

Listen To Me

The Logoria Series Book 2

Published by Phylicia Joannis at Smashwords

Copyright © 2007

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Chapter One Busted

Chapter Two Bible Study

Chapter Three Max Shaw

Chapter Four Grounded Forever

Chapter Five Officer Rick

Chapter Six Addiction

Chapter Seven The Morning After

Chapter Eight Reality

Chapter Nine The Truth

Chapter Ten The Lesson

Chapter Eleven Proverbs

Chapter Twelve The Loss

Chapter Thirteen Second Chances

# CHAPTER ONE

# Busted

"Not again," Martin mutters to himself as he slinks down in his chair. His mother's face is teeming with emotion. His father's jaw is clenched, head bent slightly and hands on his hips, deep in thought. His prosecuting pose. Nothing escapes his father's keen observation. Even hardened criminals squirm under the scrutiny of his gaze.

Martin's eyes meander to the portly, bald head of Principal Burke, his alleged captor. Mr. Burke is scowling and shaking his head in disdain. Martin isn't concerned with him, though.

He turns slightly to get a better look at Marjorie Griggs, the victim of this whole ordeal. Her eyes are swollen with tears and her face is puffy and red; at least, the part that isn't buried in her mother's shoulder. Martin frowns and his heart wrenches in guilt. His eyes flicker to Marjorie's dad, but he turns his head away quickly. The look Mr. Griggs gave him could have melted glass.

He's in the principal's office for what seems the millionth time this year, and all parties involved, and their parents, had been contacted and subsequently corralled into the office for a conference.

If only Mr. Burke hadn't caught him with those photos.

"Well Martin," Mr. Burke's annoying voice sounds squeaky and shrill. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

Martin parts his mouth open, but hesitates. None of this is his fault. His intentions this morning were nothing but innocent, but they'll never believe him now.

"Mr. Burke," Martin's father speaks gruffly. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't accuse my son of something without first proving his guilt."

Martin's head shoots up at the boom of his father's voice, and he watches in stunned silence as Mr. Burke stutters. "With all due respect, Mr. West, I caught him red handed with those pictures."

"Circumstantial," Mr. West frowns. "Did you see him put any on the walls?"

Mr. Burke opens his eyes wildly. "Well, no, but why would he have them if he didn't do it?"

"I don't know, what did he say when you asked him?" Mr. West narrows his eyes.

Mr. Burke sputters. "Well, I...I..."

"You didn't ask him, did you?" Mr. West bristles. "Did you?"

"Well, no," Mr. Burke looks pleadingly to Mrs. West for help. He gets none.

Mr. Griggs stands up with clenched fists. "Hold up just one minute, sir. You may be blind to the kind of kid you raised, but Martin West has been terrorizing my daughter since elementary school, and I'm not going to let him do it anymore!"

Martin winces as his father turns his face in Mr. Griggs' direction.

"Mr. Griggs," he begins with a note of condescension, "I understand that you may be upset about the situation but that doesn't give you the right to make baseless accusations about my son –"

"Baseless?" Mr. Griggs raises his voice. "Your son is a menace! There's not a kid in this school who doesn't know it, and I don't care who you are, if I have to beat him with my bare hands, he's going to pay for what he's done to my daughter!"

Mr. West hardens his tone. "I'd watch what I said if I were you."

"Let's all just take a step back," Mrs. West finally speaks up. "Please, let's all just settle down."

Martin watches as his father sits in a chair, blood boiling. He doesn't dare look at Mr. Griggs again. How could things get so out of control? Mr. Burke's glaring lack of aptitude aside, it makes no sense to Martin. He'd thought that attending the prayer meeting this morning would make his day go smoother. Apparently he'd been mistaken. He should have followed his gut and stayed away, but he'd promised Jennifer he'd come...

†††

EARLIER THAT MORNING

Martin adjusts his backpack on his shoulder as he pulls open the heavy steel doors leading into the JROTC Building. He walks slowly down the worn steps, impressed by the trophies on both sides of the wall. His stomach growls and the noise echoes down the hall. He continues despite growing protest from his stomach, counting the doors, as were his instructions, until he reaches the fifth door on the right. He turns the knob and swallows. It's locked.

Martin is relieved. The prayer group is scheduled and organized by Jennifer Smith, one of the youth members at his church. Jennifer had asked him to come, since he'd recently given his life to Christ, and Martin had thoughtlessly agreed. It wasn't until he woke up this morning that he realized how uncomfortable he was with the idea. Sharing his faith with his parents and his youth pastor, Mr. James, is one thing. Discussing it with a group of strangers is another.

Martin turns to leave, anxious to get out of the building as soon as possible.

"Martin?" He hears his name and turns back. Jennifer Smith smiles at him and holds out her hand.

"Sorry about the mix-up. We had to change rooms at the last minute. We're down here."

Martin takes her hand as she leads him further down the hall, plastering on a fake smile as he is led into a room full of students.

"Okay, let's get started!" Jennifer calls for the group's attention. Several teens take seats formed in a semicircle. Martin recognizes one of the girls, a brunette with braces, and turns to hide his face. His tactic fails thanks to Jennifer, who pulls him to the front of the group.

"Everyone, we have a new addition to the prayer group. This is Martin's first time, so let's all make him feel welcome." Martin looks away in embarrassment as several of the teens clap.

"Is this a joke?" One of the girls stares in disbelief. "There's no way he's serious. He's just making fun of us."

Jennifer looks at her intently. "Marjorie, I know you may have some doubts because of some... past experiences, but everyone deserves a second chance, right?"

Marjorie looks away, obviously unconvinced.

Jennifer waits a beat before moving on. "Okay, I'll start us off with a song." Jennifer begins singing Amazing Grace softly and the other teens join in. Martin tries to avoid eye contact with anyone by staring at his shoes. The song ends and Jennifer begins to pray.

"Lord we come before you today thanking you for your goodness. You've given us the gift of your son, Jesus Christ. You've given us salvation through his death and resurrection. You've forgiven us, you've washed us, and you've given us a second chance. Now help us today to do for others what you have done for us by sharing the gospel, by sharing the love that you've shown us, and by forgiving others. Keep us safe and guard our hearts. Amen."

Martin mumbles an amen and looks up, but the prayer continues as the girl standing beside Jennifer begins to pray out loud. The prayers continue around the room until the girl beside Martin says amen. The group continues to pray softly as they wait for Martin.

Jennifer gives Martin a soft nudge, and Martin begins to pray. "Lord, um, thank you for this day. Lead us by your spirit and um... amen." The group says a final amen amidst a few snickers.

Jennifer turns to Martin and smiles. "So what did you think? Will you come back?"

"Well, it's all very new," Martin hems.

Marjorie walks up to Jennifer, interrupting their conversation. "Jennifer, I want to talk to you about something." Marjorie looks sharply at Martin then adds. "In private."

Jennifer looks at Martin. "Um, sure. Martin, do you mind?"

Martin shakes his head. "No, that's fine. You and Miggy can talk all you want."

"Don't call me that," Marjorie frowns. Martin stares at her, confused.

Jennifer gently pushes Marjorie towards a chair. "Marjorie, I will be right with you." Marjorie takes a seat and Jennifer pulls Martin to the side.

"Martin, she doesn't like to be called that."

"Called what?" Martin crinkles his brow. "I didn't call Miggy anything."

"That, precisely that," Jennifer chides. "She doesn't like being called Miggy."

"What?" Martin scoffs. "That's her nickname. I've called her that for forever."

"The only people who call her that are the people who make fun of her," Jennifer frowns. "The circle is a peaceful place and everyone deserves to be treated with respect. She doesn't like to be called Miggy, and we don't call her that. Her name is Marjorie."

Martin frowns. "I didn't mean anything by it."

Jennifer smiles. "Well tell her." Martin stares blankly and Jennifer sighs. "Just talk to her. Please?"

Martin swallows and turns towards Marjorie. She stares at him coldly, arms folded, before looking away.

Jennifer comes between the two and places a hand on Marjorie's shoulder. "Marjorie, I know you wanted to talk to me about something, but first I think we need to clear the air. Martin has something he'd like to say to you."

Jennifer nods at Martin. He clears his throat.

"Uh, listen, Mig –" Jennifer gives him a look and he corrects himself, "Marjorie. Um, I didn't mean to offend you or anything."

Marjorie doesn't reply, but she unfolds her arms. Martin takes it as a sign of progress.

"I know I haven't been the nicest person. You've had it pretty tough, what with your head gear and your voice and -" Jennifer shakes her head no as Marjorie's cheeks flush.

"What's wrong with my voice?" Marjorie huffs.

"Nothing!" Martin hems. "It's fine it's just, I don't know, maybe...a little shrill?" Martin uses his thumb and index finger to measure the precise depth of her shrillness.

Marjorie's eyes narrow and she frowns. "Really? That's what you came over here to tell me? That you're sorry I have a shrill voice?"

Martin opens his mouth, but Jennifer stops him.

"What Martin's trying to say is that he's sorry for being mean, and he wants you to forgive him, right, Martin?" Jennifer smiles at Martin and motions for him to follow her lead.

"Yes?" Martin responds with uncertainty.

Marjorie doesn't respond and Jennifer nudges Martin again. "I mean, yes of course. I am sorry for being such a jerk to you and for being disrespectful, and mean, and if you want me to call you Marjorie, then Marjorie it is."

Marjorie is quiet for a moment before speaking. "Well, I guess I accept your apology."

Martin smiles. "So, you forgive me?"

Marjorie doesn't say anything, but she nods and offers a slight smile.

"Good!" Martin looks at his watch. "I'm going to head to class before the bell rings. You ladies go ahead and talk about whatever it was."

Marjorie shakes her head. "No need now. We'll walk with you."

Martin, Jennifer and Marjorie grab their things and leave the JROTC building to go to the school entrance. By the time they get to the door Martin and Marjorie are laughing and joking. Martin grabs the door and lets the girls in first.

"After you," Martin offers as Jennifer and Marjorie enter.

Marjorie's bloodcurdling scream pierces the air and Martin covers his ears. Marjorie runs out the door, but stops and turns towards Martin.

"I knew you hadn't changed!" She points accusingly at him. "I'll never forget this, Martin. I hate you!"

Martin watches her continue to run down the street in tears, baffled. He walks through the school doors and finds Jennifer staring at the walls.

"What got into her?" Martin asks. Jennifer points to the walls of the foyer and the walls along the hallway. In almost every space is a photo of Marjorie in her pajamas and hair rollers with her night brace on, mouth wide open and covered in egg yolk. A caption reads "Miggy the Magpie caught eating her young."

Jennifer looks at Martin. "Who would do something like this?"

Martin closes his eyes in apprehension.

"Me."

Jennifer stares at Martin in disbelief. "You did this?"

Martin shakes his head. "No, I...I mean I was going to, but..." Martin doesn't finish. He spots his friend, Max Shaw and excuses himself. "Max! Max!"

Max turns from the direction he was headed and stops to face Martin. They haven't spoken in weeks. Not since the incident with Johnny Reese.

"Max, can I talk to you?" Martin approaches him.

Max eyes him warily. "So long as you aren't armed with any knives."

Martin winces. "Max, listen. You gotta take these pictures down."

"What pictures?" Max looks around. "The photos on the wall? I think they're great! Whoever put these up is very clever."

"Max, it's not funny," Martin frowns. "Marjorie saw them and she's really hurt."

"Who?" Max crinkles his brow.

"Marjorie," Martin repeats himself. "You know, Miggy."

