The Hands of Enemies - Book One of the Speed of Light Series
5.0 out of 5 stars touches your heart
Reviewed in the United States on July 30, 2022
As I read this book, I felt like I could see the characters ~ if they walked up to me today, I would know who they are. Strong emotions with an underlying message that will make you wonder how many of these scenes have been played out in countless families. Strong message to pass along-you will see what I mean.
5.0 out of 5 stars Courageous characters
Reviewed in the United States on February 26, 2024
I read this book, the first of the Speed of Light trilogy, because I had just finished reading Roger Greene’s book, 4284 miles: The 1916 journey of Joe Bruce and Lester Atkinson, a magnificent retelling of a true event bike journey to see the Statue of Liberty.
In the first book of the trilogy, The Hands of Enemies, I was again mesmerized by Greene’s writing. I think the author’s writing gift is to make the characters so real and the plot so compelling and fast moving that I feel as if I know these characters and understand the real world issues that they face. I read this book as an adult for adults, and upon reflection realized that as a young adult novel it truly shines.
Greene tackles hard topics with compassion and imbues his characters with diverse levels of understanding as each character lends his perspective to the story. There are big themes here, and a reader will ponder these with the characters while the fast-moving plot and direct dialogue pulls them into the story for a deep dive into topics that teens (and me! I’m an adult) truly care about; I certainly cared about these topics as a teen and still wrestle with some of them as an adult.
I really cared about these characters and admired how each one tackled different problems. I am excited to read book 2 and see how these characters are faring as they negotiate life on their own terms.
5 out of 5 stars 11-24-24
Exceptional and Heartfelt
I cried and laughed throughout this book. There were so many incredible passages that tugged on my heart strings and made me feel deeply for the characters. There were so many major changes in each character and I appreciate that these changes weren’t immediate and that it showed how it can take time. You have to keep at it and it makes all the difference if you have people around you that encourage your changes and will support you through it all. This book does well at explaining this and shows the many unassuming people that can step up and be with you. You can be that unassuming person for someone else. It was incredibly powerful and encouraging. There were many quotes from the book that are true and applicable to everyday life. “Change isn’t giving up something you want; it’s giving up something you don’t want anymore.” It can be scary, imagining giving up parts of your old self in order to change for the better, but if you think of it as you’re giving up things, you don’t want any more to accomplish things that you do, it’s a different mindset. “It’s all the little things that add up that make us who we are.” It can be easy to think who we are is a big grand gesture that you haven’t done yet, but it actually is all of the small things that we do, think and say that add up and make us who we are. “It occurs to me that when I think how other people see me and what they think of me, it might be that I’m looking more through my eyes of inadequacy than their eyes of superiority. So maybe I need to check my vision every now and then.” It’s so easy to think others are being as critical on us as we are on ourselves. We are our own worst critic. We can only change if we want to change. No one else can do it for us. Every choice we make is who we are and some times we mess it up, but the good thing is that we have many small choices in a day to do better, every day. There were a few technical things when reading the book that made it harder to understand which character was saying what. And the overall narration takes a couple minutes to get used to, as most audible books do, but overall, this was an incredible book, and a must read! “Change isn’t giving up something you want; it’s giving up something you don’t want anymore.”
The Speed of Light (3 book series) Paperback Edition
This link will take you to the Amazon product page for the series!
“Intense.” “Real.” “Moving.” “Profound.”
They’re supposed to be the best days of your life,
but first you have to survive them.
Superstar high school quarterback Brian Hollingsworth might have it all, but he wants none of it. Best friend Dylan is a badass who believes he runs the world - and for the most part - he pretty much does. Randy is a bad boy looking to establish his reputation. Stewart is just a loser turned about by the breeze. A lonely, manipulative boy accidentally brings these four very different teens together in the woods. Fists fly. Revenge escalates. Twenty-four hours later, one is clinging to life. Another has stolen a gun. A coward is on the run and someone is on the hunt. With souls teetering on the edge of tragedy, one-by-one, enemies realize that in order to save themselves they must first save each other.
A powerful story about loss and forgiveness, rage and redemption - told with an amazing amount of heart and a whole lot of F-bombs.
