A/N: Just wanted to say that all the books mentioned in this chapter are real. And I have read them all, except for 'Tuned Out' by Maia Wojceichowska. I reccommend them all, and 'I'll Get There. It Better Be Worth the Trip.' by John Donovan as well. What the hell happened to all these great books--how come people aren't writing stuff like this anymore?
Ooh, and sorry that it is a bit short, but I haven't updated in a while and figured that I should. Sorry, Katie! More soon, I promise!
****
"Combat Boots and Clover, Chapter Eight"
[DEAN AARON PORTMAN]
The next two days were...interesting. I didn't say a word to anybody, and no one tried to talk to me. Well, except for when we Ducks passed each other in the halls--then they would say 'hi, Portman' and keep going. Maybe it was the hands, which were covered inflamed cuts; or maybe because I looked like I hardly slept at all anymore (I hadn't); or just possibly the fact that I had started growling at people. I remembered what Fulton had said about seeming to always end up knee-deep in shit, and right then, I felt about waist-deep and getting deeper.
I waited for my mom to call back. Even if they'd disowned me, I had the feeling that if Dad actually did kick the bucket, I'd get a call from Mom, accusing me of killing him or demanding whether I was happy that he was dead...messed-up shit like that, you know? I waited for Fulton's letters. And while I waited, I hung out in the library--because it was always quiet there, and nobody bothers you in the library.
Usually, I'd bypass fantasy and that kind of thing, but for some reason, a beat-up old copy of 'The Hero from Otherwhere' by Jay Williams attracted me when I saw it lying on one of the tables next to a comfortable reading chair. There was a red wolf near the top of the front cover, looking like it was walking away from an explosion, casing a blue-and-purple shadow over a kind of moonscape, and the shadows of two figures holding spears near the bottom. I picked it up and scanned the summary on the back cover:
'It was a case of hate at first sight.' Hmm, interesting. Sounded a little like Fulton and I. 'Not only did Jesse and Rich dislike each other from their very first meeting at school, but they were almost total opposites physically and tempermentally. Sent to the principal's office after a fight, they are stunned to find themselves in a strange room with two magicians from a parallel world.' Might as well give it a try.
I flipped open the cover and read the excerpt on the first page. Now I was hooked. I flopped down into the chair--it gave a creaky groan of protest that I ignored--and flipped the page.
'Also from the Laurel Leaf Library: 'Dinky Hocker Shoots Smack!' by M.E. Kerr' Definitely gonna check that one out, too.
Hm. 'The Hero from Otherwhere' was from 1972. The others listed in the book were probably from the same period. Why had I never heard of these books before? They actually sounded cool, not full of bullshit like 'The Great Gatsby' and 'Gone with the Wind' and 'Jane Eyre,' which is what all the English classes try to shove down my throat and I never understand what the hell they're all about.
I mean, the title character from 'The Great Gatsby' was just a crook, an asshole who fucked another guy's wife then got killed by the end and hardly anybody came to the funeral. Big fuckin' deal. And 'Gone with the Wind' is about a thousand pages of idiotic dribble about a spoiled Southern girl and the Civil War--I only got to the end of chapter two before losing my temper and tossing the book in the garbage.
I started looking for some of the other books. As I passed the 'P' shelf looking for 'Tuned Out' by Maia Wojceichowska (/that/ is a nightmare of a name), another book caught my eye. 'Freak the Mighty' by Rodman Philbrick. Well, better trust the instinct. If I don't like it, I can bring it back. I picked it up and put it on top of my stack.
I think the librarian was surprised to see me at the desk with five paperback fictions, rather than one or two of the thinnest possible non-fiction books--I do try to understand some school subjects better by reading about them, I'm not that stupid--but she got over it. She even smiled at me and said, "Happy reading."
We'll see about that.
****
[CHARLIE DANA CONWAY]
I was worried about Portman. He'd been sulking around for weeks since Fulton left, but a few days ago, he'd taken a turn for the worse. There were some nasty-looking cuts on his hands, but he wouldn't say a thing about them. And after being glared and growled at the first time I tried, I wasn't about to ask him again.
I hate asking Les to do the laundry. He always leaves my clothes all over my bed. At least I have the courtesy to fold his stupid shirts and jeans when it's my turn.
Someone knocked on the door and I yelled back, "Come in!"
Adam poked his head in. "Hey," he greeted me, "my roommate brought his girlfriend up to our room. Mind if I hang out with you for a while?"
"No problem. Pull up some carpet."
"What the hell happened in here?" Adam asked, sitting cross-legged on the floor. He swept one arm in a gesture that indicated all the still-unfolded clothes that covered the desk, chair, and both beds.
