First couple chapter of the novel I'm writing

how you say my name, how I say yours

Introduction: Life is good for just us two

My mother died when I was born, and as cheesy as it sounds, her last words were

“ Call him Ive…”dad knew she meant Ivan, since the had previously discussed names for a boy. It was a tie between Morgan and Ivan; he was going to name me Ivan that day but changed his mind when he saw me.

“ I don’t know why but Ive just seems like the perfect name for him.” He pondered, when the women making the birth certificate asked him if he was sure he wanted to name me Ive. As for me I’m glad he stuck with Ive because I hate the name Ivan. So that is how I got my name, seriously I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried. But actually I like my name. It’s unique and yet cunning at the same time, I don’t know maybe I do take after my dad.

His name is Christen James Gardner, everyone he know calls him Chris. He absolutely can’t stand it, which is why he’s ultra sensitive when it comes to calling people by their right name. For example every year on the first day of school, during roll call he will always ask each student three times before writing their names down on the seating chart. “ Just want to be sure that’s really what you want to be called.” He’d state. I guess that’s one of the things I love about him.

Whenever I tell people like my school counselor that my mother died during childbirth they always declare something like “ Oh you poor child, that so hard to loose your mom like that.” This has always confused me because I have never “had” a mother to loose. For as long as I can remember it has just been my father and I, and I have always accepted this. I have never known anything else, never wanted to. Life is good for just us two, we complement each other. Dad is an obsessive-compulsive wreck, who must have everything in place and do everything perfectly. He’s way to hard on himself and can often have mental breakdowns over the tiniest details. I on the other hand, am a big picture kind of person. Details are the least of my concerns, in fact I’m actually quite relaxed. I know that whatever will be will be, so I just go with the flow.

Some how as odd as it might seem, this works out quite well. When dad is freaking out over a crooked clock that he can never keep straightened, I tell him to calm down it’s not his fault the clock doesn’t want to be straight. On the same note whenever I forget my lunch and science report on the table; when he has left a note that clearly states “ Ive don’t forget your lunch and project- Love Christen.” He would always go back to the house, pick up my lunch and science report and leave it in the school office for me to get before class. I wouldn’t even have to ask, he just knew- every time.

However I have wondered what life might be like with a so-called “mom” in our lives. Would she change our daily routines, would dad be less stressed? Would she really change our lives all that much; would she change me? I can’t answer those questions right now, but I promise I’ll get back to them later.

Chapter 1: Geometric shapes, repetition, and a horizon line Ive

I hate Geometry; everything is so precise, so straight, so sharp and edgy. (Math itself is cool, I love Algebra.) That is not the issue; it's just all those straight lines, the harsh unforgiving corners of a box you can't seem too escape. Unless you have the answer to whatever problem they expect you to solve. At least that is how I felt, and that is why I flunked it last year; but lucky for me, my dad is teaching it to me this year. I just don't get it, all the lines and angles they make my head spin. Everyone says it should be easier for me, because I'm such a visual learner. Yet that's not the case, if anything it only makes things harder for me. Unfortunately my dad does not understand this, and he can't figure out how his honor roll son could flunk the very class he teaches. It's just another question I can't seem to answer.

Since you now know how fond I am of Geometry, then you could predict how thrilled I am to get assigned a project in my art class today. The project is to create a collection of drawings that incorporate geometric shapes, repetition, and straight lines. My favorite things, right? Yeah not so much, I would rather draw my hand 74 times, and later be asked to cut it off to display, than to work with squares all day. Not that I can’t, I am very talented. Give me a self-portrait project and I will amaze you with my breathtaking accuracy. Hand me a 'Dark surrealism' project and I can blow your mind with deranged point of view and tormented vision; But ask me to draw a straight line and I'll choke up. It is the expectation for perfection that makes me as stunned as a deer, peering into headlights.

Thankfully Mrs. Green gave us the option of partnering up to do a collaborative series. True, it would be more work (instead of 5 pieces we would have to do , but the thought of not having to make any design decisions, seems worth it. So as soon, as she asks if anyone is interested in the collaborative option, I raise my hand. Her surprised look on her face made me fear that I might be the only one interested. Until I take a look around the room, only one other person in the room has their hand up. His name I can’t recall, but I do know that he did an incredible drawing off this coke bottle from 1963. I remember critiquing it; I really admire how he put so much history, background, and emotion into such an empty bottle. He is just what I need.

Once Mrs. Green came back to earth she continues:

“Oh, Well it looks like it’s just going to be Alexander Steinberg and Ive Cheval. So if you two could partner up and brainstorm that would be wonderful.”

