Summer Writing Project--Please Weigh In

Along with my writing mojo returning came two great writing ideas about which I am very excited.  That being said, I know that I can only focus on one at a time and a decision has to be made.

I've written one novel and several short stories (here, here,  here, and here, if you're interested).  I thought they were pretty good at the time (they clearly weren't ;-)), but I've learned a lot about writing and about life since then, and I am unquestionably at a better place as a writer now.

If you know me at all in real life (or it's entirely possible you've picked this up from my blogging topics and patterns), you're well aware that I'm pretty much the textbook version of an adult with ADHD.  I struggle with getting started, finishing what I start unless there are firm deadlines, and many of what we call in the education world "executive functioning skills".  I am impulsive, disorganized, and I hate authority.  And so on and so forth.

Oh, I also have that "hyper-focus" on one area, kind of like self-hypnosis (if you have or know anyone with ADHD, you know what I mean).  For me, it's reading.  Or writing.  For a lot of hyperactive kids nowadays, it's video games.  But that's a different rant ...

Anyway, I've made a lot of progress with functioning in life, more than just bouncing around driving people nuts or using books and caffeine to keep myself under control (I'm really not as bad as I'm making myself out to be ... I am a successful mother, teacher, girlfriend, dog owner, friend, daughter, sister, and blah blah blah).

And I've decided that this is the summer of writing.

So I've got it down to two topics.  I'd really rather not flip a coin, so I am going to let you, oh person reading these words right now, decide.  Seriously.

Oh, and before you say, "Why don't you try doing both?", see the above explanatory ADHD rant.  I cannot focus on writing on two things at once.  It's as simple as that.

So ...

1.  A historical mystery. (vague, I know ... I don't want to tip my hand ;-))
*  I know the whole story in my head (this sort of planning ahead is symbolic of the new and slightly improved me)
*  It's an extensive lesson in history, and I've already started researching extensively.
*  I have always wanted to write a mystery

OR

2.  A memoir of my life.
*  It's an interesting story ... I have had the great fortune of having incredible things happen to me ... and the horrible misfortune of having unspeakably horrible things happen to me.
*  Coming to terms with a couple of my traumatic life events has given me closure ... part of me thinks that getting it all out there might do so on a larger scale.
*  It is very important to me as a mother and a teacher that the children I raise and/or educate get the lesson that, when life knocks you down, you get right back up.  I think this is a message that needs to get out more, and I think putting it in writing (more than the occasional blog post) could help people.

So, please give your recommendation (your vote, to use that word) in the comments.  Should I focus my summer writing time, other than blogging and other responsibilities, working on the historical mystery or the memoir?

And should you want to explain why, that would be great, too :-)  

Either way, I'm going with the majority.

Thanks in advance <<3
   

Sunday Stealing: The Madness Meme (Part I)

Sunday Stealing is good fun :-)  If you don't participate, give it a try!

1.Have you ever licked the back of a CD to try to get it to work?

No.  Yes.  Kind of.  Well, to be completely honest, I’ve spit on a Kleenex and tried to clean it up that way.  The crazy thing is, it often works ...

2. What’s the largest age difference between yourself and someone you’ve dated?

Officially “dated”, six years (and, yes, that would be Henry … he’s very wise J).  In terms of more casual kind of things, twenty-five years … in the older direction, of course.

3. Ever been in a car wreck?

Once … I fell asleep while driving to Andy’s condo at three in the morning, took out a “sharp curve ahead” sign, and drove into a ditch.

4. Were you popular in high school?

Popularity is a relative thing.

5. Have you ever been on a blind date?

Yup … And that’s all I have to say about that.

6. Are looks important?

Nah, hygiene is important.  I’ve been through the “you have to be hot to have a chance with me” phase, and it’s stupid.

I've learned that, if a person has a beautiful heart (and did I mention good hygiene ;-)?), they are beautiful on the outside, too.

7. Do you have any friends that you’ve known for 10 years or more?

Of course.  Bless their hearts … J

8. By what age would you like to be married?

I’d like to be married by the time I’m 40.  No pressure or anything, Henry ;-)

9. Does the number of people a person’s slept with affect your view of them?

Funny story, I was having this very conversation this morning. 

