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Ovid 8: The Team By The Professor Part 1 I could remember being frightened before, and I could remember being elated. I was frightened back in high school when in a football game, I was being covered on a pass pattern by a guy who seemed to be twice my size. I thought he would kill me before I could haul in the ball that would win the game for us. Then I remembered the fear wash away as I caught the ball just inside the goal line. Then I was elated. But that was another lifetime ago. Now, here I was an attractive young blonde woman named Cindy Patton, destined to live out her life as a wife, mother, and assistant to the all-powerful Judge in Ovid, Oklahoma. And for the first time in my memory of either life, I was both frightened and elated at the same time. I was also hot and tired as I walked up the stairs to the offices over the Farmer's and Merchant's Bank of Ovid. It was a hot July day in Ovid. The fireworks of the Fourth were over, and the hottest days of the summer were upon us. I suspected the gods mitigated the temperatures a little for this town of theirs, but even though we were usually a few degrees cooler in the summer than nearby Tulsa, it was still hot and sticky as I walked up the stairs. Dressing in pantyhose made it even hotter. Still, I supposed, if I were still male, I'd have to wear a tie. Somehow that seemed even worse. I still hadn't cooled off from the ride in the Taurus. I had been out to Duggan's IGA to see Jerry, my husband, before going downtown, and the short ride hadn't given the car's air conditioner enough time to cool the vehicle down. I would have killed in that moment for an elevator, but there was none. So it was with a silent prayer of thanks that I opened the door to Susan's office and breathed in the air-conditioned air of her law office. Dori sat at the reception desk, to the casual observer the model of an efficient, middle-aged secretary, but to those of us who were aware of the forces behind Ovid, a shade, almost but not quite transparent. "Cindy!" she said brightly, looking up from her computer. "We haven't seen you over here in quite a while." "I've been busy, Dori, but it's too hot to work today," I quipped. Actually I hadn't been all that busy. Usually I was in Susan's office a couple of times a week, since Susan often had to defend people coming before the Judge. While she often was called upon by the court to defend a person destined to become a new resident of Ovid, she had begun to develop a substantial local practice as well. This required us to meet often, which we enjoyed, as we had become best friends since our own transformations. Lately though, things had been slow in the courts of Ovid. The only cases had been in the hands of a more junior municipal judge and had been mundane in nature - the sort of cases which came before the courts in every small town in America - things like property disputes and other civil matters. There had been no transformations in nearly a month, as the Judge had been out of town. Those of us on the inside understood why. June Webster, an attractive woman of indeterminate age, had been staying at the Ovid Inn. She was supposedly with the GAO - the Government Accounting Office - on a mission to look into the accounting procedures at Vulman Industries, which currently had a large government contract. Although no one had told us for certain, Susan and I were convinced that June Webster was, in fact, Juno, the Judge's wife. If I remembered my mythology, Jupiter and Juno had a rather stormy relationship. It seemed the myths were right. The door to Susan's office opened suddenly, and I saw Susan with her arm around her husband, Steven. Both were smiling, so I wondered what they were doing in her office with the door closed. I don't think there was a couple in Ovid more deeply in love than Susan and Steven. Who would have believed that they had both been born the opposite sex, married in their old lives only later to divorce, and ended up falling in love all over again under the spell of Ovid? "See you tonight, sweetheart," Susan practically cooed, giving Steven a chaste but meaningful kiss. He actually blushed a little, said, "Hi, Cindy," and left quickly. "A little afternoon delight?" I smiled at Susan. She smiled back. "Wouldn't you like to know?" She grinned as she shut the door behind us. Well, yes, I would, I thought. It sounded like fun. It was a shame Jerry's office over at the supermarket was so exposed or I might try it myself. Maybe I'd visit him at closing some night... "To what do I owe the honor of your visit?" Susan asked brightly as we stepped into her office. "I thought with the Judge out of town, you'd be playing hooky." "I already am," I admitted. It was an hour before I was due off work. I'd still be going back, but just long enough to close my office for the night before picking up the twins at day care. Susan looked at her watch. "I suppose you are. Well, I can't even offer you a Diet Coke. I ran out and was just on my way to pick some more up." "Don't worry about it," I said, trying not to sound disappointed. In the heat of an Ovid summer afternoon, a Diet Coke sounded like ambrosia. "I'll just settle for a glass of water." "No need for water," a voice called happily as the air in the room suddenly popped. There was Diana, a very busty blonde this time in a short red dress that was so tight on her it looked as if it might explode. In each hand, she carried a bottle of chilled champagne that bore the label of an expensive brand. "All we need are glasses." Susan wrinkled her nose a little. She never drank alcohol. "You don't have a bottle of Diet Coke tucked in that dress anywhere, do you?" Diana looked confused. "Where?" she asked, batting her eyelashes in mock surprise while she indicated with her hands that there was absolutely no room in the dress for anything else. Then, with a smaller pop than the one that had transported her into the office, one of the champagne bottles became a liter of Diet Coke. "Party pooper," she muttered. "I thought maybe you were out of town, too," I told her as she opened the two bottles with a snap of her finger. "I haven't seen you since that day at the beach." "I am out of town," she told me. She tried to pour a glass of champagne for me, but I shook my head. "You're going to make me drink alone?" she asked. "I'll take a glass of the Diet Coke," I told her. She shrugged and poured glasses of Diet Coke for Susan and me and a glass of champagne for herself. When we had all settled into Susan's comfortable leather chairs, Diana continued. "As I said, I am out of town. Or at least I have been. July isn't exactly my favorite month in Oklahoma. Even the men wilt in this heat, and a hard man is good to find." "I though myths said you were a virgin," Susan laughed over her Diet Coke. Diana frowned. "You try being a virgin for a couple of thousand years. Who wrote those stupid myths anyway?" "Well, the Judge has been out of town, too," I commented, quickly changing the subject. Diana laughed a broad laugh. "I'm not surprised. I heard that Juno was back in town. He'll stay out of town until the little woman leaves." Susan looked confused, so I took a moment to tell her about June Webster. "So the Judge is married?" Susan asked. She had never been the fan of mythology I was. "So to speak," Diana told her. "It's what you might call a common law marriage, but they've been married for as long as any of us can remember - and that's a long, long time." "But they don't get along very well," I explained to Susan. "The Judge apparently cheated on her quite a few times." "The Judge?" Susan said, incredulous. I had to admit, it was hard to picture the Judge, stern disciplinarian that he always appeared to be, as a philanderer. I had found in my experience of working with the gods that they weren't always exactly as the myths portrayed them, but there was invariably a grain of truth in each of the myths. While