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CHAPTER ONE
Snapshot
________Brian________
If I ever told anyone what I was really thinking, they’d get all quiet. Then they’d say, “You don’t mean that” or “It’ll get better.” Anytime I have a problem, my pal Dylan tells me to suck it up. Everyone’s cure for the big stuff in life is give it time.
I do. It hasn’t. I have. And blow it out your ass.
As a result, I’ve learned to never talk about anything real or say what I’m actually thinking. But I have come to a decision. In one hour, everyone in my orbit, which is basically Freemont High, will know what Brian – superstar – Hollingsworth is really all about. Then it will be their turn to get over it, give it time, and suck it up. I’m trying not to think about them right now because basically, I don’t care anymore.
You see, I’m sick of all the expectations. Number one: There should always be a smile on my face. If there isn’t, my adoring throngs will ask, “What’s wrong?” Obviously they don’t really want to know, so I drag out my dimples and sparkling blue eyes. Then I flash my patented warm-and-friendly smile and lie to them. “Nothing.”
Then their world is right again.
Which leads me to expectation number two: It is my duty to make sure everyone’s world is always right. Since I apparently exist solely to fulfill the expectations of others, I simply cannot disappoint anyone, anytime, ever.
For example: the people that think they know me assume I am their friend. Dylan is my one true friend and frankly, the only person I genuinely give a shit about.
My coach expects me to win state for him. My brother did that three years ago. Kent was an exceptional quarterback. I’m better. That isn’t ego talking, those are the stats. I could do it. But since there is no “I” in team, I’m not going to.
In all humility, my girlfriend was the luckiest girl alive. I needed some space, so I made some. Apparently I’m not allowed to do that. At first she was hurt. Now she’s pissed. Charissa is a woman scorned. Hell hath no fury like the petite brunette hugging her books that just passed me in the hall. Would she look at me? Hell no. So I turn and yell, “I’m sorry” over the din of a hundred students changing class. She pretends not to hear me. That’s okay. I’m not all that sorry. And she’ll eventually get over it. Right?
It’s now 2:57 P.M. In the world of high school bullshit, I have three minutes to get to class. I just put all my books inside my locker instead. When I close the door, I freeze. The one face I’d hoped not to see is right in front of me and it’s not smiling.
“What’s up, bud?” Dylan asks with a calculated tone, eyes burning through me and a flex of his square jaw. The legend of whup-ass, aka: my one true friend, looks pissed – but then again, he usually is. His bullshit detector has been on high-alert lately. I can’t wipe the oh crap look off my face so I get his raised eyebrow. That’s a warning. He thinks he’s on to me. He doesn’t know shit and I need to keep it that way.
“Where’s your books?” he asks.
“Uh...” I begin my lie. “I must have left my notebook in my car.” I lamely gesture my intent to head down the hall. Then I smile – like dimples are gonna work on him.
“You had it in biology.” Dylan inclines his head toward my locker.
That means open it, asshole.
My face flushes red as I lose the phony smile, turn back to my locker and start to work the combination. “Really?” I ask lightly. “You sure I had it? You checking up on me?” Then I laugh a little to make it look like I’m joking.
Dyl’s not gonna answer. 2:58 P.M. With students starting to scramble around us, I intentionally flub the combination. “Hey, you’re gonna be late. Go on.” I wave him on. “I’ll get it figured out.” A second angle of his head means he’s not leaving. When I open the door, I grimace. My notebook is right on top. “Wow. What a dumbass. I thought for sure...”
His other eyebrow goes up and for the infraction I get a finger poked in my chest. “Four o’clock. Jock Corner. You better be there. I’m sick of your shit and yeah, I’m checking up on you because you’re acting weird.” After I take my books out of the locker and shut the door, Dylan directs me toward class with a tilt of his head.
I do what I’m told and start walking. It isn’t that I’m afraid of him – exactly – but a little detour isn’t going to change my plan. By the time I get to the math and science wing he’ll be at his class in the language arts wing. Then I’ll split.
Classroom doors are closing. When I turn to make sure Dylan’s not behind me, I’m the sole student in the halls. I head for an exit and bump the door open just as the bell rings. Oh my God that was close. Dylan may not know shit, but he’s on the scent and I’m about to drop a wad of it.
