't lie."

"That's not how you play poker," I told her.

There were now a couple people standing by the door, waiting for
it to open.  When I said poker, two of them, both guys glanced in
my direction and then away.  I noticed they were keeping their
distance.

Cool!  Now I was Typhoid Mary!

Algebra was a surprise, too.  We went from calculus to factoring
polynomials.  Math heaven, to what I considered math hell.  On
the other hand, although it took me about ten minutes to figure
out how it worked, then it was a piece of cake.

Shellie and I passed notes during the Office class, which I
thought was a hoot.  If there was anything more boring than Mrs.
Saunders teaching something "new," it was when she was reviewing
what she'd taught so far.

A few minutes into lunch, Rob and Emily left the rest of us,
taking his video camera along.

Karen watched them go and looked at the three of us.  "Any
suggestions on a boyfriend?  I guess Davey's booked up."

That brought a laugh from Mercedes and a shy smile from Shellie.

"Pretty much," Mercedes said.  "Have you thought about the chess
club?"

"The chess club?" Karen said, frowning in confusion.

"Sure, a bunch of dweebs and nerds.  Find one, set your sights on
him.  Smile a lot; tell him how wonderful he is.  Piece of cake,"
Mercedes told her.

Karen looked at Mercedes speculatively.

"Low maintenance, too," Mercedes added, "if you know what I
mean."

Karen sighed.  "I noticed jocks are kind of high on the
maintenance thing."

I winced.  That had to refer to Chuck.

"Are you having a problem?" I asked.

Karen shook her head.  "Not anymore."

Emily and Rob came back, laughing.  "It was so cool," Emily said.
 "They were playing frisbee out on the field.  Rob would lie on
the ground, and shoot upwards and catch it when the frisbee would
hover.  You know what I mean?"

I knew what she meant.

"Some pretty cool shoots, where the frisbee doesn't seem to move
for a second or two, hanging in the air," Rob said.

I smiled to myself.  Rob, my friend, you are preening. I'd seen a
special once on the Discovery Channel, showing Birds of Paradise
and other gaudy birds that liked to show off.  That's what Rob
was doing.  On the other hand, Emily was animated and interested;
excited about what they'd done and what else they could do with
Rob's movie camera.

First thing at PE, we got a pep talk from the coaches, then our
usual warm-ups.  Then we went our separate ways, those of us on
the jock track.  Rob, I saw, was with the football team.  Coach
Delgado motioned for me and the next thing I knew, I was playing
catch with Trace Grundig.

I knew a lot of guys played catch for an hour or two a day.  For
me it was interesting for a couple minutes, then it turned to
okay, and about ten minutes later, I was bored out of my skull.

Someone was either paying attention, or it just worked out that
way, but Coach Delgado huddled with Trace and me about signs,
then the Coach worked with me for a while on my curveball.

Later after school, as I was walking towards practice, my phone
went off.  I picked up and it was my Dad.  "Well, don't make any
plans for tomorrow after school.  I'll pick you up at school and
we'll go to the police station for your deposition.  Tonight, I
want you to write down what you remember from the other night. 
Write it longhand.  Chief Ortega says that Fesselhof's attorney
is a hard case."

"And does that matter?" I asked.

"Of course.  No one saw the shooter's face.  Someone saw the
shooter leave on a small motorcycle.  Later, time indeterminate,
someone else saw someone pushing a small motorcycle into a shed.
Later still, the police arrived, finding Fesselhof in the shed
with the motorcycle.  Pretty good circumstantial evidence, but
the legal bar for evidence to convict someone of a crime is
"beyond a reasonable doubt."

"Sounds beyond a doubt to me."

Dad laughed.  "Think about it.  Gotta run."

Sure enough, it was warm-ups, then another scrimmage for baseball
practice.  Coach Wells was as good as his word.  "Once again,
upperclassmen versus the lower grades.  Except this time, Harper
goes with the upperclassmen."

I got a few sour looks, particularly from Josh the catcher.  I
saw that and realized Josh was a sophomore.  For the first time I
saw a glimmering of what Coach Wells was thinking.