I doubted that the Judge had fathered quite as many bastards as the myths related, he had probably sowed a few wild oats in his youth - if the time of the Roman Empire could be said to be his youth. Juno - or Hera as the Greeks called her - was a powerful goddess in her own right - and a jealous one. "Oh, you don't really know our Judge," Diana laughed. "In any case, it appears their trial separation may be about to end. I suspect she's come back either to reconcile or dissolve the marriage." "The gods have divorce?" I asked, suddenly curious. Diana shook her head. "Not exactly. We dissolve marriages rather than divorcing. Maybe someday Eric Vulman will tell you how he dissolved the marriage with Vera March sometime." Now Susan's mouth was wide open. "Eric Vulman was married to Vera March? When?" "A long time ago," I told her with a friendly pat on her hand. "Susan, you really need to read more mythology." "I guess I do," she agreed, nodding. Our conversation was suddenly interrupted as three very attractive teenage girls burst into our office. One was Dori's daughter, Myra. Susan had hired her for the summer since the girl had an interest in becoming a lawyer someday. She was dressed very professionally, a khaki shirtdress doing little to disguise her terrific figure, punctuated my two magnificent breasts. Her blonde hair was tied back in a demure ponytail, but it was easy to visualize what it looked like when it was allowed to flow loose over her shoulders. She wore a pair of conservative brown heels, only an inch high, and her legs were encased in tan nylon. For all her attempts to look conservative, she was a stunner. The second girl was dressed much more informally. She had long, luxurious auburn hair and was wearing shorts which showed off her magnificent legs and a sleeveless white blouse. Although not as well endowed as her friend Myra, Samantha Wallace was a very, very attractive girl. Bright and vivacious, she was a born leader and one of the most popular girls in town. Sam had also been of great help to many of the women of Ovid who had been born as men and remembered their male pasts. Her acceptance of her growing womanhood had been an inspiration to many of us. I didn't know the third girl all that well. Like Samantha, she had been transformed before I came to Ovid. Her name was Jennifer Tilton, the daughter of the President of the Farmer's and Merchant's Bank. When I had first come to Ovid, she had been a little tomboy. A couple of years younger than Samantha, she had seemed to fight being a girl with every ounce of her energy. She had come around though, the last few months, under the influence of her mother, also a transformee. Now, she appeared to be a blonde version of Samantha, her knit top proudly displaying her budding breasts while her own shorts showed a pair of legs that were already driving all the boys in her class wild. "I dropped those papers off at the County Clerk's office like you asked," Myra said, proudly displaying the receipt. "And?" Susan asked, amused. Myra grinned. "And the defendant missed the three o'clock deadline. Becky Marshall from my class at school is working there over the summer, and she told me ours was the only one filed." "Good work," Susan said with a smile. "You'll make a lawyer yet." Myra beamed. Then she asked, "Do you suppose it would be alright if I left a little early this afternoon? We'd like to do a little shopping and..." "Meet your boyfriends before the party at the country club?" Susan finished for her. "Well... yes," Myra said. "But how did you know about the party? I thought it was just for teens." "Oh, you have your sources and I have mine," Susan drawled. I was sure Dori had told her all about the dance. "Sure, go on. You girls have fun. And be careful." "We will!" they all chorused as they rushed out the door, closing it with a loud slam. I shook my head, taking another sip of Diet Coke. "Who would believe that not so long ago they were all male?" I mused absently. Susan sighed. "I suppose we could say the same about ourselves." "It's the magic of Ovid," Diana explained. "Ovid gives you what you need to be who you've become. Would either of you go back to your old lives if I gave you the chance." "No!" Susan and I both said together. The very thought of giving up my life in Ovid, my family, my job, my friends, sent chills up and down my spine. Diana's eyes narrowed. "Would you like to see what it was like here back at the start?" "The start?" I asked. Diana shrugged. "Well, not exactly the start, but close to it. I'm talking about the time Samantha and Jennifer came here. Since we don't have any new stories, an old one will have to do." "But I don't have that information," I protested. "I can only show the lives of the people whose trials I have attended. Samantha and Jennifer were here almost a year before I was." Diana tapped the side of her head. "It's all in here, girls. All the cases before you came to town, Cindy, are locked in here. Now, since you don't have any good stories for me, what say I give you one?" "Sure," I said happily as Susan nodded in agreement. "Okay, ladies," Diana said, hunching over the desk with Susan and me, "here we go..." ***** "What was that?" The nervous question sounded out of place, coming from the deep rumble that served as a voice for Dusty Stephenson. I barely heard it over the hoots and laughs chorusing from dozens of throats as the Northwest Missouri State Bearcats celebrated their good fortune. We were on a jet - a rare experience for our team. Usually we traveled short distances to play nearby colleges in towns as small as our own Maryville, Missouri. Not this time, though. While we might have expected to be bussed to Muskogee, Oklahoma for Saturday's important game, a wealthy alum, overjoyed with the season that had left our football team with eight wins and no losses so far, had culled a plane from his fleet of charters and made it available to the team. Yes, we were travelling in style all right. We felt as if we were going to swoop down from the sky and frighten the Muskogee State players to death. After all, we were travelling like the big teams that day. "It was just an air pocket." I leaned across the aisle and told Dusty. "It's nothing to worry about." Worry crossed his Neanderthal brow anyhow. "Are you sure?" Dusty had never flown before. He had grown up and lived his whole life before college on a farm in Southern Iowa, not even a hundred miles from Maryville. In fact, until he had come to college, he had never even been out of Iowa. Everybody liked Dusty. He was one of those big, slow farm boys who, if he liked you, was your friend for life. And Dusty liked just about everybody - everybody except Wild Bill. "You're gonna have to get off, Dusty," Bill "Wild Bill" Moreland quipped from a couple of rows forward. "We can't gain altitude with you on board." Wild Bill's friends - or maybe "sycophants" was a better word - laughed at his joke. Dusty had always been a little sensitive about his size. Coach Wallace had been on him to lose twenty pounds, but Dusty was just one of those guys who could polish off a three pound steak and still be hungry. At least Wild Bill's jibe had made him forget about the rough air. His dislike for our overrated quarterback was sufficient to chase away all other thoughts. Come to think of it, I felt the same way about him. Wild Bill Moreland had come out of a top high school football powerhouse over in Nebraska - in Lincoln to be exact. He had one hell of a throwing arm. He could rocket the ball on target all the way across the field and a good fifty yards downfield with pinpoint accuracy. Normally the University of Nebraska would have been interested in him, but Wild Bill had a little problem - namely, he had trouble reading defenses. He could have studied the other team's defensive play book for a week and he would have still thrown into coverage. I understood that at his high school, he held the record for passing