Max woke up in a cold sweat. He saw by his clock it was only 3:14 am. He
couldn't feel his right hand, nor could he move it.
It had been like this for some weeks. Max was having nightmares- horrible ones- usually involving death. He always woke up terrified, and he was never able to feel his right hand.
Then again, ever since he was little, the feeling in his hand would go away and it wouldn't work.
Finally calming down, Max lay back down. The feeling in his hand came back, which made him feel much better. His eyes slowly closed again.
-_-_-_-_-
"Wake up!!"
It was morning now, a school morning at that. Chaos reigned supreme in the school mornings. There were seven kids to take care of- Max was eldest, 15, second was Michael, more commonly known as Mike, 13, then Christopher (Chris), who was only 10 and already had girls goggling over him (he had good looks), Caleb, 8, who was always getting into fights, Carl, 6, who loved LEGOs like there was no tomorrow, and lastly, the twins, Aaron and Adam, who were both three.
This morning was especially chaotic. Max's school clothes weren't washed, and Caleb cut his finger, Christopher couldn't find his math homework, and the twins were underfoot.
Another thing was this: All of the boys had long hair (resulting in teasing such as "You look like a girl" or "You look like a hippie"), as did their father and mother. They all had quite dark hair, except for the twins, who had such red hair it was astounding. Max had reddish-brown hair. This particular morning, hair was getting annoying. It was ending up in breakfasts, in mouths, hitting people in the face, etc., etc. It was that kind of morning that made you WANT to go to school.
Finally, they were all ready. Their mother, Nancy, handed the five boys who went to school their lunches, and lastly her husband. Then they all piled in the van and were dropped off at their various bus stops. Both Carl and Caleb went to the same elementary school, and Christopher and Michael were going to the same middle school. (Carl was in kindergarten, Caleb was in 2nd grade, Chris was in 6th grade, and Mike was in 8th.) Max went to a high school all by himself and was in 10th grade.
Max was dropped off at his stop first. As always, his friend Liza Hernandez was there before him. She had medium length brown hair with touches of red, and brown-grey eyes. "Hey," Liza called out.
"Hey," Max said dully back. "What's wrong?" Liza asked. "Hectic morning?"
"Hectic doesn't even describe it," Max sighed. His clothes were still wet. He sat down on his backpack and hung his head, his long, black hair (not dyed, mind you) covering his face. Liza frowned.
"That bad, huh?"
Max looked up at his friend. Whenever he felt bad, she never teased him, never told him to suck it in and act like a fifteen-year-old teenage boy. He answered, "That bad." Then he told her all about his clothes (his father went rambling on, "You should've told us they were dirty, blah blah...) and the like. She whistled. "That sounds worse than 'bad,'" she commented.
Meanwhile, at Mike and Chris' stop, Chris was agonizing over his unfinished homework. "Please, Mike, please help me?" he begged. Mike crossed his arms, shook his head, and stood firm. "No," he stated. "It's your own fault it's not done. So suffer." Chris bowed his head and took out his glasses, which he only needed to use when reading.
There was a wind blowing and it was blowing Mike's dark brown hair into his eyes. He was already irritated this morning, and his hair wasn't helping. One girl at the bus stop said, "Ooh, let me play with your hair!" Mike wanted it out of his face so badly he let her. "Just no cornrows," he said. "And no twisties."
"They wouldn't stay in anyway," the girl said.
Some girls were flirting with Chris, though he tried to nicely ignore them. "Oh, wow, whatcha doing?" A blond girl asked him. "Math," he stated bluntly. Still the girl was not daunted. "It looks hard," she went on.
"Oh, it's easy," Chris said.
"I could never get the hang of variables," the girl rattled on. "I mean, only unless they said 'y= 12' or something, you know what I mean? And long division- ugh! I sneezed out that part of my brain long ago!" She laughed.
The girl playing with Mike's hair turned to face the blond. "You need to leave that little boy alone," she said, then turned back to Mike's hair. The blond didn't look like she'd heed the African American girl's words, but didn't bug Chris after that. Chris got up to whisper to the girl, "Thanks, Alex."
"You're welcome," Alex said. Her real name was Alexandria, and she was in 8th grade, but she preferred to be called "Alex." Then she said to Mike, "Your hair won't stay in! Shoot." Mike smiled. "I knew it wouldn't," he said.
