For the Love of Pete

Okay, so I recently got this idea for a novel. And I've been working on it. This is the first drafts of what chapters I have. I'm currently working on chapter six. It's rather unlike most novel like writings I do. Usually my main characters are female and in their late teenage to early adult ages. This main character, as you will see, is male, and only twelve. Also covers different material than I usually do. I try to have very plot oriented, action oriented writing. This one is supposed to be a lot more psychologically driven. Also, I have been able to really use foreshadowing and symbolism in a way I have not before.

My first chapter is sketchy, and I am going to rewrite the intro once I finish it, because it is pretty abrupt. But I would love some criticisms and what not.

This is the first draft, so there will probably be one or two spelling/grammar errors, and it is shorter than it will be when it is completed. Once I get a few comments, or I get too impatient, I'll post chapter two, then three, etc.

Hope you enjoy.

*some language*

CHAPTER ONE

It's weird, you know. I'm a twin without a counterpart. You might think it's all in the head, or whatever, but I've always felt too lonely for my circumstances. I mean, I was surrounded by friends and I had Dad, not that he was much for company, and yet I still felt alone. All the time. Apparently, my brother and I were mistakes. A one night stand into lifetime consequences. Not that Dad or my stepmom would ever call it that. Though, my mom might, seeing as I never met her. To solve the inconvenience, my foolish young parents decided each would take a twin. Neither wanted to ditch us, but neither wanted to be saddled with two kids, and they did not want to get married. A compromise was found.

The thing was, my dad was wild before, but he grew out of it. Until I was four, he was the single dad type, not that it mattered much. Pearl Callahan next door was lonely and wasting away in her retirement, so I had a babysitter. And then Dad married Carol, a woman pregnant with the child of a man who had abandoned her. And we had a family, not a good one, per se, but a family. I felt sort of lonely because when my stepsister Jaycee was old enough to ask if I was her real brother, I felt like I was the odd one out, keeping them from having a perfect family. Not by fault of Carol or even Jaycee. But Dad had a knack for saying things that made me realize I were unwanted and that he was a dick.

I only asked Dad about my real mom and my brother once after Carol finally had him explain that I had a part of my family I had never met- a feat that he finally gave into when I was six. My curiousity, however, was not sparked until I was ten.I asked him if he had loved my mother. He said he thought he had for a short time. But when he found out she was pregnant, he had realized he had thought so foolishly. Love should have made the pregnancy a beautiful thing that made him love her more because he was willing to risk his youth to raise her kids. And that was not the case.

Then I asked about my brother. All he said was that he was my intentical twin. I knew this. I asked him his name and he got mad at me. “C'mon, Dennis, how the hell am I supposed to know something like that. You think I talk to that woman every weekend or something?”

I was given the name because dad's favorite cartoon had been Dennis the Menace, not that I was worthy of the name. I was a normal looking kid and I acted like any other boy. Dennis had a much more exciting life than I did. I had a few friends but none so memorable as Gunther and Dennis' brother Joey. I had Richard Astor, who's parents went to a coutnry club; Jake Hobbes, who's dad had a jet ski; Ralph Davies who had played soccer since he was seven.

“Dennis! C'mon, sissy, get your butt over here!”

I stared at the phone receiver before putting it to my ear again. “I will Jake. Give me ten minutes. I gotta bike over there.”

“Duuuude! Can't your dad drop you off?” He always asked, and my dad never did.

“No.”

“Why not?”

I turned slowly, staring at my dad who was watching tv, scratching himself.

“He's busy.”

“Fine. Just get your butt over here.”

I hung up. “I'm going to Jake's.” Dad grunted and continued scratching.

I turned and left the living room, grabbing the comic book I had been reading and rolling it up before stuffing it into my pocket. I hurried through the kitchen and out the screen door, but I ran into Carol on her way in.

“Oh, hi Dennis. Where you off to?” Jaycee was behind her, busy making her Littlest Pet Shop rabbit hop along the railing on the steps leading to the screen.

“I'm going to ride my bike over to Jake's.”

“Your dad said so?”

“Uh huh.”

She peered over my shoulder at Dad and a worried crease formed over her brow. She looked back down at me. “Why don't I give you a ride.”

I shook my head. “No, it's fine. I go there all the time.”

“Yeah, I know and I-”

I squeezed past her, saying, “No, really, it's fine.” I ran across the yard and grabbed my discarded bike, swinging a leg over and sitting. I waved my hand to Carol who had turned to watch me, an arm around a grocery bag and her other arm being tugged by her actual child. As I sped out the backyard, down the driveway, and towards the good part of town, I thought that Carol was too good for my white trash dad and our white trash house. She may be fine living like trash, but she was not. She was a good person, really. And she was too pretty for my butt ugly dad.