"Come on," Max chuckles. "This is hilarious! Tell me you don't think it's funny."

Martin shakes his head. "That's not the point, Max. You didn't see her face."

Max scoffs. "Martin, this was your idea! And since when do you care about Miggy?"

"Since today," Martin frowns. "Come on, Max. It's still early; we can get these pictures down before too many people see."

Max sighs. "Alright, tell you what. I was on my way to the gym to post the rest, but I'll give them to you instead."

"You have more?" Martin raises his eyebrows.

Max shrugs and hands him a folder with the photos. "Knock yourself out." Max walks down the hall and Martin shakes his head. He flips open the folder and glances at the pictures.

"What do you have there?" Martin cringes as Principal Burke's head pops up behind him. He closes the folder, but it's too late. Principal Burke has already seen the photos.

"My office, now!"

Martin slumps as he is escorted to the office.

***

"Mom, I swear, it's all just a misunderstanding!" Martin follows his mother into the house. She's not at all thrilled that he got detention.

"The principal caught you with those photos in your hand, Martin," his mother's voice is tense. "What can I possibly be misunderstanding? And that poor girl, Marjorie? Martin, how could you?"

"I didn't," Martin replies weakly.

"Then why did you have the photos?" his mother stares at him with her hands on her hips. Martin looks away. He doesn't want to sell out Max, but he doesn't want his mother to think he's lying either.

"Can you just believe me when I say I didn't do it?" Martin pleads.

His mother shakes her head and sighs. "Martin I'd like to, but given your track record, I'm not so sure."

"I'm different now," Martin shakes his head. "I'm not that guy anymore. I've changed."

His mother looks at him sympathetically. "Honey, I know you meant it when you gave your heart to Christ, but sometimes we still do bad things. Your faith is only a few weeks old. Did Marjorie say something to you, or do something to you?"

Martin shakes his head. "No. Besides it doesn't matter. I wouldn't do something like this."

"Well then who did?" his mother looks at him intently. When Martin doesn't reply she sighs. "Martin, I have no choice but to ground you. And your father wants to talk to you tonight as soon as he finishes up at the court house."

Martin frowns and shakes his head. His father had gone back to work after the conference and his mother had brought him home after school. Martin had thought when they defended him that they actually believed he might be innocent. He'd been wrong about a lot of things today.

Martin goes to his room and sits on his bed, fiddling with his phone. When Mr. West walks through his bedroom door, Martin sits up.

Mr. West sits next to Martin on his bed. "Detention, Martin?"

Martin looks at his father. "I know how this looks, dad, but I didn't do it."

"Martin, when will you learn?" Mr. West shakes his head impatiently. "First it's fighting, then it's vandalism, and now this? Do you realize what you've done? You humiliated Marjorie in front of the entire school."

"I had no idea those pictures would ever get out," Martin slips. His father's eyes narrow.

"So you were there the night those pictures were taken, weren't you?" Mr. West glares at Martin, who melts under his gaze, but says nothing. Mr. West clenches his jaw. "Martin, you lied to me. You lied to my face. How do you think that makes me feel?"

"I'm sorry," Martin replies softly, head bent low. He looks up at his father. "I'm really, really sorry."

"Sorry for what?" his father speaks gruffly. "Sorry you got busted?"

Martin opens his mouth to say something, then shuts it. Mr. West closes his eyes and takes a long breath.

"Martin, I thought I could trust you," his father speaks slowly. "After today, I know that I can't."

"Dad," Martin begins, but his father holds his hand up.

"Until further notice, you're grounded. You can forget having a social life, and you can forget about anything outside of church and school. If you want your mother and me to trust you again, you're going to have to earn it. Understood?"

Martin nods his head and frowns. His father leaves, the door rumbling fiercely behind him.

# CHAPTER TWO

# Bible Study

"Ronald, sit down!"

"Hold on just a minute, Tamika. I have a testimony."

"My name is Tammie, not Tamika, and you know that!"

"It'll only take a second, Tammie," Ronald corrects himself. "Martin, Jennifer, do you mind if I share my testimony?"

"No, I'd like to hear it," Jennifer encourages him despite Tammie's loud groan of protest.

"Great! You'll love this one!"

Martin smiles and joins in the laughter from the rest of the group. He, Tammie, Jennifer, and Ronald are the only ones in the youth building so far.

They all live in the city of Logoria, but Tammie and Ronald attend Wellis High School; Martin and Jennifer go to Logoria High. There are only two high schools in the city, both vigorous sports rivals, but Logoria High is considered the better of the two. Any other private schools are outside the city limits.

Though they go to different high schools, the four of them get along and hang out around town on a regular basis. Tammie and Jennifer have been friends since elementary school. Tammie's dark, smooth skin, braided hair, curvy figure and round face are a stark contrast to Jennifer's creamy, thin frame, impish face and long brunette hair.

Ronald is brown and round. He keeps his head shaved bald – claiming to want to be like Mike, but really disguising premature balding – and has a short, stocky build. Martin is lean and lanky and modestly muscular, with medium brown skin.

Overall their youth group is a well-mixed bunch with a variety of ethnic backgrounds. Some, like Tammie, live in the projects while others, like Martin, live in high-end neighborhoods. Despite their differences the four of them have formed a tight bond between each other that's evident whenever they meet.

"O.K. Here goes," Ronald clears his throat.

"Ugh!" Tammie groans.

"Oh, but you'll like this one," Ronald grins. "It's about food."

"Are you trying to be funny?" Tammie asks.

"Anyways," Ronald continues, ignoring Tammie's glare. "I was leaving work late at night, and I was tired and hungry. The only places open were Wendy's and Taco Bell, so I went to Wendy's, cause I only had two dollars and Wendy's had chicken nuggets on sale for a dollar."

A few more youth enter the building, and Ronald glances around the room to make sure everyone is listening. "So I go to the restaurant and I order my food, right? I'm standing there waiting, and a guy in a blue hat comes in and orders his food. When they give it to him, he leaves. I can smell the day old grease wrapping itself around my arteries already, and I start drumming my fingers to the beat of the grease popping in the back." Jennifer giggles and Ronald smiles.

"Another guy in a red hat comes in and orders. One of the workers comes from the back to give the guy in the red hat his food. My nose is halfway in the Red Hat Cat's bag by the time the server asks me 'can I help you?'

"I tell him that I'm just waiting for my food while I snatch at Red Hat's French fries. The server looks at me all funny like he don't know what I said, and he says 'you haven't gotten your food yet?' I tell him no, so he goes to the back and tells them 'yo, we got a guy here's been waitin' a long time for his food, and he look hongry.' So I see a lady go get my food ready and I hear another guy say 'He should get two, for waiting so long' and I—hey Travis! What's going on man?"

Ronald stops to greet Travis, who is walking through the door with another adult. He waits for them to sit down, enjoying the growth of his audience, then continues.

"Where was I? Oh yeah. They gave me my food and I left. But when I start pulling out chicken nuggets, I've got two orders of nuggets instead of one, and in one of those orders, they gave me an extra nugget. Man, I was so happy I bit into that chicken like it was free. And you know what? I knew that was God's doing, because He knew how hungry I was, and how little I had and He provided for me."

"Amen," Travis joins in with the chuckles in the room. "Hey guys, this is Mr. Rick. You've probably seen him on Sundays. He's filling in for Mr. James tonight."

"Where is Mr. James?" asks Jennifer. "He's usually here before all of us."

Rick stands up, a massive giant of a man with dark skin. "Mr. James had to attend a mandatory conference with some of the other pastors, and he won't be back until next Friday. I'll be taking his place while he's gone." The room erupts with fresh chatter as everyone processes this information.

Martin asks, "Why did Mr. James ask you? I mean, are the two of you friends or something?"

"Yeah," Jennifer chimes in. "I've only seen you a few times on Sunday, but I've never heard Mr. James talk about you at all."

Martin studies Mr. Rick and wrinkles his forehead. He's seen him somewhere else before, but he can't quite place him.

Mr. Rick smiles broadly. "James is a close friend of mine and he talks to me about your group all the time. I'm a probation officer and most of my work involves kids your age in tough situations. Now, by the time a teen has to report to me it's too late for me to prevent the bad decisions they made. I want you all to know that every choice you make has a consequence, and I've seen too many kids, good kids like you, ruin their lives when they don't have to. I want to give you some perspective and share some of my experiences with you, and hopefully something you learn in the next two weeks will prevent you from making some of those bad choices, okay?"

The group responds with a mixture of verbal responses and Mr. Rick clears his throat. "I've already met Travis, but now I'd like to meet the rest of you.'' Rick smiles at all of them.

"I'm Jennifer!" Jennifer immediately gushes, "and that's Martin, Tammie, Travis and Ronald." Jennifer continues to name all the youth in the building but Mr. Rick stops her.

"Whoa, okay," Mr. Rick smiles. "So, Miss Jennifer, is there anything you'd like me to know about you?"

"Well," Jennifer answers, "I'm the talker, as you can see. Ronald too. Martin and Tammie are more contemplative and Travis is, well, Travis."

Travis rolls his eyes.

Mr. Rick chuckles. "Thank you, Jennifer, but let's give everyone a chance to speak for themselves?"

Jennifer smiles sheepishly.

"Um...so what are you going to talk about?" Ronald addresses Mr. Rick.

"Today I'd like to just chat with all of you to get an idea of where you are," answers Rick.

"What do you mean?" Jennifer asks. "We're all right here."

"Airhead," Travis coughs into his hand. Jennifer makes a face at him in reply.

Mr. Rick chuckles. "I'd just like to learn more about your thoughts and ideas and opinions." The long silence and blank stares indicate to Mr. Rick that he needs to try something else. He glances around the room, observing every face. Their body language speaks volumes. He notices one kid in the back has his earphones on. Martin, to his immediate left, is tuned in and attentive, quietly sizing him up. Jennifer, to his right, is eying him curiously. Ronald is watching him with an amused look on his face, poised to burst into laughter at any moment. Tammie is avoiding eye contact altogether. Many of the other kids simply look bored.

"Okay," he tries again, "how many of you like to go to parties?" Rick asks. Only Travis raises his hand. "You guys can be honest with me. I won't go off and tell your parents." Tammie raises her hand. Three other members of the youth group, Charlie, Marcus and Angela, walk in.

"Hey everybody," Marcus greets, "where's Mr. James?"

"He's out of town," says Jennifer, "but Mr. Rick is taking his place."

"Oh," Marcus continues. "So what's the topic of discussion tonight?"

"I just asked if anyone in here likes going to parties," Mr. Rick replies.

"I love parties!" Marcus smiles while taking his seat. A snicker makes its way across the room at Marcus' confession.

"What?" Marcus looks around the room. "I'm just being honest. Don't you know parties are a harvest field? People at parties are searching for something,"

"Yeah! A good time!" one of the youth hollers out.

Marcus rolls his eyes. "I was going to say the peace of God." Another kid snorts, but Marcus ignores him. "All they need is the right person to show them how to get it."

"That's a real good attitude," Ronald grins. "I feel like going to a party right now!" Laughter erupts throughout the room as Ronald does a mini-dance.

Tammie rolls her eyes at him. "He's so obnoxious," she mouths to Jennifer.

"What's wrong with going to parties just to have fun?" asks Travis.

"You're opening up a window for the devil," says Marcus. Every youth looks at him. Marcus explains. "It's one thing to go into that sort of environment to share Christ, but when you think about it, just going to have fun is conforming to the world, and we're supposed to be set apart from the world."