"Mike, ain't you in chorus?" Alex asked. Mike nodded. Alex shook her head. "You sing too good to be in chorus," she told him. "I mean, you sing GOOD." Mike blushed slightly. Everyone told him what a great singing voice he had; some just liked him to talk. He and Max were born in London, in the UK, but before Chris was born, they moved to Ocean City, Maryland, USA. So they loved to hear him talk. Chris had a slight accent, but not very noticeable.
Chris was finally done his homework. He stood up and lifted up his backpack. It accidentally bumped into a girl who dyed her hair black and red. "Sorry," he said. "It's OK," the girl smiled. Michael saw it all and rolled his eyes. Because of his looks, his younger brother could always escape scrapes with the ladies. Even with his glasses on, it obviously didn't wreck his looks. It must be the jet-black hair, Mike had finally decided one day. The whole tall, dark, and handsome thing.
"Bus!" somebody sang out. The group at the bus stop shouldered their backpacks as the bus pulled up to them and they boarded.
-_-_-_-_-
Mike grabbed the window seat before Chris could even hope to reach it. "You always get the window seat!" Chris complained. The thing was, when Chris whined and/or complained, it never sounded like whining and/or complaining. It was strange. But Michael, being his brother, knew when his younger sibling was whining (and/or complaining!).
Mike shrugged and looked out the window, watching the outside world go past. And so he sang, softly so no one would hear and demand he sing to the whole bus. That had happened once in 5th grade, and he had never felt so put on the spot. Today, there was enough noise on the bus to be sufficient cover for singing. But Chris, sitting next to him, caught every word his brother sang. He smiled, and opened his novel to read.
-_-_-_-_-_-
After school, everyone met at the special designated after school place- Liza's house. She lived near the beach, and though it was fall, they still loved to go out onto the beach.
They were walking around, when they saw, on the next street up (Liza lived on 71st Street), there was a moving truck parked in front of a house. "Who's moving in?" Caleb asked Liza. "Do you know?"
"Did you get in a fight today?" Liza asked. Caleb shook his head. "OK," the girl laughed. "No, I don't know."
Max leaned forward for a closer look. "I can see someone..." He said. A little girl with long, dark hair bounced out of the house, followed by an older boy, who had ruddy blond hair down to his shoulders. Behind him came another boy, looking to be about Max's age, urging them to get out of the way. He had long blond hair.
"No offense, but suddenly a lot of guys are wearing their hair long," Liza commented.
"I'll cut mine short!" Carl piped up. He was teased the most about his long hair.
"No, that's OK, Carl," Liza assured him. "But I wanna," Carl sighed, looking crestfallen. "No, no," the girl said. "I like your long hair." Carl grinned a Cheshire cat grin.
A chilly wind blew off of the ocean. "Let's get back to my house," Liza said. "It's too cold out here. I'm all for hot cocoa and tea. Last one there's a rotten egg!" They sped off towards Liza's house, Carl trailing behind wailing, "Hey, no fair!"
-_-_-_-_-_-
The next day, Friday, was a good day. Caleb didn't get in a fight again- two days without fighting was a record for him- and Chris aced a test he'd taken two days ago. But Mike and Chris were walking to Liza's when the day took a wrong turn.
The brothers were talking between themselves. Chris was going on about some teacher and Mike was responding about it all. Then someone who looked about 18 bumped into Mike.
"Excuse you," Mike said. He didn't say it snottily, but the guy took it that way. "What'd you say?" the guy demanded.
"What is your problem?" Mike snapped back. Chris inched away. The guy got up in Mike's face. "My problem is YOU and your face," he said.
"Have you looked in a mirror lately?" Michael sneered. "Oh, that's right, you cracked all the mirrors in your house." He was never this nasty- not even to his brothers- but this guy was getting on his nerves. The school day had gone fine, but some people had got on his nerves and he needed to get it out. Consequentially, the person he was taking it out on was also getting on his nerves.
"Have you checked your weight lately?" the guy said.
"Have you checked yours? I didn't think you'd need a belt with your gut." Mike said.
The guy growled. "Them's fightin' words," he said.
Mike turned around. "Get a life," he muttered. Unfortunately, the guy heard and pulled Mike down. Chris hid. His plan was to stay out of sight, but if his brother got in a desperate situation, he would help.
