Disclaimer: The city of Alexandria, VA, the original Titans and their families belong to themselves. Superman belongs to DC Comics and Ronnie's Ping-Pong ball gun to Dave Barry. "Hot gazoobies" comes from Gordon Korman. I only own the Hunter twins, Eddie Lindros, Old Pete and the plot of this story.

Technical Notes: I know that the real Gerry Bertier has a sister named Becky, but I forgot that fact and began this story with a girl named Betsy. By the time I remembered, I had grown attached to the name "Betsy," so I decided to let the character keep it. It's my story, anyway, and this way I don't feel like I'm involving an innocent person in this flight of fancy.

Author's Notes:  I'm ba-ack…

THE LITTLE TITANS

Chapter One — The Football Club

It was a hot summer day and seven-year-old Gerry Bertier was bored. He didn't want to stay indoors and read like his momma had suggested. He didn't want to play with his sister Betsy, because that meant being forced to play with her stupid dolls. He didn't even want to play Superman with his best friend, Little Julius Campbell, because both of them wanted to be Superman and it was hard trying to catch an imaginary bad guy.

"I'm bored, Julius," Gerry said, resting his elbows on his grubby knees.

Little Julius, a tall, thin, black boy, sprawled on the porch beside him. "Me, too."

"Ain't there anything fun left to do in this town?"

"We could always play football."

Gerry groaned. "That's as bad as playing Superman." He and Little Julius loved to play football, but they both wanted to be linebackers and it was hard trying to sack an imaginary quarterback.

"It don't have to be just us," Little Julius pointed out. "We could ask some of the other kids to play, too. We could form a team."

His friend's words gave Gerry an idea. "We could form a club!" he exclaimed, his face brightening. "A football club with two teams! That way, we can all play!"

"Hey, that's a great idea," the other boy said, warming to the prospect. "'Sides givin' us somethin' to do, it'll help us practice our moves."

"And we'd better practice if we want to be good enough to play in the pros when we grow up," Gerry agreed. "Who will we ask to join?"

"I can ask Jerry Harris. He's a good quarterback."

"Great," Gerry said. Like Little Julius, Jerry was black, but only the grown-ups cared about that black-white stuff. All the kids cared about was having someone to play with. "And we'll need some big kids to play linemen, too."

"How about Blue Stanton and Lewie Lastik?"

Gerry's brown eyes widened. "Will Lewie play with us? He's a whole year older than we are!"

"Lewie will play if Jerry's playin'. They're pretty good friends."

"If you say so. Hey, how about the Hunter twins, Ryan and Corey?"

"Them twins who don't look alike?"

"Yeah. They run fast."

"OK, then." Little Julius nodded his approval. "And if we get them to play, maybe they can ask some of their other friends to join, too."

"Eddie Lindros!" Gerry exclaimed. "They're friends with Eddie Lindros, and I've seen him play ball. He's good." He grinned, pleased at how quickly everything was coming together. (None of the boys had agreed to join yet, but they could worry about that later.) "Hot gazoobies! We've practically got a whole team already!" He counted the names on his fingers. "There's you and me, and Jerry, and Blue and Lewie, and Ryan and Corey, and Eddie…"

"How about Petey Jones?"

Gerry's little face crumpled in a scowl. "Yuck! That big-mouth?"

"He may be a big-mouth, but he's a good player, an' he's pretty fast, too. You can never have enough fast runners, you know," Little Julius advised. "They're the ones who can take the ball to the end zone."

"Guess you're right," he admitted grudgingly, and returned to the task of picking potential club members. "How about Alan Bosely?"

Now, it was the black boy's turn to scoff. "Alan Bosely's a pipsqueak!"

"He may be a pipsqueak, but he's a nice guy. And his daddy owns the sporting goods store on Upton Avenue. Maybe if Alan joins, we can get a new football."

"We don't need a new football. Every kid in town has a football."

Just then, a loud pop that caused them to jump. Gerry and Little Julius spied a Ping-Pong ball lying on the Bertiers' front lawn. There was another loud pop, and another, and a couple more Ping-Pong balls shot out from behind Gerry's momma's prize rosebushes.

They watched as a blond boy emerged from behind the rosebushes, carrying some kind of gun. The boy aimed his gun and shot another Ping-Pong ball. "Gotcha!" he said as the ball hit the tree that grew on one side of the lawn.

Gerry and Little Julius exchanged glances as the boy ran to gather up his Ping-Pong balls. When the black boy shrugged, Gerry turned to talk to the boy with the gun. "Hey, Ronnie, Julius and me are formin' a football club. You wanna join?"