"Oh, come on," Angela pipes in. "Anyone I catch at a party claiming to be searching for lost souls to save is lying."

Jennifer laughs and nods her head in agreement.

"Do you really go to parties to share Christ?" Martin asks Marcus.

Marcus shakes his head sheepishly. "Actually, my parents taught us to share Christ at all our birthday parties. Technically I've never been to any other kind. Homeschooled."

Martin nods in understanding.

"Wait a minute," says Tammie, "How is going to a party conforming to the world?"

"I can see where Marcus is coming from with that," Jennifer chimes in. "I mean, what do you do at a party besides let your flesh take over?"

"Jen has a point," Ronald nods. "When you go to a party, there may be people there doing drugs, drinking alcohol, or dancing so close they look like they're...well, you know. Plus, I never hear any secular music at a party that doesn't have cussing or shoot ya mama lyrics. And what about the clothes? Most of the girls have everything hanging out everywhere and guys are just waiting for some girl to let her guard down. Your flesh will do all sorts of things when you're dancing to music that isn't glorifying God."

"Not all parties are that bad," says Tammie. "When's the last time you've even been to one, Ronald?" she asks.

"I believe the only good parties are those that give praises to God," says Ronald. "Like revivals. And Marcus's birthday parties." Marcus and Ronald laugh.

"Whatever," Tammie rolls her eyes.

"Okay, how about this," says Ronald, "Next time you go to a party, try to imagine Jesus standing right next to you, not just watching everything you do, but doing everything you do. If you honestly think Jesus is down with it, then don't let what I say bother you. But if you're doing stuff you know that Jesus wouldn't do, you should leave and repent, because if you don't, then you're willfully sinning and you're separating yourself from God. You know what that means, right? The devil can take you out, cuz!"

"Ronald you are so retarded," Tammie laughs.

Marcus shakes his head. "Ronald's right, Tammie. The world is the devil's kingdom. That's why the word of God tells us to separate ourselves from the world. Not because God doesn't want us to have fun, but because God knows that the devil wants to take us out as soon as he gets the opportunity."

"I've got a question," Travis raises his hand tentatively. "What's wrong with drinking? I mean, I understand you shouldn't drink yourself stupid, but what about drinking moderately?"

Ronald and Marcus shrug. Mr. Rick takes their silence as an opportunity to speak. "Proverbs 31:4-5 talks about princes and kings not drinking because they might get drunk and break the law," Mr. Rick replies. "While you may think you know how much to drink before you get drunk, you could be wrong. Then what happens? You dull your senses and put yourself in dangerous or compromising situations."

"Like not being able to get yourself home," Jennifer offers.

"Or letting a stranger think for you, or take advantage of you," Angela adds.

"This sounds like an after school special," Ronald jokes. "You ever notice how the really quiet dude starts drinking and then all of a sudden he's dancing on tables and everyone thinks he's cool?"

"Yeah, drinking rocks!" One youth laughs and shoots his arm in the air, making the peace sign with his fingers.

"Man, that ain't even real!" Ronald rolls his eyes.

"I also need to point out that the only person in this room old enough to drink legally is me," Mr. Rick states authoritatively. "So whether you think drinking is wrong or vice versa, if you're underage, don't do it."

The youth who shot his hand up turns red and immediately lowers it back down.

"Alcohol is a depressant," Mr. Rick explains. "It slows you down, and the idea that it somehow makes you more hyper or more fun is a misconception. You acting out of character is due mostly to your own psyche. Alcohol reduces your ability to think your choices through, but it doesn't make those choices for you. I think this is a good place to close. We're off to a good start so far, and I look forward to seeing you all next week."

# CHAPTER THREE

# Max Shaw

Martin sits in his Chemistry class twirling his pencil. He is supposed to be taking notes, but his mind keeps traveling back to the Bible study he attended the night before. Martin smiles to himself as he reflects on the discussion that took place. Ronald's humorous anecdotes were always entertaining, but something Marcus had said stayed with Martin. He spoke about witnessing to his friends about Christ at his birthday parties, and it made Martin wonder about witnessing to his own friends. Particularly Max.

Jennifer Smith smiles at him from the left, mouthing silently that she is going to fall asleep. She yawns dramatically and stretches out her arms. Martin laughs. Jennifer has helped him several times with questions he's had about the Bible. Martin gave his life to Christ about a month ago in Mr. James' house. Mr. James is the youth pastor at Upside Christian Church, and he too has helped Martin many times since then. He and Martin sometimes spend hours at a time studying and discussing the Bible.

Martin looks up at his Chemistry teacher. He is talking about hydrocarbons and CFCs. Martin lets his eyes wander a while longer. He glances at Max, who is sitting to the right of his desk. Martin and Max have been like brothers ever since kindergarten. They swapped sandwiches, had sleepovers, and drank thousands of dollars' worth of crazy soda concoctions before grade school. They used to hang out late at night with a couple of other guys and play pranks on people around town. Sometimes they'd egg a house or roll a car. Once, Max challenged Martin to spray paint someone's garage door. They both were drinking that night and made so much noise that the owner of the house came out and chased them down. They would have been caught anyway, because Martin had spray painted his first and last name on the garage door.

Martin gave up drinking and late night pranks after giving his life to Christ. Despite what his parents think, he's done with that life. Max, on the other hand, seems to be getting worse. The prank with Marjorie Griggs was an idea they'd had over a month ago. They'd gone to her house one night and vandalized her car with markers and eggs. When she came running out, they threw eggs at her and snapped a few pictures. Martin had joked about putting the pictures up at school, but they had settled on keeping the pictures as leverage in case Marjorie gave them a hard time. Max was never supposed to post those pictures. It wasn't like Max to humiliate someone like that either, not unless Martin put him up to it. Max is a clown, always up for a good laugh, but never cruel. Something is definitely going on with him. Even today, Max seems unusually somber.

Martin considers sharing what he's found in Christ with Max, but he's not sure Max will listen. They've always made fun of people who were religious and spiritual. It would seem awkward for Martin to share his faith now, especially after what happened between them.

Martin frowns as he thinks back on the night that changed his life. Martin had asked Max to help him scare Johnny Reese, a boy Martin had fought with in the school cafeteria. But Martin's temper took over that night, and he came close to ending two lives with one rash mistake. Dangerously close. When Martin suggested doing damage with more than his fists, Max tried to talk him out of it. Martin responded by swinging a knife at him.

Martin isn't sure if he and Max are technically even friends anymore, but if he can convince Max that he's changed, then maybe Max will want to change too. Martin makes a face as he watches his Chemistry teacher, determined to wipe off the ink from the projector, lick his fingers and rub them against the screen. Martin decides within himself to find a way to reach out to his friend.

"Mr. West, can you tell me what the abbreviation for carbon is?" his teacher asks the question out of the blue.

Martin looks at his blank notebook and realizes he should have been taking notes.

"Uh, it's um," Martin reaches back to the dark recesses of his memory, but gets nothing. He looks back at the projector, but all the black ink is gone, wiped away by his teacher's salivated finger. He decides to guess.

"C?" Martin hopes he's at least close.

His teacher blinks. "Well, it seems that week in detention did you some good, Mr. West. I hope you can remember the answers long enough to pass the midterm exams. Unless of course you plan on having a cheerleader take your test for you?"

Martin rolls his eyes at his teacher's wisecrack. One of the football players had been caught cheating last semester. He got the test answers from a cheerleader who took the same class at a different time. Now every jock who attended the class was dubbed a cheater. Martin isn't the best student, but even he's smart enough to know not to cheat on a chem test.

Martin glances at Jennifer, who smiles knowingly at him.

"I'll email you my notes," she whispers quickly before their teacher notices. It isn't necessary; he's too busy trying to tell yet another joke that isn't funny, and most of the students laugh at him instead of with him. The bell finally rings and someone in the front turns over his desk trying to get out of class. Martin takes his time leaving, mainly because he wants to talk to Max. Max is still putting his textbook in his backpack when Martin walks over to him.

"Hey Max," Martin greets.

"Hey," Max replies blandly. He eyes Martin curiously.

"Max, c'mon let's go!" Jamie shouts as he shoots past the door. Jamie is one of the students at LHS, but Martin and Max don't usually hang out with him. Max waves at Jamie and zips up his backpack.

"Since when do you hang out with Jamie?" Martin asks.

"I don't know," Max shrugs. "Since my best friend ditched me, I guess." Max grabs his backpack and slings it over his shoulder.

"Wait, before you go," Martin speaks hastily, "I'd like to talk to you about something."

Max hesitates. "What?"

"Well, I was wondering if you wanted to come with me to church on Wednesday night," Martin replies.

Max snorts, then noting the serious look on Martin's face, replies. "Ah, gee Martin I can't." He adds with feigned sincerity, "Maybe next time, ok?"

"Well, why can't you come?" Martin asks.

"Jamie's having a party over at his place Wednesday, and I'm not going to miss it. Hey, why don't you come? It'll definitely be more fun than going to church." Max laughs.

Martin grimaces. "No thanks, Max. I won't have any fun there, and I would rather go to church than go to a place full of sin."

"Wow," Max raises his eyebrows. "We're not slitting the throats of baby calves, we're just having a little fun. It's just a party, Martin. Lighten up." Max looks at him and shakes his head. "You used to be so much fun, man. What happened to you?"

"Me?" Martin frowns. "What happened to you, Max? First you hang those pictures of Marjorie and now you're hanging out with guys like Jamie? Max, I don't think you should go to that party."

Max rolls his eyes, obviously irritated. "What, are you my mother now?" Max replies sarcastically.

"C'mon, Max I know what goes down at Jamie's house," Martin speaks in a low voice. "I've been there with you before. He's into some heavy stuff, and you don't need to be mixed up with that kind of crowd. I'm trying to be a friend."

"Since when do you care?" Max asks, visibly irritated. "Last time I checked, you swung a knife at me. If that's your idea of friendship-"

"It's not," Martin interrupts. "Max, what I did was bad. Really bad. I messed up, and I'm really sorry. I'm trying to make it up to you by looking out for you, man. Why don't you just listen to me?"

Max sighs, "Why don't you quit this good guy act and just stay out of my business, okay?" Max begins to walk off.

"Max, wait!" Martin calls after him.

"What?" Max turns around.

"I'm only trying to help you."

"I don't need your help!" Max snaps. Martin watches him leave and stares for a moment at the door, wondering what he did wrong. He shakes his head and puts his books in his backpack, realizing that he needs to get to his geometry class before the tardy bell rings.

When he gets to class, Jennifer Smith greets him. "Glad you could make it," she says, glancing at her watch and then at the clock on the wall.

"I was trying to talk to Max," Martin sighs, "but he got mad at me and walked off."

"What did you say to him?" she asks.

"He told me he was going to a party next Wednesday and I tried to tell him not to go." Martin glances at his watch and takes his seat behind Jennifer.

Jennifer turns to face him. "Max used to be a good friend of yours. I'm sure you'll get through to him."

Martin slams his backpack down in frustration. The sound startles Jennifer, but she tries not to show it. Martin looks at her apologetically. "I'm sorry. I'm just so frustrated. I don't know how to get through to him, Jen."

She nods and places her hand on his shoulder. "Don't get discouraged," she says. "Try again later."

Martin smiles at her, thankful for her encouragement. "Thanks, Jen."

†††

During lunch, Martin sees Max and walks over to his table. He takes the seat beside him and puts down his tray.

"Hey, that's my seat!" Jamie scowls as he walks up with his lunch tray.

