A bomb had gone off in the classroom. Obscenities were scrawled across the blackboard. Shards of glass glittered on the floor, reagents pooling where the jars had been hurled. Half a dozen stools were knocked over, and a couple lay near the far wall, suspiciously close to the windows. The culprit, caught in the act, stood atop one of the lab tables. A Castelia tee and a pair of battered jeans with a flame motif identified him almost as easily as his red and white rat tail did. It took a moment for him to notice his observers, but when he did, he jumped down from his perch and stomped over to the door.
"Mr. Lionell! Just what are you doing, you whelp?"
"I know, Mr. Blackwell! He's throwing a tantrum!"
"I see that, Miss Stone. But I asked him. Not. You."
Gregor, water on his eyes and heat on his cheeks, would not surrender a reasonable answer. Instead, he chose to take a deep breath and scream at his teacher, the roar of a brat trying to be intimidating. It was summarily drowned out by a deluge of water from above the boy. Gasps and laughter broke out in the crowd of children watching from the hallway.
"Now then, Mr. Lionell," Kent Blackwell's voice was ice, his hand still grasping the pull handle for the emergency shower. "We're going to see Miss Harmonia. . . and then, somebody is going to tell me why this happened."
The last inning of the game, kicked off by Tyr McLeod. So far, the score was tied at two runs apiece. Young McLeod aimed to change that. He flashed Kokori a grin as he stepped up to the plate in front of her, then fixed his eyes on Gregor on the pitcher's mound. His first two swings, wild forceful misses. The third connected, sending the ball bouncing along the blacktop at high speed. He made it to first by sliding through Lucia, a daring feat that he paid for with a black eye donated by the blond girl's knee. Zabre was next, striking a pop fly to third base that Watson lost in the glare of the sun.
Drake was the third at bat, Ben's secret weapon. The new kid, the one with the accent. None had been able to guess why Ben had picked him. But Ben's gamble paid off. A graceful flash of aluminum sent the ball soaring deep into right field. Tyr easily made it to third, and Zabre to second. Drake had plenty of time to jaunt to first base, and was headed to second when the ball streaked to Lucia behind him. Tyr held his base, knowing Lucia could throw home before he could race there. That left Drake in no man's land, trapped between Lucia on first and the occupied second.
"Go back, Drake! Go back!" Zabre urged at his confused expression. Lucia was off the base now, moving in for the tag. Understanding, Drake turned to take his chances. He didn't realize how close Max was, nor that Max now had the ball. Not until the second baseman tagged him rather clumsily, knowing into the boy and sending the pair to the ground in a tangle.
"Out!"
"Quack, quack!," jeered Watson from the sidelines as Stefan picked up the bat. The boy had a good swing, but was flat-footed and prone to a clumsy, awkward gait. Hence the epithet 'Ducklett'. But with runners on two bases, his ability to run wasn't hugely important. Before the pitch came, however, Oliver jogged in from the outfield and spoke briefy with (or more accurately, to) Gregor.
When the pitch came, it was straight and fast. It glanced off Stefan's head. A hush fell over the courtyard, with the exception of Lucia who was giggling madly with amusement.
"Why must you play baseball on your free period?! It's so barbaric!" Miss Capone was at Stefan's side at once, looking down at him as his shaggy black head rested in her lap. "Gregor, go to Chemistry. Your gym period is over. Stefan, can you follow my finger?"
On third base, a smile widened on Tyr's face, despite the tension.
"Remind me to get pegged in the head later."
Watson chuckled at that.
Miss Capone soon had Stefan sitting on the bench with an ice pack. That left Proxima stepping up the to the plate. Stefan groaned audibly – and not merely because of the pain. Ben (who would be up next) was conspicuously missing. On the first pitch, Proxima deftly turned the bat sideways to meet the ball, sending it rolling back towards the pitcher's mound. It beat her to first base, but bought Tyr half the distance he needed to get home.
Kokori wasn't aware of this, though. In the street beyond the chain-link fence, she saw a familiar delinquent with an eyepatch. She shielded her eyes against the sun, a car passed and he was gone.
The entire class was yelling at her as her mind returned to the courtyard. She realized, too late, that the ball had been thrown to her, and that Tyr had scored a run. Scrambling frantically, she recovered the ball and hurled it to the pitcher's mound before Zabre was tempted to try her luck.
When the chaos settled, Tyr stepped right back up to the plate, but was interrupted by a shrill whistle from Miss Capone.
"That's one full batting rotation, children. Switch sides!"
Ka-Ping!
A line-drive to right field was struck by Lucia, the first batter for her own team. Zabre, in the outfield, moved fast, but was only fast enough to keep the blonde girl from snatching up second base. Lucia didn't seem to mind lingering at first. She smirked as Proxima berated their transfer student for the 'perfect' pitch.
Kokori was the next up. Perhaps adjusting for his last throw, Hiryu kept the ball well away from the strike zone. Ball after ball whizzed by, not once provoking a strike from the clever batter, and Kokori earned herself a walk to first base. She kicked at the dirt as she shuffled over to the base, disappointed that she wouldn't have a chance to hit it big.
Gregor was meant to be next in the order, but it was Oliver who stepped up to the plate, an expression of utter disinterest clear on his face. Sure enough, not once did he swing the bat, and he was soon sent back to the bench with three strikes. A smug smile dawned as he handed the bat off to Max, who would not do any better. His first swing was a near strike, his second a foul that went wide. He took a moment, staggered slightly and rubbed his temples. The third pitch was a clear miss.
"What the hell, Max?! What team do you play for?," screeched Lucia from second base.
Watson was her team's last chance to tie or win the game, and he patted Max on the shoulder as he walked up to his place. With a wink at the blonde catcher, he gestured towards the schoolyard fence, full of his characteristic swagger. Two outs and the last at-bat. A walk would be pointless, so he made sure to take a swing at each of Hiryu's fastballs. He had to crush it, bring the runners home, or lose.
And crush it he did. The bat swooped in in a classic arc, coming in a little bit low to strike the ball upwards and outwards. Its trajectory was undeniable – a home run. The game was won.
Then there was the little girl atop the fence, precariously balanced on the top bar of its frame. Her legs wobbled slightly as she stretched upwards and snatched the ball. Three outs. The game was over, and Ben had won.