Alvalor 1.2

Once the last bell rang for the day, Will walked dejectedly through the crowd of students towards the school doors. History was such a pointless class. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to memorize all those dates and names of dead people.

Will sighed as he stared through the large windows at the front of the school. They were finishing up with yet another virtually snow-less winter. The air was icy, and colorful leaves still littered the yard, contrasting the gray, sullen sky. The ground always seemed to be damp these days, causing his feet to slip and skid across the sodden grass. Unfortunately for Will, this often had very embarrassing outcomes.

As he reached the pale yellow doors, Will heard a stifled snicker close behind him. He paused, then stuffed his hands in the pockets of his baggy jeans, waiting for the inevitable. Sure enough, a thick text book came crashing down on his head.

Will shook his head to rid his vision of the stars, and then swung around to meet his attacker. Oh great, he thought sarcastically, this is perfect. Standing before him was his old nemesis Logan Gilmore, and his idiot pals Jeff Garey and Ryan Jenkins.

Will set his jaw, trying to ignore them. He walked away from the three teenagers and pushed through the doors. Gilmore caught up to Will outside, and Garey and Jenkins followed.

“’Sup, Stone? Your ol’ man get stoned lately?” Gilmore’s handsome face twisted into a mocking smile. Garey and Jenkins chuckled. “You better come to the game tonight, Stone, we’ll be waitin’ for ya!” Gilmore grinned and punched Will in the arm. He left, beckoning for the other two to follow him.

“Idiots!” Will mumbled, rubbing his arm. His hands back in his pockets, Will slowly made his way across the school grounds towards his house a couple streets away. When he was almost to the sidewalk, he kicked angrily at a bunch of leaves in the grass. There was a flash of light. Curious, Will stopped and leaned down to look.

A rock poked out of the wet leaves, reflecting the late afternoon sun. He picked it up for a closer look and fingered its flat, slightly rounded polished sides. The stone was a sort of blue-ish black, and fit comfortably in the palm of his hand. It was nothing amazing really, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from it. He began walking again, slowly, as he inspected it, running his thumb along its many shining faces.

Will heard someone racing up behind him, and swung around, ready for a fight. He stopped, then relaxed, letting his arms fall back down to his sides. Will grinned at Pickles in greeting. As annoying as the guy could be sometimes, he was fun to have around. In Kindergarten, when Pickles was still just Michael Dille, they had been the only two kids in the class who knew how to read. They had been best friends ever since.

“Hey, I’ve gotta ask you…what’s that?” Pickles looked down at the stone in Will’s hand.

“Oh,” Will looked down at it hesitantly, “it’s just a rock I found.” He was sticking it in his pocket when Pickles reached out and grabbed it from his hand. Will felt a rush of annoyance. He watched nervously as Pickles glanced at it, then started with anger as the other boy dropped it carelessly to the ground. Will stooped to retrieve the stone and put it in his pocket.

He finally lost his temper when Pickles continued, “So, anyway, you know how Brittani was talking to me in History? Do you think she likes me?”

Will rolled his eyes, a knot tightening in his stomach. “She doesn’t like you any more than all the other girls at school.”

“What are you talking about?” Pickles asked with his regular bluntness, “You saw how she looked at me—and I made her laugh.”

“No, actually, I didn’t. You’re just being your regular self, thinking every girl who even looks at you likes you!” Will said sharply in reply.

Pickles’ eyes narrowed, his pimpled forehead turning red. “At least I don’t need someone else’s mom to pay for everything.”

“Like that has anything to do with it,” Will shot back, his temper rising even further. Pickles always seemed to bring up Will’s lack of funds whenever they had an argument. He rubbed the stone in his pocket with his thumb.

“Let’s see,” Pickles ignored Will, ticking things off with his fingers as he went on, “lunches, groceries, Halloween costumes, karate…” Pickles bit his lip. Will’s eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed again. It seemed like the whole yard had gone silent.