"I'll be up in a minute," Martin replies, waving him off.

Jamie glares and mutters something under his breath.

"What do you want, Martin?" Max asks, rolling his eyes as he bites into a hamburger.

"You wouldn't let me finish talking to you today," Martin answers. "I was trying to tell you that God loves you and-"

Max cuts Martin off. "Whoa, time out! Since when are you religious?"

"That's what I've been trying to tell you," Martin speaks fervently. "I'm a Christian now, Max. I'm not who I used to be and if you repent –"

"Would you stop already?" Max stops eating. "I told you to leave me alone. I don't need you pushing some God crap in my face!"

"No Max," Martin says forcefully. "I'm not going to leave you alone and let you ruin your life!" Martin didn't intend to raise his voice, but their exchange has captured the interest of several curious eyes. Martin lowers his voice. "Max—"

"Hey, your minute's up, West," Jamie cuts him off, stepping between Max and Martin. Max gets up and walks away.

"Max!" Martin calls out, but Max doesn't turn to acknowledge him; Jamie trails shortly behind him. Martin gets up and walks back to his own table. He sits next to Jennifer and exhales in frustration.

"I blew it," he states quietly.

"Don't give up," Jennifer consoles him. "Just keep praying for him. And maybe..." Jennifer hesitates.

"What?" Martin asks.

"Maybe you could try another approach?" Jennifer suggests. "More subtle, perhaps, and less...threatening?"

Martin shakes his head. "I don't think that will work for Max. He's stubborn."

Jennifer shrugs. "It's just a thought."

Martin sighs. "I'll give it a shot. But I think my way is better."

Jennifer smiles as she bites into her sandwich. " We'll see."

†††

"Hey Jamie, you got any more beer?" Max slurs. It's Friday night, and Max is at Jamie's house. Jamie's parents are out of town for the weekend and Jamie invited a few friends over, including Max.

"Yeah, sure," Jamie replies and puts down the joint in his hand. One of the other guys picks it up and finishes it off as Jamie makes his way to the refrigerator. Jamie pauses and looks back at Max. "You sure you want another one?" he asks.

Just one more, Max. Go ahead.

"What did you say?" asks Max.

Jamie repeats, "I said are you sure you-"

"No, after that," Max waves his hand.

"I didn't say anything after that," Jamie shrugs.

Just take another beer.

"Did you say that?" asks Max, darting his eyes around the room.

"Say what?" Jamie asks, confused.

"I just heard someone say take another...take another beer." Max blinks to clear his mind.

"I didn't hear anything," Jamie laughs.

Jamie's friends snort and laugh at Max. "I think your friend here is wasted."

"Oh man, I must be hearing things," Max grabs his head.

"Hey you want a hit?" One of the guys pulls out another joint, but Max shakes his head.

"Nah, I'm gonna go home?" Max declines.

"You alright, man?" Jamie asks.

"Yeah, I'm okay. I just need some sleep," Max garbles as he heads for the door.

Jamie raises his eyebrows. "You sure?" he asks as he watches Max open the closet door instead of the front door beside it.

Max swears indistinctly. "Yeah I'll be fine," he waves his hand in dismissal. Max slams the closet door and turns around in confusion, searching hopelessly for the front door. He grabs his head in frustration and begins to mumble unintelligibly.

"Jamie, what is with this clown?" One of Jamie's friends grabs his cell phone and begins videotaping Max.

"That's Max," Jamie chuckles. "Always good for a laugh."

"Wish you'd stop switching the doors around." Max mutters and lets loose a chain of profanities at each failed attempt to locate the front door. Jamie's friends laugh hysterically. Jamie walks over to the door to help him out, but Max has already found the knob. Finally, he walks out.

Max waves, gets into his car and drives off.

After leaving Jamie's subdivision, Max begins to nod off. Moments later, his hands slip off the wheel.

†††

# CHAPTER FOUR

# Grounded Forever

Martin sets his book bag down on the floor and flops onto the couch. He flips on the TV and watches commercial after commercial of fast food restaurants. His stomach growls as a picture of a huge, juicy cheeseburger with bacon and lettuce is displayed in a 360 degree angle. The next shows a sizzling plate full of shrimp and peppers and onions over a heaping pile of vermicelli pasta. Martin gets up and heads to the fridge, but there isn't anything there but lunch meat. He turns his nose up as he stares at the lifeless, thinly sliced turkey breast and remembers that there's a great burger place near the church.

Martin grabs his wallet and his bus pass and heads out the door.

Twenty minutes later he's shoving a juicy burger into his mouth. Martin smiles as he enjoys the grade A beef, restaurant-style burger.

"Hey, Martin!" Jennifer's chipper voice is a pleasant surprise. She and Tammie make their way to him and sit beside him in the booth.

Martin smiles and points to the burger in his hand. "This is the best burger I've ever had in my life."

"They are pretty good, aren't they?" Jennifer nods. "Tammie, what are you ordering?"

"I think I'm going with a salad today," Tammie crinkles her nose in disgust.

"A salad?" Jennifer looks mortified. "You hate salad."

Tammie shrugs. "I know, but, I think I should lose some weight."

"Please!" Jennifer waves her hand. "You look fantastic! Right Martin?"

Martin swallows and glances at Tammie. She's curvy and full framed, but not what he'd call fat. Still, he doesn't want to get pulled into their conversation. Girls are very sensitive about their weight. Both Tammie and Jennifer look expectantly at Martin, waiting for his response.

"Tammie's cute," Martin finally states. "She looks fine to me."

Tammie blushes and Jennifer smiles in triumph. "See? Martin wouldn't lie, right?"

Martin nods his head and tries to finish his burger.

Jennifer orders food for herself and Tammie then looks at Martin. "I'm glad we bumped into you today. I guess you're not grounded anymore?"

Martin chokes on his burger as he realizes his mistake. What had he been thinking? His mother is going to kill him.

"Jennifer, I gotta go," Martin says quickly as he wraps up his burger and jumps out of the booth.

"But," Jennifer trails off as Martin dashes for the door.

The bus ride back home is excruciating; after what seems an eternity, the bus finally pulls up to his stop. Martin hops on his feet as he waits for the people in front of him to amble off the bus. If he runs, maybe he can make it before his parents get home. Maybe they stopped to get something to eat. Maybe they were running errands. Martin's hope crumbles as soon as he steps off the bus. His father is sitting on the bench, waiting for him.

†††

Max opens his eyes to a strange, bright room. He lets out a groan and grabs his head in pain. It's bandaged and feels like it is pulsing. He's clothed in a thin, short, white gown, and it registers quickly that he's in the hospital. He looks to his right and sees his mother asleep in a chair.

"Mom?" Max speaks softly. She immediately stirs, but looks as if she'll faint when she sees him.

"Max!" she cries, "You're awake! Your father and I were so worried that-" Her sentence is cut off by a stream of tears and she pulls him into a soft embrace.

"Mom, what am I doing here?" Max asks with a twinge of alarm. "What happened?"

"You don't remember?" she asks, trying to stifle her tears.

Max's father walks abruptly through the door with coffee in his hand. His face is flushed and he smells of alcohol. Lots of it.

"Good, you're awake," he says angrily as he stumbles towards Max. "Now I can yell at you."

"Arthur, please," his mother intersects him. "Just settle down."

"Don't tell me to settle down!" he yells, balling his fists tightly. The red splotches in his face are turning purple. Max gulps as his father continues his tirade. "Why should I calm down? He nearly got himself killed last night!"

"Arthur," Max's mother speaks softly, "he doesn't remember."

"I don't care!" Mr. Shaw is nearly hysterical with rage. He turns to point his finger in Max's face.

"Max, this is by far the most irresponsible, inexcusable, scatterbrained thing you've ever done! What were you thinking! Are you out of your mind?!" Max's father begins to swear profusely, and Max is afraid for a moment that he might hit him.

"Dad," Max stares at him, wide-eyed. "I don't know what I did, but I'm sorry."

Mr. Shaw looks at Max, incredulous. "How convenient! You don't remember?" Mr. Shaw begins to pace the room, speaking to his shoes.

"My son," he continues, "had the nerve to go out on the road while he was drunk. And not just drunk, but profoundly drunk. And he doesn't remember. Ha!" He stops and suddenly turns on Mrs. Shaw.

"This is all your fault!" he snarls.

"My fault?" Mrs. Shaw cries. "How is it my fault?"

"He's your son!" Mr. Shaw snaps.

"Well he's your son too, Arthur!" Mrs. Shaw matches his tone. "Would you stop trying to blame everybody and give Max a chance to talk?" Max wishes his name had gone unmentioned. He had hoped their argument would shift their anger towards each other and away from him.

A nurse walks into the room and gives them a warning to lower their voices.

"All right then," Mr. Shaw speaks in a lower tone. "Start talking, Max."

Max looks from one parent to the other, puts his head down, and says nothing.

"Too ashamed to talk, eh?" Mr. Shaw states sarcastically. "Or are you still too drunk to think? Well, you'll have plenty of time to figure out how to explain yourself, because you won't be going anywhere for a long, long time."

Max hopes his next question is safe. "When do I get out of here?" he asks.

"Tomorrow," his mother replies before Mr. Shaw can speak. "They said if you regained consciousness this –" her voice cracks and a moment passes before she continues – "this morning, they'd keep you here tonight for testing. They think you may have a concussion or worse. The doctor says that when you hit your head coming out of the window it could have caused some brain damage." Mrs. Shaw struggles to keep her voice even. She can't help but wonder how close she came to losing her only child. The thought makes her shudder.

"Brain damage?" Max asks. "How bad was the accident? Di-did you say I came out the window?" he stutters.

"Yes," Mr. Shaw replies, calmer now and showing signs of worry. "You crashed head first through the windshield and onto the pavement. You're lucky you're still alive with the few scratches and bruises you have." Mr. Shaw stops pacing and looks down at the floor. "Thank God," he whispers to himself.

"Wow," Max whispers, stunned. "I flew through a window! Wait 'til I tell –"

Max catches himself mid-sentence, but he's too late. Mr. Shaw explodes, infuriated.

"Do you think this is a game?" he screams. "This is your life, Max! You nearly died last night and all you can think about is what your friends will think? Do you realize how lucky you are?" Max's father is exasperated. His face is intense, but his eyes are watery.

"What if you weren't the only one to get hurt?" he asks, struggling for composure. "What if you'd hit somebody? Would you think this was funny then? Oh, and let's not forget that you now have a probation officer to see every week for a year."

"Wait a minute," Max pauses, sobered by this new information. "I have a probation officer?"

"You'll meet him Monday," Mrs. Shaw replies quickly, attempting to keep her husband calm. Max groans.

"Unbelievable," he mutters. "They punished me before they knew I'd wake up?"

"We talked to some of the other police officers and they say he's an okay guy," his mother adds reassuringly.

"He doesn't need an okay guy," growls Mr. Shaw. "What he needs is a one-way ticket to military school."

Mrs. Shaw sighs in exasperation.

"I'm serious Harriet," Mr. Shaw frowns, unable to control the raw emotion in his voice. "If that boy doesn't straighten up he'll wind up dead somewhere, and I don't want that to happen."

"Neither do I," says Mrs. Shaw. "But I think we should take a different approach. Why don't you let him come with me on Sunday?"

"Absolutely not!" he exclaims, the softness in his voice gone. "I won't have you filling our son's head with nonsense!"

"Arthur!" Mrs. Shaw exclaims.

