Greetings All,
This is my first attempt at creative writing, so feedback and comments of all kinds are very much welcome. They will be taken into account in the planning of future chapters. Hope you enjoy.
Decent Progress, Chapter 1
"Uuuughh..." Christian groaned as his phone rattled against a glass on the nightstand. It was ten times worse than a generic wake-up tune. Scrabbling about blindly in the dark, he knocked the glass over and sent the remains of his Tropicana onto the floor.
"Shit!" he hissed.
Finally grabbing the phone as it skittered happily along his nightstand, he turned off the alarm and bounded to the bathroom for a towel. His mom would be pissed if that juice stained the carpet. Tamping it into the floor with his bare feet, he flicked on the light to inspect the damage.
"Not terrible... I'll scrub it after school."
He sat back onto his bed with a sigh, yearning to pull over the covers and pass out again. But that would only invite a shriek up the stairs from the resident nerve-ending. Instead he stretched as luxuriously as he could, and cleared the gunk from his eyes. Crossing to the oval mirror over his dresser, he did a quick self-examination. In the soft, forgiving glow of the lamp light even his sleep-deprived face looked presentable.
"No more staying up until 2 AM" he promised himself for the third time that week.
He selected a white t-shirt and jeans from his closet, shucked them on and went downstairs. His mom glanced up as she hastily assembled a ham sandwich.
"15 minutes honey, then we gotta get going." She did that peculiarly female half-jog half-waddle to the bathroom to put on makeup.
"So glad I don't have to paint MY face every morning", Christian thought to himself. She didn't either, but her lobbying position implied a necessity to look her best. Her field was engineering, he knew, but an old college friend had headhunted her for a manufacturers association a couple years ago. Technical expertise and a brisk personality made her an ideal Professional Nagger of local politicians. But he knew how soft and how loving she really was. Just busy these days.
"At least eat some toast, dude. You can't be starving all day and then go to practice". His father, quiet in approach as usual, clapped him on the back as he passed to the fridge.
"You're one to talk."
"Whaddya mean" his father said from within the fridge.
"You starve yourself all day, that's why you're in a shitty mood in the evening."
"Language, kid." He emerged drinking straight from an orange juice carton.
"Mom would kill you if she saw that."
"Good thing you're not a snitch then, huh?" His dad flashed a winning smile as he sauntered back to the bedroom. So casual, so easygoing. He approached everything like that. Christian often wondered how his parents got along so well. Mom was Type-A, overachiever, ordered in her thinking. Dad, lackadaisical, aloof, didn't seem to care about success or money. He probably didn't make half what she did. Christian wished to share his Father's attitude towards life sometimes, but he took more after his mom. He drove himself in school and in sport. He was in the top 20% of his sophomore class and a state champion in gymnastics. The combination of the two would hopefully propel him to a semi-elite college. He was already taking AP Physics this year, and Ap English Language. That, combined with an unaccountable compulsion to endlessly scroll through Tiktok and youtube, meant his sleeping hours were occupied. He downed the toast as his dad suggested, and filled up his bag with energy bars. As he put his sneakers on, he winced slightly. His feet had taken a battering at practice lately. But bruises and tears were part of sport (yes gymnastics IS a sport, he hated having to remind people).
"Yeah, prancing around in a leotard in front of judges isn't a sport", Brody had sneered yesterday.
"Fucking asshole" Christian hissed to himself, as he yanked his shoes on. His mom strode into the hallway where he was sitting on the bottom stair.
"Ok sweetie grab your bag and lets go" she said in a breathy sigh, as she flicked her silver-bedecked wrist about to consult a watch, whose display was almost absurdly dainty.
"Already got it." He hoisted up a flimsy knapsack with drawstrings.
"All your books fit in that?" She said doubtfully.
"Books are in my locker, just chromebook work last night."
She shrugged. "Well you don't need any extra weight, not with your workout schedule."
She wasn't wrong. Gymnastics was practically a full-time job. The jump from level 10 to 11 had meant mastering some grueling new skills. Christian had the raw strength for them, but their technical nature was unbelievably frustrating. He wished he could punch his way through them. But in truth, that wasn't the main source of his irritation.
The drive to school was unremarkable, but with the onset of Fall (real Fall, not summer-lite) it was certainly scenic. The trees in their town's leafy suburbs were changing color, exchanging their burning green for an easy-going orange. The humidity had blown away and a crispness was in the air, a brisk reminder that midterms were coming and so were the holidays. Christian's family had vague plans for a trip up north to visit relatives, but nothing had been hammered out. He himself would be perfectly content to stay home. Coming to a halt in front of the school, Christian hastened to exit the car. He hadn't outgrown the teenage embarrassment of being dropped off, in fact as driving age neared, it intensified.
"I'll come grab you at 3, remember to get your gym gear before I arrive", she said after him.
"Don't worry, I never forget it", he called back over his shoulder, in full retreat from the parental unit.
"Christian!" she called after him, in a tone demanding that he about-face.
"What!?" He whirled around.