“Uh yah sure, sounds great.” I announce, feeling like a total spaz. I wasn’t sure if he was coming to me or if I should go to him. So I stand up and he gestures for me, to come forward. As I come up to him, he smiles a shy little half-smile. Revealing his perfectly white, perfectly straight teeth, hiding under braces that have our school colors (blue & and green) on them. Something only a proper nerd would do. His smile is so dainty, that I have no choice but to smile as well. After an awkward silence he declares “Well I’m Alexander, but you can call me Alex if you want”

“Alex or Alexander? I have to know for sure because my dad is Mr. Gardner and he says that it’s crucial call to people what they really want to be called. Like my name is Ive, you can only call me Ive, not Ivan, Ivy, or Ives. Just Ive, so do you want me to call you Alex, or Alexander?” I ask.

He looks at me with an intense expression on his face, I can tell he is giving it a lot of thought. A few seconds later he stammers “Honestly I don’t know, I’m kind of so use to people calling me Alex, but I sort of miss being called Alexander. I guess it is up to you. I mean it could be actually be cool.” He peers into my eyes eager to hear my response. “Okay, then I’ll call you Alexander as long as you don’t mind. Now we should get to work.” I proclaim, as I search for a place to sit. I resort to pulling a chair up from another table and taking my seat next to him. We were the only ones sitting at this table, which I was okay with. I think it would be good to have some one on one time to plan what we want to do.

With no time to kill Alexander pulls out 5 sheets of paper from his sketchbook and places them in front of us. “So, what do you want to do?” Alexander asks. I’m quiet for a second before I share “Well this may sound lame but I was thinking maybe we could do some sort of Fractal-like-thing, with like a bunch of spiky triangles to make these different snowflake-like designs. You know to have a play on textures, soft against harsh, black against white, have the whole juxtaposition-thing going on. Maybe, but I don’t know, it could be totally stupid.” Where did that come from? He examines me with that same puzzled look then giggles, “Yeah, like Yin Yang that is perfect, how did you come up with that? It was exactly what I was thinking only I couldn’t quite word it.” With that we started brainstorming.

We continue to discuss what we are going to do, until the bell rings, and I realize that we didn’t do anything. No pre-sketches, nothing, so when Mrs. Green comes over, I am a little worried that she might be annoyed that we had not started something yet. Worried until I notice that Alexander has miraculously been taking notes the whole time. She agreed to let us go if we promised to meet up after school to start our sketches. A compromise I could live with it, because I stay after school for an hour or so everyday, anyways. It’s just one of the joys of having a parent work at the same school you go to. Alexander and I decide to meet outside Mr. Gardner’s room when schools out. He said He would be there as soon as he gets out of the pool, since their swimming in PE right now. (This tells me that he is a freshman, when I completely thought he was at least a sophomore. I guess you really do learn something new everyday. Hell just 40 minutes ago, I didn’t even know the guy’s name).

Dad was busy grading our quizzes while the class was supposed to start our homework. He always says “Class I would like you all to try the first problem of every set, in the assignment. That way if you come across a part that you don’t understand, I can answer any questions you may have before you leave. Its the most Proficient way to use my time and knowledge.” He never wanted any student leaving his classroom uncertain of the concepts he taught. That was just the type of teacher he was; willing to exceed anyone’s expectations to meet the needs of his students. Just because he felt it was necessary.

The bell is going to ring in ten seconds, so the whole class is shuffling around to prepare for the 2:23 student body traffic. I just kept my seating, for I knew there was no reason to fidget. Especially since Alexander would be meeting me soon to sketch, also out of respect for dad. A big pet peeve of his is when students get ready to leave before the bell rings.

“ It’s like they can’t wait to get away from me, am I really an awful person to be around?” He’d whimper from time to time. I have done my best to try and convince him that it’s not that the kids don’t like him, they just really want to get out of school. Never the less he still takes it personally.

Sure enough the bell rings and all the overachieving exhausted freshman dart towards the door. Once the room is vacant I walk over to Christen

“Hey dad I have to meet up with a classmate to work on a project for another class.” I inform.

“Okay, you got your cell phone with you right? Then turn it on and I’ll call you when I have reached a stopping point. I have a lot to do so we could end up staying until about 4:30, here is 20 bucks. Maybe you and your friend could get something to eat later. Just try to stay close and I will call you when I’m ready to leave. Does that sound good?” he asks, tilting head and tapping the red pen in his hand against his desk lightly.

“Sounds excellent thanks for the cash, I promise I’ll just be minutes away!” I exclaim.

“Just be here when I call.”

“I will” I assure him one last time, while walking out the door.

The hallway is now absolutely deserted, so to pass the time I go through my wallet. I put the 20 dollars in it and pull out my student ID to observe. This year my school picture looks some what decent, compared to last the10 years of totally stupid poses and hairdo's I thought were cool at the time. My face in it looks flawless, hair look super cool in a wavy careless kind of way. The camera just seemed to bring out all my mothers modal features. Dad swears I look just like her, that I have her same creamy caramel colored skin tone, the same thick dark hair, and deep brown eyes. All this talk of how I look so similar to a woman who’s dead, kind of creeps me out. Which is why I don’t like to talk about her much. I know nothing about her, and I never will.

The only facial features that look remotely close to dads are his button nose and dorky elf-like ears. We look so different that whenever anyone finds out were related they always stress “Nah you guy can’t be related you look nothing alike!” which in many ways they’re right. I’m about 6’2 right now and the doctor say I’m not done growing. Dad is only 5’6 so I’m already like a head taller than him. We run together every morning for an hour because were both fairly athletic. Unlike dad though, I am also a diabetic lactose intolerant vegetarian with several food allergies, yet I’m still pretty strong. I guess it was all the sports I played last year: but ever since I fell last season and messed my knee up I can only weight lift, sometimes I can’t even do that.

Right now I look like one of those cocky male modals from like abrocombie&finch or Calvin Klein’s clothing collections, and I hate it. I am not like them, even if I do look like a jock I’m Not! That is just not who I am, I’m far more down to....

“Hey sorry I’m late, coach made me do a few, extra laps he thinks I have what it takes, uh to make the swimming team.” Alexander pants, jogging up next to me with a bit of a sloshing sound.

My eyes divert from the picture on the ID card to him, he’s dripping wet, shirtless and has no shoes on. I try to keep my eyes on his face but they keep wondering around his bare flesh. His skin is much whiter than mine, like it has never been exposed to the sun. He’s also much more physically toned than I would have imagined. His hair looks so dark when it’s wet that it dramatically contrasts with his pale white skin, which seems almost hairless. I couldn’t help but notice that he is much shorter than me, I think I must a foot taller then him. From where I stand, he kind of looks like a wet little field mouse. I find this endlessly amusing because mice happen to be my favorite animal. Really I own three and love them dearly.

Chapter 2: Flash, and a field mouse Ive

“You look like a wet field mouse.” I utter without even thinking how he might respond. He looks taken back, as if it didn’t even occur to him that I might notice that he is half-naked.

“What! What do you mean I look like a rat?” he snarls, and rightly so.

“I said you look like a wet mouse, meaning cute like my mice. I love my mice, it was meant to be a compliment.” I clarify. But honestly I wasn’t sure myself, why I said it.

“Oh, well thanks I guess. We should really get to sketching.” He mutters as he tries to regain his composure.

“Where do you want to work, I think the library is open until 3:00.” I suggest.

“Library is open until 3:30, if we get there now we can get about 48 minutes in on our collection.” He confirms.

“So the library it is. Also and my dad is working late, so he gave me some cash to get something to eat, if you want.” I say, just to put it out there.

“Uh yeah sure, I just have to let my mom know. Is your dad really Mr. Gardner, you two seem so different.” He comments.

“Yeah I’m the real son of Mr. Gardner, and I’m also an ex-honor-roll student, ex-quarterback of the football team, ex-champion swimmer, and ex-track star of Gavinson High School.” I mumble. Once again Alexander is staring at me, only this time his gaze is full of aw.

“ What?” I bicker

“ You’re Flash Ives, in the five flashes of Ive aren’t you?” He states, more then questions.

Flash Ives, is what channel 3 news called me, when they did a huge segment on my participation in different sports last year. Five Flashes of Ive is how they describe me, to them I was a sports sensation as I competed in five sports: football, track, swimming, baseball, and lacrosse. Making every one in the small town of Gavinson Oregon super-fans, who showed up to every game that I was in, now I really wish they hadn’t. I just ended up disappointing them all. Last spring I tried to fly, I had to catch the ball, or the other team would score touchdown. So I flung up in the air, so high up, I really was flying. But then gravity got a hold of me, and I hadn’t even caught anything. (Channel 3 news did though; they caught everything, on tape.) As my life flashed before eyes I accepted my fait, the last thing I remember before I did indeed crash, was Her. Then it all went black.

“Yeah that was me.” I confirm.

“I thought you were in a coma?” Alexander mentions. I can’t help but look away, why did he have to bring that up? With much hesitation I glance back and groan:

“I was, for about 8 weeks, only to wake up to a sprained neck and a sports-career-ending injury to my left knee. That wasn’t even the worst part, what really sucked was how most everyone, just abandoned me, once the news station got word of my knee injury they quit reporting on me. They knew that I could no longer represent their small town in the NFL. After that only dad and my best friend Wei would visit me. All of my so-called friends dropped me like a hot potato, once they heard I couldn’t play sports anymore. I guess it was one of those times when life throws yah a lot grief and you just got to roll with the punches.” He looks at me, intensely, then replies “Hmm, that really sucks.”

“Yes, it sure does.”

“Well, what are you gonna do about it?”

“What do you mean” I snap, perhaps too defensively.

“I just meant, what do you want to do now? I didn’t mean to offend you, believe that’s the last I’d want to do.” He’s still looking at me, like always, with those same dark eyes that seem to yearn for something. He seems genuine enough, so I decide to drop it. Finally we walk towards the library and Alexander awkwardly puts his shirt and shoes on.

At the library, we were quiet the whole time. Only talked about our design, and even that was kept to a minimum, because we didn’t really need to discuss much. We both just knew what we had to do, a few times we even finished each other’s sentences. Which is kind of weird, never in my 5 years of taking art classes have I had such a good partner, were so in tune with each other. It’s like he makes up for my sloppiness with his precise craftsmanship, and I make up for rather soft touch with my bold empowering lines and color. We got so in to our designs that we didn’t realize the library was closing until the librarian actually turned off the lights. So gathered our things and went back out to the lonely hallways of our empty school.

“I could store the sketches in my binder if you’d like.” Alexander offers.

“Huh, oh sure go ahead, I’m likely to loose them with my luck.” Were sitting there in the dark hallway not saying much, when my stomach makes a huge growl. I look at my iphone and the time reads 3:36, I still have another 54 minutes before dad would be ready to leave.

“So, do you want to go to Just a Cup of Joe, and maybe get some coffee and croissants or something? Since I’m obviously hungry.” I mumble

“Um, yeah just I need to call my mom, I’m sure she won’t mind. But better safe then sorry, right?” he say, chuckling.

I hand him my iphone and he calls “Hey mom, I’m going to be late for dinner, I have this project I need to work on with a friend. It may take me a while.” He says

“Yeah, I know, next time I’ll try to remember.”

“Love you to mom, yeah uh-huh, okay bye.” He murmurs

“Okay, lets go.” He says to me, as he hands me back my $500 iphone. Not long after I announce “Lets play a game, call it flash and a field mouse, who ever can run to just a cup of Joes the fastest will be flash, and the field mouse will have to pay for flashes coffee. Sound good?”

“Sounds great!” Alexander howls

“Good, then on your mark, get set, go!” I roar. Instantly I spring for the door leaving him in my shadow. Feeling so alive as I breath harder, I run faster and heart beat increase, growing louder and louder. Running through the field reminds me of all the times my dad would try to play baseball with me, and even though the sucked he was always supportive. Which in the end was all that mattered. Effortlessly I soar through the field and leap on to the sidewalk. But despite my great start as soon as my left foot touches the ground, I get this sharp spastic pain that thrushes up my leg. It was my knee Doc said that this would happen sometimes. That occasionally when ‘I over-did-it’ my knee may ‘ease’ out of place, and can even ‘Pop’ out. Whenever this happened I am supposed to see him at once. Yet, I figure since it didn’t really ‘Pop’ or hurt really, I could go on. I mean I’m so close anyways, might as well finish the race, right? I shouldn’t let a little ‘ease’ stop me from living, and it wasn’t that long ago they told me I wouldn’t be able to walk again, but I proved them wrong, big time. I’ll just have to move on, put one foot in front of the other just like I always have.

In the mean time I notice that he gape between Alexander and I has severely decreased, he only about 3 feet behind me. As I endure forward I make a quick turn, which triggers more pain to creeps up my spine. This causes my sprint becomes a more moderate jog. For my whole body starts to ache, and I can barely move forward. Now he is just inches away from me and I am certain he’s gonna win, when out of the blue he drops his books. While he stops to pick them up, I go for it. Just footsteps away from my desired destination, I can feel my whole body tense in anticipation. Once Alexander is up and running again, it’s too late, I already made it. Never have I been so relieved to lie on cold wet concrete as I have now. Just letting the earth absorb all the rawness of my tender muscles. Alexander flops his body right beside me.

“Looks like you really are flash after all.” He whispers as he gasps for air.

“Yeah, but you were on hell of a flied mouse out there. You sure did give me a run for my money.” I whisper back. He smiles a little, before whining:

“ Wait does this mean I still have to pay?”

“Nah, I was just kidding, I’ll pay.” I say, and continue

“You know, I like you Alex, you’re a pretty cool guy.”

[/img] I don't usually share my work with others so be gentle when giving feedback,

thanks for reading.-later