The play yard was packed. The jungle gym had children crawling all over it like insects, making the play structure reminiscent of it's namesake. Students of all ages played foursquare, making their own rules, changing the game to make it more challenging, and arguing over pointless little squabbles. All the while with an overflowing, staggered line where each child strained to see what was happening in the game while trying to keep their place in line lest another argument arose. And in the heart of it all, a heated basketball game, as intense as a basketball game could be with third and fourth graders as the veteran players.

It seemed that all the students were making the most of their recess in some way; all except one.

A small third grader, young for his grade, sat on what was usually the time out bench, but in his case, was an observation post of sorts. His family had moved recently, putting the boy in a school with no friends, or even acquaintances for that matter. He was a polite child who barely said a word and never seemed to interact with the rest of his class like all the others. He was a bit pale and had an unfortunate bull cut for his dark hair which was a valid reason for the other first graders to ignore him.

In other words, he was a weirdo.

Rather than take part in any of the games or activities scattered around the yard, he was content to watch the game of basketball, which seemed to enthrall him as much as the teacher's lessons did. No one asked him to play, as children are not commonly aware of the reason to including the "weird kids", but he stayed content with watching the game.

For the most part, the game consisted of rapid turnovers, uncalled fouls and air balls, with the occasional lucky bank shot from directly below the basket as chubby limbs flailed in pointless attempts to block the other player's shot. This was true for all except one youth, another third grader. He was stocky, not big, but larger than most in his grade. He was tanned and his light brown hair was slightly sun-bleached from many hours outdoors. Through some unknown gift, the boy was the Michael Jordan of his peers. Rather than shoot the ball as hard as he could from wherever he stood, this young athlete showed actual thought in his actions, even making shots from time to time.

This was who the boy on the bench usually watched. Unknown to the others, in his mind, this boy was taking note of how each boy played, noting the way they dribbled and shot, making connections to how each action affected their success. For some time now he had been calculating exactly what needed to be done to win this game, but he refused to intervene in the other boys' game.

Until one day, intervention was forced upon him by the most powerful of all persuasions.

The ball flew through the air and was swatted out of bounds by the flurry of hands that grabbed at it. Where it stopped was directly in the hands of a rather shocked boy who was sitting on the bench. The basketball star ran over to where he sat to retrieve the ball.

"Hi!"

Silence.

"Um… can we have the ball back?"

The dark haired boy looked down at the ball as if he had forgotten that it was there and slowly handed it up to the boy who hovered over him.

"Thanks! Do you want to play? Watching doesn't seem like any fun."

"Uh…" He wasn't sure what to do. He didn't usually try to play with the others, he thought that he would probably be made fun of if he messed up.

"No thank you…"

The brown haired boy frowned. He was used to people complying with his opinions.

"Come on, you just sit here every day, don't you even want to shoot the ball once or twice?"

"…"

The boy switched the basketball over from his left arm to his right and put his hand on his hip, his brow furrowed with annoyance.

"I bet you're scared, you don't think you can do it huh? Well I dare you to try!" He grinned in satisfaction at the trap he had just backed his classmate into. The other basketball players, who had gotten bored of waiting and had instead crowded around to listen to the conversation gasped or made their own bets about what the smaller boy would do. The boy with the basketball smiled cheekily all the while, knowing that he couldn't possibly pass up this offer.

It was the pale boy's turn to furrow his brow. He would considered that turning down this dare would be more harmful to his reputation than failing. So, he quietly stood up and took the basketball back from the other boy and began walking towards the basket. His classmates cheered with excitement.

As he neared the basket, the boy began to feel nervous, but strove to hide it so that he wouldn't appear lesser in their eyes than he already was. He turned to the boy that had challenged him for clarification.

"What is it that you wanted me to do?"

The other boy grinned and pointed at the hoop. "Just make as many free throws as you can, you can stop when you miss."

"Okay…" The boy turned back to the hoop.

In his mind he went through all of the things that he had seen which caused baskets to be made, as well as the movements that caused the ball to miss the hoop completely. After a moment, he chose to copy the strategy of the boy who had dared him in the first place. Breathing in sharply, he took a shot, almost perfectly mimicking the other boy.

The shot hit the backboard, and after a nerve-racking moment, it rolled on the rim and dropped in.

The boys were impressed. His darer caught the rebound and grinned, bouncing the ball back.

"That was pretty good! Do it again, I bet you can't make this one too!"

The dared caught the ball and nodded. Already he was reworking in his head what he could do to perfect the shot for the second time. He looked up at the basket and shot the ball once again.

The ball flew through the hoop without so much as touching the rim.

The brown haired boy looked at the ball in astonishment and then turned his surprised gaze to the shooter.

"Wow, you've got to teach me that…"

Silence.

The smaller boy shot baskets with unfailing precision until the bell rang for recess to be over. He then abandoned the hoop and the crowd that was watching him and walked purposefully towards the spot where all of the third graders were told to line up to go to class. The boy with brown hair ran to catch up with him, grinning like a maniac.

"That was SO cool! How did you do that?!"

Silence.

"Well fine then, don't—"

"Actually I just watched you," the dark haired boy interrupted quickly. "I just copied what you did, except I changed it a little so that it wouldn't miss ever."

Silence once more as the grinning boy's face split into mild shock.

"…What is it?"

The grin came back,but with underlying embarrassment.

"Heh, sorry! I just don't think I've ever heard you say that much at once!"

"Oh."

The two got in line and the teacher began numbering them off after separating a fight between to boys over who had gotten in line first.

The boy with brown hair turned to his newfound idol. He could call him an idol, right? After all, probably no one else could do that could they? He wished he was as good as… as…?

"Hey! I just realized that I don't even know your name! I'm Jim!" Jim extended his hand to shake as his father had once told him was the polite thing to do.

The other boy looked at the extended hand in mild distress. He joined his hands behind his back and Jim, taking the hint, slowly put his hand down, slightly offended.

As the line began to move to class, Jim and the other boy walked staggered a bit, with Jim not completely behind, but the two did not walk together. Jim was rather irritated that someone could be so rude. He just wanted to be friends, its not like his own hands were dirtier than this other kid. They had both been using the same basketball!

He was silently venting about his woes and he barely noticed a small voice in front of him.

"Its Spock… I'm sorry…" A voice said awkwardly from in front of Jim breaking him out of his thoughts.

"What?"

"My name. It's Spock… I didn't want you to make fun of it… so I didn't want to tell you, but that was kinda rude wasn't it?" Young Spock had turned his head a little by the time Jim looked up and he could see the fear in the smaller boy's eyes.

"Make fun of you? Why would I do that?" Jim grinned and quickened his pace to catch up to Spock.

After the initial shock, Spock smiled as well. A friend, someone who would have his back. That was a nice change. Yes, he could get used to something like that.