Welcome to Excerpt Monday where we post an excerpt of our works in progress each month. At the bottom of this post is my contribution. A middle grade novel about a boy, a book, and one crazy ride.

Note: I have not personally screened these excerpts. Please heed the ratings and be aware that the links may contain material that is not typical of my site.

Links to other Excerpt Monday writers:

AJ O’Donovan, Poetry (PG13)
Stephanie Draven, Paranormal Romance (PG 13)
Heather S.Ingemar, Dark Fantasy/Poetry (PG13)
Babette James, Fantasy Romance (PG 13)
Cynthia Justlin, Romantic Suspense (PG 13)
Kaige, Historical Romance (PG 13)
Julia Knight, Fantasy Romance (PG13)
Adelle Laudan, Contemporary Romance (PG 13)
Jeannie Lin, Historical Romance (PG 13)
RF Long, YA Paranormal (PG13)
Caitlynn Lowe, Epic Fantasy (PG13)
Shawntelle Madison, Paranormal Romance (PG 13)
Bria Quinlan, Rom Com (PG)
Leigh Royals, Historical Romance (PG 13)
Megan S., Paranormal (PG13)
Dara Sorensen, Historical Paranormal (PG 13)
Bethanne Strasser, Historical Romance (PG13)

Chapter Two of Jonathan’s Adventure

The school day plodded along like every other one I had here.  Art Class at the end of the day was what I looked forward to.   Mr. Florio also ran the after school program but this was the only class during school that I enjoyed.

This was the one place where my last name didn’t mean I had to sit in the front row. I sat there anyway. I shoved my books under the desk. Every time I walked into the art room I took a slow deep breath.  The smell of the paints, the dust from the plaster, the endless reams of paper.  This was my comfort zone. Today, Mr. Florio announced that the day’s assignment was to work on a drawing that would tell the audience a story.  The first thing that popped into my mind were all of the graphic novels I had read over the summer.  I started my own sketch.  I, of course, would be the understated hero, crushing the evil bully-like villain.

I could lose myself in this class.  I didn’t have to worry about getting called on to answer questions.  I didn’t have to worry about being too smart or too dumb or what the other kids were thinking of me.  It was just the charcoal pencil, the paper, and my imagination.

Today, though, I was off my game.  My hand felt heavy.  Mr. Florio was making his way to each table.  He was headed my way.

“Very good Jonathan, you’ve got a great eye for detail.”  He walked around the table.

“It looks to me your trying to incorporate two or three different drawing styles in one piece. You may want to choose a single style and stick with that.  “  He pointed to the arms of the hero and the cape on the villain.

That sucked.  But he was right.  Actually it was cool that he knew that much about comics.

Mr. Florio scribbled on a notepad,  “Here’s a hall pass, Jonathan.  Run down to the library and choose three graphic novels by different artists and bring them back here.  Do you think you can do that in…” he glanced at the clock, “five minutes?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Sure.”

“Great!” Mr. Florio stood. He was more enthusiastic about my artwork than anyone I knew.

“When you get back we’ll show the class your drawing and use it to compare the different artists.” He smiled and walked to the next table.

Great.  There was nothing worse than being the teacher’s example.  It sucked.  It was a no win situation.  The other kids think you’re a suck-up and you just have to stand there and take the teachers criticism.  I pushed myself up from the table.  My legs felt like lead.  The last thing I wanted to do was rush to the library and back in time for the torture session.  But I said I’d be back in five minutes.  I had to do it to stay under the radar.  Even if I would be the target when I got back.

My sneakers squeaked on the linoleum as I jogged down the hallway.  I took the stairs two at a time.

The librarian could have easily passed for a security guard.  She scrutinized my hall pass like I was a criminal. Finally she waved her hand in dismissal.

Right away I saw Anne Marie sitting with a group of chattering girls.  She looked up and smiled.  I looked down at my shoes and stepped behind the shelves of graphic novels. I was alone in the alcove.  Posterboard signs of book covers decorated the walls.

The books, themselves, were pretty beat up. I ran my fingers along the spines.   I liked this section of the library.  Here was one I read over the summer, Galactic Intruders. It was pretty cool. It had some great action scenes. I tucked the book under my arm. Two more to choose.

The spine of silver metallic was unique.   I pulled it out.  I hadn’t seen anything by this artist.  I flipped through the first few pages.  A girl was sketched in a block, dancing.  The lines of the drawing fascinated me.  Like an optical illusion, she looked almost like she was moving.  She was beautiful.  A guy stood next to her in a brown suit.  His back was facing me.  I wished I could be that guy and dance with a pretty girl.  The guy was lucky.  I looked at the girl one last time.  After closing the book I just stared.  On the cover was an awesome car from the 1920′s, a Pierce Arrow.  A man with a cruel look and the gorgeous girl in a yellow flapper dress sat in the back. The driver’s face was in shadow.  The colors on the cover were incredible. It looked brand new.  I was definitely taking this one to class, if only so I could read it later.  I needed to get a third book and head back to class.  I grabbed another book and went over to the librarian’s desk to check out.

