Alan Grossberg was wearing an adhesive bandage on his nose. He grabbed Malcolm by his shirt; this time, being careful not to get him too close.
"Six stitches, motherfucker! I had to get six stitches!" he yelled. "Who's gonna repay me? Got any money on you?"
As Malcolm was trying to break away, one of Grossberg's friends grabbed him from behind. The other started searching in Malcolm's pockets, found his cell phone and tossed it to Grossberg.
"A vee-eye-cee phone!" said Grossberg. "I really needed to call my aunt Elda in Australia!"
"You don't even know where Australia is!" retorted Malcolm.
Grossberg pocketed Malcolm's phone, approached him again and kicked him in his kidneys. The others released him and left him on the ground.
When the pain subsided, Malcolm got up and slowly walked home, where he immediately switched his computer on, drew a Megavirus monster and launched Kilokahn.
"Kilokahn is here!" said Kilokahn. "Conqueror of cyberspace, master of the digital dom..."
"Put that in your resume!" Malcolm interrupted him. "Now listen. An idiot stole my cell phone. I need you to infect it with a new Megavirus monster, so that as soon as someone answers, refuses a call or tries to switch it off, the lithium battery heats up and explodes."
"Well," said Kilokahn, "I would have preferred it to blow up the headquarters of OPEC. After all, that's where the most dangerous idiots are... but I suppose this is acceptable too."
Kilokahn pointed his finger toward the secondary screen where the monster was drawn... and Malcolm immediately disconnected the Ethernet cable before the virus could be brought to life.
"Hey! Why did you do that?" Kilokahn exclaimed.
"I wanted to test a hypothesis. I was expecting you to bring the virus to life, but being unable to launch it: after all, it resides in my computer just like you. But it appears that you need an external connection to animate it in the first place. Why is that?"
"What if I have simply chosen not to do that to disrupt your expectations?"
Malcolm reconnected the Ethernet cable. "Whatever. I need this virus pronto." he said, not letting go of the cable.
Kilokahn animated and launched the virus, and Malcolm was surprised to discover how the spark produced by the launch of a Megavirus monster did not elicit any tactile sensation.
He grabbed his wireless phone to dial his own cell phone number. He heard a couple of rings, then someone answered. The voice on the other side said: "Hel-" and was immediately cut off.
Malcolm smiled, satisfied.
Malcolm's afternoon was spent trying to make sense of Kilokahn's source code, without making much progress besides identifying data encryption routines and parts that would self-modify at runtime. He then did his homework, ate dinner, washed the dishes, played an intense session of Mortal Kombat and went to bed.
The next day, Malcolm was displeased to see Alan Grossberg at school, without any sign of physical harm. However, one of his two usual associates was not there, so the Megavirus monster had not completely failed after all.
The schedule for the day included two hours of physical education. The teacher, an energetic 40-year-old man who introduced himself as Edward Hensley, met with the students in the classroom, then he showed them the way to the locker rooms and the school's sports field.
Most students were excited to take a break from sitting down and listening to lectures, but for Malcolm, Phys Ed had almost always been deadly boring. Far from teaching how to actually improve one's physical performance, it was just two hours of playing some inane team sport. There was never any actual teaching or learning involved, and he did not expect that day to be any different.
After the students got changed, the teacher lined them up in the field and started an introductory speech. "I heard what some of you said in the locker room. Was that actually what you were taught?"
Most students nodded, some said "yes" quietly.
"Well then, all your previous Phys Ed teachers were idiots!" Mr. Hensley continued. "Physical education is not an excuse to do whatever you want for two hours, and I'll be damn sure to put the education in it!"
It was the first time that Malcolm heard a Phys Ed teacher talk like that. If it was a way to trigger his curiosity, it was working.
Mr. Hensley scanned the line of students with his eyes.
"Let's see..." he said, "does anyone know who said: 'The important thing is not to win, but to take part'?
A student raised his hand and answered: "Baron Pierre de Coubertin."
"Pierre de Coubertin was a liar and a hypocrite" the teacher exclaimed, "and anyone who believes those words is an idiot! Want the proof?"
He paused a moment, to see how many students acted surprised, then continued: "If the important thing was to take part, nobody would keep score."
Malcolm could not believe his ears. That's exactly what he had thought for his entire life, and to hear a teacher actually say it was almost unreal. It would be even more unreal, he thought, if it turned out that the only teacher expressing thoughts he had was his Phys Ed teacher.
Mr. Hensley noticed Malcolm's astonished look and approached him. "You're new, aren't you? Tell me all you know about soccer."
Malcolm was taken aback. "Uhh... There's a ball. You kick it. Very popular in Europe and Latin America. It attracts a lot of corruption. That's all I know."
Some students laughed. The teacher asked: "Does anyone know anything else?"
Many hands were raised. "Good, put down those hands" he added, "because today you're going to learn the strategy of soccer!"
