Martin West
The Logoria Series Book 1
Published by Phylicia Joannis at Smashwords
Copyright 2007
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1 - Raw Eggs and Barbecue
CHAPTER ONE
Raw Eggs and Barbecue
“Get open, man!” Martin yells across the court as his feet swiftly step from side to side. His heart is pounding, synchronized with the basketball in his hand. It pelts the pavement with a steady thud.
Thunk, thunk. Martin takes his time; flows with the rhythm of the ball in his hand; waits patiently for his opening. His cousin Will tries to steal the ball, but Martin’s too quick. Each connection with the ground produces a cloud of dust.
Will sneezes, and Martin makes his move. He eyes his team mate, Max, readying him for the pass. His other cousin, Jerry, is in front of Max, blocking the pass. Max gets in front of Jerry, and Martin swiftly passes the ball. The ball floats beautifully through the air, but Jerry grabs it before Max can get to it and passes it to Will.
Will shoots the ball quickly, but it bounces off the backboard.
“Block him out! Block him out! Block him out!” Martin wails immediately as he rushes towards the goal, his lungs squeezing with the effort to run and speak at the same time.
Max obeys and blocks Jerry from getting the ball. Max grabs for it. His tall, lanky frame makes the feat easy, and he rushes outside the goal line to clear the ball.
Max stands near the corner of the court; his left hand clumsily dribbles the basketball. He can barely keep it in his hands, let alone keep it from Jerry. Martin tries to get around Will in time to catch a pass, but Max isn’t paying attention.
“C’mon Max, get the lead out!” Martin yells for his attention.
Max looks up briefly and grins; The mischief in his eyes marks the seed of a bad idea. Martin groans, realizing that Max is going to go for a lay-up. His eyes grow wide in apprehension, and he flails his arms towards Max.
“No! Pass it, Max! Don’t shoot! Pass it!” Martin screams, but he is too late. Max is already running toward the right side of the goal, taking long, careful strides as his speed increases. He jumps off one foot and rockets the ball up towards the goal.
The ball slams hard against the backboard, shaking the pole with its force, and rebounds to center court – right into Jerry’s hands. Jerry quickly grabs it and scores. Both of Martin’s cousins hoot and dance and slap each other on the back.
Martin groans in frustration as his cousins jump and hoot. He glares at Max, who is beside himself with laughter.
“That is the worst shot I’ve ever made,” Max jokes with Will.
“That’s game, Mart,” his cousin Jerry slaps him on the back as he heads to the house. “Now it’s time for barbecue!”
The savory smell of sizzling spare ribs and hamburgers permeates the October air, stimulating all of their palates. Martin’s parents are hosting a barbecue at their house and they’ve invited most of their relatives, as well as half the neighborhood, to join them.
The sun sits high in the mid-afternoon sky, accented by faint tufts of cloud, and the wind blows cool and easy. It is the perfect afternoon for a barbecue, but after such a humiliating game, Martin can’t enjoy it.
“Smooth move, Max,” he grumbles as he walks past him.
“Sorry I blew it,” Max replies sheepishly.
Martin crosses his arms, brooding. “You totally ignored me out there! I was wide open!”
“Look, I said I was sorry,” Max laughs and puts his arm around Martin in an attempt to lighten the mood. “It’s just a game, right?”
Martin brushes off Max’s shoulder and shakes his head, his mouth set in a permanent frown. “Yeah, yeah, just a game. It’s always just a game with you, Max. Why can’t you ever be serious?”
Max shrugs. “If I wanted to be a ballplayer, I’d be on the team with you, Martin. I just wanted to have some fun. It’s just a game.”
Martin frowns. “Yeah, a game you can’t play worth —”
“Time to eat, guys!” Will pushes them both towards the house.
“I don’t want you on my team if you don’t know what you’re doing,” Martin hisses as they walk through the house toward the dining room.
“Okay, I get it,” Max replies glumly. “You like to win, I like to have fun. Whatever.”
As they sit down to eat, Will and Jerry rehash the final play.
“You know white men can’t jump,” Will snorts as he points at Max.
Max begins to laugh but quickly stops after noticing Martin’s murderous glare.
“That had to be the sorriest move I’ve ever seen,” Jerry repeats for the third time. “I mean, what were you thinking man?”
Max shrugs and bites into his burger.
“He wasn’t,” Martin cuts in. “He was being stupid, that’s all.”
“Ah, come on, Martin,” Jerry frowns at him.
Martin shrugs. “I guess he can’t help it. Loser’s in your blood, right Max?”
Max frowns and puts his burger down, chewing slowly. After a long pause he pushes his chair back and gets up.
“I’ve um… I’ve gotta go,” he states quietly. Both Will and Jerry protest, but Max waves them away. “I forgot I had to do something at home.”
A few minutes later Edward West, Martin’s father, walks in from the grill. ”Hey, I just saw Max leave. He seemed pretty upset, Martin. What’s going on?”
Martin stares at his hotdog but says nothing. Mr. West moves closer until his lanky frame hovers over him. “Did you hear what I said?” he asks.
“Max left,” Martin mumbles. “So what?”
“So why did he leave?” his father probes. A few of Martin’s friends glance in his direction, their attention captured.
Martin rolls his eyes, annoyed. “How should I know? I’m not a psychic.”
Mr. West taps his chin in thought. “No, you’re not a psychic. But you are his friend. Find out what’s wrong with him and make it right.”
Martin sucks in his teeth and rolls his eyes again. “I’m not running after him! If he’s got a problem, he’ll come to me.” Martin can feel the eyes of his friends watching him carefully. His father is embarrassing him.
“I don’t care what his problem is, Martin,” Mr. West replies sternly. “Fix it.”
Martin rolls his eyes again and slowly bites his hotdog. “No,” he answers defiantly.
Before Martin can swallow, he feels himself being lifted off of his chair. He grabs for the edge of the table, but it’s too late. His father sends him scrambling toward the front door. “Go fix it, Martin. And if you cut your eyes at me again, I’ll do more than just embarrass you.”
•••
Martin grumbles as he walks up the driveway to Max’s house. He rings the bell six times before Max answers it.
“What do you want?” he yells through the half opened door. Martin rolls his eyes.
“I want to give you something,” Martin smirks.