I pedaled towards Jake's house, using the usual short cuts. It was not as short a trip as I usually managed to make it. We lived in the part of town where cars were short and missing lights, lawns were small and yellow, there were chain fences around every yard that looked menacing but had holes everywhere. I had to leave the white trash ghetto, one step above trailer parks, to get to the suburbs, where I managed to fake it.

Richie and Ralph were already out on Jake's lawn, wrestling as Richie's dad and Jake's dad laughed and talked. Jake sat on the steps of his porch, punching a few stray ants on the steps, wiping his hands on his clean pants.

“DENNIS! DUDE!”

He looked up and leaped up, pounding the last ants with a fist and bounded over towards his white washed fence to open the latch of the gate. Ralph and Richie looked up and let loose muffled yells. Jake's mom peeked out the doorway to see what intrusion had now appeared and her lips pursed before she said in a strained voice, “Hello, Dennis,” her eyes noticing that no car had dropped me off. Again.

“Ms. Hobbes.”

I hurried through the gate and Jake immediately pounced on top of me. Mrs. Hobbes narrowed her eyes on me as though I had inspired her son to become more violent and retreated into her home. I received a face full of grass and I spit it out, rolling over and pushing Jake off of me. “Get off me, jerk! Ugh, gross! Get your butt out of my face.”

Jake scrambled up and Ralph and Richie eventually stopped as I sat up. I reached gingerly into my pocket and felt the pages of my comic book. I felt a rip and whispered, “Shit.” The other's eyes danced with the excitement of my rule breaking. Their rules. Not my families. Carol may berate me, but Dad didn't care. Unless I cursed at him.

“C'mon!”

We all tailed Jake through his house, and I ignored the fact that Mrs. Hobbes' head moved with me as I raced with the others. We burst out into the backyard and spent the next hour playing football, stopping only when one of us disagreed. This was usually solved by wrestling. I never was too big on sports, because I was smaller than the others and scrawny, but to fit in and have friends, you had to get hurt. For a boy, anyway.

Jake's mom brought out a platter of pizza rolls and paper cups full of Kool Aid. Kool Aid was for babies, but you don't say that to your friend's mom. Though Jake quickly whined about it and she told him to hush up and that everyone liked Kool Aid, right boys?

“Yeah, Ms H.” I agreed.

She suddenly looked as though her son had been right and she nodded before walking off.

We stuffed our faces, chugged our Kool Aid as quick as possible, had a quick burp-off and laughed at each other's red mustaches. Our stomachs were too full for more rough housing, so we sat talking. However, everytime there was another argument, there was another wrestling match.

“Dude, Ian is being such a jerk! He got new cleats and everything and when I asked, my mom said mine were fine.” Ralph complained, breaking a dirt clod to peices before tossing it on the ground.

“Better than Brad,” Jake said, rolling his eyes. “He never gets off the computer and then my parents are always having to wake him up, every morning to go to school. He can't wake up on his own or something.”

Richie brushed back his hair and said, “Well, Arnold keeps calling from college, you know, at Berkely. And he says its wonderful. That's your problem. You have high school brothers. I have a college brother.”

“Noo,” Jake corrected. “The problem is that they are brothers. Brothers suck man.”

“You are soooo lucky you don't have one, Dennis,” Ralph said.

I looked up, realizing just because I had felt like I was sinking, did not really mean I was. I had figured the ground had already swallowed me up. Apparently not. “I have a brother.”

Ralph blinked and then remembered. “Well, yeah, but not really.”

“But I do.”

“But not technically.”

There would be no convincing him that I technically had a brother, even though technically was really the only way I did have one. It was funny that just when my longing and my emptiness had become so unnoticeable I almost did forget I had a brother, the others liked to remind me of it by disregarding it.

Soon it started to near dark and I felt the internal clock tell me it was time to go. Ralph punched my arm for leaving and Jake gave me a nougie and then I moutned my bike and pedaled home. By the time I reached my street it was dark, and the only light that led me to my backyard was the light of the lean to that was on the backyard adjacent, where our neighbors played loud music and smoked.

I walked up to the screen door and slipped inside, thinking Dad might yell at me if he had needed me to go do something for him, but it was oddly quiet. Carol must have closed the door on Jaycee's room, because I could not hear Hannah Montanna blaring, and the TV was down low. I took out my comic book and looked down at it. A tear went across the cover. Great. The others may not like reading, but I did, and I could not get my hands on books. This comic was all I had had for the week. Shit.

