Warning to Tank: Avoid this story like the plague. It has everything in it that you hate -- pregnancy, the birth of babies, small children, not so small children, interaction between children and adults and no haircuts. It even has Jimmy Olsen.
Nan
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Disclaimer: The characters and familiar settings in this story are the property of DC Comics, Warner Bros., December 3rd Productions and whoever else can legally lay claim to them, but the story is mine.
Mother's Day: Part 1/?
By Nan Smith
"CJ Kent!" The PE coach was a new sub today, CJ thought. All the regulars knew him. He raised a hand. "Here, sir."
The sub was a young guy with the kind of build that told CJ he took his position seriously. He looked CJ over appraisingly. Linda, from her position four spots away, glanced at him with her eyebrows up.
"Okay; I'm told you're the team captain." The man glanced around the class. "Who's Francis Larson?"
There were a few muffled snickers. Biff raised a hand, scowling at the sub. "That's Biff."
"Right -- Biff. Okay, I'll see you two. Everybody else head out to the exercise field."
Biff and CJ stood to one side while the rest of the class left. When the others had gone, the new coach stood up, surveying CJ's slender form next to the larger, more muscular form of Biff. "I'm told you're the best pitcher on the team," the coach said. He looked doubtfully at CJ.
"That's right," CJ said confidently.
"Hmm." The man shrugged. "All right. You both know your team is going up against Eastside Elementary tomorrow in an exhibition game. I want to be sure we're going to have a team effort here. Biff, I understand you and Kent here don't get along well."
Biff grunted.
"Kent?"
CJ was careful not to shrug. "Not on the playground, sir," he said politely. "Biff's in sixth grade and I'm in fifth. Biff's a good right fielder, though."
"I'd think with your muscle you'd pitch a good fast ball," the coach said, looking at Biff. "I'm going to want to see the two of you pitch. I'm not sure Kent is the best for starting pitcher."
CJ didn't smile. All that the guy had to see was Biff trying to pitch. CJ could handle any kind of pitch the catcher wanted. Biff could throw a long way, but he couldn't have pitched a ball if his life depended on it.
Biff grunted again. "I ain't a pitcher."
"Well, we'll let me decide that. Head over to the field and pick me out a decent catcher."
"That would be Wyatt Dillon," CJ said. "He's our best catcher."
The coach didn't say anything, but CJ got the feeling that this guy wasn't too sure about the players on the Metro Elementary baseball team. They'd just have to show him that they knew what they were doing. He hoped he wasn't going to sub for Coach Tibbets for long. Trying to change pitchers the day before a game didn't strike him as the smartest move he'd ever seen.
The rest of the class was doing stretches when CJ and Biff followed the coach out to the field. The man made a megaphone of his hands. "Dillon! Put on your catcher's gear and go on over to home plate. We're going to have a little test."
Wyatt trotted over to the box where the team's supplies were kept during the day and a couple of minutes later was in place.
"Okay, Larson," the coach said. "Show me what you've got."
Biff picked up the ball, wound up and let fly. Wyatt had to throw himself flat to avoid the ball. The coach frowned. "Haven't you ever pitched before, Larson? Throw it in the batting zone, over the plate. Aim for the glove."
Biff shrugged and tried again. The ball went over Wyatt's head.
The coach scowled. "You've got to be able to throw well enough to get the ball in from right field, Larson. Try again."
Throwing a ball in from right field was a bit different from putting it precisely through the batting zone, CJ thought, but he didn't say anything.
This time the ball clipped Wyatt's shoulder, knocking the boy to the ground. He got up, rubbing the spot and the coach stood up. "You okay, Dillon?"
"Yeah." Wyatt rubbed the shoulder again.
Biff glowered at the coach. "I told you, I ain't a pitcher," he said. "Kent's the starting pitcher."
The man looked skeptically at CJ. "You're the best on the team?" he said. "You don't look very muscular. All right, let's see you throw a fast ball."
""Are you sure you're okay, Wyatt?" CJ asked. "If not, I can have Gary catch."
"Gary can't handle your pitches," Wyatt said. "I can. Just hit the glove, not my shoulder."
"Count on it." CJ pulled on his glove, picked up the ball and strode to the pitcher's mound. Wyatt pulled his catcher's mask into place and held up the glove.
CJ wound up and threw. With a smack that echoed across the field, the ball struck precisely in the middle of the glove. Wyatt grinned and threw it back. The coach frowned.
"That's not bad," he said. "Can you put some spin on it?"
CJ complied. The man's eyebrows climbed. "Not bad," he repeated.
Not bad his foot. CJ knew darned well that he was the best pitcher in the local Little League, and so did everyone else -- and he had been since well before he had started to show any super powers. As a matter of fact, being a good pitcher now required more control than ever in order to keep the pitches normal and not too fast or too hard. His dad had told him it was good practice.
Three pitches later, the coach called a halt. "Okay, I guess you're right. You're the starting pitcher tomorrow. Split into your usual teams and get some practice in. Kent, I want to see you after class."
Now what? CJ wondered. He'd been careful not to show any abilities beyond a normal kid's, but this guy was paying him a little too much attention for comfort.
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The coach was sitting in the PE office when CJ changed out of his gym clothes and presented himself. There was a gym bag by one wall, with the man's name on it in indelible ink, and what looked like a record file on the desk before him. CJ took in the scene with a quick glance around and waited for the coach to speak.
"CJ Kent -- that stands for Clark Jerome," the man said. "I guess I know why you go by CJ. You named for your father?"
"Yes," CJ said. "Why?"
"No reason, really. Would that be the reporter?"