yards, but he also held the record for interceptions. Nobody was going to play QB for the Huskers who couldn't read a defense. They offered him a chance to walk on, but no scholarship. Northwest Missouri State was perfect for him, though. Coach Wallace had developed a winning program based on the full house backfield, where two halfbacks and a fullback lined up behind the quarterback, either running the ball or running short pass patterns. Our wide receivers were used primarily to keep the defense honest. Wild Bill had direct orders from the Coach to throw to them only when there wasn't a defender within twenty yards. So the result was that Wild Bill actually looked like a pretty good quarterback, instead of the mediocre one he would have been with most teams. Many of us on the team believed he would be able to look good enough to make it to the pros, but few of us thought he had what it took to last. Wild Bill even looked like a quarterback. He was tall, slim but well muscled, square jam, keen blue eyes, and a shock of blonde hair that all the girls loved to run their fingers through. But when he opened his mouth, it was usually to say something stupid or cutting or both. In short, he was a jerk. "Can't a guy get any sleep around here?" a voice grumbled in the window seat next to me. It was Larry Gunn, one of our starting defensive ends - I was the other. Larry could read an opposing pass pattern better than their own quarterback - and certainly better than our quarterback. He was quick, intelligent, and would probably have been playing for one of the top football powers if he had been taller, but at five- eleven, no matter how quick and smart he was, wide receivers could catch the passes over his head. If you could put the two of us together, you would have had one hell of a defensive end. I was reasonably intelligent - or at least my grade point said I was - and I was six-three. Unfortunately I wasn't terribly fast. I had to depend upon my size and my ability to figure out where the ball was going to succeed. If the receiver managed to get a step on me, I was toast. Larry and I had been friends since our freshman year. By sheer chance, we had ended up as roommates, then we pledged the same fraternity. We were both good students - probably the best on the team - and we both had the same taste in girls - bright and well built with long brown hair. In fact, that had been our only bone of contention during our junior year when we both went after the same girl. We both lost out to Dennis Mahoney, our starting halfback. It was no big deal, though. Larry and I were both pretty decent looking guys, so there were plenty more girls where that one came from. Besides, Dennis was a pretty decent guy. "Okay, listen up!" Coach Wallace suddenly yelled as soon as the seatbelt sign went off. He was on his feet, his Bearcats ball cap pushed back on his forehead to reveal a thinning hairline. He was in good shape for sixty, but it hadn't saved his hair. "This is a short flight. We'll land in Muskogee in about thirty minutes, so keep all your gear together." It isn't as if we had much gear. All the uniforms and equipment had been shipped by bus along with some of the assistant coaches and support people. The only support person on the plane was Jill Wentworth, the Team Manager. By all rights, Jill should have been on the bus with the equipment, but she had begged Coach Wallace to let her ride with the team. Jill wasn't the kind of girl who wanted to be surrounded by big beefy guys all the time, and she wasn't the kind of girl who was dyke. No, she just loved the game of football. Raised by a widowed father back in Wisconsin, she had grown up playing football with her two brothers. They attended all the Wisconsin Badger games from the time she was old enough to walk. Actually, she could even throw the football pretty good - for a girl. Jill wasn't bad looking either. She had short blonde hair curled in sort of a Meg Ryan style. Come to think of it, she looked a little like Meg Ryan. Only a little, though. "Hey Wentworth!" Wild Bill called out to her as she stood in the aisle, a football in hand as she talked to Horace White, the big black starting wide receiver. "What say you come back here and check out my equipment before we get to Muskogee?" That got a few laughs from Wild Bill's usual followers, but the rest of us just looked away so as not to embarrass Jill. We needn't have bothered. Jill didn't reply, or even look embarrassed. She didn't even seem to be looking at Wild Bill, but she knew exactly where the prick was. In one fluid motion, she rifled the ball in her hand - not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to sting - right at the top of Wild Bill's head. The ball thudded off his forehead with an audible smack. "Ow!" Wild Bill screamed to the sudden roar of laughter from most of the players who had seen it all. "That hurt!" "No it didn't," Jill called smugly in a feminine but confident tone. "If I wanted to hurt you, I would have thrown harder." That got another laugh before Coach Wallace jumped to his feet. "All right Moreland, Wentworth. Knock it off before somebody gets hurt." "She already hurt me!" Wild Bill protested. "Then maybe I should put you down as injured for tomorrow's game?" the coach asked. "No," Wild Bill said petulantly. "I'm fine." Of course, he knew that there were two other quarterbacks just waiting in the wings to see what they could do if Wild Bill weren't in the game, and they weren't too bad themselves. The crown always weighs heavy. Larry was wide awake now. He snorted at Wild Bill's little act and said to me, "Jace, when is that clown going to grow up?" I'm not sure, but I think Wild Bill heard him, for he winced suddenly. Larry could get away with putting Wild Bill down. Like me, he was defense, so we didn't have to take orders from our overrated field general. Also, either one of us was strong enough to dismantle Wild Bill while eating breakfast. You don't get to be a defensive end without a fair amount of muscle. Of course, we still kept remarks like that mostly to ourselves. It was bad for team morale, and we were a team bound for glory. Northwest Missouri State had been a growing football power for the last few years. Coach Wallace, now in his tenth season, had built us into a winning team. Many thought this would be the year we took it all - the NCAA Division II Title, making us the top team in the nation in our division. Oh, it didn't get you a spot on nationwide TV on New Year's Day, but it was as high as a school like ours could go, and for the players like Wild Bill and Dennis Mahoney who were potential pro players, it was a chance to get at least a little media time. That might mean a lot of money when the NFL draft came around in the spring. I didn't really want to see Wild Bill go too high in the draft. He didn't deserve it. It was the team around him that made him look good. I could only hope that the pro scouts would realize it. Dennis Mahoney, on the other hand, I wished well. I looked back at Dennis, sitting calmly next to his best friend and old high school classmate, Darren McDougal. They were unlikely friends, and although their paths while similar in some ways were very different in others. For similarities, they were both from the little Missouri town of Cameron, not too far from Maryville, and neither of them was particularly worldly. Both planned to be teachers, although Darren liked math and Dennis was aiming more toward social studies. But their paths were starting to diverge. Dennis had a steady girl - the aforementioned brunette -whereas Darren preferred to shop around. And Dennis had definite NFL potential and would probably play several years before settling down to teach - if he ever did. Darren, although the typical big Midwestern farm boy who ends up playing tackle or guard was way too slow to make it in the pros. It didn't really matter to him, since all he really wanted to do was go back to Cameron and