Mike got up. "What's your problem?!" he reiterated. "I told you- your face!" the guy said, and hit Mike in his jaw- hard. Suddenly Mike found himself falling backwards, and the guy was coming after him. He dodged to his left, into a parking lot, not seeing an oncoming car. It honked at him, and got out of its way. The guy came after him and punched him hard, this time sending him up against a fence. Finally, Mike got tired of it all and hit the guy back.
It went on for two more minutes, the stranger having the upper hand the whole time. It got to the point that the guy was threatening Mike with a gun, and Chris, frightened, leapt up from his hiding place, and got the police. They came back and grabbed the guy, but Mike had run off, and Christopher was in great distress and ran as fast as he could to Liza's.
Meanwhile, Mike made his way to the beach. The sun was already on its way down. It was later than he and Chris usually got out of school because they had been assisting a teacher in setting up some projects for display. The beach looked calm and beautiful at this time of day. The sun lightly colored the ocean red, but it remained true to its blue color. Smallish waves were rolling up onto the shore. It was serene. Seagulls flew overhead and called to one another; the grass in the beach dunes rustled in the cool breeze blown off the ocean. But Mike didn't take notice. Not now. He was too busy trying to hold his face and keep back his tears all at the same time.
He thought of how his parents would feel. He had insulted someone and gotten in a fight. They would be so disappointed. He had ruined his clean record. What was more, he had a long slash on his face he got from falling into a fence. It was bleeding badly now, and he held his hand against it. Finally, he got tired of walking and sat down, staring at the ocean. He began thinking he could end it all... Just drown himself in the ocean...
"It's nice, isn't it?" a voice said behind him.
Looking up and behind him, Mike saw a tall figure standing tall looking towards the sea. He had long, blond hair, just like that boy they had seen yesterday. Only he was no boy. The man looked down at Mike. "Isn't serene?" he said. He had an English accent too, Mike noted.
He nodded. "Yes sir," he whispered. The man sat down beside him. "You know," he said, "People come here to Ocean City most in the summer. But this is what they miss in the fall!" He drew a deep breath. "Ah, what a lovely sea breeze!"
"Yes sir," Mike said like a robot. The man cocked an eyebrow. "Somehow I don't think you share my enthusiasm," he said. "Not to be rude, but why are you holding your face?"
Reluctantly, Mike removed his bloodied hand. The man gaped at it. Mike could tell he wanted to ask what had happened, but didn't, probably because he thought it'd be rude. He then put his hand back to his left cheek, where the scratch was. There was silence. They both sat there on the beach as the seagulls flew overhead or soared over the ocean or walked the beaches.
"Mike!"
Mike turned around to see Max come running up. "There you are!" Mike turned away quickly. Soon he felt his older brother's presence behind him. "Mike?" he said cautiously. "You gave us a huge scare. Chris was so distressed too! Oh, I'm sorry, sir, hello. Anyway, what happened? Chris was so upset we could hardly get a word out of him, much less understand the words, before he burst into tears." Mike felt guilty and hid his face. Soon his shoulders were shaking slightly. Max's shoulders sank. He had done it again. His brother was already feeling miserable and he had just made it worse. He seemed to have an uncanny ability to do that. He sank down beside Mike and put his arm around him. His brother looked up, still sniffling and holding his cheek. "I'm sorry," his voice cracked. "This guy... Bumped into me. I said 'excuse you'; he took it the wrong way. I insulted him and it turned into a fight. I didn't want to have to face anybody so I came here." He sniffed and turned his sad eyes to his brother. "I'm so sorry."
Max stood there a second, just staring at his brother. His eyes stared up at him, pleading. Max had a bad temper (not as bad as Caleb's), and he soon became oblivious to the man sitting nearby, and burst out, "Why are you sorry? The jerk that pummeled you should be sorry! I am THIS CLOSE to finding him and tearing him apart! Police got him? Hah! As if that'll stop me! He messes with any of my brothers, he's gonna deal with me!"
Michael's tears had stopped. He blinked wide-eyed at his older brother. "You'd do that for me?" His voice cracked.
His brother blinked. "Well..." He blushed a bit, becoming embarrassed. He gave his little brother a cocky smile. "Well, heck, you're my brother! Like I said, anyone messes with us seven (yes, that includes Aaron and Adam, though they're just three years old), they mess with us all. And since I'm oldest, they most certainly have to go up against ME."
Mike chuckled. The man said, "Not to be rude, but I'm feeling like a third wheel here." Max gasped. "Oh, I'm very sorry, sir... I got carried away."