His exasperation made her smile. It was fun to provoke your teenager sometimes. A bit of recompense for their perennial sourness. She smiled warmly. "I love you." Christian was embarrassed, especially as a gaggle of Junior girls was close by. But he was touched too. He knew as well as anything that she meant it. And he meant it right back when he said "Love you too." But the moment was somewhat spoiled when, as she drove off, the shithead himself whipped into a parking space right in front of him. The Tool had gotten his license (and a gleaming F-150) a month ago. Spaces right in front of the school were reserved for staff and visitors, but the Tool learned quickly they didn't police this rule closely enough. He stepped out (or rather down, the truck was fucking huge) and swaggered towards the steps up to the main doors, the base at which Christian was standing. The Junior girls, despite Brody being a year beneath them, had gone quieter and giggly at his sight. He smiled with mock sweetness towards Christian as he passed.
"Still asleep, Carter? If you don't have classes, you're welcome to give Jenny a scrub." He obviously meant the truck.
"Screw you."
"He's awake! No offense, just offering. Preparation for your janitorial career." Christian flipped him the bird, but Brody had already turned his back. He was left standing there foolishly with no other option than to meekly follow him into school. Classes were beginning soon, after all.
"Can you believe Larson parks up front? Guy's such a dick." Christian seethed to his friends.
"Bro, people do that all the time. Mostly seniors though, honestly props to Brody for having the balls" Alex answered unhelpfully.
"Yeah I wouldn't do it, not after they towed that one chick," Peter responded. They were cutting their way through the crowd heading towards Biology. The smell of formaldehyde was getting nearer. Dissections were this week, something everyone was either secretly or openly excited for.
"Whatever, he's still a douchebag." Christian muttered.
"You need to get over Brody, man. Y'know he's just messing with you, right? He does it with everyone, it's no big deal. He's not a bad guy."
Alex, tall and mild-mannered, had the patience of a saint and the temper of... well, a Saint Bernard. He was a great friend and as reliable as they came, but would never join in bad-mouthing anyone. Normally Christian liked that, but lately? Not so much.
"It's different with me. It's like he's trying to provoke me into something."
"What, you think he wants to fight you?" Peter said with a half-laugh and raised eyebrows. That would definitely be a bad idea, for Christian anyway. Brody was a champion wrestler, and while he was Christian's size and their strength was likely equal, they were not equals in fighting ability. Christian had never even played a game of football, he was decidedly hands-off when it came to sports.
"I dunno. Let's drop it." They threw themselves down in their usual seats, and put on their gloves to begin surgery.
"So, is that the liver?" Alex was consulting the anatomical chart like he was reading hieroglyphics.
"That's the heart, bro. You're hopeless," Peter giggled.
"it's all a mess of grey mush. How do surgeons do this?"
"I think the formaldehyde drains the color. Surgery videos never look like this. Notice we haven't exactly been drowned in blood."
"Mr. know-it-all."
"Hey, that's why I'm here." Peter grinned at them. He really wasn't an academic, but was definitely a problem-solver. His father could fix anything at that autoshop of his, so it must run in the family.
The class ended too soon for their liking, and Christian bade his boys farewell, and marched off to the east wing of the school for his least favorite class: AP English. Not that he hated reading and writing, but because Brody was in it. He gritted his teeth as he heard several girls laughing at something the jerk had said. Sure enough, entering he saw him between Shelby and Leslie, with Thompson (also annoying) leaning over their table.
"Probably trying to get a glance down Shelby's blouse", Christian thought to himself.
Brody make a theatrical show of breaking off mid-sentence as Christian slung his bag beneath his seat, motioning for his sycophants to hush.
"What?" Christian said accusatorily, even though he knew he was playing into the trap. The silence had thickened as the teacher walked in, and it made Christian uncomfortable.
"Huh? Oh nothing. Just talking about the ahem grace required to be a gymnast, and how it suits you."
"Yeah and wrestling is just touching sweaty boys, so there's that." Christian retorted. Finally he thought of something to say to this dick. He wasn't good with words and became tongue-tied easily, but around Brody he practically became mute. His tormentor displayed a row of even, white teeth. His arm was draped lazily over Shelby's chair, his hand lightly touching her back.
"There's no dearth of touching in my life, for sure." He made some disguised motion with his hand to make her jump, turn red and giggle like a child.
"You on the other hand... well, hand is where it ends full stop, huh?" And he made a pumping motion with his fist. The two girls, Thompson, and some surrounding onlookers laughed. Christian felt the blood rushing to his face and his fists balled. He wanted to punch the fucker right there. But the knowledge he would get expelled, and hurled to the ground instantly by Brody, made him turn about in his seat and face the front. The teacher had been ignoring all this.
"Okay everyone, pipe down. Yesterday we mentioned the contrasting love of Anna and Levin, any opening thoughts before we-"
Brody's hand was up, and he was already talking.
"I think Levin's love for Katherine is genuine. It builds itself on a solid foundation, and a deep appreciation for its object. Anna's love for Vronsky is doomed to fail, because it was built upon nothing but dissatisfaction with her current husband. She sought out his opposite. Vronsky simply checks a number of boxes for her, so she has no appreciation for the man as a whole, he's merely a collection of appealing attributes."