teach math. All in all, we were a great team. I was proud to be a part of it. Here I was, Jason Stromberg, a big kid from the suburbs of Kansas City, playing for a team which could go all the way to an undefeated season. If we did well enough, maybe I would even get a shot in the draft. Or I might decide to walk on at the Chief's camp if I wasn't drafted. No, I realized with a smile. I wasn't destined to play pro football. I had never even wanted to be a pro. I wasn't really sure what I wanted to do with my life. I started out with ambitions to become a doctor like my father, but although my grades were very good, they weren't the sort of grades that would get me into medical school. So I gave up on that major. I was now a history major, but I didn't particularly want to teach. That meant I would probably gravitate to something where a degree was a degree was a degree. Something like selling, I thought. Many large companies liked big former football players who were personable and reasonably intelligent as sales people. They tended to be reasonably aggressive, friendly, and good team players. Well, it wasn't the life I would have picked for myself, but it wouldn't be a bad one. I'd probably end up in Kansas City or some similar city just like my parents had done and marry the first girl I asked and raise two point three children in my tract house. I'd drive a company car until I reached middle management. Then, I'd opt for a BMW as part of my midlife crisis. I'd find a girlfriend on the side and watch my wife grow old while we held together our marriage for the sake of the children. And why not? Wasn't that what my family had done? My older sister, Joan, had left for college two years before me. At that time, I could already see my parent's marriage beginning to unravel. It got even worse after I left for school. My younger brother, Johnny, was a senior in high school, so by the time he started college, I figured my parents would be splitsville. Maybe not, though. Maybe they'd just stay together and hate each other. My musings were interrupted by a loud pop coming from the rear of the plane, followed by what sounded like tearing metal. The entire fuselage shuddered suddenly, causing a collective gasp from the entire team. Whatever had just happened wasn't supposed to happen. We all realized that. Suddenly a tense woman's voice filled the cabin. It was our pilot. "I know you all felt that," she said, trying to sound upbeat - and failing. "That was our starboard engine. It just flamed out, but don't worry. This is a BAC-111, and it's designed to operate on one engine if need be." Maybe so, I thought, but that didn't mean we should sit back and enjoy the ride. The plane was obviously much harder to fly with one engine gone, which meant it was going to be much harder to land also. And the sound of tearing metal was more than just a flame out. "We'll be setting down shortly. We're about fifteen minutes out of Muskogee right now and - " Whatever she was going to say would be forever lost, for the plane began to roll lazily to the left with another shudder. All we heard from the cockpit was a muttered "damn!" as the speaker went silent. If we were worried before, we were petrified now. Several members of the team were yelling "What the fuck?" and "Oh Jesus!" and anything else they could think of to yell as the plane began to drop. Something had gone terribly - fatally - wrong. I thought about my family. I thought about how they would handle my death. Maybe it would bring them closer together. Maybe some good could come out of - Then all at once, the shuddering stopped. We were still dropping, but it was the typical drop you always feel when a plane is making a normal descent. We all became suddenly quiet, except for Dusty next to me who uttered, "Thank you, God." "What's happening?" I asked Larry who had his face pressed to the window. "We're landing," he said softly. "I thought the pilot said we were still fifteen minutes from Muskogee," I pointed out. "I thought she did, too," Larry replied. Then he pointed out the window. "But look." Part 2 Leaning over him, I looked out the window. It was a clear fall day, and it looked as if I could see forever. What was laid out below me was a long valley with fairly impressive hills on either side. There was something odd about the hills though, I thought. It was almost as if they were identical on each side of the valley, as if the valley were somehow squeezed into a nonexistent space. Of more immediate interest though, was the landing field that we were banking to approach, Before we turned too far for me to see, I had seen a long concrete runway in our path. I marvelled at how our pilot had regained control of the plane. I had actually thought we were goners, about to have ourselves splattered all over the Oklahoma landscape. Maybe this was a good omen, I speculated. Maybe this meant we'd beat Muskogee State, for now nothing could stop us. Funny though, I mused. The town in the distance didn't look big enough to be Muskogee. Maybe it wasn't. Perhaps the pilot had opted for a nearby field instead of flying on to Muskogee. Yes, I thought. That must be it. Well, I didn't much care where we landed as long as I got off this plane in one piece. The ground rushed up to meet us, and it felt as if we were floating down the runway rather than flying. It was honest to God the smoothest landing I had ever seen. We never even felt the wheels touch the ground, and the roar of the engines reversing was like sweet music to us all. The plane taxied up to a small collection of hangars that housed several private planes. But there was no sign of any airline activity; nor was there a sign displaying where we had landed. "Where the fuck are we?" somebody muttered. "I don't know, man," someone else drawled in an accent that would be right at home in this place. "I grew up down here and I don't know where we are." Well, we couldn't be far from Muskogee, I thought. A plane on its descent travels at - what? - two hundred miles per hour? Fifteen minutes meant fifty miles, give or take a mile or two. That meant we were about an hour away by bus. I wondered if they had radioed ahead so that a bus could be waiting. "Okay," Couch Wallace called out, bracing himself on the back of a seat as we taxied in. "We've had our excitement for the day." There was nervous laughter at that remark. The coach even smiled himself before going on, "We should still be able to get into Muskogee at a reasonable time, so I expect we'll still have some time to practice today. Go ahead and gather everything up. The sooner we get out of this plane, the sooner we can be on our way." "And welcome to the Sooner State," Wild Bill called out with a laugh. The coach frowned for a minute before realizing what had just happened. Then even he broke out into a grin. "Yeah, right. Now let's get out of here." The plane rolled to a stop, and our single flight attendant opened the forward door. I wondered how we were going to get down from the plane. Obviously, this airport was too small to have modern jetways. I watched though, as two men wheeled a large metal stairway into place, but I wasn't really watching the stairway as much as I was watching the men. To a casual observer, they would probably have appeared normal, but I was studying them intently. Both men were... not exactly transparent, but they didn't appear completely solid either. It just seemed to be how intently I looked at them that made the difference. "Jace," Larry said nervously, "do you see what I see?" I was hesitant to admit what I saw. "What do you mean, Larry?" "Those men," Larry said, emphasizing whom he meant with a nod of his head. "Do they seem odd to you?" I had to say it some time. "Do you mean, almost transparent?" "Yeah," he replied, relieved that he wasn't the only one who noticed. "Do you suppose they're ghosts? Did we really crash? Is this like - you know - Heaven's airport or something?" That seemed to be a