Once again, the lower classmen took the field first.  Coach Wells
waved at me.  "You bat first, Harper.  You have new rules.  You
can mash the ball as hard as you want, until you have two
strikes.  Then you just make contact, you will not swing away. 
Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," I told him.  I stopped and thought for a second. 
"Coach."

He looked at me.  "I don't recall the team telling each other our
names.  I'm terrible enough with names as it is, but half the
guys on the team, I don't know, period."

He looked at me for a second, and then waved to the on deck
circle.  "Get ready to go."

I stepped out and found the one wooden bat.  I felt good with it
in my hands.  I wished there was more than just one.

Finally I walked out to the plate and got ready.  It was
disconcerting to see Mercedes down on first base, ready to catch
anything that came her way.  Deep, deep down I didn't ever want
to compete with her.  Ever.

"Shoe's on the other foot, Harper," Josh said, crouched behind
me.

I ignored him.  I watched the pitcher wind up and throw.  I
recognized the grip.  Knuckle ball.  It wasn't hard to stand
there, because the ball hit the plate, took a wicked bounce and
Josh had to run it down.

I didn't say anything, intent on the next wind up.  A curve ball,
I thought.  I watched it sweep wide... then a little wider.  I
relaxed.  The ball was a foot off the plate.

"Strike!" Coach Wells called from where he was umpiring.

I turned to look at him, incredulous.  I mean, it hadn't even
been close.  He just looked at me with no expression on his
face.

I didn't care what Mercedes said about learning to lie; I wanted
to be able to look that bland when I told a big lie.

I turned back to the pitcher.  One and one.  I could still crush
the ball.  The pitcher went into his windup.  Fastball, I
thought.  I watched carefully as it flew towards me.  Then I
swung.

Even as I made the decision to swing, I realized that the ball
was way low and outside.  I moved the bat, another big mistake. 
I made contact, and the ball shot down the first base line. 
Mercedes nabbed it neatly, took three steps and touched the bag.
Unnecessary, but I knew you did it anyway.

Mercedes nodded at me, and I headed for the bench.

I sat down and Chuck punched my arm.  "You realize, that's the
first time I've seen you out?"

"Patience," I told him.  "It's bound to happen now and again."

He laughed.  I wanted to speak up to him, warn him about what
Wanda had told me about Pammie.  Except the bench wasn't the
place to talk about something like that.  Plus, I was pretty sure
football players had, since even before my father played, had to
deal with getting caught in bed.  I kept my mouth shut, hating
myself.

Then the inning was over, three up and three down.  It was, I
found, very hard to sit on the bench while everyone else went out
to play.  I considered that for a few seconds.  My job was
Designated Hitter.  This was what I was going to do most of the
season.  Sit and watch the rest of the team play.  I would pitch
some, but bat more.

Of course, unless something happened in the rest of the order, I
wasn't going to bat again today.  Three innings, that was all we
were going to play.

I saw that Mercedes was looking at me from across the field.  Was
she worried about how I was going to react about her putting me
out?   Did she think I was going to be pissed?  Not!  She'd done
her job.  And it hadn't been that hard a play to make because I'd
hit the ball badly.

I hadn't noticed it; you never notice the occasional cloud in
West Texas.  We have a lot of them.  But for a few minutes the
sun had been obscured, but now it was clear.  The world was
bright, again.  I wasn't competing against Mercedes.  My baseball
team was playing hers.  It was as simple as that.

And as simple as that was, I understood a lot more about
Mercedes, Shellie and me.  I leaned back, suddenly more relaxed
than I'd been in days.  I could deal with this.  I could deal
with all of this.  Piece of cake!

The lower classmen went three up and three down.

Jack walked up to the plate, knocked the dust from his cleats and
smacked the first pitch six feet over the shortstop's head.

The next batter put one right past the new pitcher's ear, and the
pitcher, startled, managed to get his glove in contact with the
ball.  He'd have been better off diving into the dirt, because
the ball zipped between second and first, instead of right to the
second baseman.

Mercedes was tied to first, the second baseman had to cover
second, so it meant the right fielder had to come in for it. 
Jack finished up on third.

The pitcher seemed a little rattled; well, I'd been there and
done that.  I could understand being rattled.  He threw four
straight balls to the next hitter; Coach Wells wasn't having any
trouble telling if those pitches were balls or strikes!