"Besides," Mr. Shaw continues, "he's not up to going anywhere tomorrow, right Max?"

"Actually, I-" Max begins.

"How do you know what's good for you?" His father waves him off. "You've got less sense than that rich so-called friend of yours, Jamie." Mr. Shaw rambles on. "And what kind of parents leave their kid unsupervised weekend after weekend? Have we ever even met his parents? Aren't they always off to Aruba or Argentina? Shows you that money can't buy you brains."

"Okay, Arthur," says Mrs. Shaw. "That's enough. You're not talking sensibly now, so why don't you just go home and rest? I'll stay here with Max and take him home tomorrow."

"Alright," Mr. Shaw nods, obviously tired. "But I'll need your keys."

"No, Arthur," says Mrs. Shaw. "You're not driving anywhere. Call a cab."

"I'm fine, Harriet," Mr. Shaw frowns.

"Arthur," Mrs. Shaw speaks sternly. "This is a perfect example of why Max acts the way he does. You're supposed to be setting a good example."

"Oh don't preach at me Harriet," Mr. Shaw scowls. "I'll call a cab, okay?"

"Thank you." Mrs. Shaw kisses him on the cheek and pats his shoulder.

"So how long will I be grounded for?" Max asks.

Mr. Shaw turns and looks at his son. "How does forever sound?" he snaps. That said, Mr. Shaw walks out and Mrs. Shaw and Max are left alone.

†††

Late Saturday afternoon, Martin pulls the work gloves off of his hands and sits down on the patio. He's just finished hedging the bushes, part of his punishment for, as his father put it, violating the terms of his sentence.

Mr. West comes out with a tall glass of homemade lemonade and surveys the yard. Martin watches the condensation slowly drip from the top of the icy glass to the patio floor and swallows.

"Looks good," Mr. West measures the evenness of the bushes with one hand as he holds the glass with the other.

Martin nods. "I also mowed the grass and got rid of the hornet's nest like you asked. The leaves are raked and in black bags and I fertilized the plants in mom's garden.

"Good, good," Mr. West nods. "Your mother makes the absolute best lemonade I have ever tasted." Martin nods in agreement and parts his lips as his father takes a long drink from the glass.

"I hope that burger was worth it," Mr. West gives Martin a look.

"Dad, I'm sorry," Martin sighs. "You guys have never grounded me for more than a week and it's already been two. Can you blame me for forgetting?"

"Give me the definition of until further notice," his father demands.

"Come on, dad," Martin mutters.

His father is unrelenting. "Give me the definition, Martin."

Martin sighs. "You've made me say it a hundred times already!"

His father gives him a stern look. "Then this will make a hundred and one. Now give me the definition."

Martin frowns. "Up to the time of a more advanced point when an announcement or intimation of something impending occurs. You know I had to look up each word. There is no 'until further notice' in the dictionary."

Mr. West smiles. "And you did such a wonderful job. I love the definition. Now, your mother and I said you were grounded until further notice. That means, uh, say it one more time for me?"

Martin swallows the remark burning in his throat and repeats the definition. Mr. West smiles and finishes off the lemonade in the glass. "Come inside and get some water, Martin."

"Can't I have lemonade?" Martin looks at his father pleadingly.

Mr. West sighs. "You could have, but I just drank the last of it."

Martin lowers his head, dejected, as his father laughs. "I'm kidding, son. Come get some lemonade."

# CHAPTER FIVE

# Officer Rick

Max meanders over to the vending machines in the hospital pantry as his mother signs his discharge papers in the hall. He taps on the Plexiglas, dissatisfied with the options this particular machine has to offer. His stomach growls and he settles on a bag of pretzels before taking a seat behind the machine.

He hears a couple of nurses come in. The vending machine blocks Max from their view and he hears their conversation.

"Harriet's boy was admitted the other night, you know? Alcohol level through the roof!"

"I can't understand how some parents let their kids get away with so much stuff."

Max's face flushes red as he realizes they are talking about him.

"It's not entirely her fault. Her husband's a heavy drinker. Can't keep a job, that's why she's always working extra shifts."

"Guess that's what happens when you marry for love."

"Oh stop it! I feel sorry for her. She works so hard, and I tell you I wouldn't be surprised if that boy ends up just like his father."

"Mhm, we see it every day. At this rate he probably won't see 20."

"True. Well, break time's over, and I've got a bed pan to change."

Max listens to the sound of their footsteps leaving the pantry before stepping out to find his mother.

"Okay! Are you ready to go?" Mrs. Shaw smiles at Max as she signs the last paper.

"Yeah," Max answers with little enthusiasm. He looks at the unopened bag of pretzels in his hand and frowns.

"Hey mom?" Max asks. "Can we pick up something to eat on the way home?"

"I suppose it can't hurt," Mrs. Shaw shrugs as they leave.

They decide on a drive thru at a Chinese food restaurant. After their orders are taken she glances in her rear view mirror. "Max, may I ask you something?"

"Sure," Max mumbles, suddenly uneasy.

"Well," his mother begins, "when you woke up in the hospital, were you scared? I mean, you could have died."

Max is quiet for a long time. "Not really," he finally replies. "I mean, everybody dies, right?"

"But not everybody goes to the same place," Mrs. Shaw says softly.

Max shrugs his shoulders and stares out the window, indicating that the conversation is over. He squints his eyes as the sun looks out above them. The trees sway gently in the fall breeze and birds chirp as they flutter from branch to branch.

The prospect of death—of never seeing these things again—it does scare him. Thinking about what could have happened gave him cold shivers as he lay in the hospital bed the night before. But anyone in his situation would feel the same, and telling his mother the truth would undoubtedly cause her to make something bigger out of it. He was scared, so what? He doesn't want to think about why. He was just lucky.

"Honey, here's your chicken and rice," his mother hands him his fork and his food.

Max immediately feels guilty. His mother looks exhausted. She didn't leave his side the entire time he was at the hospital. Between Max and his father, she had to go through a lot.

"Thanks," he replies.

"When we get home, I want you to get plenty of rest," she continues. "You'll be meeting your probation officer tomorrow morning."

Yay, Max thinks. "I know Ma," he answers. They drive the rest of the way home in silence. Max is genuinely glad when he sees the dilapidated sign telling him he's arrived at the Kenoo Springs Trailer Park. Kenoo Springs isn't much to look at, and the Shaw's small house looks out of place surrounded by trailers and mobile homes. Max grimaces and compares his home to Jamie's neighborhood. Knollgrove is the wealthiest neighborhood in Logoria, and Max loves spending time there. Martin's home in Colera Heights is almost as nice, with a few exceptions. It isn't as flashy, and his parents haven't hosted catered parties there since they became Bible thumpers – just the occasional, liquor-free barbecue. Lame.

Kenoo Springs is a ghetto in comparison, but overall a quiet place to live. His parents moved to this house when he was a baby. His father wasn't too thrilled about Max's unexpected arrival, but no one could tell by the way his mother told the story. She told Max that he was a gift from God.

Max's father believed he came from God, too, but not as a gift. His father believed Max was God's way of punishing him. For what, Mr. Shaw had never elaborated.

He and Mrs. Shaw lived together for a few years before Max came along. It was unintentional, and they got married shortly after his mother found out she was pregnant. A year and a half later his mother become pregnant again, but she lost the second child. She was unable to have any more children after that, and Max often wondered if it was his fault. His mother had gone through various complications while carrying him; at one point doctors suggested an emergency abortion. His father was for the abortion, but Max's mother fought for him. She won in the end, and, to her detriment, Max was delivered.

The doctors told her she wouldn't be able to have another child, but his parents had been hopeful when she became pregnant the second time. She miscarried after three months, and her doctors warned that another pregnancy could cost her. Since then, his parents' relationship had been strained and his father had nursed an already heavy drinking habit.

Max goes straight to bed as soon as they arrive home. He sinks into the plush softness of his pillow and allows his muscles to relax. The last thing he hears before drifting off to sleep is his mother's voice reminding him that he will meet his probation officer on Monday.

†††

Max doesn't know what to expect as he stands in Officer Rick's office. It is a sterile, cold looking place. The filing cabinets are arranged in perfect angles against the walls, and the desk is neatly organized. Nothing really stands out, save a single painting on the wall. It has stars and planets and swirling light systems. On the bottom is a tiny inscription, but Max can't make out what it says. He walks over to Officer Rick's desk, looking at the folders strewn in equal angles with color coded tabs. He spots his name on one of the folders with a blue tab and, without thinking, he picks it up and begins to peruse the contents.

"See anything you like?" a deep voice asks. Max starts and jumps from the desk. He didn't hear Officer Rick come in. His face turns red and Max wishes he had agreed to his mother coming with him.

"Max, there's nothing wrong with having me there," she had said.

"Mom, I'll be fine," Max had rolled his eyes at his mother's persistence.

"Are you sure?" she'd asked for the millionth time.

She asked the same question before they left the house, before they parked, before they got out the car, and before she and Max walked into the building.

Each time Max had told her he didn't need her babying him.

"Unless there's some rule that says you have to be there, I'd rather you weren't."

Max had ignored the hurt look on his mother's face. It wasn't his fault she couldn't take a hint.

He didn't want to be here, but he had no choice. He had no idea what this Rick guy was like, but the last thing he wanted was his mother giving her opinion about everything the man said and lecturing him and fussing over him. She still treated him like he was two years old, giving him nicknames like honey or Maxie or kiddo. He hated that, and he told her so, but moms were impossible.

Now, caught red handed and awkwardly unsure of himself, he would have traded her presence right now for a thousand of those nicknames. Officer Rick is scary-looking. Two words come to mind when Max sees him: big and black. Max has friends who are black, but none of them are as dark or as intimidating as Officer Rick. The man is solid as a rock. His blue uniform doesn't hide his bulky muscles and his eyes cut through Max like cold steel. Max becomes increasingly anxious during the silence, and he isn't sure whether he should confess or pretend he's done nothing wrong.

He isn't given a chance to decide. "Have a seat, and let's get started," Officer Rick orders gruffly. Max immediately sits down, unable to respond in any way short of obedience.

"Where is your guardian?" Officer Rick eyeballs Max intensely, and Max knows he can read his thoughts.

He swallows hard, fighting against the lump in his throat. "She's um...she's outside. My mother. Sir."

Officer Rick steps over to his desk and picks up the file Max was looking through. He fingers the pages briefly and then sets the file back down neatly in its place. He sits in his chair, crosses one leg over the other, and spins slightly to the left, twirling a pen as he studies Max.

"Max," he begins. "Do you know why you're here?"

What kind of question is that? Max wonders. "Yes sir," he replies. Max gulps again. He watches as Officer Rick continues to stare him down. Max's hands become clammy and his heart rate goes up. Officer Rick narrows his eyes and stops twirling his pen. He gets up and walks over to the painting Max had seen earlier.

Officer Rick looks at Max and nods toward the picture. "Do you know what that is?" he asks. Again, Max isn't given a chance to answer.

"That's a picture of our solar system. Do you see this dot here?" He points to a small speck on the painting. "That's our planet. Compared to all the other stuff out there, it seems so small, doesn't it?" Officer Rick looks at Max, as if waiting for an answer. Max isn't sure if he is expected to reply, so he says nothing.

Officer Rick continues. "That's the way many people feel, Max. Small. They don't recognize their self-worth or appreciate the value of others. They don't see how the decisions they make can truly affect the people around them or even their own lives. So they act out. My theory is that they're hoping someone will notice, and help them."