The blond boy said nothing as he reloaded his gun. Little Julius thought he hadn't heard the invitation, but the boy called Ronnie finally shrugged. "Yeah, I guess so. Just let me finish off the rest of the bad guys, OK?"

"That's Ronnie Bass," Gerry explained when the boy had run off, "from five doors down."

"He's weird," Little Julius said, wrinkling his nose. He wasn't crazy-weird, like Old Pete who lived by himself in a shack on the edge of town, but it was like that Ronnie wasn't all there. His momma would have said that Ronnie had his head in the clouds.

"Yeah, but he has some great toys." And apparently that made him sort of OK in Gerry's book. "Who else can we ask to join?"

"Hey, Gerry!" a voice said then.

Gerry stifled a groan. "Hi, Ray," he said tonelessly as Ray Budds, a fat kid with squinty eyes and freckles, waddled up the Bertiers' front walk.

"Ma asked me to take this to your momma," Ray said, holding up a small bundle. "Says your momma left her gloves at our house the last time y'all visited."

"Mm-hmm."

The plump boy then noticed Little Julius for the first time. "Hey, what's goin' on?"

"Uh…nothin'," Gerry told him. "We was just hangin' around."

Ray looked hurt. "Didn't look like nothin' to me — y'all were talkin' about askin' someone to join somethin' when I came up. Are y'all formin' a club?" he asked. "Can I join?"

"We ain't got a club yet. We were just thinkin' of formin' one."

"Aw, c'mon, Gerry, let me join your club. We can have club meetings in my tree house."

"We don't need no tree house," Little Julius said. "We're formin' a football club and we need us a yard to practice in, not some tree house."

"Well, I've got a pretty big yard, too," Ray replied defensively. "We can practice there."

The black boy opened his mouth to say something back, but Gerry cut him off with a glance. "Look, like I said, we ain't got no club yet," Gerry said. "But if we do form one, we'll let you know and you can try out, OK?"

That seemed to pacify Ray, whose scowl turned into a smile. "OK! Thanks, Gerry! That'll be great! So, uh, I gotta go now—oh, wait, I almost forgot your momma's bundle." He laid it carefully on the porch steps. "Could you take it in to her for me? Thanks! 'Bye!"

"He couldn't even go all the way up here an' bring it to your momma hisself," Little Julius remarked, "and you're thinkin' of lettin' him into our club? What's with you, Gerry?"

Gerry sighed. "I had to say somethin', Julius. If I he'd found out we was formin' a club and didn't want him in it, he would've gone cryin' to his momma and she would've called my momma and Momma would've made us let him join."

The black boy grudgingly nodded his understanding. "No need to bring mommas into this," he remarked. "I just hope he's good for somethin'."

"Oh, he is. He does have a big backyard." Gerry grinned. "And Miz Budds makes great cookies."

Just then, the screen door opened and six-year-old Betsy Bertier skipped out onto the porch, holding a doll by one leg. "Can I be in the football club, too?" the little girl asked.

Gerry scowled at her. "Get out of here, Betsy! An' stop listenin' in on private conversations!" he added, throwing around two of the most grown-up words he knew. He said them perfectly, too. His momma had used them on him often enough.

Betsy scowled, too. She looked a lot like her brother when she scowled. "But I make good cookies, too," she said. "Just as good as Miz Budds makes."

"Well, football ain't for girls. We ain't askin' Miz Budds to join the club, are we?"

"Football is too for girls!" Betsy said, stamping a foot in emphasis. Her doll's blonde curls bounced. "You let me play with you last week! You let me be quarterback!"

"Aw, that wasn't real football," her brother scoffed.

"It sure felt like real football! You tackled me!"

"No, I sacked you. That's different from tackling."

"That wasn't a real game, Betsy," Little Julius explained to her. "This time we're gonna have real teams and play some real games. Things might get rough."

"I can take it! I'm tough!"

"Yeah, you're tough for a girl," Gerry said, "but Momma still ain't gonna let you play. So go away and have a tea party or somethin'."

"Brauuuugggghhhh!" Instead of crying, Betsy got mad. "I hate you, Gerry Bertier!" She swung her doll at her brother, smacking him hard on the arm, and stomped back inside the house. The screen door slammed behind her, loud enough to elicit a scolding from Betsy and Gerry's momma, who was inside making dinner.

Little Julius shook his head at his friend and sighed. "Women."