Here’s the deal about Dylan: he runs the world. I haven’t told him the truth about anything for two weeks and the boy knows it. He thinks he’s going to find out why at four P.M. He will – but not from me.
As I head toward student parking, the cold air feels good. I’d ordered a sunny day, you know, blue sky, sunshine, birds singing – shit like that. Since fall is in the air, I got overcast and dreary. Like it matters. Two weeks ago Dylan’s appearance would have derailed me. Hell, the clouds might have derailed me.
Today it’s all still a go. I’ve basically called the play and now I’m running it.
I pull my keys from my pocket and press the button. The horn toots and the lights flash on my ‘Stang. It isn’t a real one. My brother Kent had a real one – a ‘68 Fastback with a 302 high performance and four-on-the-floor. Even though this is a remake, it probably cost forty grand. I got it at sixteen along with a credit card for gas and anything else I want. My parents make sure I get free everything because I’m a star quarterback. Big whoop.
I’m about to get in the car when I decide to do the one last look. This school is the bomb. On the athletic field over there to the right on any home game Friday night, my breath is steaming in the chill as I call plays under the searing lights. The crowd is standing. They’re yelling. The cheerleaders are rocking. I’m passing. Dylan is receiving. That boy is a locomotive. Nothing stops Dylan. Touchdown. Good times. Good times.
Is that a smile on my face? Crap. I release a breath and look at Dylan’s truck. Although it’s older than any car in student parking, that GMC runs like it could be in NASCAR. You need a ladder to get into it. Like Dylan, it is the very definition of badass. Our vehicles have never been parked apart from each other. This is my space. That’s his. You know where to find us.
Dylan’s the brother I wish I had, but sometimes life fucks you over. Ya know?
“Sorry bud. You’ll be all right.” As I get into my car, my smile isn’t all that sincere. It might sound spiteful, but after today, Dylan can see how it feels to suck it up for a change. Right? I feel bad about all the lying, but whatever. I toss my books on the floor and my wallet and cell into the cup holder.
That wasn’t so bad. Basically, fuck it all.
______William______
I’m freezing my ass off and hurrying before the teenagers get out of school and come racing up on the Overlook to drink, get high, fight and make-out – but stupid wants to stand there and argue with me. “So what if it’s extortion?” I patiently explain. “So what if it’s blackmail? If I’m planning a life of crime, and I am, I have to get experience.”
“You’re gonna get your ass kicked,” Corey predicts like he knows the future. I just look at him: stocking cap, nylon jacket, snot dripping from his nose. I’d slap him but I don’t want to get snot on my hand. When I asked him to come along, I didn’t realize he was a dork, so I roll my eyes and shake my head. I’m almost thirteen and I’ve never had my ass kicked.
That’s pretty good, especially with my mouth runnin’ like it does. It isn’t that guys (and a few girls) haven’t wanted to kick my ass – it’s more that I can run really fast. I’d argue more, but teenagers will be up here any minute.
If I can’t get something on someone up here on a Friday afternoon, I’m just not trying. If I’m going to extort their cash, they can’t see me snooping on them. I’m making a blind, you know, like when you’re hunting, which I kinda am. My fingers are numb but I’m doing it anyway because I’m hardcore. Corey’s looking at me. He might actually be a moron because he’s still standing there with his hands hanging at his sides.
“Did you hear what I said,” he asks like I’m the one that’s stupid.
“My ass is gonna be just fine,” I assure him. “I can hide for days up here.” Then I hear a car. “Get back!” I pull stupid behind the blind. He would have just stood there with snot dripping from his nose and whoever this is would’ve parked across the plateau from us. I smile as a Mustang fastback GT comes into view. “Our first customer and this one’s got bucks.” I crouch down.
“Your first customer,” Corey gripes. “This is going to be a disaster.”
“If you’re scared, why don’t you just run your little pansy-ass home?”
“I just might.”
“Do. All you’ve done since we got up here is bitch.”
“And all you’ve done is call me names. Everyone said you were bad news and I shouldn’t hang with you, but no, I said I’d give you a chance.”
I glare at him. “I don’t need charity. Just admit you’re chickening out.” Corey gets this look on his face like he’s either gonna hit me or cry. Then he flips me the bird and stomps through the brush to where we hid our bikes. Good riddance, loser.