My bottom line is no because, once you get to the right place with the right person, you can look back and be glad for the experience and for learning what exactly it is that floats your boat.

If it gets to the point where you can’t keep track of the number, that might be a different story ….

10. Have you ever made a mistake?

I make mistakes at least once every hour.  It’s how we learn and grow J

11. Are you a good tipper?

I’m an excellent tipper.  If you’re aware of the horrible wages given to waitstaff because of the assumption that the real money is in tips, you would be, too.

That being said, I’m also very good at making my point on the rare occasions I encounter a truly sub-par waiter or waitress …  I’m convinced that pennies were created for the sole purpose of tipping badly …

12. What’s the most you have spent for a haircut?

I spent just under $200 for a haircut once … it had been eons since I’d had one, I don’t do change well, so the poor stylist had to put up with my angst.  I don’t begrudge it.

13. Have you ever had a crush on a teacher?

Ew, no!

14. Have you ever peed in public?

Haha, I was ALSO telling this story recently.

I was at the parking lot of Six Flags in Montreal.  I really had to pee.  REALLY had to pee.  The park wasn’t open yet, the line was already ridiculously long, and … well, I really had to pee.

I told Pythagorus I was going to pee in the parking lot if we didn’t go find a gas station or something.  I don’t think he believed me.

He should have.

15. What song do you want played at your funeral?

Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah”

16. Would you tell your parents if you were gay?

“Mom, Dad, I’m gay.”

17. What would your last meal be before getting executed?

A cheeseburger.

18. Beatles or Stones?

Stones.

19. If you had to pick one person on earth to die, who would it be?

God judges, not me.  I'm pretty sure I know some people on the "karma's coming for you" list, though ...

20. Beer, wine or hard liquor?

Anything but wine…sounds clichéd, but the alcoholics in my life are winos, so the very smell of wine makes me nauseous.

21. Do you have any phobias?

I cannot get on an airplane. 

22. What are your plans for the future?

Happiness, good health, and … well, getting the novelpublished and embarking on a great writing career.

Accepting Criticism ... Along With a Special Thanks and a Really Cool Opportunity :-)

I truly believe that the reason my novel is still unpublished is that I suck at struggle with accepting criticism.  This is true in all facets of my life, but it's unquestionably the strongest with regard to my writing.

Why?  I suspect because, at least in terms of the tentatively titled Unbreakable, I put so much of myself into it, that I put many years of my life into it, that it has been a part of me for a very long time.

I spent a lot of this summer working on fixing up my novel, based in large part on suggestions and input from you, my lovely readers.

So I'm going to ask you to please do it again ... how's that for grateful ;-)?

Marcy over at Mainewords and Dianne from In High Spirits collaborate on what they call "First Impressions".  Basically, you can submit the first page of your manuscript, and both Marcy and Dianne will critique it publicly on their respective blogs.

If you're a writer, I strongly recommend this great opportunity.  I mean, the hardest thing to hear is that something that you've poured your heart and soul into stinks ... but at the same time, receiving specific feedback on how to improve it from fellow writers is absolutely invaluable.

I'm not getting torn to shreds, actually, which is cool :-)  The big issues seem to be my use of a mother's use of "revulsion" in terms of her son, and my affinity for extremely long sentences.  Both of these are excellent points and remind me that I still have much work to do.

But I'm feeling great about it (my new mindset is permeating all aspects of my life :-)), and am now really interested in finding a critique partner and really, seriously, 100% aggressively delving into getting that book published instead of waiting for someone to say, "I read an excerpt of your novel online, and it's amazing.  I'd love to represent you!" because clearly that is not going to happen ;-)

Anyway, special thanks to Marcy and Dianne, and I hope that you will go over to their respective blogs and add to the critique fest ... myself and my novel need all the help we can get ;-)

And again, please consider submitting a "First Impression" piece to these two wonderful ladies ... you won't be sorry.

Who Am I To Argue With Fate?