"Hurricane Averman," I told him. "Les has a chronic fear of folding his clothes. Either that or dryer sheets make him break out in hives."
Adam laughed. "Hey, have you heard any good rumors about Guy lately?"
"Is there such a thing as good rumors?" I asked. "And no, I've heard nothing."
"Well, I only ask because I've seen him hanging around with a girl." Adam said. He knew that I'd be hooked if I said that. And that I'd go track down Guy just for confirmation. And that I would then report back to him. Adam is a gossip-addict.
I finished folding my t-shirts. As I stacked them on the closet shelf I asked, "What about Portman? Anybody talking about him?"
"A lot of speculation about those cuts, nothing concrete." Adam replied. "Although Jack Tulay says that one of the bathrooms was closed after lunch three days ago. Which was the same lunch period that Portman got that phone call and never came back to the table, remember?"
"Yeah. How come they closed the bathroom?"
"Mike Fletcher saw the janitor, carrying a dustpan full of glass out of that bathroom, on his way to fourth period."
"Broken mirror?" I wondered.
"Probably..." Adam mused.
We looked at each other, and I could tell that Adam was following the same path of logic as I was. Portman gets a phone call at lunch. Portman never comes back from phone call. Bathroom is closed after lunch so that the janitor can replace a broken mirror. Portman has cuts on his hands.
Deduction? Portman flipped out and smashed a mirror after recieving his phone call. But why?
I figure that Adam is asking himself the same question. "Wanna track down Portman?"
"Depends," Adam answered. "Do you have your Angry Growls-to-English Dictionary?"
****
[ADAM WILLIAM BANKS]
I followed Charlie to the second floor of the dorm, a little nervous about disturbing Portman in his sanctum sanctorum, as it were. There was the feeling that if I said or did something wrong, Portman would pounce, probably breaking me in two with his bare hands. But I followed. No way would I let Charlie go by himself; the poor guy is plauged by a chronic case of foot-in-mouth disease.
Charlie knocked on the door and called out, "Portman? It's Conway and Banks, can we come in?"
Almost immediately, the door was flung open, banging against the wall. A frightened "Eeep!" came out of my mouth, but I restrained myself from leaping into Charlie's arms and wailing, "Save me!". It was a hard fight. Portman loomed in the doorway, looking vicious and ominious.
"Hi, Portman..." I managed to say in a very small voice.
He growled.
~~To be continued...~~
Ooh, and sorry that it is a bit short, but I haven't updated in a while and figured that I should. Sorry, Katie! More soon, I promise!
****
"Combat Boots and Clover, Chapter Eight"
[DEAN AARON PORTMAN]
The next two days were...interesting. I didn't say a word to anybody, and no one tried to talk to me. Well, except for when we Ducks passed each other in the halls--then they would say 'hi, Portman' and keep going. Maybe it was the hands, which were covered inflamed cuts; or maybe because I looked like I hardly slept at all anymore (I hadn't); or just possibly the fact that I had started growling at people. I remembered what Fulton had said about seeming to always end up knee-deep in shit, and right then, I felt about waist-deep and getting deeper.
I waited for my mom to call back. Even if they'd disowned me, I had the feeling that if Dad actually did kick the bucket, I'd get a call from Mom, accusing me of killing him or demanding whether I was happy that he was dead...messed-up shit like that, you know? I waited for Fulton's letters. And while I waited, I hung out in the library--because it was always quiet there, and nobody bothers you in the library.
Usually, I'd bypass fantasy and that kind of thing, but for some reason, a beat-up old copy of 'The Hero from Otherwhere' by Jay Williams attracted me when I saw it lying on one of the tables next to a comfortable reading chair. There was a red wolf near the top of the front cover, looking like it was walking away from an explosion, casing a blue-and-purple shadow over a kind of moonscape, and the shadows of two figures holding spears near the bottom. I picked it up and scanned the summary on the back cover:
'It was a case of hate at first sight.' Hmm, interesting. Sounded a little like Fulton and I. 'Not only did Jesse and Rich dislike each other from their very first meeting at school, but they were almost total opposites physically and tempermentally. Sent to the principal's office after a fight, they are stunned to find themselves in a strange room with two magicians from a parallel world.' Might as well give it a try.
I flipped open the cover and read the excerpt on the first page. Now I was hooked. I flopped down into the chair--it gave a creaky groan of protest that I ignored--and flipped the page.
'Also from the Laurel Leaf Library: 'Dinky Hocker Shoots Smack!' by M.E. Kerr' Definitely gonna check that one out, too.
