by Erin Halfelven

2.7 Field Training

Have you ever tried to play a game like field hockey against someone who knew exactly what you were going to do and when? I couldn't read Karen's mind; it was more like just knowing what she intended to do. Maybe the antenna on our heads had something to do with it.

And of course, she had the same knowledge of what I intended. It took a lot of false starts, immediately countered by the other person, before the two of us discovered how to act without thinking about it.

Acting from reflex and knowledge rather than intent wasn't entirely novel; you don't do much thinking about walking, talking or typing, for instance. But putting complex motions together in novel ways without consciously making decisions about what you were doing took a bit of discovery and practice. And yet, it felt entirely natural to be able to do that.

Before Karen could think of moving, I had already moved, and vice versa. The fact that we seemed to connect, mentally, on some level, didn't mean as much since we weren't doing a lot of thinking about what we were doing.

And then the game got tough. She was fast; I might have been just a hair faster, but she was stronger and seemed always to be better prepared to use leverage against me. But I had another advantage, I had actually played on a field hockey team, I had learned and practiced moves she had not. Karen, or Kevin, had only ever played roller hockey which is similar but not the same thing. She kept trying to scoot her feet, something that would not work in the tall grass of the Back Nine.

Neither of us could move the ball more than a few feet without the other countering. Now and then the ball would shoot out from between us, sideways, usually, then we would both scramble to get into position, shoulder to shoulder, stick to stick, knee to knee. Our ankles and shins were taking a beating, but we really didn't notice.

It was during one of our scrums that we accidentally jammed the black ball between our sticks and it leaped upward. I caught it automatically, a clear rule violation, and that turned into the wrestling match Kevin had joked about when Karen threw her stick down and tackled me because I had the ball.

"Give it! Give it!" she shrieked into my ear after knocking me into a patch of blackberry vines.

"Ouch!" I yelped when the thorns scratched the bare places on my arms. They didn't even leave a mark but they did hurt. "You want it, you're gonna get it!" I threw the ball in her face and grabbed her around the waist when she caught it.

Over and over we went, not noticing where we were going, each determined to possess that silly ball. It seemed so bloody important at the time. We didn't even notice when we rolled down the little incline and into the muddy ground where a trickle of water came off the mountain.

Kicking, punching and snarling, we rolled over and over in the little patch of mud, into and out of sticker bushes, cactus, and rocks. We screamed names at each other, each trying to outdo the other. "Twitch!" was probably the nicest thing I called her.

We put our healing factors to a real test because without that bit of insect magic, we would have been bloody messes in just a few moments. I don't think either of us bit the other but I know I came close.

What finally brought us out of our frenzy was a sound like knuckle-sized gravel being shook around inside a giant bass drum. We both heard it and looked up at the same time.

Gumpy Steve was laughing at us! Great whooping belly laughs that echoed off the mountainside, scaring jays and chipmunks out of generations of growth, a monstrous, legendary guffaw at our expense.

I had my fist cocked to scramble Karen's brains, but she had me down, sitting on my stomach trying to get her forearm under my chin so she could choke me. We scrambled to our feet and looked at each other, eye to eye.

"Let's get him," I said.

"Let's," agreed Karen, spitting a muddy strand of hair out of her mouth.

So we charged the evil old man. Angry as we were we developed an instant plan without saying another word; Karen would hit him high, going for his face, and I would hit him low, aiming for his nuts. I don't know for sure how we each knew what the other would do, but our dealie-bobbers probably had something to do with it.

He stood there in his midnight-and-crimson-and-gold costume, nearly seven feet tall, looking like something out of a history book or a retro-superzine. And he was laughing at us. We were both so charged up on adrenaline and being super and honked off about being turned into girls that we convinced ourselves we could take him.

He put a hand out to stop Karen in mid-leap and turned his hip to deflect my kick, so I sort of flew past him. We recovered and attacked again, just climbing him.

He shrugged us off like… like insects. I landed in another sticker bush and Karen ended up hanging from a tree limb.

Still laughing he yanked his mask hood off and tied it around his face like a blindfold. "Okay, girls," he said. "Come and get me! If you can make me touch a knee to the ground, I'll go ahead and buy each of you a new car, even though neither of you won the hockey game!" Then he put both hands behind his back!

"Has he got that kind of money?" I asked Karen.

"Who gives a poop!" she said. "You're going down, old man!" She swung from the tree, using the springy branch to launch herself at his head again. I scrambled out of the stickers and went for his ankles.

We didn't need the incentive of him buying us cars, but it didn't really help anyway. Blindfolded and without using his hands or arms, that old man beat us ragged. We threw everything we had at him, including rocks. He let them hit him unless they were aimed at his face and then he ducked.

"How can you see them coming?" Karen squealed.

"The feelers aren't just for show, Babycakes," he said. He wiggled the antenna on his forehead like some sort of hentai monster, both together, then one at a time, then one clockwise and one counterclockwise.

"I don't want to know how he does that," I said. I don't think Karen heard me; she was too mad.

"Don't call me 'Babycakes'!" she screeched.

"Sorry, Darla," said Gumpy.

"I'm not Darla!"

"Oh," he said. "I thought Karen was the one with a sense of humor. But I can't tell you apart with the blindfold on." He smirked.

"Zing!" I said. I seriously thought she might try to bite him then. She didn't just, too mad to think of it, I guess. Instead, she did a handstand and tried to put the heels of her costume boots through his nose. He ducked and sort of wobbled and somehow threw her ten or fifteen feet, still with his hands behind his back.

It left him with his weight on one leg, a little off balance so I threw myself at the back of his knee. He did a little hop and once more I flew past without more than barely touching him.

We did everything we could think of to that old man. We even got into the gym bag and broke a few hockey sticks and baseball bats on him. He didn't even dodge most of what we did, but taunted us when we slacked off even a little.

"Is that as hard as you can hit, girls?" he asked. We didn't just want to get him; we had blood in our eyes, and we wanted to hurt the big, ancient, mystery man. We tried… but we really couldn't do it.

I don't know how long it took till we ended up panting and staggering around with him still on his feet. We had used up nearly all our meta-energy and the scratches and bruises were starting to show instead of healing almost instantly. Sweat ran into the little cuts and marks, making them itch and burn.

I'd gotten one good kick into his crotch that had nearly doubled him over, and Karen actually had bitten him on the ear. But he was still standing, and we were leaning on each other to stay upright.

He pulled the blindfold off, chuckling. "Had enough?" he asked. No doubt about it, older than television he might be but he was still The Mighty Skarab. And my Gumpy Steve. Mad as I was, I felt absurdly awed by the old fart.

We didn't want to give in, but the extra vitality of being super had finally run out. "You win, old man," said Karen. She was standing, bent over with her hands on her knees, and I was leaning on her.

I'd never been so tired, not even after running two 10Ks back to back. I didn't feel I could spare enough energy to glare at him.

"C'mere," Steve ordered after putting his mask back on the right way. I wondered vaguely if I could pull my mask, even my whole costume off and put on something a little more decent. The holes that made the costume stylish among the spandex crowd bugged me.

He held out his hands as we stumbled toward him, and we each took one, as much for support as anything. He gave us each a little squeeze and smiled a big old gator-grin.

"Darla," he said. "Twist the ring." Sure enough, I was grasping the hand with the ring. The dark beetle shape inside the blue seemed to have grown two red eyes. I put my hand on it to keep them from staring at me.

I turned the ring on his hand and passed out. I barely had time to see that Karen/Maiden Fly was back to being plain old Kevin. I didn't get a chance to look down at myself before a darkness came up like Jaws and swallowed me.