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Excuses
Simon Grey usually
considered himself a fairly unflappable man. After all, in the course of
his… somewhat checkered career, he'd seen and done things that most people
couldn't conceive of. Plus, his new cover as a high school coach and gym
teacher guaranteed him an even larger range of experiences. He hadn't thought
anything in the world could surprise him these days.
He'd thought
wrong.
Who really could
blame him, though? After a month, he'd thought himself well acquainted
with the candidates for Project: Phoenix, and to a lesser extent, with
the other students he taught. He hadn't, however, figured on Rikki Singh-Baines.
Somehow, he thought wearily, he had a feeling that was a common mistake.
"You want to
run that by me again, Rikki?" the older man asked, hoping the boy would
make more sense this time.
"I want you
to take me out of gym class for the rest of the year. I have a note from
my doctor-- exercise-induced asthma. I can't breathe hardly at all. I'm
sure I can make the credits up some other way, but I really need to get
out of this class."
The dark-haired
boy shifted from foot to foot as he spoke, but did not drop his gaze from
Simon's assessing one. The note was offered in one outthrust hand, brandished
as if it was a flag of truce, or some mystic weapon.
Taking the note,
the coach pretended to scan it, meanwhile taking the time to size Rikki
up. There was no need to read the writing, after all. He had watched the
boy in gym class for a month-- he KNEW Rikki's asthma was a fabrication.
The question was, why? Admittedly, the kid wasn't much of an athlete; he
was skinny, kept from being painfully thin only by his friendship with
Alex Mann, whose housekeeper made sure he got at least one good meal a
day. But Rikki was quick and agile, and seemed to enjoy sports well enough,
though he didn't obsess about them. So this wasn't just an attempt to skip
physical activity that he didn't enjoy.
Suddenly the
answer hit him. The panic attacks. The screening for Project: Phoenix had
revealed that Rikki already had a natural version of the AMP factor, not
an uncommon occurrence. But while the gift was strong, Rikki's control
wasn't. The incoming information overloaded him, resulting in panic attacks.
So far, Rikki'd kept those attacks secret-- he hadn't even told his parents,
as far as Simon knew. But given the loud, confusing nature of gym class,
Rikki couldn't possibly keep his secret much longer.
Grey studied
the boy for a long moment. Rikki stared back, but he couldn't quite keep
his jaw from quivering slightly. The coach shook his head. Fifteen, skin
and bone, wearing faded clothes that had certainly not been bought new,
and still the kid's eyes burned with a light Simon recognized easily. It
was pride, the fierce, fiery kind of pride that, he knew, would be damned
before it would accept an ounce of pity. Help, yes, but no sympathy.
"All right,"
the man nodded, folding the note away. "I'll arrange things with Mike Morrison,
the riflery teacher. You'll have classes with him instead of your normal
gym class. That shouldn't aggravate your asthma."
Rikki's eyes
lit up as he smiled. "Really? Thanks, Mr. Grey… that means a lot."
"I'll square
it with the school, too," Simon added. "You go on… the last bell rang ten
minutes ago, and Alex is probably looking for you."
"'Kay, thanks."
And Rikki dashed off into the halls.
Simon chuckled.
The kid had the gall to face him down with a lousy story and a forged note…
this was the least he could do. If he pitched it right, he could even get
Dr. X to swing things with the administration… save everyone a lot of headaches.
All he had to do was say he was keeping Mann's results from being biased
by uncontrolled AMP exposure… yeah.
Whistling, Simon
Grey headed back to his office, lousy excuse nestled securely in his pocket.