Max raises his eyebrows and opens the door. “Oh yeah, what’s that?”
Martin slugs him in his arm, and Max howls. “Hey, what’d you do that for?” he rubs his arm vigorously, wincing at the pain.
“That was for crying like a little girl and getting me in trouble,” Martin replies.
Max sighs. “Is that all you came over here for?”
Martin shrugs his shoulders. “Nah, I feel like doing something. The barbecue is wack. Why don’t we head out to the Hills?”
Max grins. “What do you have in mind?”
Martin smirks. “Well, let’s see what I have in my bag here.” Martin takes off his backpack and opens it. He pulls out three cartons of eggs and five rolls of toilet paper.
“Hmm, that’s an interesting survival kit,” Max jokes.
Martin snorts. “Come on, let’s hit the Hills!”
Max laughs. “Let me grab my jacket.”
“Aw, don’t be a wuss, Shaw!” Martin protests. “It’s seventy degrees outside, whaddya need a jacket for?”
“Alright,” Max shrugs and follows Martin to the bus stop. They get off at the entrance to Mogis Hills, the public housing community in Logoria. The sun is setting, and the street lights blink to life. Martin hears his cell phone ring and he turns it off.
“My keepers are trying to track me down,” Martin rolls his eyes.
“Do you have a target?” Max asks.
Martin shrugs. “No one in particular. Let’s start over there.” Martin points to a cul de sac a few yards away. Quietly, they make their way to the driveway of a three unit building. Max checks around back while Martin makes sure the windows are closed.
When Max gives him the signal, Martin pulls out the first carton of eggs and two rolls of toilet paper. He places the carton on the ground and tosses a roll to Max. They proceed to vandalize the unit with sheets and sheets of paper, moving quickly and quietly. Once they’re satisfied with their artwork, Max and Martin grab the eggs.
“Ready?” Martin smirks. Max nods and they begin hurling the eggs at the doors, windows, and cars in the driveway. Each egg makes a loud spat as it connects with its target. A light comes on from the inside of one of the units.
“Let’s get out of here!” Max whispers. Martin grabs his bag and the empty carton and they both sprint down the street. Once they’re a safe distance away, they fall down in laughter.
“Oh, man, what a rush!” Max guffaws. “Who’s next?”
Martin looks up and down the streets before making a decision. “Let’s hit Miggy’s house,” he replies.
Max’s eyes light up with delight. Miggy is a favorite of theirs. She’s a geeky hall monitor at LHS. She’s a know-it-all and a pain, and Martin and Max make it a habit to harass her whenever they can.
Max and Martin jog to Miggy’s house. Hers is one of the few in Mogis Hills that is a stand-alone. They spot a used Ford Taurus in the driveway.
“Hey, isn’t that the car Miggy’s been bragging about at school?” Max asks.
“This beat up piece of crap?” Martin scowls. “What do you say we give it a makeover?” Martin pulls out the second carton of eggs.
“I like the way you think!” Max laughs evilly. “But her light’s on. You wanna wait til she goes to sleep?”
Martin shakes his head. “No, I want her to see this. Hey, I got an idea.”
Martin grabs a black magic marker from his backpack and tosses it to Max. He pulls out a second one for himself. “Let’s leave her a little message, eh?”
They both chuckle as they draw crude pictures and notes on the windows and doors of Miggy’s car. When they’re finished they chuck the eggs at it. They hear Miggy scream from the window as she spots them and Martin and Max bolt. They hide behind a few neighboring bushes as they watch Miggy run out of the house in her night gown.
“No, no, no!” Miggy wails. She screams unnaturally, piercing Max and Martin’s ears.
“Let’s shut this banshee up!” Martin whispers. They both come out of hiding and proceed to hurl eggs at her back. Miggy makes the mistake of turning around and gets an egg right in her face. It lands on her forehead and drips down into her open mouth.
Martin and Max laugh as they come out from hiding. Miggy is blinded by the egg yolk and can’t see them.
“I’ll get you!” she cries. “You…you…you…juveniles!”
“Say cheese, Miggy!” Max pulls out his phone and takes a picture with the flash on. Miggy staggers back and screams as she slips on the yolk and lands on her butt.
“Come on, let’s get out of here,” Martin jogs off with Max trailing behind.
•••
When Martin arrives home his father is waiting for him, fuming.
“Where in God’s name have you been?” he screams.
Martin shrugs. “You told me to go fix things with Max and I did. What, now you want to punish me for doing what you say?”
“What were the two of you doing that brought you back home after midnight?”
“Playin’ games?” Martin smiles innocently. “We were just hanging out, dad. Chill.”
Mr. West frowns. “Did any of your games involve playing pranks on people in Mogis Hills this evening?”
“Nope,” Martin lies. “Why would Max and I go to the ghetto, dad? It stinks over there, and they’ve got drug dealers and black people.”
“Enough with the jokes, Martin,” Mr. West scowls. The West family is the only black residence in their neighborhood.
“I got about a dozen calls from residents in Mogis Hills about eggs and toilet paper on their homes. I also got a call from Marjorie Griggs’ parents saying that two boys vandalized her car and threw eggs at her. The poor girl is distraught!”
“You think it was me and Max?” Martin scoffs. “Dad, not everything bad that happens in this town is my fault. And besides, nobody likes Miggy. It could have been anybody. I mean, that geek gets egged every week. You’d think she’d be used to it by now.”
“Did you and Max throw those eggs at her?” Mr. West asks sternly. “Do not lie to me.”
Martin looks his father in the eye. “No, Max and I didn’t egg Marjorie Griggs. We hung out, had some laughs, and played some games. That’s all!”
Mr. West frowns. “Give me your backpack,” he demands.
Martin frowns. “What?”
“Give me your backpack, Martin,” Mr. West repeats himself.
“Why?” Martin asks.
“I want to take a look inside,” Mr. West puts his hand out. “Now give me the backpack.”
“No, I’m not giving you my backpack!” Martin pulls away, indignant. “You’ve got no right to search my things!”
“Yes I do, I’m your father!” Mr. West bellows. “Now give me the backpack!”
“You never trust me!” Martin screeches. “Can’t you just trust me?”
“Martin, for once, will you stop fighting me?” Mr. West shouts. “I’m asking you to do something very simple. If you’ve got nothing to hide, then you’ve got nothing to worry about, now give me the backpack!”