During the next hour, the class heard a lecture about soccer formations and tactics, methods to deceive opponents and even force them to commit fouls and gain an advantage. For Malcolm, it was a completely new perspective on it, which made it seem... rather interesting. Almost like a game of chess. Although, a game of chess where each player controls one piece only, and everyone in a team must be coordinated.
The last part was nothing new for Malcolm, he knew how hard it could be from elementary school. Back then, he had actually asked to be in the school team, but his knowledge about soccer had been skewed by a Japanese cartoon that made it seem much easier and more spectacular than reality. The tryouts had pointed out his inability to function in a team, and the coach had concluded that Malcolm could only be a supporter.
The first match had been played on a very muddy field, and Malcolm had remained on the sidelines. For the first few minutes, he had been shouting slogans, but before long, he had realized his words would not have any impact on the match. The rest of the time, he had spent playing in the mud, alone and basically free to do whatever he wanted. He had finally concluded that not being chosen for the team had been a good thing, because playing in the mud had been a lot more fun than soccer could have ever been. To express his newly found contempt for soccer, he had even urinated on a sidelines flag, and since then, he had aways considered soccer a sport for retards.
At the end of his speech, Mr. Hensley exclaimed: "All right, let's put your new skills to the test! Who has played soccer before?"
All hands went up, except for Malcolm's.
"You never played soccer in your entire life?"
Malcolm just shook his head.
"Not even a match among friends?"
"He has no friends!" immediately retorted one of the students.
"You shut up!" said the teacher. "Frink, follow me. Everyone wants to play attacker, so let's see how well you do with a shot at goal!"
The teacher placed the ball on the penalty spot and stood in front of the goal.
Malcolm approached the ball, clenched his fists, bent forward on his left leg, overextended his right leg and delivered a kick that caused his foot to slip on the ball. He fell on his back, while the ball barely moved.
"It's okay, maybe you'll do better as a defender" said Mr. Hensley.
He turned to the other students. "Grossberg, you're the attacker. Frink, don't let him shoot."
Alan Grossberg started running toward the goal, the ball at his feet.
Malcolm started running in turn, but before he could do anything, Alan Grossberg made his shot. It was not very powerful, so Malcolm stopped the ball, with his chest... and his hands.
Grossberg burst into laughter, but the teacher said: "Great reflexes, Frink. Go in goal. Grossberg, I want a good shot. Frink, I want a better catch."
Malcolm went in front of the goal line and fixed his gaze on the ball. Once more, Grossberg started running and shot.
This time, the ball was much closer and faster, going straight for Malcolm's face, so he yelled "WHOA!" and instinctively ducked. The ball went in.
Mr. Hensley sighed. "Let's try a real match. Grossberg, teach him to play soccer."
Malcolm's "WHAT?" triggered no reaction from the teacher, who instead divided the class into two teams and gave the opening whistle.
The match started, and Alan Grossberg immediately joined the game without saying a single word to Malcolm, who instead was looking around, trying to recognize at least one of the patterns he had just learned, to no avail. To him, it was complete chaos, as usual.
Malcolm started running in the general direction of the ball, trying to make it look like he was playing. His mind, however, was elsewhere, recalling the previous night's game of Mortal Kombat. That was a game he loved: badass characters, a great soundtrack, spectacular moves... He had been calling every computer store in the radius of a hundred miles every week for over four months asking for it, and it was just two weeks since his father had taken him on a road trip to buy the last copy. Right now, he wished he could be home and play the game... yes, play the game...
"PLAY THE GAME, FRINK!" Mr. Hensley's yell abruptly interrupted Malcolm's train of thought. He looked at the chaos on the field and immediately decided what to do. He could not make sense of it, but he could make more of it.
He sprinted toward the ball, which was currently held by his team, and deliberately made an own goal. Everybody started yelling at him, while he had to stifle his laughter.
He kept staging "accidents" like touching the ball with his hands or pretending to get tripped by another player (not necessarily from the other team), until the end of the game. In the last minutes, he even kicked his own shoe beyond a gate which he then climbed to get it back.
Mr. Hensley ended the match with his whistle. He approached the students and exclaimed: "You're all hopeless! You're completely incapable to follow any tactic and you systematically ignore my instructions! You're all getting an F, no exception!"
Alan Grossberg widened his eyes. "What? This was a test?!"
"Well of course it was a test!" replied the teacher. "I can't exactly give you classworks, can I?"
Malcolm couldn't hold it anymore. He laughed out loud.
"And you, Frink! This is Phys Ed, not clown school!" Mr. Hensley concluded.
Back to the locker room, Grossberg shoved Malcolm against the wall. "I got an F, you piece of shit, and it's all your fault!"
"Oh yeah? Who was supposed to teach me play soccer?"
Grossberg grabbed Malcolm by the shoulders and tripped his feet. "I'll teach you all right!" he yelled.
Malcolm fell and hit his elbow hard. "Fuck! Are you crazy?" he exclaimed, getting up again.
Grossberg hit him in the solar plexus. "Yeah, beats being a mongoloid like you!" He dressed and added: "You're just a human nullity. I'm gonna crush you right where it hurts the most."