The man smiled. "Quite alright."
"My name's Maximillian," Max said.
"It's a pleasure to meet you," the man said, shaking the boy's hand. "I'm Frederick. My family just moved in. How old are you, Maximillian?"
"Fifteen, sir."
Frederick thought for a second. "Hm!" he said. "My eldest is your age. Would you like to meet him? Tomorrow after school?"
Max nodded. "I'm sure that'd be alright. My friend's house is on 71st."
"We're on 72nd." Frederick replied.
Max was about to say he knew, but bit his tongue. Frederick might not like the fact he'd been spied on. Instead, he nodded. "I'll be there tomorrow. It's been nice meeting you." He smiled, and helped Mike up.
-_-_-_-_-_-
Back at Liza's, they were met by a huge crowd at the door. Chris, bawling like a baby, hugged Mike hard. "Chris," he said, blushing. "I hate to say it, but you aren't six anymore..." Chris got the hint and wasn't hurt; he understood his brother may be embarrassed.
"What is up with your cheek?" Liza finally asked. Mike drew a deep breath before revealing his horrible wound. Everyone saw that and their faces twisted. Max grabbed his brother's arm and marched him to the bathroom, and commenced to cleaning and bandaging the wound, all the time muttering how he was going to beat up "that jerk" and "he's gonna get it."
"If mum and or dad ask," Max told Mike, "You're to say nothing about that incident. You know Dad. His blood pressure may skyrocket." Mike chuckled softly, then twisted his face up in pain when the peroxide touched the slash on his cheek. "So what do I say?" he asked. "Say you fell into a fence," Max said.
"Not far from the truth..." Mike smiled.
After that, Max then told of Frederick, and he was going to their house tomorrow. "He was a stranger?" Carl gasped, blinking at Max. "Then you shouldn't have talked to him!"
"Well, just don't tell mum and dad, 'kay?" Max said. His brother nodded.
After that, Max told them about Frederick and that he was meeting his eldest son, who was his age. They all swore to keep it secret, since it would lead to questions from the parents such as "how did you meet him" or "do we know him" while being stared at. When the brothers were leaving, Max hissed, "Just remember. Say NOTHING about 'that guy!'"
-_-_-_-_-_-
Of course, Max stayed up all night worrying about meeting Frederick's kid. "What if he's this punk kid?" he mused. "Sure, the blond guy we saw when we were spying could've been him, but maybe it was Frederick. Maybe I should say MR. Frederick. But what if his kid's this punk with spiked hair dyed electric blue and the spikes are black tipped? And he has his ears pierced all the way up and has tattoos and has a girlfriend who wears tight belly shirts?" He kept worrying and worrying so badly he didn't even know when he fell asleep. All he remembered was worrying one minute and being yelled at to wake up the next.
Now, the ear-piercing thing didn't worry Max the most. He himself had pierced his right ear, on the cartilage on the upper part. He thought his parents wouldn't notice (he hadn't gotten permission), but his father did. His mother calmed his father down, and though they were "very disappointed," they let him keep his ear pierced.
No, that didn't worry him. The rest of his worries did. Especially the "girlfriend wearing a tight belly shirt" one. And the tattoo one...
He was worrying so much that he didn't notice what a lovely autumn day it was going to be. The sky was a clear blue, and the air was fresh and crisp. The trees colors were turning.
Gym finally snapped him out of his daze. They were playing indoor soccer, since the weather had changed and was rainy now. Max played, but feeling like a third wheel, stayed on the sidelines. Soon the goal became a single cone. Everyone became frustrated trying to hit the cone. Max suddenly found himself being dragged onto the "field." "Wai-" he started, but the Gym teacher's whistle blew and the game began.
He danced around, chasing whoever had the ball. He finally got it away. Everyone on his team yelled "kick it to me" and finally, annoyed, kicked the soccer ball so hard he hurt his leg.
The ball hit the other team's cone, knocking it to the floor with a clatter, and the ball hit the wall and bounced back. "OHHH!!!" Max's team cheered. Someone danced around shouting, "Make some NOISE!" Max gave a half smile and went to the sidelines glad that was over with.
-_-_-_-_-_-
After school came. Max told Mike to say hi to Liza for him. Then he went straight to 72nd Street, to meet Frederick's eldest child.
He rang the doorbell, and felt his stomach flip-flop. The door began to open, and he tried to assume a confident stance, though really he was wondering if this was all a very bad idea.