“Fine!” Martin opens his backpack and spills all the contents to the ground; three video games, a small bag of candy, and a nerf ball lay silently as Martin glares at his father. “Satisfied?”
Mr. West frowns. “Martin…”
Martin turns away and heads to his room, backpack in hand. “Save it!”
He slams his door as he enters his room, makes his way to the bathroom, and turns his backpack inside out. He grabs a sponge and begins cleaning the egg yolk on the inside.
•••
CHAPTER TWO
The Fight
Martin leans back in the chair in the office, rubbing his swollen cheek. It’s Monday afternoon, and he knows he’s in trouble. He groans as he stares at the red initials of his school on the wall above the secretary's desk.
He reads the words over and over again, attempting to block out the pain in his body. His head is pounding, irritated further by the harsh ticking of the wall clock. His swollen knuckles pulse with each merciless tap of the secretary's pen.
Martin concentrates on the letters, willing himself not to cry. Logoria High is one of the top schools in the city, producing some of the highest achieving students in their region and housing several state championship trophies. It’s a stark contrast to their basketball rival, Wellis High School, which produces most of the city’s lower – class misfits.
Martin shifts his eyes to the trophy case in the office. It used to be in the forum, but after students from Wellis vandalized LHS a few years back, it was relocated to the safety of the office – protected under lock and key.
Martin winces at the pain, but tries to remain focused on the trophy case. The championship trophies awarded to the LHS Basketball team were acquired in the last two years, and Martin had been the MVP both times.
He was the first freshman to ever play on the Varsity team, and it took him several weeks to earn the respect of his teammates. His parents and his friends were proud when he was awarded MVP both years, but none so much as his father, who’d been awarded the MVP title during his junior year at LHS.
His parents attended LHS as teenagers and became successful, esteemed members of society. They bought a house in the upper - class community of Colera Heights. Mr. West became the District Attorney for Logoria; Mrs. West became an English professor at Clefton University, in the neighboring city of Clairmont. Nothing short of model citizens, they were a perfect example of the American dream – Martin had been included in that dream until recently. He’d recently spiraled into the embarrassing role of juvenile delinquent.
Martin winces as he gently caresses his left eye. It’s beginning to swell, and he needs some ice.
“Shouldn't there be a school nurse?” Martin asks the secretary, but she’s no longer in the room. A sudden, sharp pain in his eye causes him to swear. Martin looks around the room and spots the secretary in the next room making copies of something.
Martin leans over the secretary’s desk, glancing at the papers strewn across the top, but quickly straightens as Principal Burke walks by. Mr. Burke shakes his head and clicks his tongue as he slips out of the office.
Martin watches him as he exits through the swinging office door and down the hall toward the lobby. The door swishes back and forth slowly, like a pendulum on a clock, ticking away, sealing his doom with each passing moment.
Martin swallows hard. This won’t go over well with his parents. He puts his head down and clasps his hands over the back of his head. Both his head and his knuckles are still pounding, and he has a sick feeling in his stomach.
“Stupid Johnny,” Martin mumbles to himself. Johnny Reese had been in the office earlier. His mother had already met with the principal and taken him home. The boys had been caught fighting.
It all started around lunch time. Martin was sitting at his table, talking with his friends and eating his pizza. Nothing special; he did that every lunch period. The conversation had been light, until the kids around his table started talking about the barbecue at his house the day before.
◦◦◦
”Ohmigod! I wish I’d brought a video camera with me!” Those who were there laugh; those who weren’t there listen intently.
“Mr. West went ballistic! I swear to God, Martin’s eyes got as big as golf balls when his father lifted him off his seat!” The girl telling the story nearly falls out of her chair in hysterics.
“It’s not that funny,” Martin interjects, but no one is listening to him.
“I thought he was going to choke on his hotdog,” someone else adds.
Everyone at his table begins to either talk about what happened or ask someone to repeat what happened. Martin frowns as the conversation at his table orbits out of his control. He averts his attention to several other tables, searching for something to distract his friends; eventually, he spots Johnny Reese.
Johnny is trying to impress a girl by the front of the cafeteria. He’s a thin, lanky boy with bad acne and a not-quite-Goth style of dress. He has several rings in his ears, black fingernails, and black slacks, but his orange tie dye shirt throws everything off. Martin taps the table to get his friends’ attention, and he points in Johnny’s direction.
“Check this guy out,” Martin smirks.
After catching their breath from the previous hilarity, the group watches with amusement as Johnny continues to try and talk to the girl.
“What is he doing?” one of the teens snorts. “Is he trying to tell her a joke?”
“She’s too cute,” one of the kids snickers. “Johnny doesn’t stand a chance.”
“I don’t know, some girls go for geeks,” one of the girls chuckles.
Martin shakes his head. “I give him five seconds before she walks away.”
Sure enough, Johnny’s final attempt to make Cute Girl laugh ends with him standing by himself. The group breaks out in giggles and snorts as Johnny’s hard work with Cute Girl crashes and burns. They twitter with glee as Johnny struggles to look cool.
“What a dork!” one of them snickers.
After standing awkwardly by himself for several moments, Johnny finally turns around and gets his food. To Martin's delight, as well as that of his friends, Johnny makes his way down their aisle to find a seat.
“Watch this,” Martin whispers to them. He moves his foot into the aisle just as Johnny Reese walks by with his tray. As Johnny crashes to the ground, his lunch spreads out over the floor, a mass of solids and fluids. Everyone laughs, especially those at Martin's table; no one laughs as loud as Martin, or with nearly as much gusto.
Johnny looks around, flustered and embarrassed, searching to find what he’s tripped over. He spots Martin's outstretched sneaker. Angry and red, Johnny pushes himself off the floor and storms over to Martin.
“I know that was you, West! You’d better apologize and pay for my lunch!” he demands.
Martin scoffs. “No.”
Martin’s blatant refusal elicits snickers from his table. Johnny turns red and is clearly embarrassed. To recover, he begins making wild threats.
“You'd better pay for my lunch, West, or you're gonna get it!” Johnny screeches. His voice cracks, and the teens surrounding him laugh mockingly. No one messes with Martin.
