Kevin tossed a baseball into the air, put his bat back before swinging it forward as hard as he could, hearing a loud crack as the wood connected to leather, sending the ball flying, veering slightly to the left as it soared off into the distance. He watched until it hit the ground a hundred meters or so away before he relaxed his posture, bending down to grab another ball in the small pile at his feet. He had about a dozen baseballs or so, making a collection he had started when he was old enough to throw. Over the years he had broken quite a few of them, and lost a few others. While he often used them in his team practices, it was his solo practices that the baseballs saw the most use. Whenever the teen felt confused, frustrated or bored he would trek to the field about a block behind his home and hit the balls as hard as he could, letting them fly until it was too dark to see or he'd lost them all.

Today he came out and thought about the nerd in the stupid hat. He had been trying to stay out of the kid's way, since he had made it very clear he did not want Kevin's assistance, but the jock couldn't get the sight of the boy's latest attack out of his mind. Well, the latest one he'd seen. It was obvious the young man had no control over his body or mind during such times. It was something that made Kevin both angry, sympathetic and morbidly curious. The strange cocktail of emotions fought for dominance inside his head, leaving him frustrated, confused and worried.

There was nothing he could do, right? It's not freaking out about it would fix anything- in fact, it might make it worse. He sure didn't like when I got nervous last time, but that was probably cuz' I told em what to do. He wouldn't be making that mistake again. No, if he were going to approach the young boy again, he was going to do it right!

What was the right way to talk to him, anyway?

Speak quietly and try not to make any sudden movements?

Show him that he meant no harm until the kid let his guard down?

Stop being a freakin' moron, probably.

It wasn't like Kevin was bad at talking to people- he wasn't. The young athlete didn't usually have trouble talking to people, especially non-threatening types like Dee. And in most cases, he would waltz right up and start a conversation with whomever, no problem. However, the dark-haired nerd did something to him that made him feel ...weird. Every time Kevin caught sight of the thin, graceful boy he could feel himself staring. His body felt stiff and his stomach felt sick whenever Dee was around, like Kevin's body became spontaneously ill and his nerves had become more sensitive. He got more easily carried away in his dumb emotions and he felt like everything he did looked funny.

Which was annoying and stupid.

As he thought about how many times he'd done something to piss off or offend the young nerd, he grit his teeth and hit another baseball, watching as it went far and high off into the distance. He did it again, and again and again.

Whip, whack!

Pause…

Whip, whack!

Pause…

Whip!

Miss.

Whip!

Miss.

Whip!

"Damnit!" Kevin yelled, chucking the bat in his hands and kicking the remaining baseballs near his feet. He picked up one of the leather balls and threw it as hard as he could, attempting to let out his frustrations. He picked up another, raising his hand to throw it, but as he was about to swing down a warm hand grasped his wrist tightly. It startled the young boy and he dropped the baseball, wrenching his hand away and turning around. In front of him was a tall, thick man, giving him an amused expression. The man had dark red hair and a splattering of freckles, similar to the young boy in front of him.

"Oh. Hey Dad," Kevin said, dropping his arm, his face softening and his cheeks reddening slightly in embarrassment of being caught.

"Hey Kev. Whatcha' doin?" the man asked, gesturing to the fallen bat and mess of baseballs near his son's feet.

"I just- I was practicing is all," the ginger said, shoving his hands in his pockets. The older man cocked an eye brow.

"Practicing for what? Lookin' like an idiot?"

"No!"

"Hmm. C'mon, pick em' up. Your mother has dinner ready and'll have both our heads if we're late." Begrudgingly, Kevin joined his father and retrieved the fallen sports equipment, hauling them back to their house, no words passing between them. Once back home, Kevin's mother scolded him for being out so late and promptly gave him a heaping of hot, delicious food, serving both he and his father before plopping down and serving herself.

She may have acted upset, but both men knew better. Madeline Renae Barr was one of the best cooks around, and took meals very seriously. Kevin had been disciplined many times, but his mother had never and would never deny him dinner, as it was almost sacred to her. Having her husband and son in the same room enjoying her food was something she never grew tired of seeing, and Kevin had no doubt she'd kill him if he didn't show up for it.

After they'd eaten her roasted vegetables, her Thai noodle dish, her Greek salad and her Key Lime pie, she took the plates off the table and faced them both, her hands folded neatly in her lap.

"Kevin got in a fight this week," she said bluntly, watching both men carefully. Kevin's father tried not to look pleased and cleared his throat to cover a laugh, giving his son a stern look.

"Did he now?" he asked, humoring his wife. Kevin's father had been quite the brute in his younger years, and loved to hear about a good brawl.

"Oh yes. Two boys were sent to the hospital afterwards. Weren't they, Kevin?"

"Uh, yeah, but just for a couple stitches. Well, okay, there were a couple broken bones, but barely."

Kevin's father's face lit up a bit. "Who?"

"Jason and the younger Holland kid," Kevin said, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

"Jason Scott? The one with the tattoo?"

"Yup. Broken collar bone."

"But did he win?"

"Yeah he did! Why'da think Holland went too? Broken arm and possible concussion. Jason says the younger one was out in less than two minutes. Another guy hit em with his board, which is how they broke 'is collar."

"Was it a long board or skate board?"

"Pretty sure it was a regular board. 'Sbroken now."

"Nice. Holland…the short one with the smirk?"

"Nah, that's his older brother. I'm talkin' about his younger brother- the one with the glasses."

"Oh, I remember him. How old's he?"

"Fifteen, I think."

"Cocky bastard!"

"Exactly."

"Who started the fight?"

Kevin paused. The fun environment seemed to still, and he looked down at his plate.