It had been like this for some weeks. Max was having nightmares- horrible ones- usually involving death. He always woke up terrified, and he was never able to feel his right hand.
Then again, ever since he was little, the feeling in his hand would go away and it wouldn't work.
Finally calming down, Max lay back down. The feeling in his hand came back, which made him feel much better. His eyes slowly closed again.
-_-_-_-_-
"Wake up!!"
It was morning now, a school morning at that. Chaos reigned supreme in the school mornings. There were seven kids to take care of- Max was eldest, 15, second was Michael, more commonly known as Mike, 13, then Christopher (Chris), who was only 10 and already had girls goggling over him (he had good looks), Caleb, 8, who was always getting into fights, Carl, 6, who loved LEGOs like there was no tomorrow, and lastly, the twins, Aaron and Adam, who were both three.
This morning was especially chaotic. Max's school clothes weren't washed, and Caleb cut his finger, Christopher couldn't find his math homework, and the twins were underfoot.
Another thing was this: All of the boys had long hair (resulting in teasing such as "You look like a girl" or "You look like a hippie"), as did their father and mother. They all had quite dark hair, except for the twins, who had such red hair it was astounding. Max had reddish-brown hair. This particular morning, hair was getting annoying. It was ending up in breakfasts, in mouths, hitting people in the face, etc., etc. It was that kind of morning that made you WANT to go to school.
Finally, they were all ready. Their mother, Nancy, handed the five boys who went to school their lunches, and lastly her husband. Then they all piled in the van and were dropped off at their various bus stops. Both Carl and Caleb went to the same elementary school, and Christopher and Michael were going to the same middle school. (Carl was in kindergarten, Caleb was in 2nd grade, Chris was in 6th grade, and Mike was in 8th.) Max went to a high school all by himself and was in 10th grade.
Max was dropped off at his stop first. As always, his friend Liza Hernandez was there before him. She had medium length brown hair with touches of red, and brown-grey eyes. "Hey," Liza called out.
"Hey," Max said dully back. "What's wrong?" Liza asked. "Hectic morning?"
"Hectic doesn't even describe it," Max sighed. His clothes were still wet. He sat down on his backpack and hung his head, his long, black hair (not dyed, mind you) covering his face. Liza frowned.
"That bad, huh?"
Max looked up at his friend. Whenever he felt bad, she never teased him, never told him to suck it in and act like a fifteen-year-old teenage boy. He answered, "That bad." Then he told her all about his clothes (his father went rambling on, "You should've told us they were dirty, blah blah...) and the like. She whistled. "That sounds worse than 'bad,'" she commented.
Meanwhile, at Mike and Chris' stop, Chris was agonizing over his unfinished homework. "Please, Mike, please help me?" he begged. Mike crossed his arms, shook his head, and stood firm. "No," he stated. "It's your own fault it's not done. So suffer." Chris bowed his head and took out his glasses, which he only needed to use when reading.
There was a wind blowing and it was blowing Mike's dark brown hair into his eyes. He was already irritated this morning, and his hair wasn't helping. One girl at the bus stop said, "Ooh, let me play with your hair!" Mike wanted it out of his face so badly he let her. "Just no cornrows," he said. "And no twisties."
"They wouldn't stay in anyway," the girl said.
Some girls were flirting with Chris, though he tried to nicely ignore them. "Oh, wow, whatcha doing?" A blond girl asked him. "Math," he stated bluntly. Still the girl was not daunted. "It looks hard," she went on.
"Oh, it's easy," Chris said.
"I could never get the hang of variables," the girl rattled on. "I mean, only unless they said 'y= 12' or something, you know what I mean? And long division- ugh! I sneezed out that part of my brain long ago!" She laughed.
The girl playing with Mike's hair turned to face the blond. "You need to leave that little boy alone," she said, then turned back to Mike's hair. The blond didn't look like she'd heed the African American girl's words, but didn't bug Chris after that. Chris got up to whisper to the girl, "Thanks, Alex."
"You're welcome," Alex said. Her real name was Alexandria, and she was in 8th grade, but she preferred to be called "Alex." Then she said to Mike, "Your hair won't stay in! Shoot." Mike smiled. "I knew it wouldn't," he said.