I walked through the kitchen and through the hallway, passing the living room and realized Carol and Dad were talking. I slowed down.

“Look, Bert, all I'm saying-”

“I don't care, Carol! I said it sounded fine!”

“It's an important decision. I think Dennis needs a maternal figure right now, and he won't talk to me! Maybe for just the summer at his Mom's-”

“He can stay longer!”

“Oh, Bert. Please take this seriously. We're talking about sending your son away-”

I walked numbly passed, and passed Jaycee's room. Her face appeared and she scrunched her nose. “Stinky's home!”

I continued on towards my room, and opened my door and slipped inside. Blank, patched up walls dully welcomed me and I slammed my comic down on my bed before flopping on top of it, still digesting what I had just heard.

Carol... That B****. Came into my house, married my dad, and decided to send me away. I had always thought she was cool, buying me snacks, reading from those parenting magazines that Dad said were from childless professors who “didn't know nothing about nothing.” When I said that that implied they knew everything, Dad had freaked out.

I rolled over and stared at the ceiling, closing my eyes and biting my bottom lip until I felt little depressions form on my lip and then blood sparked. I gasped and opened my mouth, wiping my lip with the back of my hand, squinting as I rolled over to stare out the window.

There was a single star. I remember in third grade when they had taught us a rhmye to wish on a star, which was stupid. Why would a star care if you had a rhmye to make a wish? Were they that particular? Were they even properly liscensed to grant wishes?

I turned over staring at the wall and I rested my knuckle against the wall, imagining punching it. My fingers would break, look mangled and bloody, bones dangling and the hole would be so deep and the force so big the house would shake and Dad and Carol would immediately understand and be filled with guilt and shame. They would walk in, Carol would say it had never been her place to try to send me away, Dad would say he never wanted her in the house anyway and they would beg for my forgiveness.

I brought my fist back and rapped the wall. Not bad. I tried again, closing my eyes and letting my body carry the punch. It hit with a small thud and my knuckles throbbed. I heard a disgruntled knock answer back from Jaycee's room. I clutched my fist and sat up, wincing as I let my hand rest limply. I gingerly set it on my knee and looked to the door. No sheepish, ashamed Dad and Carol, sorry for driving me to hurt myself.

I turned and flopped over, my head towards the foot of my bed. I sighed and wondered what it would be like to tell my friends about this. If they even paid attention or take it seriously, they would probably not understand how terrible I was feeling. And the second they disagreed on the matter, they would start wrestling, and then laughing, and tell me to cheer up, if they even remembered what had happened.

I sighed and closed my eyes. My brother would understand. I knew that. I could feel it. My brother would not tell me I was being stupid or a sissy or anything. He would understand, he may have even let me cry in front of him. I squeezed my eyes tight. And then my mom would walk in and pat my head and offer cookies... Only I would not be upset if I had my mom. This would not be an issue. She would never send me away. Somehow, I knew that too.

I skimmed through it, but my skimming could be constituted as actually reading. I thought it was good. I especially liked the incorporation of the word dude like a million times haha. But, so far so good.

You, my friend, are a quick reader/skimmer.

I concentrated on trying to capture the language of a boy that age, and I had to think back to when my brother was that old and hoe my guy friends were back then. That's also why I'm submitting it for review, to see if it captures the voice accurately. Especially any tips from you male-types out there. I have never been a twelve year old boy... So... I'm grasping straws as to how such a mind would work.

Thanks for the support!

I think you did okay capturing the voice in the parts where the kids are talking, but then you lose it when he's narrating. If you're going to write it from a first person perspective, the voice has to continue all the way though.

Right now, you occasionally use words that just don't feel right. It's not that a twelve year old wouldn't know them, but more that they wouldn't necessarily use them in that context. Like the part where you describe him digesting what he's just heard. It feels like you talking, not the character.

Or if you are going to write it like that, give the piece a context (like, is he writing a report for school or what?) so that it doesn't break the suspension of disbelief. For example, my cousin is twelve, and he'll use big words if he's trying to be clever, but when we read a story, we usually assume we already have the character's trust.

Definitely. Yeah, I've been thinking that, but I don't want to do too much changing until I get more done, so instead I've been trying to remember that in my more recent chapters. But definitely, you're right. I think I'll go through it and make sure to try to keep the narrative parts at the same level, mostly because I can't see him writing this story out.

Thank you very much for the tips!