"My job," he continues, "is to educate you about yourself. You see, Max, you are not as insignificant as you think you are. Your community is directly affected by the things that you do." Officer Rick folds his hands behind his back.

"Max, you're here because you need help. We already have way too many people wreaking havoc in our city and breaking the law. The first step is reformation and rehabilitation. That's me." He stares intensely at Max.

"The next step is incarceration. That's jail. If you don't accept my help and continue down the path you're going, you will go to jail."

Max shifts uncomfortably in his chair. He doesn't know what to make of Officer Rick. The man is built like an oak tree, and his facial expression is no exception. His eyes are unreadable, and his mouth forms a straight line across his face. Max jumps as Officer Rick suddenly turns to him, placing his hands on the arms of Max's chair.

"I don't think you understand why you're here, Max," Officer Rick states as he flicks a piece of lint from Max's shirt.

Max tries to respond. "I um...I was drinking and driving, sir." Max lowers his eyes, unable to match his probation officer's dauntless glare.

Officer Rick chuckles, shakes his head, and stands up. "No, Max. In your mind you're still insignificant. You don't know your purpose. You don't know why you're here." Max gives him a puzzled look.

"Everyone has a destiny, Max. The sooner you find out what it is, the better off you'll be. We're going to find out what your purpose is, Max, so that you'll become a productive and beneficial member of society. And," he adds, "You'll have some inward peace as well."

# CHAPTER SIX

# Addiction

Max leaves Officer Rick's office with several forms, brochures on alcohol and drug addictions, and a mind full of questions. His mouth is dry; he is really craving a drink. He does a mental search of the liquor cabinet in his house for something strong. He knows just what he wants. He can easily work around his mother. All he has to do is tell her he needs something from the store, and he will be left alone for at least thirty minutes. His father isn't likely to be home either.

Max turns the corner and spots his mother in a chair. She hounds him with questions as soon as she sees him. Fortunately, Officer Rick is only a few steps behind Max, and he introduces himself to Max's mother.

"Hello Mrs. Shaw, I'm Officer Rick Kent. If you have any questions or concerns throughout the duration of Max's probation, I will answer them to the best of my knowledge. There are some things I need to discuss with you and Max together. I've already spoken to him, but I want you both to understand a few things about juvenile law."

Officer Kent continues to go through the legalities with Max and his mother, making one point very clear: "Mrs. Shaw, repeat offenses are not taken lightly. We can give Max a drug test without prior notice at any time, and if he breaks the rules of his probation, he can be sent to a juvenile facility from anywhere between thirty days to a year. This is a very serious matter, and it can cost you your future, Max." Officer Rick looks at Max with an expression Max can't decipher. Was that compassion?

Max is anxious to get home and drown his confusion in brandy. Mrs. Shaw asks Officer Rick what seems like a million questions before they finally leave.

Max is relieved when they arrive home. He flops down on the couch and thinks over what he will tell his mother he needs from the store. He finally chooses fruit. He tells his mother he read somewhere that kiwi helps to detoxify the bloodstream, and he thinks it might help because his head is beginning to hurt.

"Max," his mother states. "We've got headache medicine here if you need it."

"I know mom," Max uses as pitiful a voice as he can muster. "But isn't it true that you're not supposed to mix medicine with alcohol? I'm not sure it's completely left my system yet, and the last thing I need right now is to overdose or go into shock."

Mrs. Shaw tsks. "I hate to leave you, Maxie."

Max fights the urge to roll his eyes at his mother's nickname for him. "Mom, I'll be okay," he replies with a yawn. "I'll just go lay down until you get back."

"Alright, honey," Mrs. Shaw kisses his forehead. "Get some rest."

Max smiles at her as she walks away and rolls his eyes in disgust as soon as she is out of the house. He rushes to the window to watch her pull off and smiles in triumph. "Too easy," he says to himself.

Come on Max.

Max remembers the drink he's been craving all afternoon and goes to the liquor cabinet. He takes out a paper clip from the drawer and picks the lock with ease. His friend Martin taught him how to do it. Martin has a knack for finding a way to get what he wants, no matter what. Max shakes his head. So much has changed between them. Martin and Max used to be inseparable. Now Martin is living in a completely different universe, as far as Max is concerned.

Still, he misses their camaraderie. He used to have so much respect for Martin; not even the incident with Johnny Reese had changed that. But Martin's turn to Christianity put an impenetrable wall between the two of them.

Max pours his drink and starts to replace the bottle, but after giving it some thought, he leaves the bottle out. One is never enough.

Max started drinking when he was thirteen. His father was rarely seen without a drink, so Max wanted to know what was so special about it. His first drink was awful. It was a lukewarm beer left out by his uncle. The bitter taste sent Max straight to the bathroom to vomit.

Despite the unpleasant result of his first experience Max continued to drink. It gave him a rush knowing that he was doing something he wasn't supposed to. He eventually developed a taste for it, and it became routine for Max to have at least one beer a day. His father was always buying beer, so he rarely missed one or two cans a day.

Max's turn to hard liquor occurred after Max experienced his first heartbreak. He was only 15 at the time, but there was no doubt in his mind that he'd found the girl he'd spend the rest of his high school years with. She was a pretty brunette who sat next to him in Algebra class. She suddenly moved away at the end of the year, and Max was crushed.

After finding out she was leaving, Max had gone straight home and to the fridge. Oddly, he couldn't find any beer. Either his father had decided to quit, which usually lasted no more than a day, or his mother had been cleaning out the fridge. He looked through all the cabinets until he found a bottle of brandy. He couldn't remember how much he had that day, but after that his parents started locking the liquor cabinet.

Max finishes his second shot. His head is beginning to buzz, and he already feels more relaxed.

That's not enough, Max. Just one more.

Max shakes his head. He's only on his second drink. Why is he hearing things? Max decides another shot will clear his head. By the time Max realizes that the voices are getting louder he's consumed nearly three quarters of a bottle. Max replaces the bottle in the cabinet and locks it. He saunters over to the couch, but after watching it change form at least three times, he decides his luck might be better with his bed.

Max yawns and then realizes the scent of the liquor is on his breath. He gargles several times with mouthwash—nearly choking twice—before finally going to his room. He can still smell it.

Shoot, he thinks to himself. If his mother finds out he's been drinking, there will be no end to her complaining. Max curls up onto his bed and closes his eyes. He falls asleep to the whispers of several voices.

Drink up, Max. You need it.

# CHAPTER SEVEN

# The Morning After

The solid white chamber lay undisturbed for several moments before it's dimmed by shadows. A loud heave resounds within its cavity and putrescent odors permeate the sterile air. The bowels of the chamber grumble angrily as floods of water rush in, aggressively attacking the vile intruders plummeting like liquid bombs. Swirling water sloshes fiercely against the porcelain walls as it spirals into a dark, dismal abyss. The chamber growls a final time before the water calms and abates.

Max hopes this is the last one. His head still feels like there's a gaping hole in the back of it, and his stomach feels like it has turned inside out. The familiar jerking of his abdominal muscles tells him he's not finished yet. Max begins to swear, but can't finish because of the bile in his throat. It builds to the highest point and rushes violently from his mouth.

He spasms uncontrollably as his abdomen contracts, each thrust causing his head to pulsate in pain. His throat is beginning to feel sore and scratchy. Dizziness washes over him, and he holds onto the sides of the commode to steady himself. He moans in pain, hoping his parents can't hear him. A knock on the bathroom door indicates that one of them has.

"Max, are you okay, sweetie?" his mother asks with concern.

"I'm fine," he rasps. "Just something I ate probably. Bad Chinese or something."

His mother walks in and places her hand on his back. Max flinches, partly because he can't stand for his mother to touch him, and partly because his body is extremely sensitive. His mother tries to soothe him. "Baby, are you sure-"

"Mom, I'm fine!" Max shrieks. "Leave me alone!" A string of profanities follow and Mrs. Shaw places her hand over her mouth in shock. Her eyes become moist and she sighs heavily. "Max," she whispers. "What's happened to you?"

Max closes his eyes. The dizziness has returned, and his mother is irritating him. "Mom, just go away," he says calmly, so as not to set off the pain in his head.

"Oh, Jesus," his mother prays in quiet sobs. "Help my son."

"Jesus can't help me, mom," Max spews. "And neither can you. So leave me alone." Max's stomach finally stops contracting and he straightens himself slowly.

"Max," his mother begins to reach for his arm, but Max puts his hand up, blocking her from grabbing him. He brushes past her and walks toward his bedroom. He can hear his mother crying, but he refuses to turn around. He goes back to his bed, hoping to find relief there for his aching head. He's pretty sure he won't throw up anymore, but he still has to go to school in the morning. Max lands hard on his pillow. He swears as lightning streaks dance across his eyes and pain shoots through the back of his head. Max closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Moments later, he is asleep.

†††

Martin yawns and stretches. He went to bed far too late the night before, and now he is paying for it. He spent most of the night talking to Jennifer, who always made it her business to inform him of everything that went on with everyone.

Martin smiles. A lot of guys he knows couldn't handle Jennifer's gift of gab, but Martin likes it. He isn't big on conversation, but she talks enough for the both of them. Martin walks to his closet, recalling to his mind their conversation. She talked about her new clothes, church, the youth, and her favorite subject: everything.

She has such a pretty smile, Martin thinks. Whenever they talk on the phone, Martin pictures her in his mind. Her hands always move a certain way when she is excited about what she is talking about, and when she smiles, she doesn't hold back. Her teeth are never hidden but constantly radiate with an angelic glow. Martin noticed only recently that she has a slight dimple on the left side of her mouth.

He wonders why he never noticed her before. Martin is interested in girls, but between his parents' strict rules and his rigorous basketball schedule, Martin rarely pursues romantic relationships. His friend Max has a new girlfriend just about every month, but Martin can't recall ever having one, at least not a real one. His parents would blow a gasket if he ever tried to bring a girl to the house.

Martin scans his closet and finally settles on a pair of blue jeans and a horizontally striped shirt. He walks over to his drawer and pulls out everything he needs. What was it Jennifer had said about Max? She had mentioned that he got into trouble over the weekend. She wasn't sure why, but whatever happened resulted in his now having a probation officer. Martin didn't see Max at school the day before, and he wonders what may have happened. He makes up his mind to find out today if Max is at school. He says a quick prayer on behalf of his friend, and finishes getting ready.

†††

Max wakes abruptly to the sound of his alarm clock. He sits up slowly, cussing profusely at the clock's invasion of his sleep. His mother didn't make him go to school Monday, but he has to go today. He will have to meet with Officer Kent again this evening; he said it would be a "real" session. He also has more paperwork to fill out for the mandatory court appearing he has to attend on Thursday. He scratches the back of his head and yawns. His breath smells awful, despite the rinsing he'd done the night before. Max slept the entire day Monday and finished off the brandy while his parents slept last night. He still feels a little cloudy, but his head doesn't hurt. Max gathers himself together enough to make it to the shower.

†††

Max makes a silent vow to be as horrible to his mother as he possibly can. On the way to school, she asks him several times if he is okay, but Max intentionally ignores her. She had almost given in when he asked to stay home, but his father had accused her of babying him.

She always gives in to his father, and Max is going to make her pay for it. He rolls his eyes at her comments and clears his throat loudly whenever she begins speaking to him. As soon as the car stops in front of the school, he gets out, walking away quickly as his mother tries to tell him something. He is greeted by several of his friends; most of them already heard about what happened to him. None of them called.

"Hey Shaw, what's up?" one of them asks.

