Bullied: Book One in the Bullied Series

by Christopher Smith

  When he didn't say anything, I left to see the nurse.

  ~~~~

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The rest of the day was a wash. People were on edge. The mood was off. Most were talking. I was the conversation.

  Jake had been thrown out of school for the rest of the week. Worse, because he threatened me in front of Mr. Garland, the police were now involved. They came by and had a little chat with Jake and Principal Roberts, which didn't go well because Jake's parents got involved--and Jake's father is a member of the school board, which complicates things.

  Then there's Ginny, who is Jake's on-and-off girlfriend. Together, they're a force and have so many friends, it's daunting. Now, I was so officially entrenched on their shitlist, it didn't take a genius to know that Mr. Garland was right. Maybe this was all going to blow up in my face.

  Of course, what no one knew is what I wore around my neck. If Jake and Ginny organized out of spite, which I had an idea they would, could the amulet help me against a group of people. I didn't know and it worried me.

  At lunch, I sat with Alex and Jennifer, but there wasn’t much conversation. Alex mentioned that he was joining the football team, which was perfect for him and I was glad for him. Jennifer said something about seeing a movie on Friday night with a few of her girlfriends. As for me? Well, I’d be stuck in my room as always because I had nowhere else to go. I thought about telling them that today was my birthday, but what was the point? Just to seek attention? Not me.

  Still, we did agree that at some point on Saturday, we should meet at Starbucks for a coffee and some downtime. And apparently, we all silently agreed to ignore the noise of conversation that surrounded us because it was about us.

  We didn't share any classes for the rest of the day, so when the bell rang, we made a date for noon at Starbucks on Saturday and went our separate ways.

  Outside, in the hall, I felt more alone than I had in awhile. Glances were shot my way, but nothing more than that, which was a shift from how it usually went down. Usually, I was knocked up against a locker. Somebody would spit on me. Or I'd be punched.

  Now, I was considered a threat.

  Two days back in school and I had actively called out a few of the most popular bullies. Few knew what to do with it. If I was willing to take them on, surely I'd take on others like them. And so their eyes lifted fleetingly as I passed them. And as I passed them, what I saw on their faces was unmistakable--rage.

  * * *

  Later, at home, I walked around the trailer to make sure nothing additional had been added and was relieved to find that everything was as it should be.

  I went into the house prepared for the usual bullshit and was surprised to find my mother at the stove. I looked around the place and saw that she had actually cleaned. And then, on the kitchen table, I saw why--there sat a chocolate cake on a cake stand and a couple of balloons tied to a wrapped present.

  She turned to me when I walked in and for the first time since I could remember, it was apparent that she wasn’t drunk. She may have had a few, but she wasn't drunk. "Happy birthday," she said. "I'm making your favorite.

  I didn't have a favorite. What did she consider my favorite?

  I sniffed and looked and saw that she'd made a large pot of tomato sauce with meatballs. And I have to admit, while my mother was no cook, it did smell good. I decided to be cautiously positive. Maybe it'll turn out to be my favorite.

  She put down the spoon she was holding and came around to give me a hug. Then she grabbed each of my hands and stood back, looking at me. "You're growing up," she said. "When did you get these muscles?"

  "I don't know. I’ve been working out in my room."

  "So, that's what you've been doing in there."

  "I'm tired of being skinny."

  "Then let's get some food into you."

  "Where's Dad?"

  She went to the pot and stirred. "He's out."

  "Is he coming for dinner?"

  "You know how he can be, honey. He gets out there and then he just forgets. I told him we were having a special dinner. I think he’ll remember."

  He wasn't coming. I knew it but didn't say anything.

  "That gift is from both of us. Why don't you open it before we eat?"

  "So, he knew it was my birthday?"

  "Of course, he did. And he asked me to tell you happy birthday if he didn't see you." She pointed at the gift. "He's the one who picked it out."

  It was a large box. I opened it and, with a surprise I couldn't mask, I saw that it was a Playstation 3. I looked at her. "Mom, we can't afford this. We don't have the money for this."

  "That's where you're wrong," she said.

  "Did Dad get a job?"

  "I got a job," she said. "At the bank. Finally, all those phone calls worked. I called again this morning and talked to Sandy, my old boss. Things are picking up there again and she asked if I'd like my old position back."

