Kevin stood at the fence watching the field. Most of the boys in his class were lining up, casting glances at their competitors for the Pick and making suggestions to the Captains on who they should pick first. Kevin would have been doing the same, had his back been up against the same fence as theirs. But Kevin's back was safely out of reach of the Pick--or rather safely out of reach of the Not-Being-Picked. He idly pushed a dandelion over with his foot, imagining the thunderous crash it would have made if it weren't so small, and fell backwards into the fence. Leaning on the fence is never as comfortable as the springy curve of the chain links might suggest and he quickly bounced back out and started shuffling towards the classroom.
It wasn't so much that he wasn't good at the game, he actually didn't even know if he was good or bad at it. He'd never played. He couldn't have explained *why* he'd never played, as boys of that age are not prone to analyzing their histories, he just knew that crossing over to that other fence was like crossing the ocean into some unfamiliar and potentially hostile country. A land filled with strangely colored men wearing uncomfortable looking clothing and carrying large sharp weapons. He told them he had come to explore their country, to learn their ways and he had much to share with them, but they didn't seem to understand him. They stood with violent expressions, seeming ready to pounce at any moment. Kevin didn't want to hurt them, but he steadied himself into a subtle defense posture and examined their faces, looking for the clue that would unlock their friendship--or show their weakness.
A teacher smiled as Kevin walked by, his arms in a pose vaguely resembling something they'd learned in P.E. that morning, his lips silently opening and closing and a look of intense concentration on his face. He was old enough to realize that people were watching him, but not old enough to keep his imagination from spilling out into real life.
"Hey, Kevin!" the teacher called out as he passed. Kevin jumped like he'd been hit from behind and turned to look at the teacher. "Where you going?" the teacher asked.
Kevin shrugged. He was "going" to kick some native butt, but he wasn't "going" anywhere. He wasn't sure how to answer that question.
The two of them stared at each other for a while. Then the teacher smiled and turned back to spotting ruffians. Kevin turned and sped up his pace, anxious to get out of range in case the teacher noticed him again. The natives had left. He couldn't remember if they'd just been attacking or had offered their peace pipe--or even how he'd gotten to the island in the first place. That's the problem with daydreams. You can't rewind or pause them.
The jungle island gone, Kevin looked at where his legs had taken him. He was back at the field, watching the two teams line up along a line Kevin couldn't see. He tried to lean up against the fence again. It was still uncomfortable, but he stayed there, feeling the cold links dig into his shoulders, watching the game.
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