Martin chuckles in his seat. “Oh, Johnny, you’re turning red. You’re not gonna cry, are you?”
More laughter emits from the crowd and Johnny clenches his jaw.
“I-I mean it, West!” Johnny stutters.
“Whatever, Johnny,” Martin replies, rolling his eyes.
“You think I'm joking?” Johnny’s eyes dart to his left as a small group begins to crowd around them. The tension of the moment quickly escalates. Johnny leans in towards Martin's face, spitting as he speaks.
“If you don't buy my lunch, I'm gonna wipe the floor with your face and make you eat it!” the words come out of trembling, feeble lips, and Martin is unimpressed.
“Excuse me?” Martin looks at Johnny with mock surprise. “You're gonna what?”
Johnny frowns as several kids nearby laugh and point at him. He can’t back down now that he’s challenged Martin. So he pushes his buttons instead.
“You heard me, Nigga.”
Martin rolls his eyes, but stops cold when Johnny says the last word. He’s comfortable using the term around people of the same color and his closest friends, but hearing it from Johnny, who is white and nowhere near being his friend, angers him. The other teens at the table begin to whisper and make comments.
“Ooh,” one teen interjects.
“What did you call me?” Martin seethes.
Johnny knows he's gotten under Martin's skin. “Y-o-u he-a-r-d m-e.” He says the word again slowly, pausing for effect, “…Nigga.”
Martin stands up slowly, swelling his chest.
“I got your attention now, don’t I n-” Just as Johnny’s mouth forms to say the word again, Martin hits Johnny dead in the nose.
Johnny staggers back. The shock of the blow leaves him disoriented, giving Martin an opening to swing at him a second and third time.
Johnny can't dodge the second blow, but he ducks from the third and charges at Martin, upsetting several quarts of milk as they both land on a lunch table. Johnny pins Martin against the table and punches him in his jaw. The sound elicits cries from Martin’s friends.
As Johnny swings a second blow, Martin pushes him off, but not before Johnny's fist makes contact with Martin's left eye, sending him to the floor.
“They’re fighting!” someone shouts, and a crowd immediately rushes to the scene. Students from all over the cafeteria make their way to them to see who is winning. Shouts and screams resonate throughout the lunch room. Someone yells for a teacher to call 911. A female student begins to cry.
Johnny tries to kick Martin, but Martin grabs his leg and twists it hard. Johnny falls to the floor, jarring his knee on the way down. He tries to get up quickly, but the pain shooting through his knee makes him hesitate.
Martin takes advantage of the delay, grabs a tray from the floor, and smashes it into Johnny's face. Johnny falls again to the floor and Martin drops his knees into his chest, thrashing his fists wildly at his face. After an unsuccessful attempt to protect his face, Johnny grabs the leg of one of the lunch chairs and brings it down on Martin's head. Martin grabs his head and tilts over, stunned.
Johnny pushes Martin off and rolls over to his side, moaning in pain. Martin fights back the nausea he is feeling and tries to get up. He slips on something and falls back to the floor as Johnny gets up with blood running from his nose and mouth. Johnny hobbles over to Martin in an effort to kick him, but he is grabbed from behind by Mr. Bowen, the Vice Principal. Mr. Bowen immediately pulls Johnny out of the cafeteria.
Martin sees Mr. Bowen and tries to sneak away. He gets up slowly and, hoping to avoid the same fate as Johnny, makes his way through the sea of students. After recognizing an all too familiar face in the crowd, Martin makes an about-face, but he’s too slow.
Mr. Burke, the very stern principal of LHS, sees Martin. He calls out his full name, grabs him by the arm, and marches him to the office.
•••
Martin takes a second glance at the school secretary’s desk. The police had been called and a report filed. Martin spots the report sticking out of his very thick school file and grabs it. After reading a few minutes Martin swears. The report can only make things worse for him. All of the students, including those at his table, claim that Martin took the first swing.
Martin tosses the file on the secretary’s desk and sits down again with his hands in his head. Mr. Burke returns to the office to announce that his parents have arrived.
CHAPTER THREE
The Punishment
Martin walks into Mr. Burke's office with his shoulders slumped and head down. Mr. Burke tells him that his parents are still in the lobby speaking with Mr. Bowen. Mr. Burke advises Martin to sit in his office and wait. So Martin sits down and waits.
And waits.
And waits.
Martin shifts in his chair as anxiety builds in his stomach. His palms are sweaty and his legs are shaky. Finally, his mother and father come in with Mr. Burke. They take the seats to the right of Martin’s chair. Mr. Burke sits at his desk with hands clasped and eyes closed, as if in meditative thought.
His father turns to look at him, examining the bruises on his face with the unreadable expression of an oak tree. Mrs. West is the first to speak.
“What happened?” she asks.
“Mom, it wasn't my fault!” Martin exclaims. “Johnny was asking for it.” Martin’s mother gives him a look, and Martin reconsiders his statement.
“Mom, I'm sorry I fought Johnny,” he states with feigned sincerity, “but this really isn't my fault.”
Mr. Burke interrupts, “Johnny and a few other eye witnesses at the scene claim that you perpetrated the fight.”
Martin scowls at Mr. Burke’s interruption.
“Eye witnesses?” Martin bristles. “Are you trying to impress my dad with your ability to use legal terms, Burky?”
“Martin...” Mrs. West warns him with a stare.
“What?” Martin glares at Mr. Burke. “We all know you’re planning on being a lawyer one day, or is it a judge? But I wonder, will that be before or after you’re finished making my life miserable?”
Mr. Burke swallows. “No one here is trying to make your life miserable, Martin.”
“Oh, my mistake,” Martin replies sarcastically. “I thought that’s what adults with no life did in their spare time.”
“Martin, cut it out,” his father finally speaks. “Why did you start the fight?”
Martin looks away from Mr. Burke long enough to think up a rational response.
“It was self-defense.” Martin replies. “Johnny threatened me, and I had to protect myself.” Johnny had called him a name. He had to protect his reputation.
Mr. West turns in his chair. “So, if you hadn't hit Johnny first, Johnny would have hit you. Is that what you're saying?”
“Yeah… I mean, no; I...I don't know, it all happened so fast.” Martin gives his mother a pleading look, but her response is an irritated glare.
“Martin, I thought we were done with all this,” his father spoke impatiently. “Didn’t you learn your lesson the last time?”