*language*

CHAPTER TWO

School was nearing a close. In a few months, summer would be on us. I was on tip toes, wondering what would be happening to me come summer, when Carol and Dad would admit I was too much of a burden for them. I did not bring it up to Jake and Ralph and Richie. They would not care to know. We played football. We did not talk about feelings. What boy did? What boy wanted too?

After school, I entered into silence again and an eerie chill went down my spine. Carol would be home today, I knew, and Jaycee would be getting home any minute. So why was Dad not listening to his TV show loudly like he did most days since most plumbing jobs were in the morning? Why was Carol not washing dishes? Why were they sitting on the couch staring at me?

“Hey, Dennis,” Carol said, looking concerned and yet encouraging.

I stared at them. Dad was looking bored, slightly hung over, and like he was being forced to look like he cared. “What?” I asked.

“What?” Carol parrotted back.

“What are you staring at me for?” I said, a little too demanding.

“Watch your mouth, bub,” Dad said, sitting up and I took a step back slightly. I realized my weakness and widened my stance.

“What's wrong, I mean.” I said this with no heightened respect but better wording. Carol seemed pleased by the improvement.

“Nothing. We-”

There was the squeak of the bus. Jaycee was too young to be ashamed of the house. Give it four years and she would be mortified to be on the bus and pull up at our house with all her friends around her. Absolutely mortified.

Carol glanced out and there was silence. Jaycee bounded in the screen door- none of us liked using the front door- and stopped in her tracks. “What's wrong?” she asked, wide-eyed.

Carol smiled. “Nothing dear. Why don't the two of you go drop your things off. Your dad and I want to talk to you about something.”

I scooted around her and walked off to my room, again thinking how stupid it was she got to claim my dad as her own. As though he were great to have as a dad. She had been told he was not her real dad. But she had put on a terribly innocent face and said “Well I'm just lucky to have a real Daddy and a Daddy who takes care of me, then.” Carol had cried. I wanted to puke. Or hit Jaycee. Because she is Jaycee. And I am Dennis.

I dropped my backpack off in my room and hurried out. So Jaycee had to hear them send me off too. I needed the dismissal AND the humiliation. She bounded ahead of me, turning to give me a half-anxious, half-excited look. As though to share a secret moment asking “Are we in trouble or are we going to Disneyland?!” I did not want to answer. I did not want to share this moment with her.

Carol held out her hands to us. “Come here.” I had already plopped in the armchair across from them, but Jaycee lept into her arms, snuggling between Carol and my dad. “Now, look. I have been worrying a lot more lately and I told your dad and we both got to worrying. And you both are old enough to be told these things straight out. So... I'm pregnant.”

My eyebrows collided in confusion. “Wait. What?”

“I'm pregnant,” Carol said, a hand fluttering to her stomach. “I had not known. I went to the doctor and I'm far along, too. Apparently, my symptoms have been next to unnoticeable. You'll have a baby brother or sister by the end of the summer.”

I gaped at them. “The end of the summer... That's like... three... four months away! How could you not know!” My voice raised.

“Buster,” my dad growled. Jaycee set her head against Carol's stomach, grinning as her mother patted her head.

“Mom! The baby is talking to me.”

I stared at her. That brat. That sneak. God, I hated her. “No it's not, stupid!” I began.

“Dennis!” Dad barked, jumping up.

“Bert, it's fine, look.” Carol was staring at Jaycee who had sent me a smirk but smiled up at Carol.

Dad lowered himself into the chair, glaring at me. “Well, it's not,” I said. He flinched a hand, as though threatening to hit me.

Jaycee cleared her throat and said, “It is, Mom, really! It's saying 'Hi Jaycee. I'm your new sister and I am going to be your best friend. I am soo happy in your mommy's tummy. Tell her to keep eating ice cream!'” Carol giggled. “'And tell Stinky to stop yelling at you. It makes me sad!'”

Carol laughed and I scowled, standing up and storming off towards my room.

“Oh, Dennis, hon, she was kidding!”

“Dennis! Stop acting like a pussy!”

“Bert!”

“I say wussy! Wussy!”

I slammed my door, which really didn't slam, because the doorframe was messed up. It rocked on the hinges and I threw myself onto my bed, fuming.

Was this why I was getting sent away? Because the new brat was going to be needing all the love. They needed some rest and relaxation because it would be taking up all their time, and since I used up a tiny portion of their day, they were going to reclaim it for the summer while they had the chance. Would I come back to see my room had been transformed into a nursery? And I would have to sleep in the old doghouse outside, or the attic, or the closet?

They called me out for dinner in a few hours and I ate in silence. Towards the end of the meal, Carol looked up at me.

