Chapter 25

I’m starting to LOVE Coach Ed’s gym class, even though he made me run laps for being late the other day. And it sure has nothing to do with being a great athlete, because I’m not. A great athlete, I mean. When your parents are the smartest scientists on your entire planet, you can’t really expect to inherit a ton of athletic ability from them.

And I didn’t.

The closest thing they have to a sports-related skill is bowling, and that’s only if you can call a 57 average “skill.” That’s my mom, by the way. My dad’s average is 42. To put that in perspective, a friend back at one of my old Earth schools told me that an orangutan once bowled a 127. That’s right—an ape is a better bowler than both my parents combined. I’d hate to see what a chimpanzee could do.

The reason I like gym is there’s no pressure on me to be a genius. Coach Ed isn’t parading me up in front of the class to show off my brilliance at throwing a ball or jumping over a hurdle. Coach Ed isn’t even alive. He’s a SportBot, and a pretty old one, at that. PhysEd-201 is his official designation, and apparently, he used to be a galaxy-class glormball player. But he’s seen better days.

And that’s Tor in the airchair. He’s Coach Ed’s student assistant and by far the biggest sports fan in the school. He knows who holds every record in every sport on every planet in the galaxy. Unfortunately, he can’t tell you what he had for breakfast yesterday because every memory cell is being used to store sports data. And even though he has six legs, they’re too weak to support his weight, so Tor can’t play any of the sports himself.

“Listen up, everybody. Today we’re going to learn the proper technique for hitting a glorm with a fleenor racket. Now, I don’t mean to brag, but back at the Kragwin Championships of ’83, I splorted the winning goal with one second left in the final period, giving my team the Division 22 Intergalactic League title. So I know what I’m talking about.”

I’m glad someone does.

“The key to a successful splort is in the follow-through. Now watch closely.”

“Okay—any questions?”

“Yeah, is your arm supposed to go farther than the glorm?”

“Only after years of practice. Now, I need a couple volunteers.”

See? He didn’t ask for me specifically to demonstrate in front of the class. I’m just another student to Coach Ed. Nothing special. And I like it that way.

“I’ll do it.”

“Very good. And who else would like to give it a try?”

“Hey, how about the genius? Unwess he’s afwaaaaaaid.”

Oh, c’mon! So much for this being my favorite class.

“Um… I would, but I have a bit of an upset stomach from lunch. I should probably just sit over here until it settles down.”

“What’s the matter, smart guy? Grimnee’s not here to save your sorry behind? What a putz.”

“I’ll do it!”

What? Zot? Play glormball against Dorn? No way this ends well. Dorn is as much a gentleman as a cow is a video game player. I mean, what with the hooves and all. He’s going to massacre her. He’ll massacre me, too, but I can’t let Zot take the hit.

“It’s okay, Coach Ed. I’ll do it.”

“Like heck you will! Sit that upset stomach of yours down, Kelv. No one wants to see what you had for lunch.”

Whoa! I don’t know anything about glormball, but that was impressive!