Do you believe in fate? Sometimes I get all cynical and think it's a bunch of crap, that karma does not in fact pay you back for living a life that focuses on bettering the world for others,doesn't bring down the people who bring so much pain and suffering into the world.

Then I have days like today where I realize that there has to be something ... call it God, call it fate, call it good luck, but man ...

So last night, my computer suddenly went psycho. I mean, we're talking crazy. I was pretty sure it was a lost cause (whatever it was swept through the virus protection like wildfire), and Addie confirmed that this morning.

Of course, I had a decision to make. Should I go to a computer specialty store to see if they can repair the earliest version of a Netbook, or should I just get a new computer (which has been on the radar for awhile ... Netbooks have good points, but they also have severe limitations).

Anyway, I'm typing this on my beautiful, brand new laptop :-)

Back to fate for a minute, though.

I got this urge yesterday to print my novel. I have a hard time editing on a computer screen (it's kind of like why I don't have a Kindle or a Nook, despite my insatiable appetite for reading), and I knew I had a lot of work to do.

To make matters even more interesting, my printer is special and prints one page at a time. My completed novel is lengthy. Quite lengthy. It made more sense to just go to Staples, so I put it on a USB and paid far too much money to it printed.

Yeah, do you see why the "one page at a time" approach was just not feasible?

Anyway, while I was putting the novel onto a USB, I figured I might as well print out my current WIP, too. After all, it's in need of some editing as well.

When my computer appeared to be possessed by the equivalent of Charles Manson on acid, I was momentarily hysterical. Other than Addie and Belle (and possibly my dogs), those two pieces of writing are the most important thing in the world to me.

They weren't backed up until yesterday. (Stupid, I know)

Thank you, whatever force made me take care of that business yesterday. I owe you one!

And, if you're interested in exploring my novel in terms of critique or style or abject curiosity or whatev, you can read some of it here, and/or weigh in on a recent struggle I've had with it right here.

And, just because I'm excited about it, here's the hard-to-read dedication page (no pseudonyms there, but I don't think the people on the page would be offended ... interesting that I've written about most of them here under assumed names, though).

In Case You're Interested ...

Because my mom is picking Addie up from rehearsal tonight (she drove herself to school and home, but her Friday night practices get out at ten and she's nervous driving that late when she's tired, an accommodation I'm more than happy to make), I am having a rare quiet evening at home.

I wasn't going to post here tonight because I'm very much behind on Zelda Lily and need to get a couple of pieces up there, but I was really touched by the reception that my WiP excerpt received (both the accolades and the critiques were wonderful feedback ... thank you!) and a few people asked for more, so I'm going to put up the second chapter.

Copying and pasting seems like kind of a cop-out, but it's kind of where I'm at tonight ;)

Oh, and if you didn't read the last excerpt (namely, Chapter One), you should probably read it first.

Oh, one more thing ... this character seems kind of Mary Sue-ish from the first two chapters, but he's really not. I am going to be reworking them a bit, though, since I just noticed when I was rereading it while fixing the paragraphs.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

From Annual by Katie Loud

2.

Christian checked the time as he walked to his red Saab convertible. He wouldn’t be able to go home and shower before soccer practice, and that bothered him a bit. Most of his teammates found it absolutely hysterical that Christian and to a slightly lesser degree his best friend Roy Pentinicci labored in the hot sun for forty hours a week all summer. Although their teasing on the rare days he showed up with green ankles didn’t really bother Christian, the sense of bewilderment in their eyes did.

His father was one of the wealthiest men in the country. There wasn’t a reason in the world for him to slave away mowing lawns, weeding gardens, erecting stone walls, accompanying balding, sweaty men with bad grammar.

But then, Christian had always been something of an enigma to his peers, a fact that bothered him not in the least. They wondered where his drive to excel came from, of course, why he worked his ass off to earn straight As at the prestigious Stephens Academy, what made him attend intensive extra baseball practices when he was already one of the best high school pitchers in the northeast. It seemed unfair, of course, that Brian McKenzie’s son should be brilliant, talented in numerous areas, and model-handsome, but Christian was just too likable a guy to hold it against him.

