Ansha's Blog

My excerpt is the first chapter of a middle grade fiction/graphic novel called Gangsterland.  I’ve removed and replaced a number of the curse words.  I left a few for effect.  Let me know what you think.  Enjoy!

Chapter 1

That dipwad, Matt Bryant was going to be at the bus stop. I hated living here. All of my friends were back home. I crushed the gravel under my heel. I wanted to do the same to Matt, but I knew I wouldn’t do anything except stand there like a wus. I crested the hill and there he stood, glaring. He was waiting for me, his tiny brain was probably occupied by thoughts of retarded phrases he’d throw at me, his target of choice.

A smile formed on Matt’s face, I involuntarily cringed. My own body disobeyed around this guy. It made me angry.

“Hey there, Jon-a-thon!” he shouted.

I ignored him and watched the little kids. They were playing Mother May I.

My stomach soured the closer I got.

Mother may I?

He wasn’t going to leave me alone today.

Mother may I?

My shoulders tightened.

“Whatcha doin’ Jon-a-thon? Waiting for your mommy to come and pick you up to take you to school with the first graders?” He never tied his shoes. His laces were dark from the wet pavement.

If I were living with mom I wouldn’t have to deal with this crap. If I were living with mom I’d have friends and I wouldn’t have to try so hard to make small talk with my dad.

I walked to the other side of the road where the kids played. Determined to ignore Matt I focused on the pine trees and counted how many branches had snow on them.

“Jon-a-thon, Jon-a-thon, his mommy puts his shoes on,” Matt seemed proud of his new rhyme, so much so that he repeated it again, and again. For the next 5 minutes. I was on my seventh round of counting tree branches when he went silent. Thank God.

WHAM! A flash of light. Intense shooting pain at my left temple. What the ? Something hard and solid fell to the ground near my foot. I put my hand to my face. Wet and cold. Made sure nothing was freaking embedded in my head, it hurt that bad. I glared at Matt. He juggled another frosty rock with a sick smile on his face. Black spots clouded my vision. The earth suddenly tipped and my knees met the ground. I was staring at the dirty boot-printed snow.

The little kids stopped playing to see if the wimpy new kid would cry. That’s what they expected. I felt the hot water in my eyes and tried to swallow it up. Little kids can’t see me bawl. My head felt heavy.

“Jon-a-thon he fell down, now he has to leave the town,” Matt began to laugh hysterically.

Somewhere, anywhere but here. The ocean, hot sand, cool water. I’m watching the waves wash in, the clouds race across the sky. Something scratched my face. I opened my eyes, Matt now held a long dark stick. He lunged at me. My guess is he was aiming for a soft spot, namely my eye. I tired to push the stick away, I was still dizzy and on the ground. He got me right in the ear.

“Fuck you!” I swatted the stick, I couldn’t believe I had just said that out loud.

I pushed up off the ground and did my best to stand tall. For a moment everyone was quiet. Even Matt. All the kids turned toward the sound of my voice. Someone whispered about swearing and telling a teacher. Great. Just great.

Here this idiot tried to poke out my eyes and I’d be the one in trouble.

“Ew, sounds like Jon-a-thon is going to get detention for swearing at the bus stop,” Matt sounded proud and important. In his twisted world he hadn’t done a thing wrong.

The sound of a bus as it slowed turned everyone’s focus. The little kids ran toward the road. Now it was just the two of us waiting for the middle school bus, which was late. Again.

Enough. I didn’t care when the bus came I was going home. Matt could stand out here by himself. I refused to be his punching bag.

I picked up my backpack and swung it over my shoulder and brushed the dirt off my knees. My head still swam, my cheeks felt hot. Screw this. I was calling mom and moving back home. No school was worth this.

“Where ya goin’ Jon-a-thon? Running home to mommy?”

“No, you moron, I am not. I am getting as far away from you as possible,” I whispered.

I heard the bus pull up behind me. Matt screamed something about missing it. I didn’t care. The bus had disappeared, along with Matt. The world was silent. At the bottom of the hill, realization hit me, I was going to have to deal with my dad.

By the time I got to the house my eyes were falling out of my head. I needed some Advil and some ice.

I dumped my backpack in the corner near the door and headed into the huge unused space my father called a kitchen. The cleaning crew had been here yesterday and the stainless steel refrigerator was spotless. I was careful not to leave a mark. Her frozen dinners filled the freezer. How could one person eat this much Lean Cuisine? I wondered what the step mom wannabe looked like. I did manage to find a bag of peas. The cool lumpy plastic took some of the heat out of the pulsing scratches but my head was banging like a gong.

Next stop – the bathroom. I trudged up the stairs, this place was too big. I missed the cozy comfort of my mom’s apartment, downtown.

But mom wanted me to go to a better school and she always got her way. My bathroom was on the left about midway down the hall. Their room, which took up half the upstairs, was on the right. I ignored it.

I opened the medicine cabinet, found a huge bottle of Advil and laughed out loud. I bet she gave my dad a lot of headaches. I closed the cabinet and saw a smile which looked out of place on my beaten face. I examined the cuts on my cheek. Bastard got pretty close to my eye, but the scratches didn’t look anything near as traumatic as the red and purple bruise swelling on the side of my head. Well, at least I had evidence.

I envisioned my dad screaming at the audacity of that kid, damaging his only son in such a way. I imagined him calling his lawyer and scheduling a court date. I imagined the look on Matt’s face when they sent him to juvie.

The smile crept back onto my face. I glanced away. I needed to draw.

My room and my computer maintained my sanity. I opened the artist’s program my dad bought for me, a bribe so I’d leave him alone. With the stylus and drawing tablet I sketched what turned into a model T Ford. A gangster stood on the running board holding a Tommy-gun. It filled the entire screen. It looked awesome. I added a tiny Matt Bryant in the lower left corner directly in front of the car. The headlights aimed at him. I’d have to remember to find a photo and paste his face in here.

Did I really want to see his face in my drawing?

Only if he was about to get run over.

The phone rang and freaked me out. It had been so quiet.

I glanced at the clock. Almost 10:00 AM. The phone blared again. I picked it up.

“What are you doing home?” Dad barked at me. Not even a polite hello first.

“I, well, at the bus stop today…”

“Why are you skipping school? Do you know the principal called me here at work?” He never let me finish.

“I’m sorry.” I said, wondering why an apology was always on the tip of my tongue.

“We’re going to talk about this when I get home tonight young man, things are going to change.” Maybe he’d send me home. I doubted it would be that easy.

“Yes Dad,” I was in deep shit.

The Excerpt Monday website, for more info:

http://excerptmonday.wordpress.com/
The hosts of Excerpt Mondays:

Mel Berthier, Urban Fantasy (PG-13)
Bria Quinlan, Rom Com (PG)

This month’s participants, organized by rating:

Bria Quinlan, Rom Com (PG)
Gina Ardito, Historical Paranormal (PG)
Kinsey W. Holley, Paranormal (PG)
Cynthia Justlin, Romantic Suspense (PG)
Jeannie Lin, Historical (PG)
RF Long, Fantasy (PG)

Mel Berthier, Urban Fantasy (PG-13)
Lynne Chandler, Romantic Suspense (PG 13)
Babette James, Fantasy Romance (PG-13)
Adelle Laudan, Romantic Suspense (PG 13)
Crista McHugh, Historical Paranormal Romance (PG-13)
Alina Morgan, Urban Fantasy (PG 13)