"Mike, ain't you in chorus?" Alex asked. Mike nodded. Alex shook her head. "You sing too good to be in chorus," she told him. "I mean, you sing GOOD." Mike blushed slightly. Everyone told him what a great singing voice he had; some just liked him to talk. He and Max were born in London, in the UK, but before Chris was born, they moved to Ocean City, Maryland, USA. So they loved to hear him talk. Chris had a slight accent, but not very noticeable.
Chris was finally done his homework. He stood up and lifted up his backpack. It accidentally bumped into a girl who dyed her hair black and red. "Sorry," he said. "It's OK," the girl smiled. Michael saw it all and rolled his eyes. Because of his looks, his younger brother could always escape scrapes with the ladies. Even with his glasses on, it obviously didn't wreck his looks. It must be the jet-black hair, Mike had finally decided one day. The whole tall, dark, and handsome thing.
"Bus!" somebody sang out. The group at the bus stop shouldered their backpacks as the bus pulled up to them and they boarded.
-_-_-_-_-
Mike grabbed the window seat before Chris could even hope to reach it. "You always get the window seat!" Chris complained. The thing was, when Chris whined and/or complained, it never sounded like whining and/or complaining. It was strange. But Michael, being his brother, knew when his younger sibling was whining (and/or complaining!).
Mike shrugged and looked out the window, watching the outside world go past. And so he sang, softly so no one would hear and demand he sing to the whole bus. That had happened once in 5th grade, and he had never felt so put on the spot. Today, there was enough noise on the bus to be sufficient cover for singing. But Chris, sitting next to him, caught every word his brother sang. He smiled, and opened his novel to read.
-_-_-_-_-_-
After school, everyone met at the special designated after school place- Liza's house. She lived near the beach, and though it was fall, they still loved to go out onto the beach.
They were walking around, when they saw, on the next street up (Liza lived on 71st Street), there was a moving truck parked in front of a house. "Who's moving in?" Caleb asked Liza. "Do you know?"
"Did you get in a fight today?" Liza asked. Caleb shook his head. "OK," the girl laughed. "No, I don't know."
Max leaned forward for a closer look. "I can see someone..." He said. A little girl with long, dark hair bounced out of the house, followed by an older boy, who had ruddy blond hair down to his shoulders. Behind him came another boy, looking to be about Max's age, urging them to get out of the way. He had long blond hair.
"No offense, but suddenly a lot of guys are wearing their hair long," Liza commented.
"I'll cut mine short!" Carl piped up. He was teased the most about his long hair.
"No, that's OK, Carl," Liza assured him. "But I wanna," Carl sighed, looking crestfallen. "No, no," the girl said. "I like your long hair." Carl grinned a Cheshire cat grin.
A chilly wind blew off of the ocean. "Let's get back to my house," Liza said. "It's too cold out here. I'm all for hot cocoa and tea. Last one there's a rotten egg!" They sped off towards Liza's house, Carl trailing behind wailing, "Hey, no fair!"
-_-_-_-_-_-
The next day, Friday, was a good day. Caleb didn't get in a fight again- two days without fighting was a record for him- and Chris aced a test he'd taken two days ago. But Mike and Chris were walking to Liza's when the day took a wrong turn.
The brothers were talking between themselves. Chris was going on about some teacher and Mike was responding about it all. Then someone who looked about 18 bumped into Mike.
"Excuse you," Mike said. He didn't say it snottily, but the guy took it that way. "What'd you say?" the guy demanded.
"What is your problem?" Mike snapped back. Chris inched away. The guy got up in Mike's face. "My problem is YOU and your face," he said.
"Have you looked in a mirror lately?" Michael sneered. "Oh, that's right, you cracked all the mirrors in your house." He was never this nasty- not even to his brothers- but this guy was getting on his nerves. The school day had gone fine, but some people had got on his nerves and he needed to get it out. Consequentially, the person he was taking it out on was also getting on his nerves.
"Have you checked your weight lately?" the guy said.
"Have you checked yours? I didn't think you'd need a belt with your gut." Mike said.
The guy growled. "Them's fightin' words," he said.
Mike turned around. "Get a life," he muttered. Unfortunately, the guy heard and pulled Mike down. Chris hid. His plan was to stay out of sight, but if his brother got in a desperate situation, he would help.