"Nothing," he replies. "Just doing what I do best, I guess."

"Max!" he hears a familiar voice screech from across the campus.

"Oh, no," Max groans. He forgot about his girlfriend over the weekend. She was really starting to get on his nerves, and he had planned on breaking up with her Saturday.

She walks towards him, a mixture of concern and disappointment playing on her face. He knows she'll probably lecture him. Sometimes she reminds him of his mom. That's part of the reason why he wants to break up with her.

"Max," Shelly whines. "What happened to you?"

Max rolls his eyes at her. "I was in a car accident, Shelly."

"I know that," she looks at him quizzically. "But we were supposed to go out this weekend."

Is she for real? Max thinks to himself. "Yeah, it kind of slipped my mind, Shelly." He adds sarcastically, "Maybe it was my concussion. Or it could have been the pain meds they gave me."

"You could have called me," Shelly chides him. "I was worried about you, and I had to find out from my best friend whose brother in law has a cousin who works at the hospital that you'd been in a wreck. That's no way to find out your boyfriend's been hurt."

Max looks at her, incredulous. "I-was-in-a-wreck," he says the words slowly, as if she is a preschooler.

Shelly glowers at him fiercely, placing one hand on her hip and waving another in his face. "I'm not an idiot, Max!" she snaps. "I know you were in a wreck, but I'm your girlfriend and I have a right to a phone call or something."

Max shakes his head and sighs. "Why didn't you call me, then?"

Shelly looks at him as if he's just grown a tail. "What would I look like calling you like some little puppy dog, Max? I am not going to let some guy play me like that." She rolls her neck as she says it. Max wonders what in the world ever made her attractive to him.

"You're an idiot, Shelly," he says plainly and walks away. Shelly's jaw drops open and her eyes grow wide in disbelief. Max resists the urge to humiliate her further and heads to class. Much to his chagrin, Martin catches him in the hallway.

"Hey Max, how are you?" Martin asks.

"I'm fine," Max replies flatly. "What do you want, Martin?"

Martin hesitates. He searches for words; his eyes barely make contact with Max's. "Jennifer told me you got into some trouble over the weekend. I didn't see you yesterday, so I wanted to make sure everything is okay." He looks over the small cuts on Max's face with concern.

Max puts down his book bag and stares at Martin. "You know what? Everything's not okay, Martin, but I think things will be a whole lot better when people like you, and my parents, and everyone else stop getting in my face and just leave me alone!" Max takes a step towards Martin and stands nose to nose with him.

"I am sick and tired of everybody trying to tell me what my problems are. I'm especially tired of people like you who call yourself Christians trying to tell me that Jesus is the answer! Jesus can't help me! I really can't see how you've got the nerve to even come to me after all the things we've been through, Martin. If Jesus knew half of what I know about you, I doubt he'd be so forgiving."

Martin winces at the reminder.

"You seem to have forgotten just how long I've known you," Max continues. "I've been there for all of it, Martin. I can't count how many times I've lied to cover for you when it might put me in a bad spot. Did you tell God about all that? Did you go confess your sins to your Mommy and Daddy and swear to be a good little Christian boy from now on? How about Jennifer, your new Christian buddy? Does she know about your dirty work?"

Martin's palms begin to sweat, and he looks away, embarrassed. "Max, this is not the place to discuss that."

"Oh, I see." Max puts his hand on his chin. "But it's okay to discuss all the stuff that's wrong with me, is that what you're saying? How about I discuss it with your new buddy? I mean, since she's taken my place it's her right to know everything about you that I know."

Martin's temper begins to rise, and he clenches his fists. "Be careful, Max," he warns.

Max, recognizing Martin's anger, begins to back down. "That preacher really worked you over, Martin," he says, shaking his head. "But not even Jesus can stop you from being your old self, can he?"

Martin realizes that he is beginning to lose control and tells himself to calm down. This isn't about him and his past. If he's going to help Max, getting angry won't help. He remembers what Jennifer suggested and tries a calmer approach.

"Max," Martin says quietly. "I don't want to talk to you to judge you. I just wanted to make sure you're okay," he says sincerely.

"The offer still stands about Wednesday night. We've been through a lot together, and I'm sorry for all the things I've done that might be keeping you from thinking I'm sincere in my faith. I'm not perfect, Max, but that's no excuse for the things I've done. If I could do it over again I would. But I can't change the past. All I can do is live the rest of my life in a way that's pleasing to God. Don't let my mistakes be the only reason you don't believe in Jesus, Max. I was never that good a friend."

"Don't worry, you're not the only reason," Max replies bitterly. His expression shifts and Max softens his tone.

"I wish things could be like they were before," Max sighs. "You're my friend, and I've always got your back." Max pauses as the first bell for class rings, then continues. "You know, that night with Johnny? I felt bad for leaving you. I don't know what happened. I just got scared. I told myself a million times to turn around and either help you or try to talk you out of it, and I know as a friend I let you down. I'm sorry."

Martin stares at Max, surprised.

"Max, you did the right thing," Martin assures him. "I was the one who was wrong. You were right to leave. If you had been there with me, I may have actually gone through with it."

"Well, what happened, man?" Max asks.

Martin shakes his head. "I don't know, Max. I was thinking crazy thoughts. I thank God he stopped me, and he gave me a second chance."

Max starts to respond, but stops as he sees Shelly walking towards them. He picks up his book bag quickly and begins walking in the other direction.

"I gotta go, Martin," he says, pointing his head in Shelly's direction. Martin looks and nods knowingly. Martin heads to class, his head raised a little higher knowing he's made some progress.

# CHAPTER EIGHT

# Reality

Max feels like school will never end. His eyes are red and swollen, and he wishes he hadn't had quite so much to drink the night before. His last class is history, and he's dozed off so many times already he wonders if he'll make it to the end.

"Max, snap out of it man," Jamie whispers to him.

Max glances lazily in his direction. Jamie is warning him, his head tilted in confusion as Max's head floats up and down. Their teacher, Mr. Kennedy, stops mid-sentence and looks in their direction.

"Mr. Shaw, Mr. Kendall, do you have something you'd like to share with the class?"

Jamie slouches down in his desk and shakes his head no. Max looks at Mr. Kennedy and replies sarcastically, "Yeah, I'd like everyone to know that if we all chip in a dollar apiece, we can buy you a toupee that actually matches your natural hair color," Some of the students snicker. Mr. Kennedy is not amused.

Problem solved, Max thinks to himself. He'll soon be sent home, and with any luck, he'll get the whole week off as well. Max smiles in triumph as Mr. Kennedy marches him ceremoniously to the principal's office.

Max is only sent home for the day, much to his disappointment. He waits patiently as his mother is called, and then his father. Max listens as the school secretary whispers to one of the counselors nearby, the phone in one hand.

"I tried his mother first, but she's probably at work. You know she works at the hospital. His father should be home. He's unemployed." Someone picks up on the other line, and the secretary pauses.

"Yes, Mr. Shaw? I'm calling about your son, Max."

Twenty minutes later Max's father arrives, visibly irritated and slightly inebriated. Max frowns at the sight of his father. He can't even come to get Max from school without having a drink first.

"Come on, Max!" his father growls after signing him out for the day. Max looks at his father disdainfully.

"I'm not going anywhere with you," he replies. "I know my way home." Max gets up and walks out of the office, his father close on his heels. Max heads towards the bus stop, walking past his father's car.

"Max, don't you dare walk away from me when I'm talking to you!" his father is livid. He grabs Max by the arm and swings him around to face him.

"You're going to cut the crap and get in the car now!"

Max pulls himself away from his father's grip, his arms and legs trembling.

"Don't you ever touch me!" he shouts.

Nevertheless, he storms over to where his father's car is parked and sits in the backseat. When they arrive at the house, Mr. Shaw goes straight to the kitchen and grabs a beer. He places himself in his Lazy Boy and turns on the television. The classifieds section of the newspaper lay on the table beside him, decorated with scribbles and notes in the margins.

Max shakes his head in disgust and watches his father. Mr. Shaw lost his job the day Max wrecked his car. Max's father never kept a job for long. His temper was short and his patience was thin.

Still, unemployment didn't keep Mr. Shaw from his weekly, often daily, ritual of going to the bar in the early evening and returning home just before daylight. His mother and father were always arguing about how much time he spent at Willy's Bar. It had become his favorite place in the last few months, with Max and his mother seeing less and less of him each night.

Not that Max spent much time home himself. He was usually at Jamie's house, or a party, or his girlfriend's house. Max hated being home. His father was always angry, his mother was always crying, and Max was always powerless to do anything about it.

When he was younger he always tried to fix things between his parents. He'd run up to his dad and hug him, reassuring him that he'd find another job; then he'd tell his mother there was no need to cry because Dad loved them. His mother would look at him with pity; his father would push him away in annoyance. Then his parents would argue over him.

His mother would tell his father what a bad example he was, and his father would accuse his mother of babying him too much. Then his father would leave for hours, sometimes days, without telling his mother where he was going. It was a madhouse, and Max eventually got tired of being stuck in the middle.

Max narrows his eyes as he watches his father slowly rise and make his way to his room. Shortly afterward, he reemerges with a limp suit and cheap cologne.

"I'm going out, Max. Don't go anywhere." Max rolls his eyes at his father's demand.

As if he could stop me, he thinks to himself. "Whatever," he replies with indifference. His father walks out of the house and drives off, likely in the direction of Willy's.

"Figures," Max grimaces, vowing silently that he'll never be like his father.

You know what you need, Max.

Max feels his mouth go dry and goes to the refrigerator, hoping that his father hasn't completely wiped out the beer.

•••

Mr. Shaw pulls into the parking lot at Willy's and takes a deep breath. He closes his eyes, silently willing himself not to go in. The familiar smile of the waitress inside tips the scale, and he slowly gets out of his car. Bambi already has his usual order ready for him by the time he gets inside. She looks at the tiny round watch on her wrist and crinkles her nose.

"You're a bit early, Art, but I'm always glad to see you coming." She smiles at him. Mr. Shaw feels his stomach muscles tighten and his palms begin to sweat. Bambi always makes him feel like a nervous schoolboy; but, she always makes him feel like he is wanted, too. She is the reason he keeps coming to Willy's.

"I'll have something different today, Bambi," Mr. Shaw returns her smile. "I need something a little stronger."

Bambi purses her lips and places her arm on his shoulder. "Did you have a rough day today, hon?"

Mr. Shaw loves the way she always calls him hon. "Yea, my kid got into trouble again."

Bambi tsks and shakes her head. "Sorry to hear that." She slides into the seat across from him and takes his hand in hers. "I wish there were something I could do."

Mr. Shaw allows his hand to stay for a moment then pulls away. "You know I can't, Bambi."

Bambi rolls her eyes in frustration. "Why can't you? You know you love me, Artie." She smiles at him softly. "You know how I feel about you."

Mr. Shaw frowns. "My wife doesn't deserve an unfaithful husband."

Bambi snorts. "She doesn't deserve you, that's for sure. She's always telling you how worthless you are and how bad an example you are to your son!"

"That's not entirely accurate, Bambi," Mr. Shaw scowls.

"You told me that yourself, Art," she retorts. "She obviously doesn't want you, honey, and you know I'm crazy about you. Just leave her."

Mr. Shaw gets up quickly, nearly turning over the table and losing his drink. "I won't abandon my wife, Bambi!" he speaks in hushed tones.

"My father did that to my mother and she had to raise me and my brothers by herself. I don't want that for her, and I don't want that for Max. Despite the fact that I haven't had a steady job in years, she's always been good to me. She's been better to me than I deserve."