ridiculous statement on the surface of it, but things hadn't seemed quite right ever since the explosion in the engine. Reality seemed to be suddenly tilted, as if... No, we couldn't be dead, I thought. I reached over to pinch my own arm. Ouch! If I was dead, why had that hurt? Besides, I didn't feel dead. I felt as young and healthy as ever. A man suddenly appeared in the doorway of the plane. He was tall and slender, a serious look on what we could see of his face - his eyes were hidden by reflective sunglasses. He was some sort of official, his gray- blue shirt, dark trousers, and boots indicated that. Then I noticed the badge. Police, perhaps, I thought, or State Patrol. "Listen up, please," he ordered in an authoritative voice. He didn't have to speak too loudly. All of us had been silent since the plane had landed, as if we all noticed something out of order. "You have just landed at the Ovid Municipal Airport in Ovid, Oklahoma. Your plane has been damaged, and there may be some danger of a fuel leak and fire, so I am going to ask you to deplane immediately. Do not worry about your personal belongings. Those will be taken care of once the plane has been checked. As I step by your rows, please exit at once and go directly to the bus outside." "What bus?" I whispered to Larry. Then together we looked out the cabin window at a large silver bus which I could have sworn had not been there a moment before. There were no markings on the bus. In fact, there were no seams on the bus. It was as if it was made out of a single piece of silver metal, gleaming brightly in the Oklahoma sun. "Hey man, this is getting weird," Larry murmured. He was right, but as I looked around the bus, no one else seemed unduly upset. No wait, that wasn't quite true. Of course, I couldn't see everyone on the plane, but I could see Wild Bill. He was unusually subdued, as if he, too, noticed something not quite right. I began to watch as each row emptied, studying the faces of my teammates if I could to see some evidence of alarm or confusion. Most seemed normal, I observed, if just a little shaken from their brush with disaster. But occasionally, I caught a glimpse of uncertainty similar to the one that must have been on my own face. Coach Jessup, our defensive coordinator, was among that small group. As he rose to his full six foot four height, he looked back at those of us still seated. He was really second only to Coach Wallace in authority. Given his height and build - he had once played safety for the Rams - he was an impressive figure. Just in his mid thirties, many thought he would be head coach when Coach Wallace finally retired. When his eyes caught mine, the confusion registered. He shifted his eyes a little to indicate that I needed to talk to him when I could. Jill looked around, almost in terror. Again, she saw me. I gave her a curt nod as if to say it would be all right. She gave me a small nod herself before deplaning. In all, I noticed perhaps half a dozen of my teammates sensed that something was wrong. I could tell. These guys were practically my family. Some of them had been teammates for all four years with me. I could tell when something was bothering them, and something was bothering them now. All of us hustled over to the bus as quickly as we could. Nobody wanted to take a chance on the plane suddenly exploding. I looked back at the tail of the plane and got quite a shock. The BAC-111 has two engines, one mounted on either side of the fuselage near the tail, sort of like a DC- 9. The engine on the left side of the plane was just so many pounds of scrap metal, its cowling shredded and blackened. That we could have survived, I knew. The plane could have flown on one engine with relative ease. Unfortunately, whatever had caused the engine to disintegrate had thrown debris into the tail of the aircraft, leaving it twisted as well. My father had his own plane, and I had grown up in it. I knew there was no way the pilot could have controlled a plane in that condition as well as she did. By all rights, we should have lost control and plummeted to the ground. "What now?" Larry asked, seeing my face devoid of color. "I'll tell you later, man," I promised. I didn't want to tell him then because I thought it would have sounded crazy. I didn't realize it then, but the craziness hadn't even started yet. Larry and I sat together on the bus, and Coach Jessup slid into the aisle seat across from us. Jill was sitting next to him. Once all the players had boarded the bus and cleared the aisles, he asked, "Jace, I know you saw something weird. I could see it in your eyes. What was it?" "I don't know," I said honestly after a moment's thought. "Nothing seems right. Did you see those people out there on the tarmac? They... it almost looked as if you could see through them." "What are you talking about?" a woman's voice said from the row behind me. I turned to see it was our pilot, her white shirt, once crisp, now stained and wilted with perspiration. It was warm in the bus, but not that warm. "Those men." I gestured with my hand at two workers who were now moving the ramp away from the plane. Odd, I thought, since they'd want to board it later to check it out and remove our possessions. "Look at them. Do you notice something odd about them?" "I do," Larry volunteered next to me. The pilot shook her head, her short brown locks springing as she did. "I don't. They just look like two workers. Why? What do you see?" "They're... sort of transparent," I explained. She looked at me for a moment, then giggled. "You're joking, right? This is some sort of a prank you guys pull on people?" Jill leaned over me, her breasts practically in my face. Good old Jill. She might be cute, but she was always just one of the guys. I guess that came from being the only girl in her home. Still, I practically got hard while she did it. I mean, she might have been just one of the guys, but she was a fine looking girl, too. She peered at the two men. "I see what you mean. What do you think - " she began, but the bus lurched ahead suddenly, causing her to fall in my lap. I was more than a little embarrassed as I realized she could feel my growing erection. She grinned at me. "Not right now," she jibed. "Maybe later." She got up to return to her seat, impishly moving her hand across my crotch as she got off me. "I think you have a new girlfriend," Larry practically whispered in my ear. I looked at Jill's butt as she maneuvered past Coach Jessup to reach her seat. New girlfriend, eh? Well, who knows? I thought. I could do a lot worse. "Oh my god!" our pilot exclaimed as we pulled away. "Did you see what I meant?" I turned and asked. "No - I'm looking at the plane," she explained. "I shouldn't have been able to turn on final with one engine out and the tail in that condition." I nodded. She had confirmed my suspicions as well. "For that matter," Larry chimed in, "why did there just happen to be a bus waiting for us when we landed?" "That's not so strange," Jill told us. "Airports have buses to take people off the planes in emergencies. I saw one do it when I changed planes at O'Hare last summer." "But that was O'Hare," our pilot pointed out. "Big airports have those, but I imagine we're the largest plane to ever land here. Your friend had a good point. What was a big bus like this doing just waiting for us?" "You're not suggesting they knew we were coming, are you?" Coach Jessup asked. It was obvious from his tone that he didn't think much of our pilot. "I'm not suggesting anything," she said. "Neither am I," Larry said, as if to remind Coach Jessup that he was the one who had initially mentioned the bus. "I just find it one more oddity." We were in for a lot of oddities as it turned out. After a couple of miles on the open road, we passed a sign that said "Welcome to Ovid" followed by a collection of the usual roadside businesses - metal warehouses with brick fronts housing a host of firms, implement and car dealers, and so