As the summer drew to a close, things started winding down
As the summer drew to a close, things started winding down. Pens, binders and folders were bought, summer reading books were half-heartedly opened, only to be quickly discarded once again, Sharpay went on a Back-to-School shopping spree that cost more than the accumulated salaries of all the wildcats at their summer jobs—which ended. And so, with a week of freedom left before they were subjected again to awful drain on the soul that was high school, the wildcats found themselves with one glorious afternoon free, with which they could end their eventful summer in a blaze of glory.
They went to the movies.
"I can't believe I'm spending what could be my last day of freedom in ten months watching a chick flick," Chad hissed in Ryan's ear, absentmindedly reading the advertisement for the local fertility clinic that was being projected onto the screen.
"It won't be so bad," Ryan replied distractedly. He cocked his head and frowned slightly, listening intently. "Anyway, why are you whispering? They haven't even dimmed the lights yet."
Chad looked briefly stricken. "I was… It just… seemed…Anyway, what are listening so intently to?"
Ryan turned and looked at him intently. "Have you ever seen Fame?" he asked. "This song sounds like Fame to me but I can't be sure." He turned again to look toward the speakers, lifting partway out of his seat. "It's bugging the hell out of me."
Chad raised an eyebrow. "Does it… matter? Really?"
"It matters to me," Ryan hissed. The lights dimmed suddenly. The noise level in the theater rose abruptly as everyone shushed their neighbors. Ryan quickly dropped back into his seat.
"At least the music stopped," Chad whispered, his eyed trained on the giant soccer player laying comfortably under a field.
"I hate this commercial," was Ryan's only response. Chad grunted in reply.
Up on the screen, a woman wondered who sang this song she kept hearing. Privately, Chad thought it sounded kind of like Sharpay. Not surprisingly, this didn't do anything to improve his mood.
"Come on," Chad whinned. "Will you two shut up," Taylor snapped, leaning forward in her chair. "You shut up," Chad snapped back. "Shhhhhh!" said the other theater-goers.
Chad slammed back in his chair, an ugly scowl on his face. Ryan snickered. "Oh, come on," he said, "Like your relationship wasn't hilariously short lived."
"Thanks," Chad said snippily. "Thanks a lot. You're a real pal."
"Quiet, the trailers are starting," Ryan ordered as the screen changed to a livid green, with a familiar warning imprinted on it.
"Everyone said they couldn't do it," a voice boomed from the dark screen, with an accompaniment of inspiring music. ("Inspirational sports movie," Ryan said immediately.
"Showoff," Chad muttered. "This surprises you?" Ryan replied.)
The screen showed a close-up of a baseball smacking a bat. ("Told you," Ryan whispered. "Yeah, yeah, whatever," Chad replied. "Shut up and watch the damned trailer.")
"People called them strange," the voice boomed, "They called them alien." Close-up of cleats running across a base, sending clouds of dust into the air. ("God, even I think this looks awful," Chad said, ignoring the irate whispers of those him. "And usually I like anything with…" Chad trailed off. Ryan had gone rigid. "Ryan? Buddy? Are you okay?")
"They said they weren't worthy to even compete in the great American pastime." A baseball slammed into a glove. (Ryan choked. Chad leaned over him in concern. "No, seriously man, are you okay?")
"They may have been right." The scene changed abruptly to a baseball diamond. A runner was sliding into home. The catcher leaned forward to tag him out—and then the runner's leg snapped up, hitting him straight in the groin. The catcher collapsed, moaning in pain. "Safe!" the umpire called, sounding slightly confused. The runner jumped to his feet and shouted ecstatically. (Ryan had put his head between his knees and was moaning faintly. Chad hovered over him uncertainly. "Ryan?" he said tentatively.")
What looked like the whole team was assembled in the dugout. An athletic looking boy, probably the captain, was looking on unconcernedly as another boy raged at him. "It isn't that bad, Bobby," the captain said. The other boy, presumably Bobby, raged even more at this. "Not that bad?!" he shrieked. "You've got a chemist, a golfer, some kind of psychotic diva, and an… an orc." At that last comment, Bobby flailed in the general direction of one of the other boys. The camera turned to follow the movement, focusing on another dark-haired boy, wearing fake, pointy ears. The camera swerved back to the captain. "Elf," he said, unruffled. Bobby gaped, clearly at a loss for words. "He's an elf," he clarified. "Not an orc." (Ryan let out a sound that might have been a sob. The other wildcats had started to notice, and craned their heads to look at him. Chad started to seriously consider calling an ambulance.)
"They were a group of misfits," the narrator continued. Now the captain was sitting in what appeared to be the principal's office, next to a blonde boy. "So," he said. "What are you in for?" The blonde glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "I beat one of your teammates unconscious," he replied shortly. "Ah," the captain replied. "With a bat," blonde added. "Mm," said the captain. The scene jumped slightly, a few seconds obviously edited out for the trailer. "Can you field to?" the captain asked. For the first time, the blonde looked directly at him, his face colored with disbelief. "But they would persevere." (Chad thought Ryan may have stopped breathing at this point.)
"The epic tale of how the Newport, Rhode Island team won the Little League World Series…" said the narrator. (Ryan moaned in the manner of one whose worse fears have just been confirmed.) "… Despite being mostly composed of rookies." A smug looking player wearing a uniform for an opposing team snorted with disdain. "You're can't win, you know," he said. "They shouldn't even let you play. You're just… un-American." The captain moved forward, staring his opponent straight in the eye. "But there's one thing you're forgetting."
"Oh?" he said. "And what's that?" The captain smirked, and leaned a little further forward. "I can have my pitcher kill you with his brain." There was an awkward pause. "No, you can't," he said. He didn't sound very convinced. "Are you willing to bet your life on that?" the captain asked. No answer was forthcoming, but the "no" was definitely implied.
"Un-American," said the narrator as the title was written across the screen. "They're methods may be unorthodox," he continued as the opponent backed away. "I'm going to tell the officials and they're be hell to—." There was a loud thonk and he collapsed. The blonde was standing behind him, holding a bat. "Problem solved," he said. "… but damned if they don't get the job done."
"Aww, Evans," the captain said. "Now we have to clean this up."
"Based on a true story," the narrator finished quickly. And then Chad got it.