Bases loaded, and Trace went up to the plate.  He jumped on the
first pitch, hammering it down the third base line, into the
corner.  The left fielder was out of position and had quite a
sprint to get the ball.  By the time the ball got back to the
infield, Trace was standing on second and the score was two to
nothing.

It was pretty clear Josh was back to calling for all fastballs,
belt high, over the plate.  Batter after batter hammered the
ball.

When I came up to the plate, there was no one out, and we had
runners on first and third.

I looked at Josh as I stood at the plate.  "Come on, Josh!  Belt
high fastball!  What have you got to lose?"  I called to him,
taunting him.

I swear to God, that's what came down the pike.  I mean, it
couldn't have been a better setup for me if I'd drawn a picture
for the pitcher.  I hit the ball solidly, out on the sweet spot.
It was, I thought, as I watched it fly, the longest ball I'd ever
hit, landing on the other side of the snack bar.  I was
impressed.

It is, I found, ruinous to your morale when the other side scores
sixteen runs in an inning.  I had two home runs and seven RBI's
in two innings.  Not bad, not bad at all.  Still, all good things
come to an end, and our inning did end.

Coach Delgado called to me, "You pitch, Harper.  We're going to
just play two innings."

I dutifully trotted out to the mound, and took a half dozen warm
up pitches.  On warm ups, the catcher puts his mitt where he
wants the ball, and that's where you throw it.  He was all around
the strike zone, but never in it.  I liked that, even if I didn't
get all the pitches where he wanted them.

Rob was the first batter, and Trace wanted me to throw low, but
over the plate.  The pitch went inside, but Rob swung at it
anyway.  High and away was next; I was a little close to the
plate, but that was good because Rob sat on it for a called
strike.  Then Trace asked for a fastball, low and away.  It was
the first fastball he'd called; the others he'd just indicated
where he wanted to catch them.

I put everything I had on the ball, and it zipped in, Rob
swinging way late.

The next batter was Josh, and I was asked to put it low and down
the middle.  I shook it off, wanting to put it right down the
middle, as hard as I could throw it.  Trace can read minds; I
know that now.  I was really pleased when that's what he asked
for.  I didn't hesitate.  Josh was in the box, Trace was settling
in, and I threw the ball as hard as I've ever thrown the ball in
my life.

Josh blinked at the sound the ball made, hitting Trace's glove. 
He looked back at Trace, looked at me, a little confused.  Then
it struck me.  He hadn't been ready.  He hadn't seen the ball at
all.  I wanted to laugh.  A catcher who didn't watch the ball! 
How do you spell oxymoron?  Emphasis on the moron!

I wanted to do it again!  It wasn't as exciting as sex, but
watching the baffled look on Josh's face was good.  Very good!

I made a gesture I hoped Trace interpreted as "let me do it
again."

Instead, he shook me off, dropped his glove a foot and set up.

I didn't bother to nod, just reared back and threw.  Josh had
been wiggling his bat, those little moves batters make when
they're getting ready.  Most batters usually stop and wait for
the pitch as the windup gets underway.  I didn't give Josh a
chance to get set; I just blew that pitch past him.  And he swung
at it anyway, late and two feet high.

Trace wiggled his glove, waist high; it wasn't the usual sign,
but it was clear Josh didn't deal with not having time to think.
I took everything off.  The ball floated towards the plate,
seeming like there was time to swing two or three times.  Josh
headed back to the bench, obviously fuming.

Then Mercedes stepped out and took her place at the plate.  I'd
thought about this, I had.  But this was the proof of the
pudding.

Trace called for a curveball in, shoulder high.  I mentally
crossed my fingers and let fly.  Practice helps, I found. 
Mercedes stepped back from the plate, but she didn't really have
to... because Coach Wells called a strike.  I wasn't entirely
sure if I agreed with that, but I was learning that baseball is a
lot like poker.  You have to play the cards you're dealt.

Trace called for another pitch up and in.  I considered if he was
putting me on, wanting me to hit my girlfriend in the breasts
with a pitch.  I didn't know, but I didn't want to find out.  I
shook him off, and got a curveball, low and away.

That was about my worst pitch.  I took my time and got it close,
but not too close.  One and one.