So the Mustang’s drivin’ real slow. It finally stops just before the rocks that border the drop off. The windows are up so I can’t see much. Then the moron Corey rides his bike out of the trail and across the plateau. Just wait ‘til I see him again...
I pull a pen from my pocket and try to find a space somewhere on my hand to write down the license plate. Half the phone numbers I’ve written here are fake. I can see it in the kids’ eyes when they give them to me.
I don’t have any friends.
_______Brian________
It looks like I’m alone. I bite my lip as I kill the engine and unfasten my seatbelt. Then I take my wallet from the console, remove a folded piece of paper and position it on the dashboard. They need to be able to find that. Then I take out a couple wrinkled photos. One is an old family portrait with my parents, Dean and Dottie, me and my older brother Kent. The other one is just me and Kent sitting in the grass under a tree wearing only swim trunks and laughing. The fender of his ‘68 Mustang is off to the side.
I was fifteen in these – young, happy and thinking life is good.
_______William_______
The Mustang’s been sitting there for a half hour now. I’m shivering and I’ve lost feeling in my legs from crouching in the brush. “Come on dipshit, do something. Embarrassing or illegal.” The glass is fogged. “Butthole. What are you doing in there?” Then it occurs to me and this huge smile comes to my face. At last, the perfect blackmail opportunity. I just heard angels singing. I pull out my ninja scarf that’s actually from Japan and wrap it around my head so only my eyes show. With my cell phone in my hand, I creep out of the brush, then scoot across the parking area. As I angle up behind the car, I accidentally scuff in the gravel.
The guy’s window goes down. “Hello? Anyone there?” I’m not making a sound. So now his window’s open and that’ll make this work out better anyway. I have my phone on camera-mode. My heart is pounding and I am kind of scared, but this is gonna be so 007, not to mention profitable.
I sneak past the fogged passenger window, come around the front, slink along the fender and peer up at the open window.
Like a ninja, I jump up and press the button. “Surprise asshole!” When the shutter clicks, I freeze. The guy’s face is a mess of streaming tears and he’s looking back at me over a gun in his mouth.
________Brian________
I’m pulling the trigger when someone yells and a shutter snaps. I turn to see a kid’s eyes frozen in terror between wraps of silk. We look at each other for half a second before he takes off running. By the time I ditch the gun, wipe my eyes and get out of the car, he’s in the bushes. I run over to the edge of the thicket and yell, “You better come out of there. You better get out here.” I’m pacing. “Do you hear me? Get out here – now.” When I get no response, I thrash into the bushes. This is hopeless. “You little brat, give me the damn phone.”
That photo will go viral. I’ll be the freak everyone talks about for a day-and-a-half. No one can see that photo. No one will see that photo. I lighten my tone and try a calmer approach. My voice is cracking when I beg, “Okay, listen, that’s all I want. I won’t hurt you. I swear I won’t. Just give me the phone.” Still nothing. “You little jerk. Give me the goddamn phone.” After ripping deeper into the brush I remember having seen a kid on a bike. “You know what? I bet you got a bike stashed around here. I just bet you do.” Now I’m crying tears of frustration. Why can’t anything just work out?
I thrash back out to the clearing, then walk until I find a path. Within a few steps, I spot a bike, grab it, then head back. “Oh, look what I have here. A black stingray with Slipknot stickers pasted all over it. How about a trade? Bike for a phone? What do you say? I won’t keep your phone. I can erase the photo and you can have it back. It’s either that or you lose the bike.” There isn’t a sound in the bushes and I’m about out of time.
School let out ten minutes ago. When I’m a no-show at Jock Corner, this is the first place Dylan’s gonna come. So I give it one more try. “It’s okay, I’m calm. I know you’re scared. You can throw me the phone. You don’t even have to come out.” Still nothing. “All right. Here’s a number for you. Five four four, six four three nine. Did you hear that? Call me when you want your bike back. Five four four, six four three nine.”
Getting a bike into a Mustang is a bitch. The upholstery rips when I cram it inside. The instant I slam the door I turn to the sound of an approaching vehicle. A beat-up 1993 Chevy Impala screams onto the plateau and skids to a stop across the way. Dust rises and swirls around it as if Satan himself is at the wheel. “God. Damn. It.”