Hm. 'The Hero from Otherwhere' was from 1972. The others listed in the book were probably from the same period. Why had I never heard of these books before? They actually sounded cool, not full of bullshit like 'The Great Gatsby' and 'Gone with the Wind' and 'Jane Eyre,' which is what all the English classes try to shove down my throat and I never understand what the hell they're all about.
I mean, the title character from 'The Great Gatsby' was just a crook, an asshole who fucked another guy's wife then got killed by the end and hardly anybody came to the funeral. Big fuckin' deal. And 'Gone with the Wind' is about a thousand pages of idiotic dribble about a spoiled Southern girl and the Civil War--I only got to the end of chapter two before losing my temper and tossing the book in the garbage.
I started looking for some of the other books. As I passed the 'P' shelf looking for 'Tuned Out' by Maia Wojceichowska (/that/ is a nightmare of a name), another book caught my eye. 'Freak the Mighty' by Rodman Philbrick. Well, better trust the instinct. If I don't like it, I can bring it back. I picked it up and put it on top of my stack.
I think the librarian was surprised to see me at the desk with five paperback fictions, rather than one or two of the thinnest possible non-fiction books--I do try to understand some school subjects better by reading about them, I'm not that stupid--but she got over it. She even smiled at me and said, "Happy reading."
We'll see about that.
****
[CHARLIE DANA CONWAY]
I was worried about Portman. He'd been sulking around for weeks since Fulton left, but a few days ago, he'd taken a turn for the worse. There were some nasty-looking cuts on his hands, but he wouldn't say a thing about them. And after being glared and growled at the first time I tried, I wasn't about to ask him again.
I hate asking Les to do the laundry. He always leaves my clothes all over my bed. At least I have the courtesy to fold his stupid shirts and jeans when it's my turn.
Someone knocked on the door and I yelled back, "Come in!"
Adam poked his head in. "Hey," he greeted me, "my roommate brought his girlfriend up to our room. Mind if I hang out with you for a while?"
"No problem. Pull up some carpet."
"What the hell happened in here?" Adam asked, sitting cross-legged on the floor. He swept one arm in a gesture that indicated all the still-unfolded clothes that covered the desk, chair, and both beds.
"Hurricane Averman," I told him. "Les has a chronic fear of folding his clothes. Either that or dryer sheets make him break out in hives."
Adam laughed. "Hey, have you heard any good rumors about Guy lately?"
"Is there such a thing as good rumors?" I asked. "And no, I've heard nothing."
"Well, I only ask because I've seen him hanging around with a girl." Adam said. He knew that I'd be hooked if I said that. And that I'd go track down Guy just for confirmation. And that I would then report back to him. Adam is a gossip-addict.
I finished folding my t-shirts. As I stacked them on the closet shelf I asked, "What about Portman? Anybody talking about him?"
"A lot of speculation about those cuts, nothing concrete." Adam replied. "Although Jack Tulay says that one of the bathrooms was closed after lunch three days ago. Which was the same lunch period that Portman got that phone call and never came back to the table, remember?"
"Yeah. How come they closed the bathroom?"
"Mike Fletcher saw the janitor, carrying a dustpan full of glass out of that bathroom, on his way to fourth period."
"Broken mirror?" I wondered.
"Probably..." Adam mused.
We looked at each other, and I could tell that Adam was following the same path of logic as I was. Portman gets a phone call at lunch. Portman never comes back from phone call. Bathroom is closed after lunch so that the janitor can replace a broken mirror. Portman has cuts on his hands.
Deduction? Portman flipped out and smashed a mirror after recieving his phone call. But why?
I figure that Adam is asking himself the same question. "Wanna track down Portman?"
"Depends," Adam answered. "Do you have your Angry Growls-to-English Dictionary?"
****
[ADAM WILLIAM BANKS]
I followed Charlie to the second floor of the dorm, a little nervous about disturbing Portman in his sanctum sanctorum, as it were. There was the feeling that if I said or did something wrong, Portman would pounce, probably breaking me in two with his bare hands. But I followed. No way would I let Charlie go by himself; the poor guy is plauged by a chronic case of foot-in-mouth disease.
Charlie knocked on the door and called out, "Portman? It's Conway and Banks, can we come in?"
Almost immediately, the door was flung open, banging against the wall. A frightened "Eeep!" came out of my mouth, but I restrained myself from leaping into Charlie's arms and wailing, "Save me!". It was a hard fight. Portman loomed in the doorway, looking vicious and ominious.
"Hi, Portman..." I managed to say in a very small voice.
He growled.
~~To be continued...~~