Martin bows his head low. The first week of the year, he’d been in a fight. It was the first time he’d ever lost one, too.
“Dad, that fight was different!” Martin tries to defend himself.
His mother nods in agreement. “Edward that was a separate issue. Those boys attacked him unprovoked.”
Martin nods in concession with his mother. The first fight occurred in early August. Steve and Josh, two members of the football team, had decided that Martin needed to be taught a lesson.
It was the first day of school and Martin was headed to his homeroom. He was walking down the hall when he spotted one of his friends he'd known since preschool. Paying attention to where he was headed and not where he was walking, Martin accidentally stepped on someone's foot. The owner had called out a warning; Martin had said something inaudible and kept going.
It wasn’t until he heard their insults that he’d confronted them.
•••
“Hey, wait a second!” Steve calls out to Martin. “Come back here, you little wuss! Josh, you just gonna let him walk away without saying sorry?”
“I'll get him later,” Josh shrugs. “You’d better watch your step, you little punk!” Josh calls after Martin. The two begin to bad mouth Martin loud enough for everyone in the hallway to hear.
Martin’s temper boils with each insult, until finally he turns around to confront the two boys. Josh is a football player – the star quarterback to be precise – a senior, about 6'2” and 280 lbs, according to the LHS Student Newspaper. His hands could easily wrap around the diameter of Martin's head. The kids in the hallway stare as Martin approaches Josh and Steve.
Josh sees Martin returning and greets him with the cliché, “What are you looking at?”
Martin's voice abandons him and he only gawks in reply. Josh's friend, Steve, starts his taunting afresh.
“Hey, you stepped on the King’s foot,” Steve sneers, using Josh’s nickname.
Martin rolls his eyes and his voice returns. “What kind of stupid name is that? You were the homecoming king last year. Big whoop.”
Steve frowns. “You got a big mouth, kid. If you wanna keep your teeth, I suggest you keep it shut!” He laughs and turns to Josh, who smirks in accession.
Martin studies Steve; his body is thin and toneless, his posture is weak, and he has more mouth than muscle.
“At least I’ve got teeth worth keeping. Your teeth are so yellow I thought you had a gold grill in your mouth.”
Steve frowns and swells his chest. “You’d better watch it, kid.”
“Or what? You’re gonna breathe on me?” Martin shoves Steve just as the morning bell rings.
Steve jerks his fist in retaliation, but Josh stops him.
“We’ll get him later,” Josh pushes Steve down the hall as he glares at Martin. “We’ll be seeing you.”
Martin had hoped it would be the last he saw of the two, but it wasn't. Two days later, Steve and Josh cornered Martin as he was walking home from school, jumping him before he could make it out of the parking lot. Martin received two days of suspension and a week of detention for the fight, although he didn’t hit either one of them. Martin did swing at Steve, however, who ducked, causing Martin's fist to connect with the person behind him - a teacher trying to intervene.
Martin’s parents had very reluctantly defended his story of self-defense then, but they knew as well as he did that there was more to the story. Still, they insisted that two boys ganging up on one was inexcusable. Mr. West’s status as the District Attorney ensured that Steve and Josh would not get off easy. Martin wasn't entirely sure what happened to the two boys, but he hadn't seen them after that.
•••
“Unprovoked isn’t the best term to use,” Mr. West scowls.
“So, what is it that we have to do?” Mrs. West scolds Martin. “You obviously haven’t learned that nothing good can come from fighting.”
Mr. West nods. “I agree. Martin, you can’t let yourself fly off the handle like this!”
“Were you thinking of the consequences?” his mother continues. “Mr. Burke could have you expelled, or taken off the basketball team for this season –” The cries of protest from both Mr. West and Principal Burke cut off his mother’s lecture.
Mr. Burke clears his throat. “Well, um, I don’t think it’s come to that, Mrs. West. After all, it would be a great disappointment to the team if Martin didn’t play this year.”
“Yes, the team shouldn’t be punished for Martin’s misbehavior,” Mr. West adds.
Mrs. West raises her eyebrows. “So, what are you suggesting, Mr. Burke?” she asks.
•••
Martin walks with heavy steps out of Mr. Burke's office. He has suspension for the rest of the week. Four days isn't bad, but it’s still tough. What will his parents make him do for four days?
•••
“No, mom, not him!” Martin groans.
He and his mother discuss what he’ll be doing during his suspension while his father finishes up some work in his office.
His mother scoffs. “You're complaining?”
“No,” Martin answers slowly. “But four whole days?” He sighs in frustration. “Mom...”
“Actually, no,” his mother shakes her head. Martin looks at her, hopeful. “It will be five days, including Saturday.”
Martin’s face falls to the ground. “What? But mom! He'll—”
“No buts, Martin. You're staying with Mr. James and that's final. I'll take you over there tomorrow, so have your things packed tonight.”
“That overzealous fanatic?” Martin scowls. Mr. James is the youth pastor at his parents’ church. His parents always go to Mr. James for advice on how to deal with Martin.
“He’s not an overzealous fanatic, Martin,” his mother sighs. “He’s a very wise man who can help you with your problem.”
“You always go to him for advice, Mom, and it’s obviously not working. How do you figure me spending a week with him is going to be any different? Besides, I don’t have any problem.”
His mother looks at him. “Oh no? Martin your temper is out of control-”
“Here we go,” Martin rolls his eyes.
His mother continues, “You don’t know how to control your emotions, you follow whatever impulse you have, and you’ve just been suspended for fighting in school. You don’t think you have a problem?”
Martin groans. “Mom, all he’s going to do is quote that same stupid scripture over and over about a man ruling his spirit and blah blah blah.”
“He who controls his anger is better than the mighty, and he who rules his spirit stronger than a city,” his mother quotes.
“Yeah, that, whatever,” Martin sighs. “Look, I’ll behave myself forever, just don’t send me to that guy, he’s a psycho!”
“You’re going, Martin,” his mother frowns at him. “Don’t fight me on this.”
Martin frowns. “You can’t just pack me up and send me off to stay with some guy, Mom!”
“We have a right to do what’s best for you, Martin,” his mother replies sternly. “Now go pack your stuff. We’re leaving early tomorrow.”