on. As the road widened to four lanes, the businesses became the usual collection of fast food restaurants, convenience stores, and gas stations. The funny thing was they were all brands I had never heard of. I supposed this Ovid was too small for the usual franchises like Burger King and KFC. I hoped we didn't have to spend much time here. Trees began to line the street, their leaves still green, but hints of yellow and red were already present, announcing a fall a little later than we experienced further north, but fall nonetheless. It was a bigger town than I had imagined - perhaps as big or bigger than Maryville. I saw a directional sign announcing the way to Capta College. So Ovid was a college town. It was beginning to remind me in some ways of Maryville. But only in some ways. In other ways, it was as different from Maryville as Earth is from the Moon. Nearly everyone I saw walking in the warm fall weather of Ovid bore that same almost but not quite transparent look. Except for that, they all seemed normal enough. There were men in suits and work clothes as you would expect on a working day. The only children in evidence were very young - preschoolers on a school day. I saw one of them who didn't have that transparent look, and the little guy seemed to see nothing wrong with the fact that the woman who pulled him along by the hand had that same transparent look. Finally the bus pulled into a large parking lot in front of a large granite building with the words "City Hall" engraved between its entry columns. It was a typical Midwest city building - a little nicer and neater than most, but still not out of character. The building was tastefully surrounded by trees and a grassy lawn which sported two flying flags: one the US flag and the other what appeared to be a state flag. What were we doing here? I wondered. I looked a few rows up at our coach. Why wasn't he raising hell? We needed to be in Muskogee, not stuck at City Hall in some town I had never heard of. It was then that I noticed still another oddity. When the plane had landed, all of us were very animated. We were relieved that we had landed safely, apparently avoiding a grisly end only through the Herculean efforts of our flight crew. Some had even cheered. Now though, that animation was gone, replaced by an almost hypnotic silence. Oh, there were a few small conversations like the one I had been involved in, but most of the team seemed tranquil almost to the point of a stupor. I looked at Coach Jessup. "What's happening?" I asked him. "What's the matter with Coach Wallace?" "I don't know," he admitted. He began to rise to question the head coach, but suddenly the bus doors swung open and the strange police officer got on board. "Alright, please get off the bus in an orderly fashion just like before. Then wait for me on the sidewalk." Almost like robots, my teammates began to stand and get off the bus in almost military precision. Here and there, an individual would look around in confusion. I saw Bert Hazleton, our big halfback, look around almost in fear, but he got off just like everyone else. Soon, our row was moving. I kept looking around, trying to figure out what was going on. I stole a look at the driver - or I tried to. There was no driver. Come to think of it, I hadn't seen a driver get on or off. But how could a bus be driven without a driver? Wouldn't the guys in the front of the bus notice something was wrong? What was happening to all of us? "Please follow me," the police officer said with authority once we were all gathered on the sidewalk. Like lemmings, we followed him into the building. We were led into a room with wide oak doors. I realized at once it was a courtroom. But what were we doing in a courtroom? It was empty except for our group. Maybe they were just gathering us here until another bus could be brought in from Muskogee State, I rationalized. After all, what possible reason would anyone have to take us into a court? "All rise!" the police officer suddenly intoned. We were all still on our feet, so why did he say that? I wondered. "Municipal Court of and for the City of Ovid is now in session, the Honorable Judge presiding." A man in a crisp black robe entered the room from behind the bench. He was a dignified man, striding with the confidence of a man who is in charge and knows it. He was tall, but not as tall as many on our team and appeared to be in good shape for his age, which I estimated to be low to mid fifties. His hair and beard were both neatly trimmed and brown with just a touch of gray. He stopped at his seat, looking over at the officer. "Thank you, Officer Mercer. Spectators may be seated." Did he mean us? There were no chairs for us, as we were before the bench. No one made a motion to sit anyway, and there were no spectators in the visitor's gallery. Then if we weren't spectators, what were we? "Officer Mercer, will you read the charges, please?" We all stood there in an eerie silence, either too dumbfounded or too frightened to open our mouths as Officer Mercer recited formally, "In the case of the people versus the football team of Northwest Missouri State and associated parties, the defendants are charged with unsafe operation of an aircraft and landing such aircraft on property of the City of Ovid without proper clearances." "Very well," the Judge said with a nod. "I hereby find the defendants -" "Wait!" I suddenly yelled. I regretted it the moment I had done so, but I knew this wasn't right. Somebody had to say something. It might as well be me. I certainly had second thoughts about it when I saw all eyes turned toward me, the Judge's the most piercing of all. "Yes, Mr. Stromberg?" the Judge said in a tone that made me want to run and hide. "Do you have something to say before I pass judgement?" I looked at my teammates. Some, like Larry, Darren and Dennis were watching me with encouragement. Most were watching with the same level of interest they might have shown if I had been a bug on the wall - which is to say, none at all. I suppose I should have wondered how he knew my name, but when a man with as much of a powerful presence as the Judge stares at you, it is hardly the time to ask questions. Something in the back of my mind told me I had better come up with the right answer or the consequences might be most unpleasant. "Your Honor," I began meekly, "we were just on our way to play a football game." "I know that," he said with grim amusement. "Well, I mean, I don't think we've done anything wrong." "Didn't you hear the charges Officer Mercer just read?" I sighed. "Well, yes, Your Honor, I did, but it seems there were extenuating circumstances." Now there was a good word. My college education might pay off at last. "We didn't intend to land in Ovid." The Judge snorted. "Mr. Stromberg, you should have tried the law as a profession. I must admire your courage in this matter. However, if you say another word, I will find you in contempt of this court, and the penalty for that might well be more than you would want to pay." I believed him, and I shut up at once. I had never been so frightened in my life. There was something about this magistrate that exuded raw power of a kind I had never imagined before. Was it a premonition of what was about to happen? Maybe. There was certainly magic in the air. It was enough to calm some and confuse others, and most were calmed by it. It was as if most of my teammates had no idea where they were or what was happening to them. The rest of us - the confused - could only stand and brace ourselves as best we could for whatever was about to happen. The Judge turned his attention away from me and back to the rest of our team. "I find you guilty of all charges and specifications. In accordance with the Ovid City Code..." His voice suddenly became a little deeper, uttering words I had never heard before. At first, I thought there was something wrong. Maybe he was having a stroke or something. But no, whatever he was saying was