This story was Written by Rowan. I take no credit for the origins, or subsequent chapters.
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Looking back, I can pinpoint the exact day when Davey started changing. At the time, no one– not Mom, not Dad, especially not me– had any idea what was going on. No one, that is, except Davey himself.
Before that he was just a normal 8 year old kid. A little small for his age, but still normal. My baby brother.
We didn’t look anything alike. I had blond hair that looked gold because of all the time I spent outside for baseball. His hair was jet black. My eyes green, his blue. My build was athletic and his was very slight. He was active and healthy, but he always gave off the impression of delicacy.
He was adopted, but I loved him as if he were blood.
We got along better than most brothers, I think. Maybe because there was nearly a decade separating us, so we never fought over toys or anything like that. Plus we had separate bedrooms, which is always a bonus. The year he changed, I was 17 and a senior in highschool. I was five foot eight and grateful for the height– my dad was five foot six and I figured that I’d gotten off lucky. Davey was four foot one.
I remember I was just finishing up my homework when my mom asked me to get him for dinner. I hopped up and went into the backyard, knowing that he’d probably be shooting baskets. He had dreams of playing professional ball. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that it would probably never happen. And besides, he didn’t share any of my genetics, so there was still a chance that he’d get tall.
I opened the sliding glass door and saw him standing in the middle of the yard, his head tilted back and his eyes closed. "Hey pipsqueak! Time for dinner!"
When he didn’t move, I walked out to him. He looked really strange, like he was meditating or something. I put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a little shake. "Davey, didn’t you hear me? It’s time to eat."
His eyelids drifted open and he swivelled his head to look at me. "So soon?"
His face had an uncharacteristically serene expression on it, and it disconcerted me. If I’d known what it had really meant, though, it would have done a hell of a lot more than disconcert me. "6:30, same time we eat dinner every day."
An odd little smile played on his lips. "That means I’ve been here for over an hour."
My hand tightened on his shoulder. I was getting worried now. "You’ve been standing in this spot for an <i> hour? </i>" I pressed my palm to his forehead. He felt warm, but not feverish. "Are you feeling alright?"
He giggled and my baby brother suddenly returned. "Yeah. I was just goofin’ off."
"You’re sure?"
He gave me a hug to prove it. Davey had always been an affectionate kid, and I couldn’t help returning his embrace.
"Come on," I said, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the house. "Let’s wash up for dinner."
He skipped beside me. "Justin, guess what?"
"What?"
"Pretty soon you won’t be able to call me pipsqueak anymore."
I grinned down at him. "And why is that?"
"Cause I’m gonna grow big and strong."
I let go of his hand and wrapped my arm around his neck, pulling him against my body. "Yeah?" I said, running my knuckles over his scalp. "Well, you still look like an ankle-biter to me."
He giggled and struggled against me, but I held him tight. "You won’t be able to do this anymore either," he said, his voice muffled just under my chest.
I laughed and released him so we could wash our hands. One thing about Davey– he always dreamed big.
At dinner we all watched in amazement as he cleaned his plate, then asked for seconds and thirds. Normally it was a trial just to get him to finish half, and now he was eating more than the three of us put together. And as I looked at him, I thought he seemed different in other ways as well. I just couldn’t put my finger on it.
"Goodness, someone must be getting ready for a growth spurt," said my mom.
Oh, we had no idea.
The next morning I walked Davey to his bus stop like I did every weekday morning. The highschool was right down the street from the stop, so it really wasn’t any trouble. He was probably too old for me to be holding his hand, but once I’d had to push some other little kids off of him and now I was protective.
I waited until the bus came before letting go. He gave me a hug and then started to climb on.
"Hey!" I yelled, holding up my hand. "Aren’t you forgetting something?"
He grinned and hopped down. "Sorry big brother." He jumped and slapped my hand before running back onto the bus, sitting next to a boy named Chris, his best friend.
I adjusted my backpack and went off to my own school.
Baseball practice was year round for us. The team always made it to nationals, and since I made varsity freshman year, we’ve won it all every year. We had a great bunch of guys, and I was the only person in our school’s history to never strike out.
Coach called me a ‘finesse’ hitter, because I could put that ball exactly where I wanted, every time. He said he’d never seen anything like it. The only thing I couldn’t do was hit it out of the park, though not for lack of trying. I just didn’t have enough power in my swing.
We worked like dogs every single day, both in school sponsored practice and out. A lot of the guys were still trying to catch the attention of this scout or that recruiter, but I already had a stack of offers dating back to my sophomore year, so I wasn’t too worried about college. I just wanted to play. And win, of course.
As we walked back to the locker rooms I caught sight of myself in the mirror and grinned. I wasn’t as big as most of the other guys on the team, but I always liked what I saw. Handling the bat had given me sturdy, broad shoulders and a fit body. And everything on me was in perfect proportion.
I soaped myself up in the shower, scrubbing hard to get the dirt and grime off of me. Was it possible to have permanent grass stains on your skin? One of these days I’ll probably find out.
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