_______Randy________
“Well, look who it is, boys.” I couldn’t get this smile off my zit-and-stubble-infested face if I tried. “And he’s all alone.” As I savor a drag on my cigarette, I ponder the opportunity at hand. God’s gift to Freemont High is standing beside his top-of-the-line Mustang looking back at me. I’ve barely gone to Freemont a month but I’ve already decided to slap that spoiled asshole down the first time I found him alone. Today’s my lucky day. I’m revving the engine. Brian’s freaking out because a shit-kicker like me is terrifying to a pretty boy like him.
The guys in the back are passing a joint. I shake the hair out of my eyes and look to my side. Stewart hooks a finger around the hair that had blown in his face, looks at Brian, turns to me and shakes his head. A guy can only stomach so much perfection. “You boys want to have some fun?” My question is rhetorical. I floor it and the old girl lurches forward. Brian looks down, then starts to walk around his car. He’s gonna try to get in. Fuck that.
I race over, then skid to a halt. Mr. Star Athlete doesn’t know what to do. For some more quality entertainment, I decide to make lunges at him until I’m only a few feet from the Mustang. Brian might get in, but he’s not going anywhere. He knows that. That’s why he just stands there looking back at me as he furiously wipes his face with his hands. His eyes are red. Has the golden boy been snorting coke? What the hell?
I lean my head out the window, take the last drag of my cigarette, then flick the smoldering butt onto the ground at Brian’s feet. “Hollingsworth, dude.” I blow out the smoke. “How pleasant to see you.” My contemptuous sneer should let him know the sentiment is insincere. “You up here alone?” He sets his jaw because he’s not gonna answer. “I heard about the breakup with Charissa. Oh, how far you have fallen. You doin’ a little...” I demonstrate the likely scenario. The guys laugh, then the breeze brings the smoke from our weed and cigarettes toward Brian. He turns away. Self-righteous pricks piss me off. “Oh, I hate to offend your sensitivities. And sorry if I got any dust on the nice-ass ‘Stang that your mommy and daddy bought you.”
“Fuck you,” are the very first words Brian Hollingsworth speaks to me.
The guys think that’s funny. They’re laughing at me when I look back in the car and yell, “Shut up.” Their shit immediately stops because they know I’ll beat all three of their asses. I’m fairly impressed with the pretty boy because I didn’t know he actually believed he had a set. So I decide to say something nice. “Big words. I’m proud of you.”
“Fuck you.” Brian raises the finger and gives it a thrust.
There’s this thing that happens just before I go off – my eyes flash. I shove the gear selector into park.
“Randy, let’s just go.” Stewart cautiously touches the sleeve of my leather jacket. “They’re not up here anyway.”
I look at Stew’s hand with contempt, then at his acne-ridden, meager, hopeful, guarded expression. He doesn’t really know me just yet, but he should grasp by my general appearance – you don’t touch me. Randy 101: I’m gonna do what I’m gonna do. His education will commence after I’ve slapped Pretty Boy down a notch or two.
I grab the handle and pop the door open. With one leg out and my head and shoulders following, the sound of doom washes over the plateau. I should’ve known he’d show up. When I look over, that lifted GMC is headed my way and it isn’t even slowing. You know what’s funny? The over-the-top truck with its gut-shaking thunder is actually insufficient to announce the muscle-bound jock that’s about to kick my worthless ass.
_______Dylan________
Oh, yeah. I see him. The dirt bag just pulled back inside his piece-of-shit car and shut the door. I don’t have to know what he’s up to. The fact that he’s got Brian pinned in is enough for me. His reverse lights just came on. That’s amusing.
I lock up all four. I might be sliding, but I know just where this baby will end up – and here we are. He’s not going anywhere. Now they’re rolling up the windows. Like that could stop me. Looks like a whole carload of ‘em. This won’t take long.
I’m in no hurry as I open my door and jump down. Judging by the way dirt-bag got back in his car, he knows he screwed up. I nod at Brian. He hasn’t been right. When he didn’t show at Jock Corner as directed and I found out he cut class after all, I aborted my usual Friday afternoon half hour of talking shit. Figured he’d be here – but I’ll deal with him later.
