The Stone Part 1
William Stone rushed into the dim cave, breathing hard. He gently put a hand up to the right side of his head and felt it throb painfully beneath his fingers. That’s gonna be quite a bruise, he thought miserably, crashing onto his favorite bean bag chair. A handful of little pieces of Styrofoam flew around his head like mosquitoes. The duct tape he had stuck over the hole was peeling off just enough to let its stuffing out in puffs.
Letting out his breath slowly, Will tried to relax. School earlier that day had not been a picnic.
♦ ♦ ♦
The day hadn’t begun much better than its current state. Will had forgotten his assignment for English, and in Science he was forced to sit through the most boring movie on volcanoes in the world. After wandering over to Gym with glazed eyes, he was rudely awakened by a surprise mile run. By the last period, he couldn’t think straight and wanted nothing more than to lay his head down on the desk and go to sleep.
“Hey!” Will felt someone jab his arm with a sharp finger. He didn’t have to raise his head from its spot on the cool desk to know it was Pickles, his best friend. “Did you get the answers for number ten and eleven?”
Will jerked his head up to look at his blonde friend, who sat in the desk next to him. “On what?” He rubbed his eyes with cold fingers.
Pickles gave him a pitying look. “You know, on the test review?—the climates of Utah?”
Will groaned. “Test review? Aw crap…” He grabbed his binder and leafed through the pile of papers inside. He pulled out an assignment and scanned through it. The only pencil markings on the page were his hastily scrawled name and period at the top.
“Dude,” Pickles shook his head, “you’re gonna be murdered by the test today.”
“There’s a test today?” Will winced.
“Duh,” Pickles rolled his eyes. “that’s why it’s called a test review. Dude, you got problems, man. Did you stay up all night again?”
Will nodded despondently. A tree had banged against the siding on his house in the wind hours into the night. He had spent most of that time reading instead.
“Oookay, everybody,” Will’s history teacher, Mr. Born, walked to the front of the class. He had a receding hairline, thick glasses, and a rather large nose. Mr. Born was a nice enough guy, but his voice was so monotonous, it often put people straight to sleep. He also had a horrible habit of saying ‘oookay?’ after every sentence. Will found it very distracting. He liked to keep a tally in the corner of his notes of how many times he heard it in one day.
Mr. Born pushed his glasses up on his nose with a finger and clapped his hands. “Hand in your reviews and pull out a pencil, oookay? It’s test time!” The class groaned. After passing out the tests, Mr. Born scanned the room. “Any questions?”
Pickles raised his hand. “Yeah, what’s the answer to number one?” Everyone laughed.
Mr. Born raised an eyebrow. “Very funny, Mr. Dille. Oookay, you may begin.”
Ten minutes later, Will handed in his test and sat down. He hadn’t recognized a single question, and finally decided it wouldn’t do him any good to stare at the paper for the next thirty minutes of class. Instead, he pulled out a thick, hardback book, leaned back in his chair, and flipped it open to where he last left off.
The rest of the class finished the test quickly, leaving them time to chat before the end of the class. “Hey, Will,” Pickles leaned over. “What did you put for number nineteen?”
“Your mom,” Will mumbled. He flicked his worn bookmark against the desk absentmindedly.
Pickles rolled his eyes. He leaned to the other side and repeated his question to Brittani Kinghorn, who sat next to him.
She played with a string of her black hair, biting her lip. “Was that the one about the amount of rainfall in the desert?”
Will looked up from his book, watching Pickles and Brittani talk easily about the test, then homework, then finally their families. Pickles said something with a crooked smile, and Brittani laughed.
With a strange feeling in his stomach, Will wished he could talk as smoothly as his best friend. Pickles always seemed to know the right things to say. Will just ended up embarrassing himself. He was pretty sure he held the record for the most awkward silences in a conversation.
Without warning, Brittani looked at Will. Noticing he had been staring, Will flushed and turned back to his book. “Like Will for instance,” Brittani smiled, “I think only children are the luckiest people in the world. Isn’t it nicer to have a quiet house, Will? With no little kids running around and putting tape on the cat?”
“Well,” Will tried to think of something clever to say, “it can get a little too quiet at times.” He played nervously with his book, flicking the pages back and forth.
“That’s what I’m for, eh bud?” Pickles grinned, elbowing him in the arm.
“Yeah, guess so.” Will stared at the scratched surface of his desk to try to think of some way to continue the conversation, but his mind was blank. Finally, he turned back to his book, and Pickles and Brittani continued to talk without him.
It hadn’t always been so hard to talk to Brittani—Will made himself stop thinking. That area was just too confusing.
♦ ♦ ♦
Rolaf smirked up at his masterpiece, rubbing his chalky hands on his dusty, beer-stained jeans. It was perfect. The cement wall was angled in the exact position needed to give the little brats riding the roller coaster next to it a nice view.
Jimmy Russell shuffled around the corner and looked up with admiration. Saying he was a large man, in Rolaf’s opinion, would be an understatement. He took up the same space as three men standing next to each other. He had a round head as large as a good sized pumpkin, both of which filled with quite similar contents.
“Are you finished, then?” Jimmy’s third chin almost disappeared as he stretched his neck up in an effort to see the carving on the wall.
Rolaf ignored him. He was tired, and besides, the guy wasn’t worth the effort. Instead, he picked up his tools and walked towards the bathroom to wash up. He couldn’t afford the boss seeing him with evidence all over his hands.
If Jimmy was bothered by Rolaf’s indifference, he didn’t show it. He just picked up the metal ladder Rolaf left behind and followed. “Did you do everything Marcus said?” he panted, struggling to drag his massive legs to match Rolaf’s fast pace.
Rolaf turned, annoyed. He wasn’t a bad looking man. In fact, most women would say he looked rather debonair, even with the dark shadow of whiskers that usually trailed across his face. But the look he gave Jimmy now, a look that was not an unfamiliar sight when Rolaf was around, would quickly change anyone’s mind.
“Marcus isn’t the only one who makes decisions around here,” he scowled, “I do what I want.”
Sweat dripped off Jimmy’s rotund face. He readjusted his slimy grip on the ladder. “But it was Marcus’ idea—“
Rolaf stopped. He turned to face the gasping Jimmy. “Marcus isn’t here, is he? If he wants something done a certain way, he should do it!” He stepped up in Jimmy’s face, looking in disgust at his shining forehead. “If I’m going to write stuff in a cement wall, I’m going to do it the way I want, no matter what anyone says, got it?”
Jimmy’s eyes went wide. “Ummm, Roll, I think—well—“
Rolaf just shook his head and sneered. He turned back towards the bathroom.
“Rolaf,” A man wearing a tool belt, a white shirt, and cargo pants was standing there, arms folded. “Excuse my interruption, but would you follow me to the new roller coaster? There’s something there I would like to talk to you about.”
Gritting his teeth, Rolaf Stone turned to follow his boss back the way he came
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I know it bounces around a little, but it'll all come together later. This is my very first try at a novel, so some criticism would be extremely helpful! Oh, and I know it's not fantastical yet, but that's coming too!
Thanks!
--Anna
--Anna