“Karate, huh?” Will said quietly, “That’s funny, you’ve never mentioned that one before. You mean your mom has been paying for my karate ever since 2nd grade? For seven years?” he finally yelled. Kids in backpacks all around turned to stare.

A few low-riding skaters walked towards them, tossing their hair out of their eyes with a twitch of their heads.

“Cat fight!” one of them grinned. Chuckles arose from the teenagers who had wandered over, wondering what the excitement was about.

Their presence made Will even angrier. He knew they were just hoping for entertainment. Well, he wasn’t about to give it to them. Turning on his heel, Will left Pickles with his eyes wide, and ran home.

“Charity!” He mumbled under his breath as his holey sneakers hit the sidewalk. His breath came sharp and heavy. “What do I look like, an orphan?”

When Mrs. Dille had noticed Will’s ever-returning bruises when they were little, she, assuming they were all from the kids at school, offered to take him to karate with Pickles. Never had he imagined that she had kept the truth away from him for all these years. He never even considered the fact that it might cost something. The idea now flushed him with embarrassment. He jogged up his driveway, and, fuming, threw open the door of his tiny house.

His dad had bought it cheap because it had no air conditioning, no heater, and no electricity. The swamp cooler leaked water into a stained brown puddle in the carpet below, and the air inside was tainted with the sharp smell of cigarette smoke.

The cheap wallpaper was tinged yellow by some mysterious substance, the floor was strewn with cigarette butts, and the crumbs and packages from many months of pizza and other take-out dinners created a second layer. Will hated how the carpet always crunched disgustingly beneath his feet.

The single level house had one bedroom which his dad used. Will wasn’t allowed inside. So Will was left to sleep in the living room on the smelly, beer-stained, old love seat. Will had spent countless nights tossing and turning on that fluff-shedding sofa, and never seemed to get a good-night’s sleep.

As he stomped into the living room, Will froze in surprise. Sitting on the sofa, his greasy head in his hands, was Rolaf Stone: Will’s father. Will and his dad, putting it mildly, did not get along—so Will was very wary whenever Rolaf was home. Today, though, it wouldn’t do any good. Rolaf had had a rotten day. Will could see it on his drawn, whiskered face.

Will’s dad was not in the mood to be interrupted by an irritating teenage boy. He looked up at Will, his eyes dark. “What are you doing here?” he growled, heaving himself off the couch. He staggered towards his son.

Will backed up, but Rolaf kept coming. “Um, school’s out. I—I’m always home after three—“ Rolaf grabbed him by the shirt and pushed him up against the wall behind him.

“People,” Rolaf’s acrid breath washed over Will’s face, “are stupid. They’re never punished for things they do. They sit back and let other people get in trouble for their stupid ideas! They let people get fired!” Rolaf yanked Will forward, then pushed him back again. The boy’s head cracked against the wall.

“So, I’m going to teach you a lesson,” Rolaf hissed, “so that you won’t have to learn it the way I did. Repeat after me: I can’t trust nobody. Say it!”

“I—I can’t trust anybody,” Will muttered.

“Nobody!” Rolaf yelled, making Will wince. “Louder!”

Will looked with hatred at the whiskered face in front of him. His father’s greasy black hair was disheveled, dangling loosely just above his eyes.

“I can’t trust nobody!” Will roared in pain and humiliation. “I can’t trust nobody! I can’t trust nobody, especially a dad who said he wouldn’t get fired again!”

With a snarl of fury, Rolaf threw him to the floor. With wide eyes and a pounding heart, Will raised his arms partway in a sudden half-effort to protect himself. Rolaf’s fist swung around and smashed into the side of Will’s head again, again, and again.

Will was grateful when the light dimmed and he fell into blissful unconsciousness.

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I know it hasn't been a week yet, but they did say perhaps two...

Since I started this two years ago, there might be some strange change in voice every other paragraph. I can't tell, because I've practically memorized this chapter by now. I would be very much obliged if you could tell me if i sound extremely inexperienced in any part of the book.

Thanks!

--Anna