So people asked Roy, who was not quite as likable and not technically a McKenzie, why on earth the two of them worked for a landscaper instead of just pushing paper at one of Mr. McKenzie’s many offices. Roy had been taken in by Brian and Belinda McKenzie when his famously dysfunctional family imploded in the fall of his freshman year. They were his legal guardians, but they were not his parents. He explained that his Porsche was a strings-attached present for his sixteenth birthday, the strings being that he pay his car insurance with money he worked for. As a three-season athlete and an honors student, this was impossible to accomplish during the school year. Hence, a summer job was necessary. That Brian McKenzie had made the same arrangement with his own son (and bought him a far less ostentatious car) when Christian turned sixteen a year later was what confused, almost frustrated people. What could possibly be the point?

Christian toiled without complaint, Roy with characteristic token grumbling. They both knew full well this was a life lesson that Brian McKenzie wanted them to learn young and completely, something akin to the two of them leading Christian’s younger sisters and brother out with shovels whenever it snowed rather than hiring a plow truck to clear their more-of-a-private-road-than-a-driveway. They worshiped Brian McKenzie equally.

Christian was early for practice, so he took a quick locker room shower, watching the greens and browns disappear down the drain with something akin to relief. He got dressed, put on his shin guards, and walked to the field. Although practice didn’t start until four, there were already a number of boys in gym shorts and Stephens Academy Soccer t-shirts running around on the field. One of them, a good looking dark-haired boy with brown eyes that dominated his face, saw Christian walking down the hill to the field and ran over.

“You just leave work?”

“Yeah, took a shower here.”

“Clearly a better man than I am, McKenzie. I got the hell out as soon as I possibly could.”

“Pete told me he offered you next summer in advance.”

Roy nodded. “It was strangely nice to hear.”

“You seen Bobby?”

“Nope.”

“Yup!" Both turned and looked up the hill as their longtime friend Bobby Smith started down, his gait unsteady. “Yup, you’ve sure as fuck seen me now.”

The other team members had started moving toward them, drawn by the decibel of Bobby’s voice. A tall African-American boy, Jamie Costello, took in the situation and sprinted suddenly to Bobby’s side. Jamie had been tight with Bobby, Roy, and Christian for years, and he knew that Bobby needed to make it into the goal; as long as he was in his element, nobody would notice that he was extremely drunk. Roy followed Jamie, getting on Bobby’s other side, and the two lifted him up and past their teammates to where Christian was busily moving the net into position in anticipation of Bobby’s arrival.

It was an old drill.

Excerpt From Novel #2

It's funny how time flies. Back in the early days of this blog, I posted an excerpt from my second novel, noting that it was "very unfinished" and "very much a work in progress".

Sadly, it's still both unfinished (although not as "very" as it once was) and a work in progress (although much progress has been made).

Happily, I have a lot more followers now than I did when I originally posted this excerpt (and the excerpt itself has changed a bit), so I figured I'd share it in the hopes of entertaining you and garnering feedback.

This is the first chapter ...

-----------------------------------------------------------------------
From Annual by Katie Loud

1.
Christian McKenzie was sixteen years old the last time he used a time clock to punch out of work.

His sneakers left green smudges on the cement floor of the main storage building at Peter Neal Landscaping as he walked toward the back office to turn in his timecard. He tapped the buff-colored rectangle measuring out a forty-hour workweek against his khaki shorts in the innate way that musicians do. Christian was surprised to see Pete Neal himself, owner of the landscaping business that had employed him for two summers now, sitting behind the desk in his tiny office.

“Why you still here?” Pete asked, standing and hitching up his fatigue pants. Although his pants were always falling down, his t-shirts were never without oval sweat stains at the armpits, and his few remaining teeth were gray and rotting, Christian liked him. Pete had always been fair.

“I wanted to finish that stone wall for you, sir. It’s my last day.” Pete nodded.

“Yeah, Pentinicci already reminded me.”

“He still here?”

