Unpopular Science

At 6:43 Jack and Nancy pulled into the nearby lot and came into the football field. She was clinging to his arm and they were laughing like lovers on a moonlit stroll.

Goodwin was standing on the fifty-yard line, looking stern. “This ain’t no laughing matter, Fast Fucker.” Nancy Fielding giggled at Goodwin, and Cescepi saw the kid stiffen.

“Oh, dear, you’re getting all red, again, Neil!” Nancy cried. “Did Neil tell you about this afternoon?” she asked his gang of buddies. “He was red as a cherry!”

Goodwin bellowed, “What do you think we oughtta do about this situation. Fast?”

“About you getting embarrassed whenever Nancy is around?” Jack asked innocently.

“About the damn calc test! I cannot fail another damn calc test!”

“Maybe you should study,” Jack suggested. Cescepi knew Goodwin had no intention of negotiating with Fast. He was simply psyching himself up to attack the boy. Eventually, Goodwin raised a fist.

“Knock it off, Neil! There’s no need to get into a fight about this.”

Cescepi shook his head, amazed. That kid was still smiling as if he didn’t know what was about to hit him.

Then Goodwin struck. Nancy screamed. Jack Fast raised his own arm to defend himself, but his arm moved extraordinarily fast, knocking Goodwin’s punch back the way it had come.

“Aw, gee, I’m sorry, Neil,” Fast said.

“You broke my fucking arm! You son of a fucking bitch, you broke my fucking arm!”

Cescepi couldn’t quite believe his eyes. Goodwin’s right arm was indeed wobbling at an unnatural angle. He was on his knees on the artificial turf, holding it. “Oh, that’s terrible,” Fast said. “It’s an elbow break, too.”

“You’re hyperextended,” Nancy pointed out helpfully. “The whole joint failed. You’re going to need to have the joint replaced.”

“Huh?” Goodwin grunted, confused and in pain.

“They can work miracles with stainless steel,” Nancy said. “Three or four surgeries, maybe eighteen months of physical therapy, and you’ll be able to write your name again.”

“I guess you’re not gonna get that football scholarship, though,” Fast said regretfully.

Goodwin looked as if he had been slapped, understanding dawning in his mulelike eyes.

Of course. No college was going to give a football scholarship to a kid who couldn’t play football. Even if he could pick up a ball again in eighteen months, there would be no place to play, so he’d never get a chance at another scholarship.

Neil Goodwin’s future had been crushed and ruined along with his elbow joint.

Goodwin launched himself at Jack Fast, rising off the turf with a bellow that was part pain, part rage, and his ruined arm flopped at his side while his good arm sought Fast’s throat.

Jack Fast blocked Goodwin, just as he had before, but the forearm blow was so powerful it sent Goodwin’s arm flying around his back, shattering most of the bones of his forearm and wrist. Goodwin collapsed, moaning.

Goodwin’s friends were getting agitated.

“Maybe one of you should call an ambulance,” Nancy suggested.

The boys looked at one another, then one of them remembered his cell phone. He yanked it out, then looked at Nancy questioningly. Actually, he was looking at the slight scoop in the very low front of her low-ride jeans.

“Nine,” she suggested.

He looked up at her face, then at his phone, nodded and poked a button.

“One,” Nancy said.

He nodded again, poked the phone, looked at Nancy.

“One.”

“I already did one.”

“You need to do another one.”

“Oh.”

He poked it and began conversing with the emergency dispatch. Goodwin’s moans were becoming sobs.

“That was a pretty good block, Jack,” said one of Goodwin’s buddies.

“Thanks, Larry.”

“Maybe you should have played football.”

“Aw, jeez, thanks, but I’m not that good.”

“Okay,” said the boy with the cell phone. “Thanks a lot. No, no hurry.” He closed the phone and looked triumphantly at Nancy. “They’ll be here in a while.”

“How long?” Goodwin gasped.

“I don’t know. They’ve got some real emergencies to get to first. Not like you got anything else to do— for the rest of your life.”

The boy guffawed and gave Nancy a thumbs-up. She rewarded him with a smile that he never forgot, then Jack said, “Sorry we can’t stay. We’ve got a 7:30 movie to catch.”

“Jack, wait!”

Dean Cescepi jogged up as they were getting into Jack’s car.

“I was up in the booth. I saw what happened.”

“Oh, Christ,” Nancy Fielding exclaimed. “You’re not going to get all legal on him, are you?”

Cescepi smirked. “Ms. Fielding, Jack was only defending himself from Mr. Goodwin’s assaults, as I plainly witnessed. But I have got to know, Jack—” Cescepi was grinning conspiratorially “—how’d you do it?”

Jack smiled. “East German judo.”

Cescepi’s grin faltered.

“Freedom-fighters in East Germany developed it in the 1960s. My dad taught it to me.”

“East German judo?”

“Okay, how did you really do it?” Nancy asked when they were driving away.

Jack held out his right arm. “Pull off my sleeve.”

Nancy pulled the sleeve of his windbreaker off and gasped. Jack’s arm looked artificial, smooth and plastic and swollen to twice its normal girth.

“What is it?”