"My dad is a reporter, if that's what you want to know," CJ said. "What does that have to do with PE?"
"Nothing." Coach Pilson smiled. "I wondered when I saw the name. I thought maybe that was why you were the captain. Guess I was wrong. You're an exceptionally good pitcher."
"Thanks," CJ said.
"How long you been playing baseball?"
"I've been in Little League since I was eligible," CJ said.
"Oh. Any special training?"
"My grandfather taught me to pitch," CJ said. "He used to pitch for the Smallville Sluggers."
"Oh." The man seemed surprised. "Okay. I guess that makes sense."
What did he mean by that, CJ wondered. This guy seemed a little too inquisitive for his taste.
The phone rang, and Pilson picked up the receiver. CJ glanced around. The gym bag caught his eye and on impulse, he x-rayed it.
A gun? That was the first thing that got his attention. Something was definitely wrong here.
Careful not to betray that he had seen anything unusual, he continued to look around the office as if he were bored, then looked back at Pilson. The coach had swiveled away from him and was listening to someone on the other end. CJ decided that he should listen, too. If this guy was interested in Clark Kent's son, he wanted to know why.
"Have you seen any indication of unusual abilities?" the voice was asking.
"Not yet," Pilson said. "I'll continue to observe, of course."
"Do that. If the boy is one of them, we need to know."
CJ glanced casually at the file on the desk. It had been covered by another sheet of paper, but that was no barrier to his x-ray vision. He wasn't surprised now to see that it was his record.
Pilson signed off and hung up. "I understand you're adopted."
"Yeah," CJ said. "What about it? My mom was one of Dad's cousins."
"Do you know who your dad was?"
CJ decided that it was time to cut this off. "Her boyfriend. And this is none of your business!"
"Easy there." Pilson held up his hands. "I didn't mean to insult you."
"Yeah, well I'm going to be late for class if I don't go."
"All right. Be sure you're here at lunch for practice."
"I have to rest my pitching arm before a game," CJ said. "It gets sore if I don't, and my grandfather told me to be careful not to hurt myself."
"All right. But be here anyway, for the pre-game briefing."
"All right." CJ made a personal vow not to let this guy get him alone again. The memory of Bureau 39 was still fresh in his mind. Dad needed to know about Coach Pilson right away.
**********
Wyatt met him in the hall outside the PE office and they headed back for their classroom. "What did the new coach want?"
CJ waited until they were far enough from the office that he was sure Pilson couldn't overhear him. "There's something weird about him," he said flatly. "He's got a gun in his gym bag, and he was talking to somebody on the phone who wanted to know if I'd shown any unusual abilities. I'm thinking those Bureau 39 guys."
"Didn't they get busted up?" Wyatt wanted to know.
"I thought so. I have to talk to Dad."
"Yeah. Maybe he can find out. In the meantime, be sure you don't do anything different."
"Yeah." CJ figured he didn't need to worry about that. He made sure not to do anything outside the normal anyway. Still, if this new coach was trying to decide if he was one of the children of the New Kryptonians, he could very well set traps that CJ might be expected to fall into, if he wasn't on the alert.
Dad would know what to do, he thought. He wished he could talk to him right now. This was scary stuff, and he felt very vulnerable suddenly. Still, he was probably safe for now, as long as he stayed with other kids. And the last thing he needed to do was scare his mother. It wouldn't help Lois to get upset about crazy government agents right now. He didn't want to send his mom into premature labor again.
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During the lunchtime practice, CJ sat on the bench, watching the others. He had already warned Linda, who was careful not to do anything spectacular while on the baseball field with Coach Pilson watching. Linda was the team's shortstop, and very good at it. Lunch period passed, and CJ returned to his classroom. He was anxious to get home and let his dad know what was going on.
When school let out, he, Linda, Wyatt and Marta left school together, headed for the Kent home. Wyatt's mom was still working, as was Linda's, and the two children always came home with CJ and Marta. CJ watched as they walked, keeping an eye on everything around them.
And parked across the street from his home was a red sports car. It figured that Pilson would have a red sports car, he thought. The man was definitely watching him.
CJ didn't let on by the slightest glance that he had noticed Pilson in the red car. They walked sedately up the steps to the townhouse and CJ used his key to open the door.
He felt slightly safer once the outer door had closed behind them, but he wouldn't feel completely safe until Dad knew what was going on. Mom, as usual, was lying on the sofa with her feet up. Grandma Martha could be heard clinking around in the kitchen, and as they stepped through the inner door into the living room, she poked her head out of the kitchen. "Hi kids. I have some cookies and milk in here for anyone who wants some."
"Hi, Mom," CJ said. "Is Dad still at work?"
"Yes," his mother said. "Where else would he be? He'll be picking up Jonny from his after school class in half an hour."
"Okay. I wanted to ask him something about my science assignment." CJ turned to glance back out at the street, looking through both walls at the red sports car. The guy was fiddling with some kind of electronic gadget aimed at their house, but was apparently having trouble with it, judging from the scowl on his face and the fact that he was occasionally hitting it with his hand. CJ could make a guess at what it was. The creep was trying to eavesdrop on his family, probably with a directional microphone. He needed to get in touch with his dad pronto, before the guy got it working. CJ went up the steps to his parents' bedroom and picked up the phone.
There was a low buzzing on the line. CJ put down the phone. Not a good idea. He needed some way to talk to his dad without the possibility of bugged phone lines.
'Dad,' he thought, despairingly, 'come home! I need to talk to you! It's an emergency!'
No one could have been more surprised than CJ when his father's voice said in his mind, accompanied by a sensation of utter astonishment: 'CJ?!'
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tbc