  "Mom, that's terrific."

  "I start next week. Full time with full benefits, just like before. Two weeks of vacation plus holidays. And banker's hours, which are the best kind of hours."

  She looked happy. I walked over and gave her a hug. I told her that I was proud of her. When we pulled away, her eyes were moist.

  "I know I've let you down," she said. "We both have. We're going to try to figure things out. This is a good first step, but it's not the last step. We've got a ways to go. Your Dad is looking for work. When I got the news this morning about the job, we had a talk. We know we need to fix things about ourselves and then we should be on track again."

  Behind her, a pot of water started to boil. She put a box of spaghetti in it and gave it a whirl with her spoon. As I watched her, I remembered how it used to be before they each lost their jobs. How it was before each started to drink. It had been like this. Not perfect, but still, I was at least happy to come home.

  She was preparing two plates for us when the door opened and my father stepped inside. In a flash, I could tell he'd been drinking, but also that he wasn't wasted--nowhere close to it. He nodded at me. "Like your gift?"

  "I can't believe it. Thanks, Dad."

  "Think we can shoot some aliens after dinner?"

  "That would be cool."

  "It came with a game, didn't it?"

  "'Killzone 3'."

  "Then 'Killzone 3,' it is."

  My mother came around the table and asked us to take our seats. When we did, she went to my father and kissed him on the cheek before going to make a plate for him. I couldn't remember the last time the three of us sat down together for a meal. It was foreign to me, but I have to admit it felt good, even if it was kind of weird.

  "You're bulking up," Dad said.

  "I'm trying. It's hard for me to put on muscle."

  "You should try out for football this year. They could use someone like you. You're fast, you're getting a good build. Why not give it a try?"

  If only he knew. But with Alex trying out for the team, I thought about it. Maybe getting involved in sports was the game-changer I needed, especially if I played well. Tyler and Hastings were each on the team, so it would be hell at first, but the key was being able to play. If I could convince them that I could, they might back off.

  "I can try," I said.

  "For me, that would be cool."

  My mother put a plate filled with spaghetti and meatballs in front of me and my father. She got her own, turned to the counter behind her and got a basket of French bread. She went to the refrigerator and asked what everyone wanted to drink.

  "Just water for me," I said.

  My father looked at me. "Same here."

  "Three waters, it is."

  I dug into the spaghetti and it was good. I had a piece of bread, dipped it into the sauce and it was good. I raised my water glass and gave a toast to my mother for getting her old job back. Then my mother raised her glass and toasted me on my eighteenth birthday. I couldn't leave my father out of this. Quickly, I raised my glass and ma
de another toast. "And here's to kicking your ass on 'Killzone 3'."

  He actually laughed at that and it was at that moment that I realized just how hard not having jobs had been on them. It was as if the entire atmosphere had changed in the wake of my mother getting a job, and while I wished my Dad had come home straight, maybe one day he would.

  "You're going to kick my ass?" he said, sticking a fork into a meatball and swirling it in the sauce. There was the hint of a smile on his lips when he popped the meatball into his mouth. "I don't know,” he said. “I've got moves you don't know about."

  "Game on," I said.

  "Game on," he agreed.

  * * *

  It was one of the best nights the three of us had together in over a year. And while I was good at the game, my father also was good--like, really good--which surprised me and made the challenge tougher than I expected as we tried to blow each other away while aliens attacked.

  We played for hours, the game's graphics were beyond incredible and my father had only one drink the entire time. My mother drank Diet Coke. When he was finished with his Vodka, he asked her if she wouldn't mind pouring him some of her soda, which she did.

  This I could deal with. They were making an effort. We were having fun, like we used to do.

  But it was getting late and I had school in the morning. I needed to get to bed because I needed to be sharp in case something else happened, which it likely would. When we were at a stopping point, we turned off the game, my father stretched back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. He looked at me with a smirk. "I think we just kicked each other's asses."

  I wasn't arguing with that--it was the truth.

  I got up to leave for my bedroom, but turned to them before walking inside. "This has been fun. The food was great and the game was beyond. Thanks for a great birthday."

