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Socks turned to the next page in his calculus book, gripping a mechanical pencil in his other hand. The fundamental theorem of calculus, it told him, states that the two central operations of calculus, integration and differentiation, are inverse operations. His eyelids grew heavy as he flew past these lines of text in fifties-era typeface. Per his father’s orders, he had been studying in his room for hours, and his heart sank as he looked out the window and saw the sun begin to straddle the distant horizon with a pastel glow. The time on his watch indicated it was just about time for the weekly ballgame at the sandlot, and at school he had promised Johnny that he would pitch that day. He closed the textbook, keeping his page with a legal pad filled with equations, and went to his father’s study downstairs.

His father’s angled face was partially hidden behind a pile of faded books resting on his desk. “Yes, Socrates. What do you want?”

“Well, um, I’ve been studying for awhile now, and I wanted to know if I could take a short break from my studies. Maybe walk to the creek to study the effects of small rocks and other obstructions on water flow.”

“Really? When did you gain an interest in such things?” His father stood, searching for a book among the dozens in the behemoth of a bookshelf behind him. “I suppose you may want to read this on the way. It may have some relevance to your task.” He turned back to his son, his eyes flashing in sudden comprehension. “Wait. I can predict your motives with some accuracy. You want to play that damned game again, don’t you?”

Socks sighed. There was no use hiding what he wanted from his father now. “Father, we’re playing the guys from Front Street, and I—”

“Enough, Socrates. A boy blessed with your talents shan’t waste his time with such infantile pursuits.”

“But, Father—”

His father stood up from behind his desk, and the color in his cheeks rose as he raised his voice fiercely. “In this house, my word is final, and I say no. Go back to your room and continue your studies. Don’t back come down until you reach the section on differential equations.”

Socks huffed and puffed his way up the stairs as a dark gloom set over him. He opened the page of his calculus book in resignation. If a continuous function is integrated and then differentiated, the original function will be retrieved. He could no longer concentrate on tedious things like math and physics; only his pitch selection preoccupied his thoughts: fastball inside, low curve, finish him off with a changeup outside the zone. His mind was so agile that he could easily stand on the mound and rush back and finish the work his father demanded of him. He grabbed a faded baseball glove from beneath his bed, and lowered from his window a rope of bed sheets that he kept hidden in his closet. Staying inside with dusty textbooks—while the wide world waited outside—was no way for a ten year-old boy to spend his days.