powerful, for the level of magic in the room suddenly increased like a light breeze becoming a strong March wind. I felt it on my face, like tendrils of wind moving the air along my cheeks. Then it was in my hair, blowing my hair, making it feel longer than it really was. I looked around at my teammates. Some, like me, seemed to be bracing against the wind. Horace White stood there defiantly as he had many times in our backfield, but he was becoming pale, almost as if the ebony color of his skin was being blown away, revealing skin which became a light flesh pink. His shaved head was sprouting hair, but instead of its natural black, it was a light blonde shade, becoming longer and longer as his facial features changed from their natural broad masculine aspect to a more feminine appearance. His broad shoulders were narrowing swiftly, and what were those two mounds of flesh rising from his chest? The changes were coming more quickly, and there were so many of them that I couldn't follow them all and still pay attention to what was starting to happen to my own body. A few of my teammates stayed the size they were, and one or two became even larger. Most, however, were becoming smaller - some much smaller. I watched with alarm as Jill Wentworth became suddenly taller, more muscular, as her hair seemed to pull back into her scalp. To my left, Larry seemed as tall as I was, but his nearly black hair had become a wavy brown. He looked younger, too, almost like a young version of Brad Pitt. "What's happening?" I asked him, surprised to hear my own voice over the gasps and cries emanating from the team. My voice seemed higher and more melodic. Larry looked at me in stunned silence. I frowned. "What is it?" I asked. Ignoring for a moment the sudden gasps and chaos that was swirling around me, I looked first at Larry's eyes to see where he was staring. His eyes were fixed on my chest, so I looked down. With a decidedly high-pitched gasp, I watched as my green and white Bearcats sweatshirt began to expand in two prominent places. As I watched in fascinated horror, two breasts were growing from my chest. I could feel their weight growing with each frightened breath. Incredulous, I raised my hand to touch them, noting almost as an afterthought that the hand was smaller and slimmer, and that my nails were far longer than they should be, glistening with a clear polish. "Larry..." I started, but my voice trailed off. What was I going to say? Larry, please help me? How could he help me? Powers far greater than I had ever imagined were remolding my entire body. I could feel it coursing over my entire body, leaving behind the weight of longer hair already tickling my ears. And what was clinging to the bottom of my ears? I could feel it in my face as the bones in my cheeks began to shift, almost as if there was something alive in there scuttling around. My waist and stomach seemed to be contracting, almost as if air were being let out of a balloon, but I could feel the shift of bones in my pelvis as it became wider, and like my new chest, it was suddenly as if I had new weight in my butt. There was a tickling sensation in my legs as well, as if the hair on them was suddenly just not there any longer. That feeling was quickly replace by the sensation of my legs, feet and ass being encased in something which clung to me almost like a second skin. "My god, Jace!" Larry exclaimed. Except it didn't sound exactly like Larry. It was still a male voice, but not as deep or as mature. Was he being changed into a girl, too? Part of me hoped not - for his sake. Part of me though, didn't want to be alone in this humiliation. Of course, when I looked beyond Larry for a moment, it was obvious that I was not alone. Still in the throes of change, my teammates were meeting their fate with a variety of reactions. While roughly half of them were taking on feminine characteristics at an alarming rate, the rest, although still male, were like Larry, becoming younger, more callow youths. Some seemed unaware of what was happening to them, staring at the Judge as if listening to a lecture. Others - only a few actually - were like Larry and me, examining our new anatomies as best we could with expressions of disbelief. Why weren't we yelling and screaming? I don't really know. Maybe it was part of the magic which kept us under control. Maybe it was simply fear or shock. I knew - and I was certain some of my teammates knew -that this was the supernatural work of the mysterious Judge. Somehow he was gifted with powers I had never imagined even existed. He had taken our entire team and, with the power of a few words in some arcane tongue, had transformed us into a group of young men and women who appeared no more than fifteen or sixteen years old. Part of me did want to cry out, but I was afraid. Yes, I'll admit it - I was very afraid. Now was not the time to challenge this powerful man - if he was, in fact, a man at all. The sensations of transformation were beginning to abate at last. There had been no pain to endure, and I have no idea exactly how long the process took. I suspect it may have differed a little for each of us. I no longer felt as if there were live things crawling beneath my skin, and my anatomy appeared to have settled into its new form. The only odd sensations remaining were those I felt as my clothing continued to shift. My jeans had transformed into a soft aqua skirt cut well above the knee with small slits along the side. That had revealed dark pantyhose clinging to shapely legs, ending in a pair of black patent shoes - fortunately with only the hint of a heel. My new breasts were covered with a light sweater which matched my skirt. It did little to disguise my new shape. There was a small weight on my shoulder - a purse strap, I realized as I looked down. A strand or two of auburn hair lay over my slimmer shoulders as well, ending where I could see a slender gold chain which formed a feminine necklace ending about where my breasts began. "My god, Jace," the boy who had been Larry murmured, "you're beautiful." But I didn't want to be beautiful. I was weak in the knees from shock, and a look around the room told me I wasn't alone. I didn't know who was who. When you are enduring the sudden shock of watching your own body transform, becoming younger and changing sex in the process, it is a little difficult to take note of everything happening around you. I no longer recognized the collection of youths who shared the courtroom with me. I knew, of course, that the nice looking boy who stood next to me was my good friend, Larry, for I had watched him change. Why had he remained male while I became a... a girl? I wasn't alone in my sex change, though. Fully half the room had become female. Most of my teammates looked as if nothing was wrong. They shared the look of bored high school students everywhere, seemingly unconcerned that they were wearing skirts - and in some cases heels - for the first time in their lives. Several whispered to each other, occasionally eyeing one of the boys and giggling. Others patted their hair or stood trying to look interested with their arms folded under breasts that they treated as if they had had them all their lives. A few though were like me, looking from side to side, trying to make some sense out of what had happened. Some were still boys, like Larry. There was confusion written on their faces, but also relief as well. They could see for themselves that about half of us had joined the distaff side, and they were thanking whatever powers were at work that they had been spared such an indignity. Some were like me though, radically changed, our hair long, makeup in place, breasts heaving in alarm, and knees bare and shaking. I looked up at the Judge. His face was impassive. Who - or what - was he? How could he wield such power over us? I wanted to demand an explanation. Perhaps I would have managed to work up enough courage to do so if I had had more time, but a