In Atlanta, Georgia, the campus of venerable Brandon Hall basked in spring sunshine. A mourning dove could be heard calling to its mate while smartly uniformed students from sixth through twelfth grades headed to their morning classes.
Outside the administrative building, a young dark-haired boy sat down on a bench, smoothed a paper application form, and reviewed the information neatly entered by his mother's hand.
Panthers sport: Track and Field
Name: Spock Grayson
Grade: 6 Age: 10
Father: David McCoy, M.D.
Mother: Amanda Grayson-McCoy
It was Spock's first year at the prestigious school, and his first attempt at intermural sports. The chance that he would be admitted to the program was probably quite slim, for his Vulcan strength would give him an unfair advantage. But it did not matter to him. He was content with his own choice of extracurricular activities — Math Club and Debating, both of which made good use of logic. However, since his parents felt that participating in sports or in the performing arts would be valuable experiences, he was opting for sports. After all, he still enjoyed karate when visiting Sensei's Enclave for monthly meditative instruction.
Rising, he went inside and submitted the application, together with a medical evaluation form, mere minutes before the deadline. Everything was in order.
"Middle school tryouts today at 3:30 sharp," the clerk reminded him unnecessarily. "Wear your P.E. clothes."
oooo
Though the afternoon was warm by Earth standards, Spock wore a modified thermal suit under his shorts and t-shirt. As he approached the athletic field, it was obvious that he would stand out sharply against the other participants. It was not only a matter of his alien blood. Even the girls were considerably bigger than Spock, the youngest student in the entire school.
As he passed the bleachers, a familiar, ever-deepening voice called out. "Good luck, Bro! Looks like you'll be needin' it!"
Spock turned and found his 16-year-old stepbrother seated on a bench. Thankfully, Leonard (as he now preferred to be called) had not brought any friends along.
Standing as tall as possible, Spock replied, "Luck? Surely it will be a matter of physical strength and coordination, and you are aware that I have both in good supply. Intermural sports are nothing compared to the kahs-wan trial a Vulcan boy of seven must pass."
"A trial you never took." Blue eyes mocking him, Leonard drawled, "My, but you do have a high opinion of yourself."
Spock shook off the encounter and continued down to the field, where fifteen middle school students had congregated. A coach called for silence and checked each candidate's name against a list on his padd. He then gave an informative speech and led them in a series of "warm-up" exercises. At last the trials began. Grouped according to gender, Spock ran a 400 meter dash that left him trailing behind even the slowest among them. Next came an 800 meter run, but no amount of Vulcan endurance could compensate for his shorter legs. That left only the long jump, meant to test both jumping and hurtling ability. Having come from a planet with higher gravity, he would surely do well. But despite repeated attempts, he was unable to match the performance of boys so much taller than him. At each failure, a few snickers could be heard from the female students.
Burning with humiliation, Spock stood to one side awaiting the coach's inevitable rejection. One by one, the coach named those who were eligible for the team. At last only Spock stood alone.
Taking him aside, the coach kindly said, "Grayson, you have a lot of heart, but your size is working against you. Why not try again next year?"
Disqualified! Churning with emotion, Spock headed off the field. His athletic shoes crushed the grass as he veered away from Leonard. He badly needed some solitude in which to meditate, but there was no way to escape the inevitable teasing.
Running to catch up, Leonard quipped, "Hey Spocklet, you wiped out like a pro! Maybe you really are human."
Spock struggled for self-control and kept moving. If failure was a human attribute, he wished he were entirely Vulcan. "Leave me alone," he said thickly.
Easily keeping pace, Leonard laid a hand on his shoulder. "Tough luck, Bro. I'm sorry. I really am."
Spock could sense Leonard's sincerity through the touch. It was so surprising…and so very welcome…that his thoughts underwent a dramatic shift and his steps slowed. Could it be? Could it be that some failures were not cause for censure, but instead drew humans together? Such a thing would never happen on Vulcan.
Drawing a deep breath, he asked, "Did…did you call Mother and tell her?"
"Nope. You can turn it into a funny story over dinner. I'll show you how."
Though Spock failed to see any humor in the situation, perhaps he could try.
Leonard polished a red apple against his senior high jacket and offered it to him with a smile. "C'mon now, it's late. We'd best be gettin' home."
oooOOooo