“Hell, no. He was gone soon’s his eight hours was up.” Pete grumbled a bit more before saying what he’d been leading up to. “I told him job’s here for him next summer, same as I’m saying to you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Neal. I’ll be needing a job next summer between graduation and college, and you’ve been good to me.”

“You’re a good worker, McKenzie.” Pete held out a calloused hand, and Christian shook it gratefully.

“I’ll, uh, see you around, I’m sure.” Christian was uncomfortable. Pete’s company did the extensive landscaping at his parents’ mansion, a fact that both of them were a little embarrassed about and which neither of them mentioned. “And I will be back next year, sir.”

But he wasn’t. The trajectory of his life changed forever that evening when his girlfriend told him she was pregnant.

Thorns, Buds, and Roses

My school has something called Advisory, which is basically a small(ish--my Advisory is seventeen kids) group of students that have half an hour daily to do things like team building, study skills, listening practice, discussions on important issues (for example, we had an amazing conversation about wearing purple to support the recent highly publicized suicides by homosexual youths), and start to think about life and career goals. The incorporation of this sort of class is a growing trend, and it's kind of neat that my school is somewhat ahead of the curve.

Anyway, I mentioned Advisory because one of the activities that we are strongly encouraged to do with our students is called "Thorns, Buds, and Roses". (I've done a variation of this sort of multi-faceted reflection with my English classes for years now where the prompt for student writer's notebooks is "School: The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly").

Basically, you're able to stop and think about where you're at, what's good (roses), what's not so good (thorns), and what sort of hopes you have on the bloom, so to speak (buds).

It occurred to me that this might be a neat blog post, so feel free to give it a shot (you can also focus it a bit--do it in terms of writing, in terms of your week, in terms of your day, in terms of your goals, whatever)

My Thorn:
Loneliness is killing me. I don't mean in terms of being alone--I'm surrounded by my students and colleagues all day and my family all night--but more a general impression that nobody understands me, that nobody has any idea of what goes on in my head (or even worse, that they really don't care). I have been used pretty relentlessly throughout my life ... but I was aware of it and it was something I chose to involve myself in. I'm at a point now where dishonesty and the "I'm there for you as long as there's something in it for me" thing are really starting to bother me, mostly I think because I'm there for people that need me no matter what ... I cannot comprehend people that don't have this mindset, although I'm starting to realize that I must be the strange one for always putting myself out there and getting nothing in return. Since I can't change the nature of who I am, though, this is going to be an ongoing thorn in my life--but I guess I'd rather that than become a person that I don't like. This might not make any sense ;-)

My Bud:
My writing. After a long (LONG) hiatus, I seem to be back on track with my writing. I've reread both the finished novel and the getting-close-to-finished one, and I'm really surprised and pleased at how really excellent I think they are. I've got a lot of ideas for finishing the WIP, and I'm contemplating redoing the query process with the finished piece. I'm really proud of the stuff I've been writing lately for Zelda Lily, and I'm also super excited about having rediscovered how much I love this little blog of mine :-) Hope springs eternal!

My Rose:
My students. There are days that I think I am completely wasting my time, and then there are the moments that I realize the little angels really do listen to me and care about what's going on. Seventh graders are reading The Outsiders and they can't get enough of that book--vehement non-readers are angry when we don't work on it in class. And my eighth grade classes are reading The Hobbit and, while they're not exactly loving it, they're getting something out of it (we talked about conflict today and how cool it was that Tolkien gives the reader a name for the internal conflict going on inside Bilbo--"something Tookish rose up in him"--and they really seemed engaged).

So there you have it :-) Leave a link in the comments if you decide to give it a try ...

Staying Right on the Pot

Writing is a funny passion to have.

On the one hand, it is as necessary as breathing if you are a writer. I, for one, can't not write (wow, that's great grammar from the English teacher ;)). However, at some point you have to make the decision on whether you're writing for yourself or if you want to do something with what you produce. To use a phrase that my mother hates, "S--- or get off the pot."

I thought I'd made the decision a long time ago to do something with my writing, to share it, to get it out there. The truth is, though, I wasn't quite ready. I have a serious inferiority complex which I've recently realized is always going to be there. I'm always going to think that my writing isn't good enough, that it's crap unworthy of being held up next to anyone else's. I can wallow in that, or I can try to make it better, try to get it up to the best level.