woman's voice suddenly called, "Thank you very much, Your Honor, for explaining the municipal court system to us." Most of the crowd ignored her, but some of us who seemed to be more aware of what had happened turned to see a rather plain, well-dressed woman, perhaps fifty or so with her gray hair drawn back into a neat bun. Wasn't she standing where Coach Wallace had been only a few minutes before? Was this woman our transformed coach? If so, she had dropped about ten years and a lot of pounds, not to mention a whole new set of contours. The Judge smiled an indulgent smile. "I'm always pleased to explain our legal system to your students, Miss Samson. I'm sure that I'll see at least one of your students as an attorney practicing in this very courtroom some fine day." He looked out at all of us with a mock stern expression. "I certainly hope that is the only way I see any of you in this courtroom." Part 3 There was a smile on his face, and several of the "students" laughed, but the message wasn't lost on those of us who realized what had happened to them. We were not expected to question what had been done to us. We were to accept it and move on with the new lives we had been given, or the consequences might not - would not - be pleasant. I looked around. No one appeared to be ready to challenge him. Then I looked back at the Judge. He was staring right at me! I lowered my eyes quickly. A cowardly act? Maybe, but I had just lost my manhood to powers I could not even imagine. I wasn't about to see what else I might lose. "All right," Miss Samson called out. "Now everybody go back to the bus. We need to get back to school for lunch before the cafeteria closes." A gaggle of talking, laughing students made their way back to the bus, oblivious to the fact that only minutes before, they were the Northwest Missouri State football team. Or at least most of them were oblivious. Here and there, there were furtive glances, worried looks, and awkward movements, as if those individuals were unfamiliar with their bodies. I felt it myself. When you're six-three and in shape to play football, you move through a crowd with authority, looking over shorter people and walking wherever you want to walk. People get out of your way. Now though, I was no longer a strong, powerful figure. My diminutive size made it difficult to see where I needed to go to get ahead. I was, I estimated, no more than five- five or five-six. While that made me as tall as many of the other girls in the crowd, I was considerably shorter than most of the boys. Also, I lacked the physical presence that had once made others get out of my way. Now, I was just a weak, puny girl. It was enough to bring me to the brink of tears. Tears! Oh my god! I hadn't cried since I was ten. Whatever was happening to me must be going past the physical aspects, I realized. Suddenly a hand gently grabbed my arm. I turned in surprise to see it was Larry - or at least the boy Larry had become. "Act natural," he whispered to me. Gratefully I let him guide me along. Although not as imposing as he had been when we played football together, Larry was still male, and the aura of male self- assuredness was still there. As grateful as I was though, it bothered me to allow myself to be led as if I was his girlfriend or something through the meandering crowd, but what choice did I have? The bus was still waiting for us in the parking lot, but although the same shape and size, it was now painted in the familiar orange-yellow with black trim that always identified school buses. "Ovid School District" was printed neatly in black on the side of the bus beneath the windows. Had they changed buses on us? No, I thought, this bus looked to be the same as the one we had arrived on. Only the details had been changed to make it a school bus. After all, whatever power had changed us into a group of high school students would probably have little difficulty changing a bus to match. We climbed on the bus, and for the first time in my new life, I learned what a problem wearing a skirt could be. There wasn't enough give in the tight skirt to allow me to balance myself well enough to step onto the bus easily. Again, I was grateful and embarrassed at the same time to have Larry steady me up the step of the bus. I chose a seat toward the rear of the bus, Larry sliding in next to me. I wanted to be in a position to see as many of my "classmates" as possible, to determine who, like Larry and me, remembered our previous lives. I couldn't see everyone, but here and there, I could recognize telltale clues. One big guy (of course most of the guys were big to me now) looked about with keen blue eyes. He wore a black letter sweater with a gold "O" on it. With his blonde hair and square jaw, he looked almost like Wild Bill, but I suspected that wasn't who he was. He seemed too uncomfortable with who he was. I watched with amusement as he absently tugged at his pants, as if his crotch was uncomfortable. Whoever he had been, I mused, he apparently had a bigger set of balls than before. I found myself envying him. Another "couple" boarded the bus in apparent discomfort. The boy was tall and well muscled, but not in an obscene way. In fact, I found myself thinking he was... handsome. He had brown hair and big blue eyes that seemed unsure of what to make of the situation. He looked as if he wanted to put his arm around the girl who preceded him but had thought better about it. The girl was an attractive blonde, almost delicate in features with every pore of her body exuding femininity. She wore a very short, very feminine dress, and she was obviously not pleased about it. I felt sorry for her, since she was stumbling a bit in two inch heels. At least I had been spared that indignity. They sat together, but I noticed she was practically out of her seat toward the aisle, as if the thought of sitting next to a boy was the worst thing she could imagine. One of the last to board the bus was someone I assumed to be a teacher. She was much younger than Miss Samson and much prettier. She had dark reddish skin and nearly black hair, and the long silver earrings dangling from her small, half-hidden ears made her look like an exotic Indian princess. She wore a moderate amount of makeup and a tan dress, belted at the waist. Like the blonde girl, she seemed to be having just a little difficulty walking in heels, but hers were a little higher and narrower than the blonde's. Like me, she was studying the transformees, looking for signs of recognition. She spotted me, and I could see her make a mental note of me. The bus lurched forward, the roar of the engines causing the chatter on the bus to rise to an even higher level. It was just like all the high school bus rides I had been on when I was growing up, only now I was one of the girls. "Sam!" I ignored the call, although it seemed to be aimed at me, coming from an attractive brunette across the aisle. Then she put a hand on my arm. "Sam, are you okay?" Was that my name? Sam? How ironic that I would have a name which could easily belong to one of the boys. Oh, how I wished I was one of the boys! "Sam, are you okay?" Oh, sure, I thought. Never better. But I said, "Yes, I'm fine..." My voice trailed off. I had no idea what her name was. "What time are you and Danny going to the game?" "The game?" I said stupidly. The girl looked at me with concern. "Samantha Wallace, what is wrong with you?" "I'm sorry," I said, recovering as quickly as I could. "I was just thinking about something else." "Probably just thinking about Danny," she said with a mischievous grin, looking meaningfully at Larry. So that was his name now - Danny. And I was Samantha - Sam for short - Wallace. I wondered perversely if I was related to Coach Wallace's family now. Did he have relatives in Ovid? I doubted it. "Just... thinking," I replied. "Anyhow, you guys want to sit with Jack and me?" She was sitting next to a tall guy with a shock of blond hair. He was grinning in a sat