• The following links are links to prior chapters of this selection:

    Part 1 Prologue

    Part 1 Ch. 1




    My mom didn't hesitate to commend me when she heard I was going over to Mary's house.

    "It's your first step into the world!" my mother said, striving to hug me, as I strived out of her grasp.

    "Shut up, mom!" I exclaimed, twisting my head toward her and looking her dead in the eye. There I saw a hurt face, and her recoiling backwards as I glared her. I almost stopped and apollogized, but shook it out of my head. Finish what you start.

    "I'm doing this for the grade," I continued, starting to stomp off into my room. "Nothing more." And as soon as I finished the word "more", I slammed the door, stressing upon the fact that I was angry, and making it clear to my mom.

    I suppose I should tell you a little about my life. My life really shouldn't be that bad. My family and I live in a house with a basement (though no one uses it) a middle floor, and an upstairs. It certainly wasn't the best example of a modern house, but it was also certainly not in the worst living conditions.

    My parents were actually pretty nice to me. They were both slightly "large" in size, but not very. My mother had very curly brunnette hair, and my father had very straight business hair, always combed neatly to the right. They always seemed to either be extremely happy, extremely angry, or extremely sad. No moderates. No inbetweens.

    All right, back to my life.

    "I don't appreciate that attitude!" she shouted, as I heard her coming up the stairs to my room. "You rethink the way you've acted and come out and apollogize...or your...or I'll..."

    "You'll what?" I loudly retorted back. "Keep me from my friend's house? That's too bad...I don't..." Suddenly, the door burst open, and in marched my mother, her eyes flaring with anger.

    "You will stay right here, young man!" And I did. For 40 minutes, I stared at the ceiling, wondering what kind of a punishment this was. It was all I ever did anyway. Suddenly, my mother came in, her face wet with tears.

    "Tom...Tom...I-I'm sorry to say this," she whimpered, sniffling at the floor.

    "What?" I inquired automatically, though I still looked at the ceiling in a nonchalant fashion. She walked over to me on my bed, sat down, and attempted to stroke her hand through my hair. It was a failed attempt, as I instantly rolled over to the other side of the bed.

    "Tom, I love you--very, very much, and..."

    "Oh, stop trying to flatter me," I growled at her. "I don't care what you say you think. You obiviously did something I'm not going to like. So, tell me. What? What is so beastly horrid that you must comfirm your passionate love for me?" She looked down, and quietly said

    "Tom, I-I'm sending you to boot camp next week." Suddenly, the world was on a pause button, and I lay there emotionessly. Boot camp? Why? I hadn't done anything. In fact, I had done nothing. I had hardly any interaction in the world.

    "Why?" I said, still facing the wall as the pause button was off. Then I turned my whole body towards her, slanted my eyebrows, and barked, "Why did you do that?"

    "You've been disrespectful to me, to your fellow classmates, and to just about everyone else you know. It's not too serious-not as serious as it could be. Only three months." Three months?! That was serious enough for me!

    "Three months! Honestly mom, why? Why? WHY?" My mother looked stunned, and said shakedly,

    "I-I just tol-" I immediately intervined.

    "That wasn't enough! I'm going to be in boot camp for three months. Do you even know what they do there? They make kids do 200 hundred push ups! They treat us like dogs, like snobs. The kids there get no respect, and no control at all!"

    "And since when have you been so much about respect?" she said in a snooty way, leaping up to her feet. "Since when have you cared if anyone was treated like dogs?" She sat back down in a heap, and started to cry.

    "I-I don't want to send you," she sobbed. "And you don't have to go. If I see a change of attitude after your project is over, I'll call it off. All of it." I looked at her suspiciously.

    "What sort of attitude changes?" She smiled, and then said confidently,

    "Making friends, good grades, no back talking." Oh, right, mom. No problem. In the meantime, why don't we teach a rock how to float?

    "Go away, mom," I muttered.

    "Tom, I lo--"

    "Go away!" And she got off my bed and trudged off, weeping and leaving a track of wet tears on the carpet.

    Oh, great. Another sympathizer. Just what I needed.