“This is bull!” Martin explodes, knocking a glass from the table.
“Watch your tone!” Martin's father bellows as he leaves the office, diffusing Martin’s bomb. “You haven't been given an option or preference, now get upstairs and pack.”
Martin storms up the stairs and slams his door, muttering under his breath. Mrs. West sighs and glances at the mountain of school papers on the living room table.
“I'm going to finish grading these and then I'll come to bed, okay?” she tells her husband. Nodding, he leans over and kisses her forehead before heading to their room.
•••
Mrs. West sighs as she lay down on the bed beside her husband. “I can't believe this is happening again,” she exhales in frustration.
“Honey, we're doing the right thing,” Mr. West comforts her. “Mr. James has a powerful testimony and it may be just what Martin needs to finally grow out of this.” Mr. West embraces his wife and kisses her softly. “Don't blame yourself, ok?”
Mrs. West cries, “But Martin seems to be getting worse! And he won't talk to me. He won't share things with me. When he was little, he used to tell me everything. Now he cringes when I speak, and he moans like he’s in physical pain whenever I ask him questions about school or his friends. Every time I try to reach out to him, he shuts me out. I feel like I'm losing him.” Mrs. West begins to cry.
“He's growing up. We can't make him stay a baby forever. All we can do is discipline him and pray. These are his choices, not yours.”
“But what about all the bad examples we set for him?” she sniffles. “I mean with my drinking and –”
Mr. West puts his hand up to stop her from continuing. “Admittedly, we haven't always been the best example to him, but we've taught him right from wrong. Now we need to leave the rest in God's hands.”
“I know you're right,” she sniffs, wiping her tears with her hand. “But I'm so worried about him. What if he does something that can't be fixed? He's so angry whenever I speak to him. I'm just afraid for him.”
Mr. West holds his wife tighter. “I know, Dear,” he says, praying a silent prayer. “I know.”
•••
Martin slams the door to his room and grabs the remote for his radio. He turns the music up full blast and grabs his cell phone. There’s a text from Max.
Max: Herd abt susp u ok?
Martin texts him back.
Martin: 5 days n I got 2 stay w/Mr. Lame James.
Max: Crazy preacher?
Martin: Ya,. Bad enuf my parents make me go 2 church evry wk tryn 2 brainwash me.
Max: Sry to hear it. Hang n there... Stay black.
Martin: LOL… Stay white.
Martin hears his father knocking on his door and rolls his eyes.
“Martin, turn your music down!” He yells from behind the door. “It’s time to go to bed!”
Martin frowns and turns his head, ignoring his father. Finally, Mr. West enters the room.
“Didn’t you hear me?” Mr. West walks over to Martin’s stereo and unplugs it.
“Hey, what are you doing?” Martin exclaims.
“Saving whatever sense of hearing you may have left,” Mr. West replies sarcastically as he removes the stereo.
“Why do you do that?” Martin frowns as he watches his father confiscate his radio. “I can’t even breathe without you or mom screaming at me!”
“I told you to turn it down, Martin,” his father wraps the cord around the stereo.
“I’m not even going to be here! Why do you have to pack it up?” Martin tries to take the stereo from his father.
“Martin, you know the rules,” his father sighs and pulls the stereo away. “After nine o’clock, no loud music. Now, if you’d have used common sense and turned it down when I asked you, this wouldn’t be happening. But you don’t think, Martin.”
“I’m sick of you and your rules!” Martin rolls his eyes. “Ever since you and mom started attending that…that church with Mr. James you’ve been ruining my life! I can’t go to parties, I can’t have a girlfriend, I can’t be out past ten, I can’t do anything remotely fun!”
“Martin, your mother and I explained this to you before,” his father sighs. “We’re born again Christians now. We have a responsibility to make sure we set the right example for you. You’re not the only one who’s given up a few things. Your mother and I both gave up smoking and drinking and going to late night election parties because we want to live our lives righteously and we want you to do the same.”
“It’s not an election year, dad, you don’t need to sell me on your moral uprightness,” Martin scowls. “I want things to go back to the way they were. I want to have fun with my friends without you screening them and checking up on me every five minutes.”
“Martin I wouldn’t have to check up on you if you showed me I could trust you,” his father snaps.
“Maybe if you stopped treating me like a criminal, I’d stop acting like one!” Martin snaps back.
“That’s not how it works, Martin,” his father frowns. “I hope you learn a thing or two while you’re with Mr. James, because the way you’re headed now is trouble.”
“Whatever,” Martin quips before turning on his iPod.
Mr. West sighs before closing the door, stereo in hand.
CHAPTER FOUR
Mr. James
Martin wakes to the sound of his mother's calls. He can hear her downstairs getting breakfast ready. She never makes breakfast in the morning, not even on weekends.
“Get up, get dressed, and get down here, Martin!” she calls. Martin looks at the clock: 6:51. It’s the time he usually gets up in the morning. Martin gets out of bed, still in his clothes from the day before, and gets ready.
Breakfast is cut short when Martin tells his mother he isn't packed yet. His father leaves for work while his mother cleans up the kitchen. Martin goes upstairs to pack his clothes. When he gets to his room he frowns at the clutter. After his shower he’d tossed his dirty clothes on the floor. While searching for something to wear, Martin threw items on the bed or on the floor that didn’t meet his criteria. Since this has been his routine for a few weeks, he really doesn't know what’s clean and what’s dirty.
Martin begins cleaning his room before he starts packing. He turns up the volume on his iPod, scrolls to his favorite playlist, and gets to work. He judges how clean his clothes are by how they smell. He picks up several books from the floor, throws away old papers and gum wrappers, and puts all his shoes in his closet. When he finishes clearing the floor, he brings the vacuum into his room.
Martin looks at his room, admiring the now clean floors and neatly made bed.
Martin's mother walks upstairs to his room.
“Martin, what’s taking you so long?” His mother trails off as she sees the clean floor and bed. “Wow, I’m impressed.” She smiles at him.
“I made a mess, I cleaned it up,” Martin smirks. “Come on, mom, don’t make me go.”
Her smile falters. “Martin, you’re still going…”
Martin groans. “Come on! I made a mistake; it’s not like you’ve never made a mistake before!”
“Martin that’s not the point,” his mother sighs. “What you did was wrong, and dangerous.”
“You’re making this out to be completely my fault!” Martin cries. “I wasn’t the only one throwing punches!”
“But you were the first,” his mother replies. “If you were anyone else, you’d be expelled, or worse. Your father and I do our best to protect you, Martin, but you’ve got to take responsibility for your actions.”
“Look, I said I was sorry,” Martin sighs.
“Are you, really?” his mother looks at him.
“Yes, really,” Martin answers.
“Then you won’t mind apologizing to Johnny Reese?” his mother challenges.
Martin’s eyes grow wide in apprehension. “I’m not apologizing to him! Do you have any idea how humiliating that would be?”
“Alright, off to Mr. James we go,” his mother nods.
•••
Martin walks downstairs with a small suitcase in his hand. Dragging his feet, he follows his mom out the front door and into the car. They drive out to Mr. James' house in silence. Martin sits on the passenger side brooding as his mother silently prays.
When they arrive, Mr. James is waiting for them on his front porch. Martin grimaces and gets out of his mother's car. He walks up to the porch and shakes Mr. James' hand, muttering a greeting.
Mr. James greets Martin's mother. “Good morning, Mrs. West.”
Martin's mother replies in kind.
Mr. James turns to Martin. “Hello, Martin. That's a pretty nasty bruise on your cheek.” Martin rolls his eyes and makes a face.
Mr. James smiles at him, belying his tough exterior. Mr. James is a big man with dark skin and seriously toned muscles. His smile is as big as he is, though Martin finds it more annoying than inviting. He walks with Mr. James into the house, his mother close behind.
“Mr. West and I just want to say thank you again for agreeing to watch Martin on such short notice,” she gushes. “Mr. West and I both work and Martin can be a handful. We couldn’t let just anyone watch him.
Martin rolls his eyes again.
“Well, it's no trouble at all,” Mr. James replies. Martin makes gagging gestures as the conversation lingers twenty minutes longer. His mother leaves after a short goodbye, and Mr. James shows Martin to his room.
After dropping his suitcase in his room, he follows Mr. James on a tour of the house. It isn't much. There are two bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen, and a small room Mr. James uses as an office. The last stop is the garage, where Martin happily finds a weight set.
Mr. James has several religious paintings and pictures of people who look like family and friends. Conversation is kept at an awkward minimum, and Martin sighs with relief when he’s finally allowed to his room to unpack.
Martin rushes upstairs to put his stuff away in the spare bedroom that will be his for the next five days. Martin overheard Mr. James tell his mother that he had previously used this room for storage, but recently cleared everything out and put a bed and dresser in. A single object hangs on the wall. It’s a painting of a man; his face is glowing and he has nail prints in his hands.
The man is in a standing position, wearing a white robe and golden sash, with his arms outstretched. There is a Scripture on the painting that Martin doesn't bother to read. He scowls in aggravation, grabs the picture and places it in the bottom drawer of the dresser.
Martin sits on the bed with his head propped on his palms. The bed is surprisingly comfortable, but Martin is in no mood to be comforted. He pulls out his cell phone and texts Max.
Martin: I hate this place. Johnny is dead when I see him again.
Martin waits a few minutes for Max to respond. Martin knows he’s in class, or sleeping. Finally, his cell phone chirps.
Max: call u n 5 mn.
Martin taps his foot on the floor until he hears Max’s ringtone.
“What took you so long?” Martin asks.
“Sorry, had to get around Miggy. She was checking everyone for hall passes. What’s up?”
“I’ve been here less than an hour and I’m already going crazy, that’s what’s up,” Martin groans. “My parents took my iPod and my DSi, I’m surprised they didn’t take my phone. This guy has no computer in here, no TV, no stereo, I mean, what am I supposed to do here?”
“Beats me,” Max snorts. “Hey, you know Johnny Reese is at school today?”
“What?” Martin exclaims. “He wasn’t suspended?”
“Nope,” Max answers. “He looks like crap, but he’s here.”
“I don’t believe this!” Martin scowls. “I got four days of suspension and he gets to go right back to school?”
“Yeah. There was a quiz in Chem this morning, too,” Max adds.
Martin groans. While on suspension, most students weren’t allowed to make up tests. “Shoot! I can’t fail Chemistry. They’ll kick me off the team.”
“Ah, they’d never do that,” Max chuckles. “Kick you off the team, that is. You might fail Chemistry though.”
Martin scowls, “Why is this happening to me? Johnny Reese is a nobody, a loser. I mean, he’s practically invisible. How could he get me into so much trouble?”
“I don’t know,” Max yawns.
Martin frowns. “That pimple-faced rat is gonna pay for this.”
“Let me know what you wanna do,” Max laughs. “Anyway, I’d better go before Miggy the Munchkin catches me. Later.”
Martin flips his phone closed and kicks the bed in frustration.
He hates this place. He hates Mr. James. He hates his parents for leaving him here. And he hates Johnny for being the reason he’s here. Martin grabs his suitcase and walks over to the bedroom dresser. He stuffs his clothes in the top drawer and closes it with a loud bang.
Johnny, Martin draws a mental target around his enemy’s name. Johnny is the one responsible for this whole mess. He’s probably laughing about it with his dorky parents. Laughing at Martin. Laughing at how he’s been sent away. Martin slams his fist into the dresser. The pain doesn't register at first, but when he sees his knuckles bleeding his hand immediately begins to sting.
The pain serves as a catalyst to his frustration. The more he thinks about the pain, his situation, and Johnny, the more heated he becomes.
Martin cusses viciously as the throbbing increases, and he cradles his hand in his arm. He’s still sore from fighting Johnny, and he can literally see his knuckles pulsing.
Martin studies his hand, taking deep breaths to keep from crying. He never cries, and the possibility that he might frustrates him further. He shakes his head defiantly. He’s channeling his anger the wrong way. He looks over the old, hand-carved oak dresser. He can't even locate where he’s hit it. The bedroom door opens, interrupting Martin's thoughts.
“Martin?” Mr. James steps into the room.
Can't you knock? Martin frowns. “Yeah?”
“I heard a noise.” Mr. James looks around the room; his eyes stop at the bare wall above the bed. “What happened?”
“Ah, the picture fell,” Martin lies. “I tried to put it back up there, but it won't stay.”
“So where is it now?” he asks.
“Oh! Uh...” Martin opens the bottom drawer. “I wasn't sure where to put it, so I just stuck it in here.” Martin can tell that Mr. James isn't buying it, and he folds his arms, ready for anything Mr. James may say.
Mr. James narrows his eyes and focuses on Martin's hand. Martin wonders if he will call him out on his lie, but Mr. James instead takes the picture from the drawer and replaces it on the wall.
“The trick is to press it in as you hook it,” he tells Martin. Martin stands, apprehensive, and wonders when Mr. James will confront him about lying. After perfecting the alignment of the picture Mr. James walks back downstairs, calling behind him, “Come downstairs and we'll put something on those knuckles.”
Martin walks reluctantly down the stairs. He takes a seat in the living room, watching Mr. James as he gathers rubbing alcohol and cotton swabs. Mr. James motions for him to come in the dining room and have a seat at the table.
His wooden chairs are hard, Martin thinks to himself.
Mr. James wastes no time in applying the first aid. He mercilessly swabs Martin's knuckles with a cotton ball full of alcohol, and Martin swears before he can catch himself.
Mr. James stops momentarily; his eyes communicate a warning. Martin gets the message, but proceeds to curse in his mind. He can feel his temper rising and, once again, his thoughts circle back to Johnny.
Martin imagines his next encounter with Johnny. He’ll beat him so badly, Johnny will beg him to stop before it’s over. The thought appeals to Martin, and he smiles.
Shortly afterward he winces. Mr. James is the worst nurse he's ever encountered. Adding insult to injury, Mr. James begins speaking.
“You know, Martin, I was a lot like you when I was younger.”
Oh great! Here it comes, Martin thinks.
“I had a temper and it cost me a lot.”
Martin tunes him out and begins replaying his revenge in his mind. Johnny messed with the wrong guy. Martin considers how much satisfaction Johnny's bloodied face will give him. He is going to make him sorry. Martin looks at Mr. James' mouth.
Yup, he's still talking, Martin thinks. Man that dude can talk. I don't know how much more of this I can take...
“And I almost killed him.” Martin hears Mr. James, but barely catches what he says. The words have jumbled so badly in his mind that they no longer make any sense.
Out of boredom and a little curiosity, Martin asks, “What did you say?”
“My best friend. I almost killed him,” Mr. James repeats.
Martin can’t believe his ears. Mr. James is either lying, or Martin still hasn't heard right.
“You did what?” he asks again.
Mr. James stops working on Martin's hand and sighs. “I never shared this with the youth group, but yes, I almost killed him.”
Martin tries to reason out his meaning. “You mean, like, you almost accidentally killed him? Like...maybe he jumped out in front of your car?”
“No I mean I went to his house with a gun, fully intending to kill him.”
Martin sits, stunned. Now he wishes that he had been paying attention. “But why?” he asks.
Mr. James chuckles and repeats the story.
“I fell in love with this girl, but she was crazy about my friend. I refused to believe it and thought maybe I could convince her otherwise. But I couldn’t change her mind.”
“My friend knew I liked her, but he wasn't interested, and he told me so. He told her too, which broke her heart. So I went after the girl, hoping she’d see how much I cared for her. She told me her heart was broken and she’d never love anyone else. I thought my friend had ruined my one shot at love, so I got my dad's gun, went over to his house, told him he didn’t deserve her, and shot him.”
This new piece of information takes a few minutes for Martin to process.
“You actually shot him?” Martin asks. “Do my parents know about this?”
“Yes. To both.”
“But you shot him in the knee or something, right?” Martin asks.
“In the chest, Martin,” Mr. James answers.
Martin sits back, bemused. “Why would you shoot your best friend over some girl?” Martin asks. “And why aren’t you in jail now?”
Mr. James shrugs. “At the time I had a lot of stuff going on in my life, or at least that's how I felt, and I was holding a grudge. You see, I wanted to go to a local university on a basketball scholarship, but my grades weren't up to par.
I was accepted but I couldn’t afford to go. My friend, Rick, was wealthy, and he had applied to the same university. They gave him a four year scholarship to play basketball and I was furious. In my mind, I was struggling and couldn’t afford college, and he got a scholarship he didn’t even need.”
“I was a better player, but he had the grades, and I hated him for that. So he had my school, my scholarship, and my girl’s heart. He was living my life, and I was jealous. He had everything I wanted, and you know what? He turned it all down. He turned down the scholarship, went to another school and rejected my girl. What's ironic is that he did it all to make me happy.”
“So, you got a raw deal and you shot him?” Martin shakes his head. Mr. James nods. “But that’s stupid. What kind of person shoots his best friend over that?”
“Like I said before,” Mr. James sighs, “I was a lot like you when I was young. I was irrational, I didn’t think things through, and as soon as things didn’t go my way, I would explode.” He adds pointedly, “Even if the situation was my own fault.”
Martin furrows his brow and crosses his arms.
“So what happened to your friend?” Martin asks.
“He threw the rubber bullet at me, and after telling me how insane I was, he kicked me out of his house.”
Martin feels like he’s missed something. “What?”
Mr. James chuckles. “My dad had a hunting gun, and he didn’t use regular bullets. He didn’t want to kill the animals; he just wanted to stun them. So he used a low powered rifle with rubber bullets. I wasn’t thinking about that when I grabbed it. The bullets can leave a nasty bruise, but they generally aren’t lethal from a distance.”
Martin is relieved. The idea of the youth pastor in front of him being so cold blooded, however intriguing, is unsettling.
“Martin,” Mr. James continues, “had those bullets been real, a lot would be different now. God was looking out for me. He had a plan for my life, just like He has for yours. Don't think the same thing can't happen to you. You lose control often enough and you'll wind up making mistakes that you can't reverse.” Mr. James looks at Martin's hand, nodding in satisfaction.
“You're all set. Are you hungry?”
“No, I'm gonna finish putting my stuff up.” Martin gets up quickly, eying Mr. James warily. How can he compare himself to Martin? Mr. James doesn’t know anything about him. No one does. If his parents really understood him, they wouldn’t have sent him here. His thoughts return to Johnny, and Martin begins to form a plan to make him pay.
•••
After Martin finishes unpacking, Mr. James gives him a rundown on the rules of the house.