Mike got up. "What's your problem?!" he reiterated. "I told you- your face!" the guy said, and hit Mike in his jaw- hard. Suddenly Mike found himself falling backwards, and the guy was coming after him. He dodged to his left, into a parking lot, not seeing an oncoming car. It honked at him, and got out of its way. The guy came after him and punched him hard, this time sending him up against a fence. Finally, Mike got tired of it all and hit the guy back.
It went on for two more minutes, the stranger having the upper hand the whole time. It got to the point that the guy was threatening Mike with a gun, and Chris, frightened, leapt up from his hiding place, and got the police. They came back and grabbed the guy, but Mike had run off, and Christopher was in great distress and ran as fast as he could to Liza's.
Meanwhile, Mike made his way to the beach. The sun was already on its way down. It was later than he and Chris usually got out of school because they had been assisting a teacher in setting up some projects for display. The beach looked calm and beautiful at this time of day. The sun lightly colored the ocean red, but it remained true to its blue color. Smallish waves were rolling up onto the shore. It was serene. Seagulls flew overhead and called to one another; the grass in the beach dunes rustled in the cool breeze blown off the ocean. But Mike didn't take notice. Not now. He was too busy trying to hold his face and keep back his tears all at the same time.
He thought of how his parents would feel. He had insulted someone and gotten in a fight. They would be so disappointed. He had ruined his clean record. What was more, he had a long slash on his face he got from falling into a fence. It was bleeding badly now, and he held his hand against it. Finally, he got tired of walking and sat down, staring at the ocean. He began thinking he could end it all... Just drown himself in the ocean...
"It's nice, isn't it?" a voice said behind him.
Looking up and behind him, Mike saw a tall figure standing tall looking towards the sea. He had long, blond hair, just like that boy they had seen yesterday. Only he was no boy. The man looked down at Mike. "Isn't serene?" he said. He had an English accent too, Mike noted.
He nodded. "Yes sir," he whispered. The man sat down beside him. "You know," he said, "People come here to Ocean City most in the summer. But this is what they miss in the fall!" He drew a deep breath. "Ah, what a lovely sea breeze!"
"Yes sir," Mike said like a robot. The man cocked an eyebrow. "Somehow I don't think you share my enthusiasm," he said. "Not to be rude, but why are you holding your face?"
Reluctantly, Mike removed his bloodied hand. The man gaped at it. Mike could tell he wanted to ask what had happened, but didn't, probably because he thought it'd be rude. He then put his hand back to his left cheek, where the scratch was. There was silence. They both sat there on the beach as the seagulls flew overhead or soared over the ocean or walked the beaches.
"Mike!"
Mike turned around to see Max come running up. "There you are!" Mike turned away quickly. Soon he felt his older brother's presence behind him. "Mike?" he said cautiously. "You gave us a huge scare. Chris was so distressed too! Oh, I'm sorry, sir, hello. Anyway, what happened? Chris was so upset we could hardly get a word out of him, much less understand the words, before he burst into tears." Mike felt guilty and hid his face. Soon his shoulders were shaking slightly. Max's shoulders sank. He had done it again. His brother was already feeling miserable and he had just made it worse. He seemed to have an uncanny ability to do that. He sank down beside Mike and put his arm around him. His brother looked up, still sniffling and holding his cheek. "I'm sorry," his voice cracked. "This guy... Bumped into me. I said 'excuse you'; he took it the wrong way. I insulted him and it turned into a fight. I didn't want to have to face anybody so I came here." He sniffed and turned his sad eyes to his brother. "I'm so sorry."
Max stood there a second, just staring at his brother. His eyes stared up at him, pleading. Max had a bad temper (not as bad as Caleb's), and he soon became oblivious to the man sitting nearby, and burst out, "Why are you sorry? The jerk that pummeled you should be sorry! I am THIS CLOSE to finding him and tearing him apart! Police got him? Hah! As if that'll stop me! He messes with any of my brothers, he's gonna deal with me!"
Michael's tears had stopped. He blinked wide-eyed at his older brother. "You'd do that for me?" His voice cracked.
His brother blinked. "Well..." He blushed a bit, becoming embarrassed. He gave his little brother a cocky smile. "Well, heck, you're my brother! Like I said, anyone messes with us seven (yes, that includes Aaron and Adam, though they're just three years old), they mess with us all. And since I'm oldest, they most certainly have to go up against ME."
Mike chuckled. The man said, "Not to be rude, but I'm feeling like a third wheel here." Max gasped. "Oh, I'm very sorry, sir... I got carried away."
The man smiled. "Quite alright."