"Uh…I did, actually." This made his father pause, his drink halfway to his mouth. He gave his son a serious look, took a swig of his beer before setting the glass down, looking from his wife to his son a couple of times, trying to gather all the information he could without asking. His wife looked at their son, her arms crossed- but she didn't look upset. She didn't seem pleased, of course, but she wasn't angry. His son, however, stared at the table with, what? Embarrassment?

"Is that so?" he asked quietly, waiting until his son looked up at him. "What made ya throw the first punch, son?"

His ginger haired boy shrugged helplessly, desperately trying not to show how uncomfortable he was. "Holland was stepping over the line. Someone had to do somethin'."

It was a shitty answer, and they all knew it. It wasn't like Kevin to be so evasive, and it surprised his father. Madeline, however, was less patient, and clicked her tongue disapprovingly.

"Of course he did- otherwise you never would have hit him. Tell him the real reason, Kevin."

The athlete shot his mother a glare that said thanks a lot before shrugging again. "He was messin' with the Marion kid. I thought he was gonn' beat on 'im, and the frickin' kid's a twig. He could have killed him. So I told em' to leave him alone, but he wouldn't listen. Well, I mean, he did, but he was a real jerk about it so I clocked him. Didn't think it would start a fight, but he was itchin for a reason to jump us."

Kevin's father cocked an eyebrow, taking another swig of his alcohol. "Marion? You mean the smart kid? Had those dopey friends that were always draggin him inta trouble?"

"That's the one."

"Haven't seen him in a while- you two buddies?"

Kevin scoffed. "Hardly. T he kid's afraid of his own shadow." Mentally, the athlete winced at his own words, but his mouth seemed to move on its own. For some reason, he really didn't want his parents to know he had become a bit attached to the nerd, though he couldn't fathom why. There was no reason for him to be ashamed of his weird friendship with the kid, but it felt almost…secret. Like, if anyone were to know, it would suddenly become less valid somehow.

Weird.

"Huh. Well, sounds like you were his knight in shining armor then," his father deadpanned, unimpressed with his son's rude comment.

The boy's face turned a couple shades darker, and he crossed his arms. He wasn't going to argue, however. His father was right. Dee wasn't as fragile as he had made him sound. The kid had been through enough, and here he was, making him sound like a wimp.

Way to go, stupid. What's next? Get your foot out of your mouth, damnit!

He sighed. "I just didn't wanna see Holland hurt the kid."

.

Now, while Kevin wasn't really into school (never had been, honestly), it had become quite easy to wake up earlier if it meant he could see Dee in the library every morning. He had made a point to keep an eye on the boy, if just to make sure no one was bugging him. At least, that's what he told himself as he tried to find the courage to go over to the reading boy and start a conversation. Dee never seemed to mind his company, always setting his study material aside and meeting the ginger's eyes with a warm smile, inviting him to sit with him. They would often spend their first periods together, talking and playing cards (turns out Dee always carried a pack with him- the kid was obsessed with solitaire).

Kevin tried not to laugh at the boy's serious nature with the playing cards, his hands working expertly too shuffle them perfectly, and his face set in a serious frown as he worked.

"Alright, let me teach you another game. It is purely about chance, not skill. So," he said, coyly, giving the athlete across from him a sly smile, "you might have a chance to win."

The ginger scoffed. "Oh, okay. I see how it is. Think you're some big shot, do ya? Playin' a little cards and suddenly you're God's gift to the world?"

He was a bit afraid he'd gone over the line with his brash outburst, but when Dee shrugged smugly, grinning as he handed Kevin his cards, he knew he was fine. The boy set out the cards all face down, two rows of five. Kevin followed his actions, waiting for Dee to instruct him how to play.

"Pick out a card, and try to replace it with the corresponding card. Kings are wild cards, Queens and Jacks are worthless. First one to turn all over their cards wins the round, and lose a card the next round. First person to dispose of all their cards wins. Understand?"

It was easier than it sounded, and soon both were down to three cards each. Kevin laughed at the little pout Dee made when he didn't get a card he liked, and it made Kevin think he'd be terrible at poker. Perhaps they would play it some day and find out.

"Kevin?"

"Hmm?"

"It's your turn."

The ginger shook himself from his staring, reaching for a card. It was a ten. Useless. He sneered slightly and threw it in the pile of useless cards.

"I'm no good at cards, and apparently I'm not lucky either."

"Luck is an illusion. One is lucky when they believe they are lucky," Dee said quietly, pulling out a card and flipping over two of his three cards. He handed Kevin his extra card, which was a two.

"So if I tell myself I'm lucky I'll help the team win state?" he asked offhandedly, partly curious and partly just trying to keep the conversation going. And really, could the genius believe that thinking affected luck?

"Precisely. What you don't understand is, that one believes they are lucky, they act like as a lucky person would- take risks, perform better and even attain goals they wouldn't have deemed possible before. Not to be confused with false confidence, of course. But a good attitude, even if founded on the illusion of luck, is very powerful. If your team were to believe they were quite lucky, but also not invincible, there is a very good chance you could win the state championship."

"That's nuts," Kevin said, quite taken aback.

"It is interesting, no?" Dee said simply, smiling as he won the round. He grabbed Kevin's losing pile and began to shuffle again, a small black bang bouncing as he did.

"Dee?"

"Yes?"

"You're a strange dude, you know that, right?"

The smaller boy straightened a bit, and upon seeing Kevin's teasing look, gave him a soft smile.

"Ah, Kevin, normalcy is but an illusion made by those who cannot understand the worth of their own uniqueness."

Kevin smiled, looking almost tickled. "This is why I like you."

.

.

.

.

FINALLY.

Thoughts?