I’m actually trying not to smile right now. Now that the windows are up, I’ll bet the doors are locked. My boots scuff in the gravel as I walk up alongside the prick’s window. I keep my eyes on Brian, tap the glass a couple times with my knuckle, then cup my fingers to beckon out the scuzzball.
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the punk looking straight ahead, afraid to turn. I tap again, then back up a few steps. I can be a gentleman. I’ll give him room. Then I cup both hands while I look square at him. If he’s smart, he’ll realize this is his last invitation – then I’m comin’ in.
He’s still looking straight ahead. The other douches are looking at him. What is he? Their leader? When I hear his door unlock I’m fighting that smile again. Then he opens the door. Then he stands. Nothing is in his hands – that’ll actually save his life. After he shuts the door behind him, he stands there with a defiant smirk on his face looking somewhere off in the distance.
That’s the look of someone that’s shitting their pants.
If I wasn’t who I am, I might be concerned. He’s actually fairly well built – not what I’d expect from a chain-smoking asshole with hair down to his shoulders. I’ve seen him around before but never really looked at him. He’s made some comments – not to me – come on – no one’s that stupid. Rumor is that he’s actually muttered some shit about Brian in passing – comments, sarcasm, general contempt. Can you believe that? Well, it ends now.
“I saw you get in your car pretty fast there, tough guy.” I look him up and down a couple more times. “You wanna tell me what you think you’re doin’?” Then I wait. He’s still looking away so apparently, I wait some more. “Okay.” I’ll let him have this one, but he’s going to hear about it. “So, the little bitch that locks himself in a car has nothing to say. That’s a surprise.” Then I smile again because I just called him a little bitch and he still isn’t looking at me. This guy’s terrified.
I redirect my question. “Brian?”
“He was just leaving.” Brian sighs, shakes his head, then turns slightly away.
“Oh, I’m sure he was.” As I stare at the punk I ponder his fate. I could issue a warning, maybe shove him around some, but now I’m of the opinion that this prick’s attitude needs a profound adjustment. “All right, here it is. I’ve come across something like this a couple times now and I hear things. Brian, you need to put this piece of shit in his place.”
“Dylan, I’m not in the mood. Just let it go.”
“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.” I expected as much. Brian doesn’t like fighting, never has. “If you don’t want to handle it, I will.” Since I know he’s not going to, I’m already taking off my letter jacket. I’m gonna kick the shit out of this smirking douche-bag. I can already feel the punk’s face when I punch it.
A couple more vehicles filled with teens and blaring music race onto the plateau and begin to congregate at the other end. After tossing my letter jacket on the hood of my truck, I’m curious so I ask, “What’s your name, asshole?”
His defiant smirk is starting to fade away but a quick glance my direction is the extent of his response. I smile and nod. “Yeah, that’s smart. Push me.”
“Dylan,” Brian begins anew, “I said I don’t want this. It doesn’t matter.”
“Oh, it matters,” I assure him while never taking my eyes off the punk. “How long you been in this school, a few weeks? And you think you can hassle someone like Brian? Cop an attitude with me? Do you not see so good?” I flex a little. I’m vain like that and damn impressive if I do say so myself. “I asked you your name.”
“Randy,” he grunts with a brief lock of eyes that aren’t looking quite so cocky anymore.
“Well, Randy, you better be as bad as you think you are.” By his leather jacket, sorry attempt at a moustache and skull-and-crossbones earring, he apparently thinks he’s bad. I can’t help but chuckle because this fool just met bad.
The foreplay is coming to an end. I don’t know why I do this. I guess I like to watch the squirming and the psych-out makes my day. My shirt stretches as I move my shoulders. He needs to see what’s coming. I don’t have to roll my shirt sleeves up, but I will. It’s not that I’m massive. The three of us standing here aren’t ten pounds apart. I’m six foot even. The douche and Brian might be an inch or two taller, but I’m cut, rock-hard, and fast as hell. I put out a vibe that tells them they don’t stand a chance. Then they don’t. Since I missed my Friday afternoon shit-talking, I’m feeling chatty.