"My name's Maximillian," Max said.
"It's a pleasure to meet you," the man said, shaking the boy's hand. "I'm Frederick. My family just moved in. How old are you, Maximillian?"
"Fifteen, sir."
Frederick thought for a second. "Hm!" he said. "My eldest is your age. Would you like to meet him? Tomorrow after school?"
Max nodded. "I'm sure that'd be alright. My friend's house is on 71st."
"We're on 72nd." Frederick replied.
Max was about to say he knew, but bit his tongue. Frederick might not like the fact he'd been spied on. Instead, he nodded. "I'll be there tomorrow. It's been nice meeting you." He smiled, and helped Mike up.
-_-_-_-_-_-
Back at Liza's, they were met by a huge crowd at the door. Chris, bawling like a baby, hugged Mike hard. "Chris," he said, blushing. "I hate to say it, but you aren't six anymore..." Chris got the hint and wasn't hurt; he understood his brother may be embarrassed.
"What is up with your cheek?" Liza finally asked. Mike drew a deep breath before revealing his horrible wound. Everyone saw that and their faces twisted. Max grabbed his brother's arm and marched him to the bathroom, and commenced to cleaning and bandaging the wound, all the time muttering how he was going to beat up "that jerk" and "he's gonna get it."
"If mum and or dad ask," Max told Mike, "You're to say nothing about that incident. You know Dad. His blood pressure may skyrocket." Mike chuckled softly, then twisted his face up in pain when the peroxide touched the slash on his cheek. "So what do I say?" he asked. "Say you fell into a fence," Max said.
"Not far from the truth..." Mike smiled.
After that, Max then told of Frederick, and he was going to their house tomorrow. "He was a stranger?" Carl gasped, blinking at Max. "Then you shouldn't have talked to him!"
"Well, just don't tell mum and dad, 'kay?" Max said. His brother nodded.
After that, Max told them about Frederick and that he was meeting his eldest son, who was his age. They all swore to keep it secret, since it would lead to questions from the parents such as "how did you meet him" or "do we know him" while being stared at. When the brothers were leaving, Max hissed, "Just remember. Say NOTHING about 'that guy!'"
-_-_-_-_-_-
Of course, Max stayed up all night worrying about meeting Frederick's kid. "What if he's this punk kid?" he mused. "Sure, the blond guy we saw when we were spying could've been him, but maybe it was Frederick. Maybe I should say MR. Frederick. But what if his kid's this punk with spiked hair dyed electric blue and the spikes are black tipped? And he has his ears pierced all the way up and has tattoos and has a girlfriend who wears tight belly shirts?" He kept worrying and worrying so badly he didn't even know when he fell asleep. All he remembered was worrying one minute and being yelled at to wake up the next.
Now, the ear-piercing thing didn't worry Max the most. He himself had pierced his right ear, on the cartilage on the upper part. He thought his parents wouldn't notice (he hadn't gotten permission), but his father did. His mother calmed his father down, and though they were "very disappointed," they let him keep his ear pierced.
No, that didn't worry him. The rest of his worries did. Especially the "girlfriend wearing a tight belly shirt" one. And the tattoo one...
He was worrying so much that he didn't notice what a lovely autumn day it was going to be. The sky was a clear blue, and the air was fresh and crisp. The trees colors were turning.
Gym finally snapped him out of his daze. They were playing indoor soccer, since the weather had changed and was rainy now. Max played, but feeling like a third wheel, stayed on the sidelines. Soon the goal became a single cone. Everyone became frustrated trying to hit the cone. Max suddenly found himself being dragged onto the "field." "Wai-" he started, but the Gym teacher's whistle blew and the game began.
He danced around, chasing whoever had the ball. He finally got it away. Everyone on his team yelled "kick it to me" and finally, annoyed, kicked the soccer ball so hard he hurt his leg.
The ball hit the other team's cone, knocking it to the floor with a clatter, and the ball hit the wall and bounced back. "OHHH!!!" Max's team cheered. Someone danced around shouting, "Make some NOISE!" Max gave a half smile and went to the sidelines glad that was over with.
-_-_-_-_-_-
After school came. Max told Mike to say hi to Liza for him. Then he went straight to 72nd Street, to meet Frederick's eldest child.
He rang the doorbell, and felt his stomach flip-flop. The door began to open, and he tried to assume a confident stance, though really he was wondering if this was all a very bad idea.