The first two chapters of my second novel have been posted on a lit crit blog and are currently being ripped to shreds--and I couldn't be happier. My writing will never go anywhere if I don't put it out there, if I'm not willing to see what others have to say and work with it.

Please go HERE to read the excerpt from Annual ... and I encourage you (in fact, I beg you) to join in on the lit crit. It can only make what I already do better : )

Query that Went Out for Novel #1

Here's the Query I sent out for Novel #1. Yes, in case you're wondering, I'm cleaning out my hard drive and posting anything people might find interesting. Maybe. A little : )
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
When two longtime friends are faced with different but equally devastating events, they eventually come to the same conclusion: only their tumultuous pasts can set them free.

Roy Pentinicci, son of an abusive gangster, experiences a childhood characterized by violence, dark secrets, and unspeakable shame. Roy's voyage to manhood is rockier than most, accentuated by his own struggles with his father's demons and the devastating loss of his cherished older sister. As a professional baseball player married to his childhood sweetheart, Roy convinces both himself and those around him that he's moved beyond his past. However, a startling revelation from his wife forces him to go back and face a past that has haunted his psyche all along.

Susy Heidelman survives an equally traumatic upbringing; after being abandoned by her father before she was born, Susy is raised by an emotionally absent and suicidal mother and a drug-abusing older brother. Nobody is more surprised than Susy when her Prince Charming shows up in the unlikeliest of places and whisks her away to a shockingly happy life that is suddenly ripped apart at the seams by a few thoughtless words from her adored son.

The bond between Roy and Susy carries them through happiness and devastation, crime and punishment, life and death as they, both apart and together, realize the truth of karma, the necessity of putting to death their past demons if they want the strength to face the future, and most importantly, the power of love.

I am an aspiring novelist and currently an English teacher in southern New Hampshire. I hold both a B.A. in English (cum laude) and an M.Ed. from the University of New Hampshire. I have used my own experiences with revision within my classroom, and it has been a great privilege to share Unbreakable with selected students along with friends and family members. All were happy to, as I requested, rip it to shreds with love. Now that I have finished polishing it, I am very enthusiastic about sharing Unbreakable with a literary agent.

Thank you for your time and attention to this query; it is very much appreciated. If you are interested in reading the beginning chapters or even the complete manuscript, I would be more than happy to send it right out.

Excerpt from Novel #2

Novel #2 is a work in progress. A most unfinished work in progress. However, I don't talk about my writing a whole lot on here, nor do I share much. I need to get better at that. In that vein, here are the first two chapters of the aforementioned Novel #2. Please feel free (and that means pleasepleaseplease :-)) leave comments. Oh, and I'm well aware of the correct spacing/paragraph techniques (I'm an English teacher :-) ) ... it just for some reason isn't making the voyage from Microsoft to blogger.com very effectively.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
1.
Christian McKenzie was sixteen years old the last time he used a time clock to punch out of work.
His sneakers left green smudges on the cement floor of the main storage building at Peter Neal Landscaping as he walked toward the back office to turn in his timecard. He tapped the buff-colored rectangle measuring out a forty-hour work week against his khaki shorts. Christian was surprised to see Pete Neal himself, owner of the landscaping business that had employed him for two summers now, sitting behind the desk in his tiny office.
“Why you still here?” Pete asked, standing and hitching up his fatigue pants. Although his pants were always falling down, his t-shirts were never without oval sweat stains at the armpits, and his few remaining teeth were gray and rotting, Christian liked him. Pete had always been fair.
“I wanted to finish that stone wall for you, sir. It’s my last day.”
Pete nodded. “Yeah, Pentinicci already reminded me.”
“He still here?”
“Hell, no. He was gone soon’s his eight hours was up.” Pete grumbled a bit more before saying what he’d been leading up to. “I told him job’s here for him next summer, same as I’m saying to you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Neal. I’ll be needing a job next summer between graduation and college, and you’ve been good to me.”
“You’re a good worker, McKenzie.” Pete held out his hand, and Christian shook it gratefully.
“I’ll, uh, see you around, I’m sure.” Christian was uncomfortable. Pete’s company did the extensive landscaping at his parents’ mansion, a fact that both of them were a little embarrassed about and which neither of them mentioned. “And I will be back next year, sir.”
But he wasn’t. The trajectory of his life changed forever that evening when his girlfriend told him she was pregnant.