The librarian scanned the books.  The third one was chick manga.  Crap. When I put my ID back in my wallet someone shoved me hard into the desk.  My elbow banged against the corner.  My fingers tingled and went numb. The librarian glanced up for a split second and went back to shelving. The cackling laughter that accompanied that shove could only come from one person.

“Oh, so sorry, I didn’t see you there Jon-a-thon.” Matt snickered.

If only I had a shell.  I’d crawl into it right now.  I tried to ignore him and slide the books off of the desk.

“Where are you going Jon-a-thon?  Is there a Jon-a-thon telethon where they’re raising money for your dysfunction?”

Seriously, I wondered if there was a telethon available to help Matt.  I was doing really well ignoring him.  Pretending I wasn’t even here.  Until I tripped over his outstretched foot and hit the ground like a spiked volleyball.  The books fell out across the floor in front of me.

I heard a sharp intake of breath from one of the girls at the table.  They had seen me fall.  I wanted to melt directly into the floor, never to be seen or heard from again.  Mortified I tried to scramble and pick up the books but that moron was faster and scooped them up.

“Ooh, Johny-wonny wants to be a girly-girl!” Matt waved the pink one up in the air like he was showing it to a freaking audience.

I grabbed for it but he kept pushing me back with the other arm.  I glanced over at the librarian but she was busy ignoring the whole thing and sorting books in the corner.  Matt pushed passed me and galloped toward the back of the library.  Bumping into the table of girls as he rushed by.

“Come and get it, Girly.” Matt jogged backward waving the books in front of him.

I could feel the heat rising up from my chest, my face burned.  Matt was such a jerk. What was I supposed to do?  All  of the girls were watching.  If that idiot did anything to the books I knew I  would get into trouble because I was the one who signed them out.  Whoever actually did the damage wouldn’t matter to the librarian.

Matt waved the books in the air once more and ducked down an aisle near the windows.

I glanced at the clock. I had five minutes before class was over. Mr. Florio would think I was just fooling around.

“Better come quick Johnny.”  Matt’s menacing voice whispered.

I ran down the aisle.

“Uh-oh, Johnny Wohnny, it looks like I might have butter fingers.” Matt’s arm was extended out the open window, the pink book pinched between his thumb and index finger.  He waved it back and forth.

My heart was racing.  I couldn’t breathe.  My mouth gaped open.  My hands trembled.  I lunged forward to grab his arm.  He let go of the book. I watched as it tumbled two stories to the ground below.

“Oops.  Johnny,  too slow!   Gotta go!”  Matt dumped the remaining books out the window and laughed hysterically as he ran down the aisle and out of the library.

I heard the librarian yell at Matt for running.  Sure, she sees him now.

I stuck my head out the window. The books looked like playing cards next to the two giant green recycle dumpsters. And they were surrounded by a fence.   I had to figure out how to get back there and get back in less than 2 minutes.  Impossible.  But I had to get those books.

The librarian yelled at me too but I sprinted down the hall.  I didn’t have time to care.  Only two minutes before the end of class.  I wondered if I was going to be able to get the books out of the dumpster cage. There were not enough swear words in all the languages of the world to describe Matthew Bryant.

Why didn’t I grab his arm in time and yank the books out of his stupid hands?  I ran down the stairs to the main hallway.  No teachers in sight.  I crept up to the office door and peeked around the corner.  The secretary was zoned out in front of her computer.  Holding my breath I walked passed the office.  I pressed the bar on the door and ducked out, letting the door ease back into the frame.

Once outside I felt better.  The cold air was a relief.  I ran around the side of the building toward the dumpster.  My sneakers slid on the snow and I almost wiped out.  The chain link gate squealed and shook as I yanked it open. The cage wasn’t locked. I thanked the sky, the clouds and the janitor for leaving it open.

I squeezed inside. My shirt snagged on a piece of the chain link. I worked it free.  Didn’t want to explain to my dad why I had a hole in a new shirt. Once I was inside the faint stink of sour milk wafted over me.

The books were lying right next to a frozen puddle of grey-brown liquid.  They weren’t in the puddle, so something was going my way today.   I picked up the books and headed back to the front door.  I almost forgot to close the gate.  I took a nice deep breath.  A note wouldn’t be sent to my dad about losing them.  I wouldn’t have to use my allowance to pay for them. I wouldn’t have to explain to anybody what had happened.  Life was good.  Then the bell rang.

Crap.

Class was over. What was I going to tell Mr. Florio?

I rushed back into the building. Principal Haddley stood in the hallway directly in front of the door.  I skidded to a halt.  He grabbed my shoulder. His right eye twitched.

I was screwed.

“Thought you could sneak back into the building before your next class, did you?”  His eye twitched again.

“Yes, sir, I mean no, sir.”  My stomach turned into a rock and cold sweat prickled at the back of my neck.

“What is your name?”  The principal looked me up and down like he was trying to find a name tag attached to my shirt.

“Jonathan Brooks.”  I barely whispered, things were definitely not going my way, not going my way at all.

“Follow me, Mr. Brooks.”  Haddley’s voice resonated in the foyer.

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)