  "You deserve it," my mother said.

  "I was thinking of working in the yard this weekend," I said. "Those ruts in the driveway would make for a good workout. So would getting the house ready for winter and putting the garden to bed. I'm meeting some friends for a couple of hours on Saturday, but the rest of the weekend I have to myself. I can do it if you want."

  "Are you kidding?" my father said. "Have at it, kid. I'll get Jim over here and we'll watch you work."

  I smiled at that. "Jim's a good guy," I said.

  "I know he is."

  "I misjudged him."

  My father shrugged. "It happens. Like everyone else, he ain't perfect. He's got a good heart. Just a little rough around the edges. He hasn't had it easy. I think all of us can appreciate that."

  * * *

  For the first time in a long time, I slept well.

  What began as a difficult day ended on a high note, something I never saw coming. The kids at school didn't matter to me. Unless I was dealing with a group, which was untested waters for me, I think I had the tools to deal with all of them.

  But having my parents back, at least in some capacity--even if it was a fragile capacity--meant a lot to me.

  I was thinking about this as I drifted off to sleep. I was thinking that with the amulet, maybe I could help my father find a job.

  But would that be fair? Was that the right course to take? My mother found a job on her own. There was no interference by me--and that meant something because I knew she’d done it herself.

  I can’t interfere with everything. If I do, I could create a false world in which nothing is real, a person’s accomplishments mean nothing and all I’m living is an illusion manufactured by my imagination.

  * * *

  It was late when I was awakened by something that sounded like a pop.

  My bedroom window was open. I opened my eyes and listened but couldn’t hear anything out of the ordinary. Was I dreaming? Maybe. The pop sounded like one of the guns in ‘Killzone 3.’ It was weird. I also could smell gasoline, but that wasn’t unusual because my father’s junker of a truck was parked outside my window.

  I turned onto my side, closed my eyes and started to drift off, but this time I heard a whoosh and the sound of footsteps hurrying away from the house.

  This was no dream.

  I sat up in bed and pressed my face against the window screen. I tapped into the amulet and allowed my mind to see through the dark.

  I could see shapes backing away from the house and moving toward the road. I focused harder and the shapes revealed themselves to be Jake Tyler, Mike Hastings, Ginny Gibson and at least a dozen others, many from the very football team my father wanted me to join.

  All were turning now to take a right onto the street. They started running. Meanwhile, outside, at the far end of the trailer where my parents' bedroom was located, there was a sudden burst of orange light.

  It was fire. They'd set the trailer on fire.

  I got out of bed quickly.

  Too quickly.

  I tripped on the sheet wrapped around my leg and smashed my head against the side table, which went down with me.

  Dazed, I pushed myself up. I could smell smoke. I could feel heat. I went to my door and opened it to a sudden rush of flames that blew into the room and ate the oxygen within it.

  Most of the trailer was on fire. They’d just set it, but because the trailer was so old--or because they’d poured so much gas around it--it was going up fast.

  Outside, I could hear neighbors rushing toward us. I looked through the door into the living space and saw an inferno. I shouted for my parents but heard nothing.

  I could stop this. I pressed my hand against the amulet and was about to imagine the fire ceasing when the gas main feeding the stove ignited and blew.

  The explosion sent me back and I tripped over my shoes. A rolling ball of flame entered my bedroom and curled at the ceiling just long enough to set it on fire. It looked demonic.

  Outside, people were screaming. I heard people shouting to call 911. Bits of flame were falling down on me. The trailer was starting to yawn in a great twisting of metal warping in the heat.

  And then I heard my father shouting. I got up and ran to the doorway. What I saw stopped me.

  My father was trying to throw a bucket of water into the living room.

  But when he did, the fire reached out, tasted his clothing and turned him into a twisting funnel of flames.

  ~~~~

  Coming soon is “REVENGE,” Book Two of THE BULLIED SERIES.

  For updates on when “REVENGE” will be released, join Christopher Smith on Facebook here.

  Also join Christopher on his official website, http://www.christophersmithbooks.com.

  Other books by Christopher Smith:

  REVENGE: Book Two in the Bullied FIFTH AVENUE (adult thriller)

  RUNNING OF THE BULLS (an adult thriller coming soon)

  Table of Contents

  Preface

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN