Freakling (9 page)

“Here’s what I think we should to do,” Moke said. “If we get to a point in the game where we need to move the ball with psi — I’m not talking about a lot, just a squinch — then I say we use it.”

Taemon watched a beetle crawl over his shoe. “I thought the whole point was not using psi. I mean, not for ball handling anyway.”

Moke shrugged. “All I’m saying is, if it comes down to winning the game or not, I’m not above using a tiny bit of psi to move the ball.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“You bet your sweet binky I’m right.” Moke said. “We have to win at least one game this weekend.”

“This weekend?” Taemon sat up.

“Cha. The tournament. I signed us up.”

“Skies! I told you I can’t do tournaments. My parents won’t let me.”

“Oops!” Moke said. “My mistake. Guess that slipped my mind.” His sly grin was anything but apologetic. “Come on, brother, where’s your sense of social responsibility? Don’t you want to show everybody that weak freaks are not thoroughly worthless?”

“I can’t.”
I can’t.
The words echoed inside Taemon’s head. If Moke only knew how true those two words really were. “Look, Moke, my parents are really upset. Can you blame them? The priests are not allowing any contact with Yens. All these rumors are flying around. Know what I heard yesterday? That they’re teaching the True Son recruits to raise the dead.”

“That’s stupid,” Moke said. “Those people don’t know what they’re talking about.”

“Yeah, but how do you think it makes my parents feel? They’re distracted and tense, and I can’t push them with this tournament thing right now.”

“Okay, well, maybe they don’t have to know about it,” Moke said.

Taemon shook his head. “Can’t. Sorry. Gotta go.” He got up and walked away before Moke could press any further.

The next day, music class was much the same. Brother Usaro tried different ways to help Taemon visualize playing the drum the right way. Taemon pretended to try and continually apologized for his mistakes. It was becoming a real pain in the hinderpart.

After a particularly dreadful performance, Brother Usaro sighed. “Taemon, see me after class.”

He was not looking forward to another one of Brother Usaro’s pep talks. He knew it by heart by now:
Feel the music. Relax. Anxiety is your enemy.

Taemon resolved to take the drum home for additional experimentation. He could get Da to carry it home for him. Maybe he could figure out a better system for invisible psiless drum playing. All this worry made Taemon lose his place several times before music class was finally over. He trudged into Brother Usaro’s office.

“You’re still playing the drum wrong,” the teacher said.

Taemon nodded. “I’m trying, I really am. I’ll figure it out one of these days.”

“Once we get into marching band, you’re going to have to move that bass drum while you play it. That’s the biggest instrument we’ve got. It’s not easy to move.”

Marching band next year. He had no idea how he was going to solve that problem. Of course no one actually marched anymore. That term came from pre-psi days. Now the musicians stood along the edge of the room and moved the instruments in interesting patterns and arrangements as they played.

“I want you to try something else,” said Brother Usaro. “A different instrument.”

Panic welled up inside Taemon. He shook his head. “No, thank you, sir. My da says never give up. And changing instruments feels like giving up. I’m just . . . I’m slow.”

“What about going back to a wind instrument? You were showing some promise before the accid —” Brother Usaro cleared his throat. “You showed promise in my class last year.”

How under the blazing sun would he manage a wind instrument? Taemon pictured the trumpet, the flute, the saxophone. They all required psi to force air into the instrument.

“Just think about it,” Brother Usaro said. “That’s all I ask.”

Taemon exhaled. “I’ll definitely be thinking about it.”

Things weren’t much easier at home. His parents were edgy. He knew they were worried about Yens. There wasn’t much anyone could do but wait until the announcement and see what happened. Taemon also knew they were worried about his situation. He wished they’d stop fretting about every little thing.

“Put those socks in the hamper,” Mam said as she walked past the open door of the bathroom.

Taemon reached down to pick up his socks.

“Not with your hands!” Mam’s voice was sharp. “Earth and Sky, do you want someone to see that?” The socks flew into the hamper with Mam’s psi. “Besides, they’re filthy. I don’t want you touching them.”

How else was he supposed to pick things up? Taemon wanted to scream. Sometimes it was like she forgot he was powerless. He managed to control his tone. “We’re standing in the bathroom. Who’s going to see?”

“Me! I see. Every time I see you using your hands, it reminds me . . .” She sniffed, swallowed hard, and walked away.

She was upset. He understood that. He should try harder to be patient.

Da came in. “She’s trying to protect you, son. We’ve come up with a plan. We’ll work together to keep you safe and get you through the rest of this school year. After that, we can get you into an early apprenticeship. You’ll be my teaching apprentice at school, and we’ll cover things up until you get your psi back.”

So, no marching band next year after all. That could work. Taemon always knew he’d be his father’s apprentice someday; he just hadn’t expected it to happen so soon. Boys followed in their families’ vocations. Girls waited until after they got married to train for the vocation of their husband’s family. That’s just how it was. Otherwise, too many people would know how to do things they had no business doing. Thirteen was the very soonest a person could become an apprentice, but most people chose to continue in school until they were at least seventeen. Only weaklings quit school early.
That’s me,
thought Taemon.

“Da, you need to understand something. I’m not going to get my psi back. It’s gone.”

Da let out a soft sigh. “Son, sometimes during adolescence, a young man’s body is changing and . . .”

Ugh. Not the-goose-and-the-gander talk. Losing his psi had nothing to do with raging hormones. Taemon closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and tried to push his frustration aside. “No, Da. It’s not that.”

“Well, what then? Where do you envision your life going? You can’t make decisions right now, Taemon. You’ve got to be patient until —”

“Until nothing,” Taemon said. “I
can
make decisions. I’m handling this. I handle it every day. I can do things, Da. I’m powerless, but I’m not stupid.”

“Lower your voice,” Da said sternly.

I’ll do better than that,
Taemon thought.
I’ll end this conversation.
He stared resolutely at Da, then pushed past him and left the room. Taemon’s shoulder shoved against his father’s arm. It was a small shove, but it got the point across.

The psiball tournament might not be such a bad idea after all.

Only a few seconds were left in the game. Four psiball players stood inside one huge sphere, two teams of two. They were sweaty, spent, and tense. Taemon and Moke were ahead, but not by much. If the other team scored, they’d win.

The sphere was made of lead crystal — smooth, sturdy, and perfectly transparent so that spectators could watch the game.

The other team had possession of the ball. Taemon watched the girl’s eyes, looking for any indication of which way she would send the heavy leather ball. Blocking the hole wasn’t permitted, but blocking wasn’t what Taemon had in mind.

The whole idea of psiball was to use psi to direct the ball toward the hole, turn the hole your team’s color, and send the ball through. The side holes were worth one point, the top hole worth three.

Each team tried to send their psi more forcefully and more quickly to the ball. The ball would obey the psi order that was received first, or in some cases, the psi order that carried more authority. Players sometimes moved around the sphere, since field of vision and proximity to the ball might lend advantage, but these movements were not critical to the game. Players preferred to spend their energy on psi rather than muscle. Strong psi, quick psi, controlled psi — that’s what won psiball games.

Until Moke and Taemon came along.

They ran. They spun. They jumped. They did somersaults and backflips and handstands. Anything to make it difficult for the opposite team to mentally project a path to one of the holes. For Taemon and Moke, it was all about defense, aggressive and confusing defense. No one had seen anything like it.

Of course Taemon and Moke did have to score at least a few points. Now and then they managed to gain possession of the ball and kick it or roll it into a hole. Physical contact with the ball was not illegal unless it lasted more than three seconds. Most players avoided physical contact because it was so tiring. The ball was heavy, and it didn’t bounce. But weeks of practice had made Taemon’s and Moke’s bodies strong and agile.

This was their closest game so far. This team was good, very good. Taemon waited, alert and eager, watching for their opponents’ next move. He saw that one of the side holes had turned orange, which usually meant that’s where the ball was headed. But it could be a trick. Taemon thought he saw the other player flash a glance toward the top hole.

Taemon smiled.
Where you look is where you go.
He saw where the player had looked; now he knew where the ball would go.

The ball careened in a jagged path, heading for the orange hole on the side. But Taemon decided to defend the top hole instead. He didn’t have time to think anymore. He had to move. Now.

He took a couple of running steps up the slope of the sphere, jumped, and flipped. He planted both palms on the floor of the sphere and pushed upward with everything he had. He needed as much height as possible. At this point, he couldn’t see the ball. All he could do was stretch his legs up, kick wildly, and hope he’d guessed right.

He thought he felt something glance off his heel. Either he’d made contact with the ball or he’d kicked Moke in the head. Flipping his legs under his body again, Taemon landed and rolled with the momentum so he wouldn’t break any bones.

The buzzer sounded. The ball rested inside the bottom of the sphere. No goal.

The crowd responded with gasps and oohs. Not exactly applause, more like astonishment. It didn’t matter. Taemon knew his acrobatics had made an impression.

Moke hugged him. “We did it!”

“Victory awarded to the Blue Team,” the announcer said. The top of the sphere lifted up, and all four players climbed out.

The boy and girl from the opposing team immediately ran to the umpire. “That was hole tending!” the girl said.

“His foot did not linger in front of the hole,” said the umpire. “It’s bizarre, but it’s not illegal.”

The boy glared at Taemon. “This is not psiball. This is pathetic.”

Taemon turned away. Moke was using psi to squirt water over Taemon’s head from the drinking flask. Taemon laughed and shook his head, spattering the water in Moke’s face.

They needed to rest. In only a couple of hours, they’d play in the championship match for their age group. He followed Moke into the locker room.

“Brother, you sweat like a sow,” Moke said. “You’d better take a shower before the next match.”

Taemon had to think quickly. He couldn’t turn on the water, not without psi, but he couldn’t let Moke see that. These moments happened many times each day, and Taemon had come to pride himself on finding creative ways to avoid certain situations.

“Nah,” Taemon said. “Stink works in our favor, remember? Distracts the other team.”

Moke laughed. “I’m
not
climbing inside a psiball sphere with you and your reek. You gotta shower.”

“Fine, but I gotta pee first. You go ahead, take your shower. And leave the water on for me, cha?”

“Cha indeed,” Moke said, heading for the shower.

Taking his full water flask with him, Taemon went into the toilet stall. He didn’t need to pee. What he really needed was a drink. He couldn’t let anyone see him holding the water flask while he drank. In the privacy of the stall, he gulped down the water.

He thought about the games they’d played at the tournament today. Five so far, with one more to go. All their strategies worked perfectly, just like they’d practiced. It felt good to win, to be skilled at something. It felt good to be clever, unique, impressive. It felt really good.

Moke had been right. Taemon needed this tournament to prove to himself that his intelligence and physical strength could make up for his lack of psi. Being psiless was not the same as being powerless. For the first time, he felt there was nothing he couldn’t do, no one he couldn’t fool.

He wasn’t even afraid of facing Mam and Da tonight and telling them about the tournament. Da would not be pleased, but if Yens could get away with being a psiball champion, Taemon could, too.

Showered, hydrated, and rested, Taemon was ready for the final game. He and Moke joked while they stretched and warmed up.

As they walked out to the sphere, Taemon saw the Eagle trophy, golden and glittering, resting on a table in front of the sphere. The winning team would take it home. He imagined it sitting in his living room, next to Yens’s many trophies. Eagle, the sign for achievement. Maybe this would finally convince Da that Taemon could make his own way in this world.