“You see Brian, someone like this shouldn’t even dare to speak to you, much less give you crap.” Now that my sleeves are rolled up and the gun show is underway, the punk’s looking scared – as well he should. That’s what I was waiting for so now it’s time for the legal disclaimer. “I’m gonna explain something to you, Randy. You look like the kind that will come after me another day. I don’t like to have to watch my back, so I’m gonna hurt you enough that you know better. It’s nothing personal, that’s just the way it is.”
“Dylan,” Brian complains again in a whiny tone that just flat irritates me.
“You have your options, Brian.” Since I’m getting annoyed, I speak loudly. “You handle it or I will and I don’t see you stepping up.” With a menacing smile at Randy, I tilt my head to crack my neck.
This means the friendly banter has come to an end.
_______Brian________
“All right,” my voice drops a register so Dylan will know I’m serious, “then I’m handling it. Randy, get in your car and get the hell out of here.”
“Oh, hell no,” Dylan begins. “That piece of shit is not walking.”
But I’ve had it. I point at Dylan. “This is my business, not yours.” Something clicks in my brain and suddenly I’m yellin’. “I came up here to be alone and all I’ve gotten is crap! This is over – now!” I look at Randy and the asshole still hasn’t moved a muscle. I get directly in his face. “I said, get in your car and get the hell out of here. Now!” Then I kick his car. That hurts, but damn it, he needs to know I’m not messing around.
The guy’s eyes flash. He looks at the dent in his fender with offense, back at me, then over at Dylan. Before, Dylan was only annoyed. Now he’s pissed. Even the punk knows that at this moment, Dylan will put him in the hospital. Hell, if he doesn’t get in his car, I might go psycho and put him there myself.
With the promise of vengeance glinting in his eyes, Randy squeaks around my puffed-out chest, opens his car door and quickly ducks in.
Dylan’s face sets up like concrete as he watches the degenerate carefully maneuver the Impala out of the tight spot, then drive away. While shaking his head, Dyl puts his hands on his hips and looks down at the gravel with his lips pursed.
When he looks up after the car has disappeared, he’s so pissed and his throat is so tight that he can barely speak. “You’re gonna regret that.”
“Maybe,” I tell him with an, I don’t give a shit shrug.
“Oh, you will. Are you scared of him? Afraid he’s gonna come after you? Not sure you can take him? I said I’d handle it for you.”
I’m pretty sure I could take Dylan right about now but I’m not getting into it. “It’s my business,” I inform him. “I’ll handle it my way.”
Just as in football, I’m standing my ground. Dylan knows I don’t give up ground so he releases a breath and shakes his head but his face still looks like concrete. “So, you just don’t care anymore how bad you piss me off?”
I put my hands on my hips and look away. He has no idea how little I care if he’s pissed or not.
“I know you cut class. I knew you were lying to me. Guess you’re not worried about your scholarship either,” Dylan adds.
I’m still looking away. Then I see him lean to look in the Mustang. Although I sidestep to block him, he’s already seen it.
His face twists. “What you got in there, a bike?”
“Yeah, I uh, found it laying up here, stolen or whatever and thought I’d turn it in.”
“That’s stupid. You’re gonna mess up your car havin’ that in there. I can throw it in my truck.” When Dylan starts to step around me, I block him again. I don’t need him finding a gun on the seat.
“It’s fine. It’s already in there.” We’re face-to-face and he knows me well enough to know the subject is closed. His eyes narrow but he isn’t gonna let go of anything now.
“You’re acting weird. Why’d you cut class? Why’d you stand me up?”
“I had to do some thinking.” This is partially true.
“You’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately. What happened to happy-go-lucky Brian?” He looks into me. “You’d tell me if something was goin’ on, wouldn’t you?”
“Oh, sure man. You know that.” Not even partially true.
He scowls as he examines me. “What’s wrong with your eyes?”
“Nothing.” I turn away because I know they’re still red from crying.
“You doin’ drugs? You buying from Randy? I heard that’s what he does.”
“What the hell?” Now my eyes are blazing. “You know I don’t do that shit. Would you stop? I’m not doin’ drugs. You’re my best friend. If there’s a problem, I’ll tell you about it.”
