Chapter 1

Gordie

"Gordie, can you come over, now please?" Chris asked over the phone.

"Yeah, of course, what's up?"

"I can't explain now, just come over here."

So I ran over to Chris' house on a freezing cold night January without a second thought (or shoes). I would do it for any of my friends. Even if we hadn't had a real conversation in over two years. Of course, there would be several questions for the other boys. I thought about what it could be the entire way over. I eventually decided that it had something to do with his dad. You see, he had been drinking again, and it was a lot more than normal too.

When I arrived at Chris' house, he thought it would be best to go through his window just in case his dad was the problem. I climbed up the drainpipe and pounded my fist against the window. Chris opened the window and started to climb down.

"What the hell are you doing man, I just about fell off the side of the house," I said.

"I got to get out of here, Gordie. I can't take it no more."

"Hey man, it'll be okay. Let's go back to my house for tonight, but after that, we are leaving for good. You got me? For good." I replied.

"What about Teddy and Vern? Are we just going to leave them?"

"We'll go over to Vern's tomorrow before we leave, and we'll bring Teddy along with. When we get there, we'll see what they think about the plan, and if they don't go, they don't go. We're leaving with or without them. Besides, we don't really talk to them anymore anyway, so it's not that big a deal if they don't go."

They started walking back to Gordie's house in the brisk air. They were silent the entire trip. Gordie thought about asking Chris about his dad, but decided against it. I hadn't noticed before, but he had a black eye, not a major injury, but noticeable. When we got there, Chris and I went through the back door, so my dad wouldn't see us. He was asleep in the La Z boy again, like he was a lot lately. We tiptoed around him and up the stairs, thinking we didn't wake him up. We were wrong. When Chris and I got to my room, they heard loud footsteps coming up the stairs.

"Chris, get under the bed! He won't want to find you here." I whispered.

"What are you doing out of bed at this time of day, Gordie?" My dad yelled.

"I-I was thirsty, so I was going to get a glass of water, but I was afraid I would wake you up so I came back up here."

"How's that Chambers boy these days?"

"Like you actually care about him. You never liked him. He's not like the rest of his family. You don't know him."

"Why don't you tell him to get out from under your bed, then. Okay?"

"How did you know he was there?"

"I can see his hands from here."

Chris slowly got out from underneath my bed, and looked at him. He looked strong, ready to fight, but I knew that deep down, he was terrified. Not that my dad knew how to fight. At least not well. He hadn't hit me since I was three years old, and now he was about to beat the crap out of my best friend. Chris stood up, and walked over to My dad. They both looked ready to fight, and I guess they both knew it would happen. My dad cocked his fist, and just as he swung, I stepped in front of Chris, letting my father hit me harder than I've ever been hit before. I started bleeding out of my mouth, onto my hand and the floor. I tried to ignore the pain, but I couldn't. I felt a tear forming in the corner of my eye, but I didn't bother wiping it away.

"Stop crying you little fag," My dad said. I should really stop calling him that. He's never been there for me. Denny was always the favorite. I've known that for a long time. Hell, everyone in this town knew that. And the sad thing, not that he hit me, not that he called me a fag, (I've always known what he thinks of me), No, the sad thing is that he didn't care that he hit me. He almost seemed to enjoy it, like he's been waiting to hit me for a long time, and finally got the opportunity. I stopped crying immediately.

"Let's go Chris. Let's get out of here." I said calmly,

Chris stared Mr. Lachance dead in the eyes, and whispered something that I couldn't hear from the window. I didn't ask what he said to him, and I really didn't care at that point.