Mutant ball

At one point in his life Locke had been extremely active, doing as much baseball as possible. It was a good thing because for one, it kept his temper in check and it got him exercise. As a result of his constantly wanting to go out and play he even managed to pull his dad away from the computer screen every so often. If you had asked Locke age ten and under what he was going to do when he grew up he'd answer straight away that he was going to play baseball. Now that he was seventeen and prepping for the SAT Locke was as confused and lost about his future the day that his entire world had changed. Yeah he liked to write, and his English teachers said he was good, but practical headed Locke knew he couldn't live off of being a writer. It was scary to think that he was going to have to take a test that would dictate what sort of colleges he could go to, especially since half of it was his least favorite subject. Locke didn't even know if he wanted to continue his education once high school was over.

Having such big and worrying thoughts required him to do something physical before he started ripping his hair out in frustration. Baseball was no good. He had no depth perception when it came to things more then an inch off the ground. The last time he held a baseball was part of physical therapy to see if his broken arm had healed well. Working on Fluffy was always an option, but most of the time he ended up not doing much moving himself and feeling like he was the one made out of stone. There was an itch in his blood to do something that required movement.

Which was why the Californian was standing outside in the cold autumn air staring at a soccer ball like it was an egg that fell from outer space. He didn't really know much about the game other than it being called football outside of the United States and that you cried "Gooooooaaaaaallll" when you scored a point. Baseball he knew, American Football he had some vague notions about, but soccer? He'd only grabbed one of the stupid balls because he knew that it went on the ground. Ground stuff he could work with. "I'd be better off playing Calvin ball" he muttered as he dropped the mysterious soccer ball. He gave it a few experimental kicks, trying to avoid tree roots. Earlier he'd messed about with the dirt a little, just making molehills with his powers, and the ball ran over one with a big rock after a strong kick, going airborne and hitting a tree. Locke dodged the ball as it flew back towards him. "Baseballs or soccer balls, I'm going to end up taking someone's head off."