The next pitch was a knee-high fastball, but she hit it anyway. 
Like me, she had to watch the first baseman field the ball
easily, and he too stepped on the bag.

Three up, three down and we were told to hit the showers, and
then show up in the locker room for a team meeting.

Mercedes raised her hand after Coach Wells said that.  "You
really want me in the guys locker room?"

He looked at her, and laughed.  "Sorry, Ms. d'Silva, I forgot. 
The first row of the bleachers."

Trace sidled up next to me in the showers.  "You have a sense of
humor and you can pitch.  Tell me that we can work together."

"We can work together, so long as you stop calling up and in
pitches on Mercedes."

"Guy, we have to take our best shot."

"Well, I don't want to take the risk of walking someone like her
very often, if you get my meaning.  Besides, it won't be my head
she'll be pounding.  She's my girlfriend."

Everyone close laughed.

Trace shrugged.  "Girlfriend, eh?  Darn, I was hoping if she got
hit, I'd have to give her mouth-to-mouth resuscitation."

"That isn't as funny as you think it is," I said, a little
pissed.

"Okay," he said with a laugh. "Not funny.  We'll pitch to her
knees next time.  Have to anyway, because she can't hit worth
shit down around her knees."

I wasn't sure if that was better or not.  But he was right;
Mercedes didn't hit low pitches very well at all.

Coach Wells sat on the rail at the edge of the field, while the
rest of us took seats facing him.  "We were scheduled for another
home practice Saturday.  I talked to a friend of mine, Coach
Albert over at Ozona.  Saturday morning be here at eight thirty.
We'll board the busses at a quarter to nine.  We should be there
before ten.  We play at ten thirty.

"Coach Albert has a team with even more freshman than I have. 
You are going to want to think long and hard about this game. 
You have to win it; if you can't beat these guys, you can't win
against anyone.  So win.

"One last thing.  I've been coasting in this job for years.  I've
been reminded by several people that it's time to put the pedal
to the metal.  One thing I haven't done is have you introduce
yourselves.  How can I expect you to play as a team if you don't
even know who is on the team?"

He pointed to the football end of the group.  "Starting with
Jack, name yourself and your year."

One by one, we names named ourselves.  When it was my turn, I
almost missed it, because I was so busy trying to remember names
and faces.  "Davey Harper," I said, after being reminded it was
my turn.

There were a couple more after me and then it was back to Coach
Wells.  "Another thing we should do is get together, off the
field.  In that regard, I'm told that Davey and his sister Wanda
are having a party Saturday afternoon, after we get back.  They
have a pool, so swim suits if you have them.

"See you all tomorrow."

Well, I supposed, Wanda had realized I was just a little
reluctant to invite people to the party.  Bless my big sister,
she did have a way of cutting through the crap.

I went with Mercedes.  Her dad was still in his office, working
on some papers.  When he saw her, he smiled and put them away.

The one interesting thing was that when we got to my house to
drop me off, he looked back at the two of us sitting in the back
seat.  "Don't take all day, but if you want to kiss my daughter,
go ahead.  Watch the hands, though."

Mercedes started to do something that I didn't think would be
wise, so I wrapped my arms around her, and kissed her on the
nose.  She glared at me and then glared at her Dad.

She got out with me and walked me to my front door.  I thought
that was funny, but Mercedes wasn't amused.

"He makes me so mad, sometimes."

"Mercedes, you told me that you would know when I was with
Wanda."  She nodded.  "Don't you suppose your father knows the
signs too, and can see them on your face?"

She didn't blush; Mercedes went pale.  "I'll think about that. 
See you tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow."

"I'm sorry I put you out."

"No you aren't," I said, knowing I was speaking the truth.  "Any
more than I was sorry getting you out.  It's like seeing who can
finish an ice cream cone first.  There are winners and losers. 
And it doesn't mean a thing."

She hugged me and we did kiss, but not passionately.

She took a couple of steps away, then turned.  "Can I invite
Shellie, Saturday?"

"Sure, I just..."  I waved helplessly.

Mercedes had a very big smile on her face as she walked back
towards the car.

I went inside.  No one else was home, so I fetched the Andre
Norton novel and kicked back on the couch in the family room, my
stomach growling.  With luck, someone would make dinner, real
soon!

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