Dylan’s eyes narrow and he flexes his jaw. He’s looking me over like he does when he’s deciding whether or not to kick someone’s ass. This is the second time I’ve yelled at him so I might want to watch that and calm myself down.
“I just need some time to think,” I explain in a lot nicer tone. “I got a lot going on – and the deal with Charissa...” She’s the last thing on my mind but I need to throw him a bone and this is one he might actually bite on.
“You talk to her?” Dyl asks like all of a sudden he cares.
“She won’t even look at me.”
“You messed up, dude. You had a good thing going and you fucked it up. Just out of the blue – you fucked it up.” Then Dylan stands there shaking his head.
Yeah. That’s exactly the extent of Dylan’s concern: You fucked up. I told you so. Fuck it. And suck it up. Although I’d like to tell him to cram it up his ass and pop him in the mouth, that would start World War III. So I say, “I get it. I messed it up – which is one of the reasons why I need time alone.”
He actually might have bought that.
He’s looking at me.
I’m looking at him.
He purses his lips again like he knows it’s just more bullshit but he’s tired of arguing. “I don’t suppose you want to do anything?” he asks to change the subject. “Hang out, maybe laugh or be anything like you used to be when things actually mattered and you weren’t an ass.”
Inside I’m pleading – I can’t take this, bud. I really can’t. All a sudden I’m fighting the urge to just stand here and bawl. It’s been like this lately. Up, down, back, forth. I don’t know from one minute to the next how I’m gonna be. I set my jaw but I can feel my eyes start to burn.
Dyl releases a breath, nods a little and looks away. Dylan doesn’t do crying.
He’s looking at anything but me when he says, “Then I’ll see you tomorrow. Practice, eight A.M., in case you forgot.”
“I know.” He’s backing off. Maybe at some level he suspects this is more shit than he wants to get into.
With a brief glance my direction and his so be it expression, he heads back to his truck where he grabs his letter jacket off the hood. The whole time he’s putting it on and shifting his shoulders into it, he’s looking at me. Then he speaks with what sounds like genuine concern. “You’d tell me if something was going on…”
This is actually my friend talking now. It makes me sick to lie to him, so I smile and nod. It’s still a lie. It’s always a lie. I can see in his eyes that he knows it is. After a bit, he raises his eyebrows and nods anyway.
“Sorry I yelled at you,” he says to smooth things over. “I don’t like that guy. Seeing him mess with you makes me insane. I don’t know how you can say it doesn’t matter.”
“It just doesn’t.” I shrug.
We’re not mad. I’m not faking it. Saying that it doesn’t matter is the only honest thing I’ve said in two weeks and possibly the last two years. Dyl nods his head and climbs up into his truck.
In a few seconds he’s got it turned around, then with a blast of power, he disappears. As I watch the dust roll away, the roar of his truck diminishes around the twists and turns of the road until it’s gone.
For half a second I wanted to tell him.
But I didn’t.
I never tell anyone what I’m really thinking.
Authors note:
This novel was decades in the making: first as a short story, then as a screen play, and finally as a full length novel. Even then, it was not completed. You see I had written it in third person. When I was passing it around for critiques, an English teacher gave it back to me with high marks - she loved the story, the characters, and the dialogue - but unfortunately hated the way I’d written it. “Rewrite it in first person,” she insisted.
That would have been bad enough, but I’d already completed the second novel of the trilogy by then, which meant I’d have to rewrite two entire novels. Surely she was mistaken - but her comment nagged at me. So I rewrote the first chapter in first person per her suggestion and passed the comparison around. It was clearly better by all accounts. Darn it.
Then came the dilemma of how to represent five main characters as well as all the supporting characters in first person. We all see things differently and filter what we see through our own lens of understanding. It seemed only fair that each character needed to tell the reader what they thought. The rules say that you can’t have five different voices in a novel. So I actually nearly tripled who gets to speak and called it good. The consensus so far has been that it takes a little getting used to in the beginning, but then works extremely well and adds unexpected twists to the story.
One critique commented, “Why isn’t everything written this way?”
Well, maybe it wouldn’t be right for everything, but I think it works for this particular story and I hope you agree.
Please tell me what you think and please see the page on writing an effective review - I always need reviews and appreciate readers who make me rewrite entire novels - because I always want to serve the story and characters the best way I can!
