Chapter Two: First Impressions

Rating: K+

Characters: The four Pevensies, Robbie Walsh, Mike Patterson, Tristan Cooper, Steven Fleming, Colt Phillips, Will Mitchell, Hannah Mitchell, and Caspian Gutierrez.

Summary: The title says it all.

Author's Note: Someone mentioned in a review that Peter is British and SATs are solely an American thing. I apologize since I failed to note that this story takes place in America. Peter can still "be" British if you like (in my mind he will always be), but he and his family live in the US.

The weekend after school resumed, Peter and his teammates decided to play a pickup game of baseball at the county's recreational field. Edmund, Mike and Robbie were there, as were Finchley High's center fielder, Tristan Cooper, and third baseman, Steven Fleming. Tristan, Mike, and Steven spread out in the field. Edmund called first bat since Peter would be pitching and Robbie catching. Such games were a ritual of theirs leading up to the start of fall sports and they had a loyal fan base. Susan and Lucy were in the stands with several of their friends and a few other students who had nothing better to do on a sultry Saturday afternoon.

Peter took his time warming up, throwing a few practice pitches before the game began. Finally he called out to Edmund. The younger boy stepped into the batter's box and tested the weight of his bat while the other players took their positions.

A smattering of cheers came from the bleachers as Peter took Robbie's signal for a curveball. He wound up and let the ball fly. There was a dull sound as it made contact with Edmund's bat and went zipping along the grass outside the third base line. Steven jogged after it, laughing to himself at Ed's grunt of disapproval and subsequent comments.

"Christ, Peter," he grumbled. "Stop throwing those!"

Laughing, Peter said, "You've got to learn to hit them sometime, little brother. Telmar Prep's not going to go as easy on you as I do."

"Yeah, yeah, el capitan. Just give me something I can hit."

The older boy just smiled, turning to catch the ball as Steven lobbed it towards him. This time when he pitched, the ball came in low and away. Edmund watched its flight and shook his head ruefully.

"Just wanted to see if you were paying attention," Peter said, trying and failing to appear innocent.

On the third attempt, Ed managed a clean line drive over second base. The ball was picked up by Tristan who blazed it in to Mike, by which time Edmund had touched first base safely. Mike threw Edmund his glove and headed to home plate for his turn at bat. He pointed the thing at his teammate and grinned.

"Let a pro show you how it's done."

Everyone laughed then, including Mike. He watched Peter's first pitch and swung at the second. The hit was solid, but nothing spectacular; the ball bounced once just beyond the pitcher's reach and rolled to a stop outside the third base line. Steven jogged over to get it and threw it back to Peter.

"If that was what you call professional Mikey, I think we'd best kiss that state title goodbye right now," said a familiar voice near the bleachers.

Everyone's eyes turned to the newest arrival, Finchley's right fielder and one of Edmund's best friends, Carlton ("Colt") Phillips. The tall sophomore pulled his baseball cap lower and sauntered onto the field. Mike sent a dirty gesture his way which he returned, grinning like an idiot as he did so. He said hello to the other boys before taking up his position and waving to Peter to continue the game.

They kept playing until everyone had had a chance at bat except for Peter. Robbie and Tristan both managed triples. Colt would have scored a home run had it not been for Tristan half climbing the low fence to catch the ball. Mike asked where that talent came from and why he didn't use it more often. The center fielder threw the ball at him half-heartedly and told him where he could put it. This play-fighting was as routine as the games themselves and no one who knew the team mistook it for ill feeling. The boys fell to discussing who would pitch to Peter and so did not notice a small group of people walking over from the parking lot. It wasn't until the gentle buzz of conversation from the bleachers died out that they realized something was going on.

Peter recognized one of his classmates, Will Mitchell, and Will's sister Hannah. There was a dark-haired boy with them he'd never seen before.

Edmund wondered, "Who's that with the Mitchell kids?"

Then it dawned on Peter. The boy must be Caspian. Earlier in the week, not long after Mike broke the news that they'd be getting a new pitcher, the coach had called a team meeting to make the official announcement. Finchley's second baseman, an outspoken junior named Wes Baker, had put into words what Peter was feeling. What the hell? The coach explained that Headmaster Kirke had invited a group of exchange students from other countries and that Caspian happened to be one of them because he was good at baseball and wanted to play in America. Having seen the look on Peter's face, no one had brought the matter up since. Yet now there he stood.

Lucy came running over, brown hair flying. She took Peter's hand and pulled him along with her to the sidelines. The rest of the team followed a little more slowly, watching their captain.

"Hi Peter, hi guys," Will said, nodding to the others. "I hope you don't mind, but Hannah and I figured you'd be here, so we brought Caspian out to meet you. We've been showing him around some."

Peter noticed three things about Caspian as Will spoke. First, the boy was taller than himself by at least three inches. Second, he was already wearing a batting glove and carried a lightweight aluminum bat. Third, Peter noticed that Caspian's eyes were black and fathomless and seemed to stare straight through him. His insides trembled as he met that gaze, causing the blood to rush to his face. He looked away, suddenly feeling uncomfortably hot and dry-mouthed. He heard Will talking again and forced himself to focus on introductions.

"Caspian, this is Peter Pevensie. That's his younger brother Edmund over there, and of course you've already met Susan and Lucy. Pete, this is Caspian Gutierrez."

Caspian shifted the bat to his gloved hand and extended the other with a friendly smile. Peter took it and felt that it was as warm and solid as his own.

"It is a pleasure to meet you Peter," Caspian said, his accent lending an exotic quality to the words.

"Yeah, same here," Peter replied a little dazedly.

As Caspian moved on to greet the other players, Peter gave himself a slight shake. What on earth was wrong with him? He could be civil, but this was his rival for god's sake. This boy was a threat to his pride and to his position with the team. If he was so good as the coach had said, Peter might find himself a second stringer just like Jesse Tucker, and while he liked Jesse, there were no scholarships or contracts on the line for him. If he didn't get hold of himself, he somehow knew he would lose his place and he couldn't allow that to happen.

After all the hello's were said, Caspian asked if he could play with Peter and the others. Peter felt like throwing something when they all turned to him for the final word.

"Sure," he answered, stalking off toward the pitcher's mound.

"Hey Peter, why don't we let the new guy throw a few?" Colt called out.

The eldest Pevensie stopped in his tracks, shoulders tense. Edmund shot Colt a heated look that made the other boy wish he'd never said anything. But it was too late.

Caspian held onto his bat a moment longer as though he sensed Peter's hesitation. Finally, though, the blonde tossed him the ball and made his way to home plate to retrieve his bat. He'd positioned himself in the batter's box and took a practice swing by the time Caspian reached the mound. The others were abnormally quiet, waiting to see what would happen.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Let's see what you've got," Peter snapped.

It was obvious that the new pitcher was nervous. His first attempt was low and inside, the second low and outside, but he was fast. Even Peter had to admit that and it did nothing to curb the downturn in his mood. He bore down on the bat roughly and awaited the next pitch. This time it was straight over the plate and he sent it flying high and deep into left field. Tristan ran for it and caught the ball just before it hit ground. As he returned it to Caspian, Pete yelled:

"One more!"

The next throw was only a little outside, but that was just the kind of pitch Peter liked. He stepped into the ball and swung hard. The sound of the impact alone spoke of a perfect hit. The rest of the boys just watched as the baseball soared over the chain-link fence and disappeared into the grass beyond.

Peter couldn't help smiling to himself as he jogged around the bases.