The whole time Brody was prattling on in that smart-ass tone of his, Christian was gritting his teeth. For some reason, teachers loved this parody of articulateness, and none of his classmates had the balls to rip on him for it. Mostly because he WAS more articulate than them. And the odd combination of sports jock and passionate lit student kind of wrong-footed everyone. Brody knew that, of course, and loved it.
"Well said, Brody. Anyone else?" Mr. Garraway cast his eyes around.
"C'mon Carter, don't be shy." Brody's voice cut the silence. "You at least know about self-love. Give us a hand, will you?" The class roared with laughter.
"All right, all right, back on topic, and leave Christian alone. So for today we'll discuss..."
After 45 minutes wound their excruciating way to a close, Christian gratefully filed out of the classroom. Exhaling as if to blow the last hour out of his whole being, he made for the bathroom. Suddenly a hand was on his shoulder.
"Sorry, mon petit cabotin, I almost forgot."
Guess who. Christian turned to face him fully. He was grinning smugly as usual, his eyes glittering as they reflected the fluorescent light. Very dark eyes, Christian noticed, hidden behind a curtain of glossy black hair. Brody wore it long, unlike the other wrestlers, another subtle way of wrong-footing people. It was cut in a choppy way, almost like those old pictures of `scene kids' Christian had seen online. This, his defined jaw, and the unblemished rich white of his skin, made even Christian grudgingly admit to his good looks.
"What the fuck do you want?" he said aggressively.
"Well I was going to... but you'll find out." Brody said with a knowing smile. He turned and left.
Christian liked that not one bit.
The ride to gym was tenser than the journey to school. It was getting more so these days. Christian felt a tightness in his shoulders by 3 PM that had nothing to do with workout soreness, and the beginnings of a headache. Thank God he had Tylenol stashed in his gym locker. His mom doubtless noticed, but they hadn't broached the subject yet. She dropped him off for the second time that day, as she answered a phone call from her boss.
"Dad will pick you up" She mouthed in exaggerated fashion, tilting the phone towards her ear. Christian nodded and went into the building, always smelling of sweat, foam and disinfectant. It was a comforting smell to him. Even with the complex new skills this place was a refuge. No Brody, no homework, just friendly teammates and the chance to soar in the air. As he pulled his jersey on, he took the opportunity to take stock of himself in the long mirror across the hall, but found only a rippled and jagged distortion looking back at him. Someone had broken it.
"It looks how my mind feels lately," he thought to himself. He recollected the troubling thing Alex had said. `He's not a bad guy.' Was Alex messing with him just like Brody? Christian had become acquainted with the idea of gaslighting after reading that stupid old play. Was this a conspiracy to drive him over the edge? The notion was half-formed and unserious, but Christian realized what a dark turn of mind it was. He needed to figure this out, maybe he blowing out of proportion what was just ordinary joshing around. But that wasn't how he felt. Stripping off his socks, he hunched over the bench with his elbows on his knees.
"No," he brooded, "I'm not imagining things. He's targeting me."
But why? A year ago Brody didn't know he existed, neither he Brody. Why the sudden zeroing in?
Just then, Jameson burst in.
"Dude c'mon, coach is waiting for you. He's gonna brief us on the meet next Saturday." Christian sighed. There was just never a moment, was there?
That evening at dinner, his Dad made a surprising announcement. It was towards the tail end of a monologue Christian hadn't been listening to. He was refreshing Tiktok on his phone. Jameson had uploaded a video of him on bars, and the views were climbing. Christian had no desire to become "famous", but it was intoxicating to watch those numbers climb.
"...So anyway, I invited them for dinner tomorrow." His mother laid her fork down, her shoulders slumped.
"You could have asked me first. You know how insane my schedule is."
"Don't worry, they're casual folks. I'm doing the cooking, so what's your beef?" His father was indeed the only source of cooked food in the house. One of the ways they negotiated the `female breadwinner' dynamic, he supposed.
"That's not the point, I may not make it at all. Sean's been acting crazy about this new proposal", she warned.
"Then it'll be me and Christian, no worries." his Dad said soothingly.
"Sorry, who is it that's coming?", Christian interjected.
"A family I met at the church last Sunday, the Larsons. I think his son is a classmate of yours," his father said through a mouthful of stir fry, scratching his chin. Christian's heart sank, and simultaneously increased its rhythm by anywhere from 2 to 35 times.
No.
FUCK NO.
There was NO WAY this was happening.
Why was his Dad even going to this church? He wasn't religious or particularly sociable! He called Christians "Christ-tards", which given his own name, made him a bit uncomfortable.
"It's a chance to get to know people. I can't just stare at you and your mom all the time" his father had answered with the usual nonchalance, when Christian had quizzed him about it. Well he had met someone, all right. King Douchebag himself, and his parents, who were probably just as bad. And in 24 hours, they'd be launching a full-scale invasion.
End of Chapter 1.