Charlie fixed his eyes firmly on the ground, following his brother and his brother's friend down the street towards the school. Donnie and Jack were talking about practice that afternoon, and Charlie was only tuned in out of partial interest. He busied himself with trying to step where Donnie stepped, hoping to match Donnie's confident stride with his shorter legs and awkward gait.
Two days had gone by since he had made his plan. So far, it seemed to be working. Don didn't seem to be mad at him much at home, and at school he had even smiled at Charlie while passing him in the hall. The smile from his brother, when there were other teenagers around, had lifted Charlie to a height of absolute delight and strengthened his resolve.
Their mother was starting to notice something, though. That much, Charlie was certain of. Their father seemed to notice nothing out of the ordinary, just like Don, but Charlie was catching his mother's curious looks out of the corner of his eye whenever he shifted the focus of conversation off of school and onto Donnie. He hoped she wouldn't say anything, though. He really liked not having Donnie be mad at him.
The trio had just crossed the street- Charlie keeping quite close to Don the entire way- when a hand snatched the back of Charlie's backpack and pulled him to the side. Charlie let out a startled cry and was spun around until he came face to face with none other than Dylan Bradley.
Dylan's expression was far from friendly. "Morning, runt. I have a bone to pick with you."
Charlie felt a shiver creep up his spine at the angry glint in Dylan's eyes.
"I finally realized what you said to me a few days ago," Dylan went on, shifting his grip from Charlie's bag to his arms. "You think the teachers think I'm too stupid to get good grades, don't you?"
"I think everyone thinks that. And if you don't let go of my brother, they're going to think you're too injured to even do the work."
Dylan and Charlie looked up at Don, who had appeared just behind Charlie's right shoulder. Jack was hovering in the distance with a few other interested spectators.
Dylan studied Don's face, clearly trying to decide if Don posed any threat to him. Finally, he straightened and shoved Charlie back into Don. Don immediately drew Charlie protectively behind him and continued to stare threateningly at the bully.
"Why are you defending him, Eppes?" Dylan demanded. "He's a freak. He ain't normal like you and me."
"If anyone's the freak, Bradley, it's you," Don shot back. "Picking on kids smaller than you. If you're so hot for a fight, then come and find me and leave my brother alone."
Dylan snorted derisively, but a slight glimmer of fear in his eyes told Don that he would never accept the challenge. Casting a livid glare at the small boy, he stalked off.
Don turned and looked down at Charlie, who was looking up at him with stars in his eyes. "You okay, Buddy?"
Charlie nodded, a slow smile spreading across his face. "That was awesome, Donnie! I can't believe you said that to him!"
Don studied Charlie's face for a moment, wearing an expression that the boy couldn't identify. Finally, he nodded. "All right, then, let's get to school or we're gonna be late. C'mon."
Charlie hurried beside Donnie, almost running to keep up but not caring in the least. When Donnie didn't even tell him to walk away from them, he felt joy spread through him. Donnie liked him!
Jack waited until Charlie had moved off towards his locker before speaking to his best friend. "What was that all about, man?"
Don looked at him, confused. "What was what all about?"
Jack rolled his eyes. "The whole superman bit, punking Dylan, the whole thing! Are you going soft on me?"
It was Don's turn to roll his eyes. "What, you think I should've let Dylan pick on Charlie? Charlie's a pain in the ass, but he doesn't deserve to get beaten up by some lowlife bully."
"Whatever, man," Jack replied. "While you were busy playing hero, I heard a couple girls talking about you. They thought you were 'so brave'." He punctuated his statement by fluttering his eyelashes and making a face.
Color crept into Don's cheeks, but inwardly he was pleased. "Yeah? You know who?"
Jack winked slyly. "I know one of them was Jennifer Cassidy's best friend."
Don felt his blush deepen. Jennifer was in their year, and Don had been nursing a crush on her for the last year and a half, much to Jack's amusement. He had never been able to go up and talk to her, despite Jack's attempts at making him do just that. "Really?"
Jack nudged him. "Maybe she'll come up and talk to you this time. What'd'ya say?"
Don was saved, literally, by the bell as it rang to signal the start of classes. Ducking Jack's question, he tossed a farewell to his friend and took off in the opposite direction.
Nearly twenty boys in their mid-teens mulled about the baseball diamond once school was out, warming up for the practice that would last the next hour and a half. The coach was busy with a clipboard, talking to his two co-captains. Several more students were lounging comfortably on the bleachers, talking to friends or players while they waited for the practice to begin.
Charlie took this all in, then set his eyes for the familiar form of his older brother. He finally spied Donnie tossing a ball to Jack, a wide grin on his face as he and Jack shared some private joke. Once Donnie was in his sights, Charlie claimed a seat on the edge of the bleachers, apart from the rest of the crowd.
Practice seemed to go well. The players were a well-oiled machine, though this was in part due to the fact that many of the players had been on the team the year before. In Charlie's eyes, however, Donnie was clearly the best of them all. He averaged more hits than the rest, aimed with pinpoint precision, and had every play timed down to the last, perfect second. Charlie's awe for his big brother grew with each passing second.
Almost unconsciously, Charlie's mind began to process everything he saw and turn it into numbers. He took in the stances of the batters and the pitchers, the swings taken, the throws coupled with velocity and trajectory, and smaller variables like wind and noises, and found that he was able to predict with near perfect accuracy what was about to happen each time. His eyes followed his brother, noting the position of his feet and torso, the angles he created when winding up to throw the ball, the gentle breeze ruffling his hair, and Charlie knew exactly the path the ball would take, and where it would end up.
As Don's team switched sides, Charlie could hear the coach call out the line-up; Donnie would bat fifth in line. Charlie sat up straighter and watched with keen interest as each player took a turn at bat. By the time Donnie finally made it to the plate, there was one out, and three people on the bases. Don paused outside the batter's box, taking a couple more test swings.
Seemingly out of the recesses of his mind, a thought bubbled to the forefront of Charlie's brain. I can help him.
Charlie jerked sharply. He observed the pitcher, then turned to Don. Before he realized what he was doing, he was up and running to the fence separating the diamond from the bleachers. "Donnie!"
Don froze ever-so-slightly, then turned. A mask of irritation appeared on his face. "Charlie! What did I tell you?"
"Yeah, I know, you want me to not bother anybody, but I just thought of something!" Charlie insisted excitedly.
"Charlie, go back to the bleachers and leave me alone!" Don snapped, turning back to face the pitcher.
Charlie was nothing if not persistent. "Donnie! You have to raise your right elbow two degrees and turn your right foot inwards-."
"Charlie, you don't know what you're talking about!" Don called back, still waiting for the pitcher.
"But Donnie, he's gonna throw the ball low and inside, and you're gonna miss it!" Charlie yelled, just as the pitcher let the ball fly.
Don barely had time to acknowledge Charlie's words as he pivoted and swung with all his might at the ball, cursing inwardly when he felt it fly past his bat. He heard it whistle as it went into the catcher's mitt . . .
. . . exactly where Charlie had said it would.
Don and the catcher stared dumbly at the ball, then turned and looked at Charlie's indignant expression. Those people who had been standing near enough to hear the argument were also staring in shock at the small boy.
Don was the first to recover. "Coincidence," he muttered.
"If it is, it's a hell of one," the catcher stated. He peered curiously at Charlie.
"I bet he can't do it again," said another boy Charlie vaguely knew as the boy who collected and looked after the team's equipment. He was standing just feet away from Charlie, an intrigued look on his face as well.
"Hey, are we playing or what?" the pitcher called from the mound.
"What's going on?" The coach, Stephen Thomas, walked up to the boys. He looked down at Charlie. "Son, you should get back on the bleachers where it's safe. Andy, throw the ball back to Juan and let's get on with it."
"Coach, you've gotta see this," the equipment manager told Thomas. "This kid knew exactly where Juan was going to throw the ball and what would happen."
Thomas' face grew doubtful. "Chris . . ."
"No, I'm serious!" Chris insisted. He looked at Andy and Don for confirmation. "He did, didn't he? Watch him, Coach. Do it again, kid."
"Sir, he barely knows how to even play baseball," Don interjected.
"And how do you know that, Eppes?" Thomas asked.
Charlie spoke up. "He's my brother. He's teaching me how to play."
Thomas looked at Charlie, a dawning comprehension in his eyes. "So . . . you're the math prodigy I've been hearing all about?"
Charlie nodded, dimly aware that Don had tensed at his coach's words. Thomas nodded back, a thoughtful look passing over his face.
"Well, I have heard of cases where scientists are able to predict pitches and hits based on mathematics," he commented. "Never gave it much thought, though. Baseball is about the human heart, about instinct. Still, can't hurt to try something new. All right, kid. You tell me what's gonna happen on this next pitch."
Charlie glanced at the pitcher, then back to Thomas. "I can't do anything unless the pitcher has the ball."
Andy gave a start and stared down at the ball in surprise. Shaking it off, he threw it over to Juan, whose "Finally!" carried on the wind to their ears.
"This is ridiculous, Coach," Don insisted.
"I'll be the judge of that, Eppes," Thomas replied. "Take a stance."
With a final, irritated glare for his younger brother, Don turned back to the game. Charlie edged closer, his eyes staring firmly at the pitcher, then at Don.
"Donnie," he said. "Take a step back."
Don glanced back, the disbelieving look on his face saying more than any words ever could.
Charlie met his gaze evenly. "Just a few inches, Donnie. He's gonna try to go inside, but not as low. If you take a small step backwards and keep that stance, you'll hit it right to centerfield, landing right at the fence."
Don wasn't about to agree, but at a stern nod from Thomas, he did as he was told. Watching with eager anticipation, Juan let the ball fly. Don swung, feeling the ball connecting solidly with the bat, but didn't run. Every eye in the field followed the ball as it arced through the air and landed in the grass right in front of the fence.
"See?" Chris shouted. "I told you! I told you!"
"If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes . . ." Thomas shook his head and looked down at Charlie. "That's pretty amazing, son."
Charlie shrugged. "That's math."
Thomas let out a soft chuckle. "Well, we could use some more of that on the field. How would you like to give us a hand?"
Charlie sucked in a sharp breath, surprised. His eyes darted to Donnie, but Don wasn't looking at him. He was staring at the ball still in the outfield, but he didn't seem to really be seeing it.
Charlie wasn't sure what to do. He wanted more than anything to do whatever it was Donnie was doing. If Donnie did it, then it was cool. But something told Charlie that saying yes might be a mistake. And yet . . . he wanted so much to be like Donnie . . .
"Can I think about it?" Charlie asked.
Thomas stared at him, then finally nodded. "Sure, son, but don't take too long. We have our first game in a few weeks, and I want to get a head start on this."
Charlie returned the nod, then moved back to the bleachers.
Practice lasted only ten minutes more, and then the players were dismissed. Charlie followed the team to the locker room, then waited outside for Donnie.
Several boys passed him on their way out. Most of them gave Charlie strange looks, as though they had never seen him before. Another fifteen minutes passed when Don finally emerged with Jack. Jack bid farewell to Don, gave Charlie a disgusted look, then left. Charlie ignored him, focused wholly on his brother.
Don didn't even look at him as he started for the door and began the walk home. Stunned at first, Charlie rushed to catch up. "Donnie?"
Don didn't answer.
Charlie tried again. "Donnie, you did great! You were the best player out there, no contest."
"As long as I've got you telling me what to do, right?" Don snapped.
The force of bitter resentment behind his words pulled Charlie up short. "What are you talking about?"
"You couldn't leave well enough alone, could you?" Don ranted, walking so fast across the street that Charlie had to run to keep up. "You couldn't do what you were told, couldn't sit quietly and not bother me. No, you had to make a big deal, make this all about you."
Something an awful lot like hate seeped into Don's words, driving a sharp blade into Charlie's gut. "Donnie?"
Don finally stopped and rounded on Charlie, startling the boy so much that Charlie actually took a few steps back. Don's eyes blazed with a fury Charlie had never seen, and for the first time in his life, he found that he was afraid of his big brother.
"Everything is always about you!" he yelled. "How you're so smart, a math genius, the child prodigy. Mom and Dad bending over backwards to make sure that you're taken care of before anything else, giving you your way all the time! I have to go around being known as the guy with a freak for a brother! Do you have any idea how humiliating it is to have an annoying, know-it-all, tag-along, pest like you hanging around me all the time? Do you?"
Charlie tried to work his jaw, but no sound came out. Tears filled his eyes. This couldn't be Don speaking; not the brother he admired so much.
Don snorted. "Of course not. You wouldn't. All you care about is yourself. And you make everyone around you care about you, too. I finally get one thing I'm good at, where I can actually have people see me as me rather than the guy with the genius for a brother, and you have to take that away from me, too! I'm so sick of this, Charlie! God! Why can't you just be a normal brother instead of some super genius freak that has to follow me around?"
Without waiting for an answer, Don spun on his heel and stalked off for the house, leaving Charlie, trembling and alone.
Tears spilled onto his cheeks, sobs bubbling up from his chest and lodging in his throat. Charlie couldn't believe that Don had said such horrible things to him. Had he always felt that way about Charlie? He had to; these weren't problems that developed overnight.
Why can't you just be a normal brother instead of some super genius freak that has to follow me around?
Suddenly everything came sharply into focus. Don ignoring him at school, yelling at him, being mean to him . . . Charlie knew that he was special; different from other children his age. He'd never thought that that would bother anybody, but now it would seem that his genius was driving away the one person who meant the world to him.
Charlie trudged slowly home, sniffling and wiping at his eyes. Don's words came back to him, chasing each other around his head until they drowned out all other sounds. He barely noticed when he arrived at home and headed straight into his room, glad that his parents were preoccupied. He didn't want them to ask what was wrong. Now seeing what Donnie truly thought of him, he wondered if his parents didn't think it, too.
Closing the door firmly behind him, Charlie dropped his backpack on the floor and sank to the ground, his back to his door. He hugged his knees to his chest and buried his face so he could muffle his tears.
Don was so firmly ensconced in his homework that his father called his name twice before he heard him. He looked up, drawing his eyebrows together in confusion. "Dad?"
Alan smiled at his eldest son. "I'm here to tell you that dinner's ready. Go pry your brother from his books and wash up, all right?"
At the mention of his brother, Don felt a sharp stab of guilt. He smiled, though weakly, and said, "All right. Be right down."
As soon as Alan moved away, Don let out a long breath and covered his face with his hands. He had been trying to concentrate on his assignments, but his mind kept wandering away from his books. He now realized it was his conscience.
He hadn't meant to blow up at Charlie the way he had. But dammit . . . Charlie was just so infuriating! He always had to be the center of attention, and wouldn't share any of the spotlight with Don. Don usually put up with it, trying not to let it bother him, but today's practice had been the last straw.
Standing, Don moved into the hall and down to Charlie's door. He paused outside, listening for any sounds, but could hear nothing. He knocked lightly on the door.
"Charlie, dinnertime," he called. "Charlie? You in there?"
There was silence at first, then a timid, "I'm not hungry."
Another small flutter of guilt rose in Don's stomach, but he tamped it viciously down. "Come on, Charlie, Mom and Dad aren't going to let you go without dinner. Come out and wash up."
"Really, I . . . I'm not feeling too well," Charlie called back softly from behind the closed door. "I'm just gonna go to bed."
Don frowned. "Charlie . . . are you all right?"
Silence. Don could swear he heard a stifled sob, but it was so faint it might have been his imagination. The voice that responded held no tears. "I-I'm fine . . . Fine. G'night."
Don stared at the door in confusion, but finally moved away. Washing up in the bathroom, he headed downstairs.
Alan and Mary looked up at his entrance; both were sitting at the table, waiting for their sons. They smiled warmly at Don, but their smiles turned to puzzlement when they saw he was alone.
"Where's Charlie?" Alan asked.
Don sank into his customary seat. "He said he wasn't feeling well. He was just gonna go to bed."
Mary's delicate features creased into a worried frown, and she began to rise. "Maybe I should go check on him."
Alan caught her wrist and rose. "You stay and eat. I'll go see him."
Mary sank back down, but the worried frown refused to leave her face. "I hope he's all right. Did anything happen at school today?"
Don deftly avoided his mother's searching eyes. "Nothing out of the ordinary. He'll be fine, Mom. He's probably just doing this for attention."
Even as he said it, he could feel the doubt creeping up on him. He shoved that deep down and began to serve himself something to eat. Even if he hadn't meant to yell at Charlie, the little pest had it coming. In any case, he would get over it, just like he got over everything else.
Charlie let out a sigh of relief when Alan finally left, shutting the door behind him. It had taken some doing, but he finally had managed to convince his father that he wasn't feeling terribly well and just wanted to sleep. It was mostly the truth, anyway."
Charlie rolled onto his back on his bed and stared up at his ceiling. He had been thinking his problem over, and he had come to one inevitable conclusion. His genius was what was causing so many problems between him and Don, and as long as he was smart, Don would never like him. There could only be one logical path to take: Charlie had to stop being smart.
The very idea scared him. He had always felt comfortable with numbers, felt as though they were the only things that made sense in a life of whirlwind confusion. They were what he knew best. Turning away from them felt an awful like turning away from friends; at least, that was what Charlie imagined it would feel like.
But when it came right down to it, there was no choice. Between numbers and his brother, Charlie would always choose Don. Family came first. Don came first. And if Don wanted him to be normal, he would do that for him.
Explaining the sudden change would be hard. Charlie supposed he could simply tell people, when they asked, that he just didn't have the numbers anymore. They wouldn't believe him at first, but if he could just keep at it, he was sure he would convince everybody in the end.
Then maybe Don wouldn't hate him anymore.