“Dennis, want to come? We're going out to ice cream.” She giggled. “Per the baby's request.”

I gave her a scathing look, stood, and left for my room. “Oh, hun!” She called. “It was just a joke.”

I heard Dad say, “Leave him, Carol. He can miss out.”

They left and I went into the living room and put on an adult cartoon and walked over to the phone. I called Jake.

“Jake home?”

“Yes, Dennis. One moment................. Hullo?”

“Jake?”

“Yeah.”

I paused. “Hey.”

“Hey. Wassup?”

“Guess what.”

“What?”

“Carol's pregnant.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, duuuude.”

“Yeah.” I waited for more. For sympathy, comfort, the wise advice a best friend should have, but I received none. “Okay, well I gotta go. Family Guy's on.”

“It's a rerun.”

“Yeah, I know. Bye.”

“Bye.”

I put the phone down and sighed. The sad thing was, I had expected no less.

CHAPTER THREE

We were only twelve years old and our teachers seemed to think that there would be soooo much happening to us over the summer. As though our entire lives would change. Most the girls ate it up, turning and giggling, blushing when they saw boys. To them it meant growing up. Nicer clothes, makeup, boobs if they were lucky, maybe a period. Boys didn't care about that. Maybe the boobs. But they yawned, balancing pencils on their noses or flicking who-knew-what at each other while the teachers spoke.

The teachers were just trying to convince themselves in my opinion. They were not smart enough to be high school or college teachers, not patient or brave enough for elementary school. They were seventh grade teachers. What was special about the seventh grade? Nothing. So they made it a big deal, as the end of pre-puberty, and the transition into puberty. They were a checkpoint. And that was all they had. So they played it up like no one's business.

I doodled across my binder, The seventh grade used to be great until it was commercialized. It made me smirk but then Ralph leaned over to see what it was so I carefully flattened my hand over it, not ready to face the look on his face when he realized I did not think football was the only thing worth writing and talking about. He muttered a name at me and I sneered back, and he smiled. It was all in fun then... Right?

I don't hurry home, because frankly, there is not much to hurry home to. So I rode my bike, nice and slow, not paying attention until-

“Prince!”

I looked up and saw a ball of fluff dash into the street. I blinked and there was a honk, a screech, and a scream. I stopped and so did the car, but the damage was done. A girl a few years older than me, definitely in high school, dropped a frayed leash and tilted her head upward as a bloodcurling scream fell from her lips. Someone jumped out of the car and began to comfort her. Her friends began to cry, their hands at their mouths. I watched as she rushed passed them all and fell next to her dog, screaming his name. I stared at her, never having seen someone show their emotions so plainly, so honestly. Her makeup ran, she looked disgusting, and sad, and broken, and beautiful. I stared at the dog. It was no longer about him. This was her show.

I had seen dead animals but I not seen this. The consequences past the corpse. I felt that if I did anything I would be barging in. If I left, I would abandon them all, be a terrible person. But when it came down to it, there was no reason for me to be there. I was an uninvited guest. I was not allowed to be included in this moment.

I rode on, shaking my head as though to wash my mind of the situation. I had wasted enough time, so I let myself speed home, because it gave me a purpose. I dropped my bike in the back yard and stumbled up the steps. Jaycee was home by now and she was working on grammar at the kitchen table while Carol munched on sunflower seeds. Dad was in his chair. I walked into my room to dispose of my backpack and then into the kitchen to get some soda.

“How was school?” Carol asked, a little on edge. She had to quit smoking, pronto, and sunflower seeds usually helped. Though, she was a little panicked since it had taken so long to find out about her condition.

I shrugged. “I saw... this kid get hit with a basketball.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Just as I had been an intruder, it would be wrong of me to include Carol on that moment. She would see the body, maybe, or the spot where the dog was hit. She would see his blood and maybe even some chunks of whatever it was that had smeared the pavement, because the girl would be too distraught to get everything, and no one else would not care enough to clean it all. But Carol would never realize that that dog had meant something to that girl, that the driver would feel guilty, that those girls would never know what to say. I felt that I held the key somehow, but I did not know it, so I was unwelcome. And if I weren't welcome, neither was Carol.

“Too bad for him. Want some Lays?”

“No.”

I knew I would never tell anyone about the dog. No one would care to know. Maybe my brother would have, but not Jaycee, or Carol, or Dad, or Ralph, or Richie, or even Jake. It was a spot on the road to them. It had only ever been a dog to me and the others there. Even then it was not a dog. It was the memory of the dog. In that moment, it was grief.