2.
Christian checked the time as he walked to his red Saab convertible. He wouldn’t be able to go home and shower before soccer practice, and that bothered him a bit. Most of his teammates found it absolutely hysterical that Christian and to a slightly lesser degree his best friend Roy Pentinicci labored in the hot sun for forty hours a week all summer. Although their teasing on the rare days he showed up with green ankles didn’t really bother Christian, the sense of bewilderment in their eyes did.
His father was one of the wealthiest men in the country. There wasn’t a reason in the world for him to slave away mowing lawns, weeding gardens, erecting stone walls and other landscaping paraphernalia, accompanying balding, sweaty men with bad grammar.
But then, Christian had always been something of an enigma to his peers, a fact that bothered him not in the least. They wondered where his drive to excel came from, of course, why he worked his ass off to earn straight As at the prestigious Stephens Academy, what made him attend intensive extra baseball practices when he was already one of the best high school pitchers in the northeast. It seemed unfair, of course, that Brian McKenzie’s son should be brilliant, talented in numerous areas, and model-handsome in addition to being filthy rich, but Christian was just too likable a guy to hold it against him.
So they had asked Roy, who was not quite as likable and not technically a McKenzie, why on earth the two of them worked for a landscaper instead of just pushing paper at one of Mr. McKenzie’s many offices. Roy had been taken in by Brian and Belinda McKenzie when his famously dysfunctional family imploded in the fall of his freshman year. They were his legal guardians, but they were not his parents. He explained that his Porsche was a strings-attached present for his sixteenth birthday, the strings being that he pay for car insurance with money he worked for. As a three-season athlete and an honors student, this was impossible to accomplish during the school year. Hence, a summer job was necessary. That Brian McKenzie had made the same arrangement with his own son (and bought him a far less ostentatious car) when Christian turned sixteen a year later was what confused, almost frustrated people. What could possibly be the point?
Christian toiled without complaint, Roy with characteristic token grumbling. They both knew full well this was a life lesson that Brian McKenzie wanted them to learn young and completely, something akin to the two of them leading Christian’s younger sisters and brother out with shovels whenever it snowed rather than hiring a plow truck to clear their more-of-a-private-road-than-a-driveway. They worshiped Brian McKenzie equally.
Christian was early for practice, so he took a quick locker room shower, watching the greens and browns disappear down the drain with something akin to relief. He got dressed, put on his shin guards, and walked to the field. Although practice didn’t start until four, there were already a number of boys in gym shorts and Stephens Academy Soccer t-shirts running around on the field.
One of them, a good looking dark-haired boy with brown eyes that dominated his face, saw Christian walking down the hill to the field and ran over. “You just leave work?”
“Yeah, took a shower here.”
“Clearly a better man than I am, McKenzie. I got the hell out as soon as I possibly could.”
“Pete told me he offered you next summer in advance.”
Roy nodded. “Yeah, it was strangely nice to hear.”
“You seen Bobby?”
“Nope.”
“Yup!” Both turned and looked up the hill as their longtime friend Bobby Smith started down, his gait unsteady. “Yup, you’ve sure as fuck seen me now.”
The other team members had started moving toward them, drawn by the decibel of Bobby’s voice. A tall African-American boy, Jamie Costello, took in the situation and sprinted suddenly to Bobby’s side. Jamie had been tight with Bobby, Roy, and Christian for years, and he knew that Bobby needed to make it to the net; as long as he was in his element, nobody would notice that he was extremely drunk. Roy followed Jamie, getting on Bobby’s other side, and the two lifted him up and past their teammates to where Christian was busily moving the net into position in anticipation of Bobby’s arrival.
It was an old drill.