"You're afraid to lose that pretty little Focus because she's the one making payments on it, Art!" Bambi snaps. Mr. Shaw clenches his jaw and Bambi softens her tone.

"Art, I know how you feel, but this is different. You won't be walking out on them. You don't love her. You may be keeping her from being happy the same way that she's making you miserable. And you won't be abandoning Max. You'll just be taking care of you for a change." She places his hands back in hers.

"Artie, you're always thinking about everybody else. Just think about yourself for once. Think about how happy I can make you." She leans forward and kisses him on the cheek.

"Just think about it," she whispers.

Bambi gets up quietly and continues to make her rounds throughout the bar. Mr. Shaw looks down at his glass and swallows hard. A lump forms in his throat, and as he watches Bambi walk away, he wonders if his heart rate will ever slow. Despite the belligerent protests of his thoughts, Mr. Shaw pays his tab and leaves.

# CHAPTER NINE

# The Truth

Max is sprawled out face down on the couch. Three empty beer cans lie beside him on the floor. A fourth teeters shakily beside them, still trapped in his hand. Max's eyes are half opened, darting lazily from one image to another before resting on the front door. Mr. Shaw walks in slowly with his head down, barely noticing Max on the couch. He sighs and puts his keys on the table, then looks up and sees the scattered cans, the grungy couch, and a very disjointed Max.

"Maxwell Shaw!" he roars.

Max leaps to a sitting position at the sound of his father's voice. He looks up, unable to comprehend half of what his father is now screaming at him. He can only make out the words in broken, telegraphic form. "Some nerve... leaves less than an hour... no sense... break his mother's heart..."

Max can't keep up with the rest. His face becomes hot with embarrassment. He should have known better than to lay on the couch in plain sight, but he didn't expect his father back for at least another couple of hours.

Did he run out of money? Max wonders. Tired of his father's tirade, Max finally slurs, "Why are you back so soon?" His expression is one of total confusion.

Mr. Shaw thunders over to Max, ejecting insults like missiles in his son's direction. He pulls him by his shirt and forces him to stand upright.

"Get your tail off this couch and clean this mess up!" he snarls.

Max's head begins to spin from the sudden change in motion. Max sways and stumbles forward as his father releases him.

Without thinking, he launches a verbal attack on his father.

"Who do you think you're talking to?" Max scowls while trying to steady himself.

"You're just another deadbeat dad. Why should I listen to you? You spend all your time drinking your problems and your money away, and you leave mom and me to fend for ourselves. You're no father!"

"Watch your tone, Max!" his father bristles. "I'm an adult! What I do is my business. You're just a child! You don't understand a thing about the world you're living in!"

"Like you do?" Max laughs mockingly. "You spend all day circling want ads and you think that you've accomplished something? As soon as you get a job, you celebrate at Willy's. And you never stay. You always quit or get fired."

"Max, that's enough," his father warns.

Max ignores him. "I could make more money raking leaves than you make working your one-day jobs. And I know you and mom are behind on bills because you keep squandering your paychecks."

"I said watch your mouth, Max!" his father barks.

Max stops swaying and looks his father in the eye, no longer disoriented. "You want to call me irresponsible, fine, but take a good look in the mirror, Dad, because this," he points to the empty cans around him, "is what I see every day!"

Mr. Shaw stares at Max menacingly. His fists clench and unclench several times, and he speaks slowly, pronouncing every syllable. "Don't you ever disrespect me, boy."

He points to the clutter on the floor. "Get this cleaned up and go to your room. Your mother will deal with you when she gets home."

Max throws down the half empty can he is holding in his hand and stares back, eyes full of rebellion. "Clean it yourself - "

Before Max can get the words out of his mouth, he is in the air, his father's fist wrapped tightly around his shirt.

"Don't test me, Max!" he bellows.

Max stares at his father, stunned. Mr. Shaw releases him quickly and repeats his demand.

"Get this cleaned up and go to your room." Max rubs at his chest and picks up the empty cans as his father leaves. Hot tears stream down Max's face as he watches the fourth can empty itself onto the carpet.

•••

Mr. Shaw closes the door to his room, sits at his desk, and places his head in his hands. He didn't mean for things to get so heated. The things that Max said...they were all true, weren't they? He spent more time at the bar than he did with his own family. His wife had been right. Max was just following his example, and he wasn't doing Max any favors by sticking around. Maybe Bambi was right too. He was probably making his wife miserable. She would be better off without him. Both of them would be better off without him.

•••

Martin walks into the living room and puts his book bag on the floor.

"Pick that up," his mother chides him as she walks from the kitchen to the living room.

"What are you doing home so early?" Martin asks as he picks up his book bag.

"Making sure you came straight home," his mother states simply. "I let my last class leave early so I'd beat you home."

"Right, because I'm grounded," Martin flexes his jaw and heads to his room. He slams the door, but grabs it before it makes a sound and closes it properly. He dials the number for Mr. James on his cell phone and waits for him to pick up.

"This is Mr. James."

"Hey, it's me," Martin flops onto his bed and pulls out his Chemistry book. "How long is it gonna take for my family to trust me?" he asks, his frustration clear.

"What's that?" Mr. James asks him to repeat himself.

"My parents grounded me last week for something I didn't do. They just assumed I was guilty because that's the way it looked, and my father found out I lied to him, and he says he can't trust me until I earn it. What am I supposed to do?"

"I'm sorry to hear that, Martin," Mr. James sighs. "I know it hurts to have your family not trust you, but put yourself in their position. They've known you to be a certain way for a long time, and it's going to take some time before they see that you aren't that person anymore. And it's going to take some time before you stop seeing yourself as that person, too."

"What do you mean?" Martin asks.

"I mean, you still see yourself as the old Martin. You feel guilty for the things that old Martin did, right?"

"Yeah, of course," Martin nods. "Shouldn't I feel guilty?"

"For a short while, yes," Mr. James replies. "But those feelings of guilt can get so overwhelming that you never feel adequate. You never feel like you're good enough so you constantly try to prove to yourself and to others that you are."

"Isn't that what I'm supposed to do?" Martin is confused.

"Your new life in Christ requires that you walk in the spirit, and not in the flesh. If you still have this idea that if you make yourself behave, then you'll be counted worthy, you're missing it. Remember what I taught you about salvation. It's a process, and everything won't happen all at once. If you try to change all the bad things about you on your own, you'll only frustrate yourself. Let God do the work through the Holy Spirit."

"So, I'm not supposed to do anything?" Martin crinkles his brow.

"When we are convicted of sins in our life, the Holy Spirit gives us the ability to overcome those things. What you need to do is learn to hear from the Holy Spirit. The closer you get to God, the more change you'll see. First, you'll stop wanting to do the wrong thing and desire to do the right thing. Then, you'll stop doing the wrong thing and start doing the right thing."

"Okay," Martin sighs.

"If you want, I can talk to your parents," Mr. James offers.

"That would be great," Martin agrees.

"Martin, you don't have to prove to everyone that you've changed. Continue to seek God and it will be too obvious to miss. In fact, you've already changed. I want you to learn this verse. It's 2 Corinthians 5:17. 'Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.' Now repeat after me. Old Martin is dead."

"Old Martin is dead," Martin mimics.

"I'm a brand new Martin," Mr. James continues.

"I'm a brand new Martin," Martin laughs.

"Believe it, and memorize the verse?"

Martin sighs. "When will you be back?'

"Next week," Mr. James answers. "How is everything with Rick? I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to talk with everyone before I left."

"Rick's okay," Martin shrugs, though Mr. James can't see him. "He's talking to us about drinking and stuff."

"What do you think about the message?" Mr. James asks.

"It's okay," Martin hems.

"But?"

"Mr. James, can I ask you something?" Martin crinkles his brow. "It's about my friend, Max. I invited him to come to bible study on Wednesday."

"It's good that you're sharing your faith with your friends, Martin," Mr. James encourages.

"I guess, but he doesn't really listen to me. I don't think he's coming."

"Even if he doesn't, it's good that you asked him," Mr. James continues. "Sometimes the best way you can help the people around you is by being a good example, and a good friend."

"I'm trying," Martin sighs. "But sometimes I can be a little... intense."

"I see," Mr. James chuckles. "You want some help with that?"

"Yeah," Martin laughs, remembering what Jennifer told him.

"When's the last time you spoke to Max about something important?"

"Before this week?" Martin squints in thought. "Never."

"So talking to him about your faith is outside your comfort zone?"

"Definitely," Martin scratches his head.

"If you're freaked out about what you're saying, I can imagine Max will be too," Mr. James adds. "Why don't you try practicing with Jennifer?

"Practicing?" Martin crinkles his brow.

"The more comfortable you become with talking about faith, the easier it will be to find the words. If you can't talk about your faith with other believers, how can you talk to your friend Max?"

"Good point," Martin accedes. "But I don't know if I can talk to Jennifer."

"I thought the two of you were friends?" Mr. James pauses.

"We are. It's just that she's..." Martin doesn't finish.

"Intimidating?" Mr. James offers.

"Well she's been saved for forever, she'll probably think I'm an idiot," Martin mumbles.

"I think Jennifer will help you," Mr. James laughs. "Give her a chance?"

"Are you going to call her?" Martin asks, hopeful.

"You should call her. Tell her what your problem is and go from there."

Martin groans. "Couldn't you call instead?"

"You'll be fine," Mr. James encourages him before they hang up. Martin stares at the phone a moment and smiles.

"Old Martin is dead," he repeats quietly.

•••

"Max! Arthur!" Mrs. Shaw calls out as she walks in. The house is clean and eerily quiet. She opens the door to her bedroom.

"Arthur?" she calls softly. She looks around the room, but he isn't there. She checks the room to see if he's left a note and finds one neatly folded on top of the bed. Her heart rate rises as she goes to pick it up. After reading the first sentence she gasps, placing her hand over her mouth. She puts the letter down without finishing it, swiftly making her way upstairs to Max's bedroom.

"Max!" she exclaims. "Max, answer me!" Her voice cracks as she screams his name.

"Max!"

Max opens his bedroom door and walks slowly to his mother. His eyes are bloodshot and his face is stained with dried tears.

"Max, where's your father?" she asks. "He says he found you drinking this afternoon. Max, what's going on?"

"I don't know where he is," Max answers only her first question.

"Max, you know the rules," she reprimands him. "You can't afford to violate your probation."

"Mom, can we please not go through this now?" Max pleads. "Please?"

Mrs. Shaw sighs heavily and looks at her son. "Max," she begins. "I don't know what to do with you. You're my only child and I feel like I'm losing you. I don't know how to get through to you." She raises her hands in resignation.

"I've done everything I know to do, but things keep getting worse." Without warning, Mrs. Shaw begins to cry, and Max can't take it.

"Mom," he places his hand on her shoulder. "Would it make you feel any better if I told you I was going to bible study this Wednesday?"

His mother looks up at him, incredulous. "What?"

Max removes his hand and shrugs. "Martin invited me to bible study this Wednesday. I guess it couldn't hurt me to go."

"Really?" his mother wipes her eyes. "I didn't know Martin went to church very much." She eyes him warily.

"Yeah, his parents made him start going after he got into that fight at school. Now he's there every time the church doors open." Max resists the impulse to roll his eyes. His mother seems genuinely happy to hear that he's considering going to church.

She looks at him and smiles. "That's wonderful, Max!" Hope replaces the despair that was in her eyes, and she walks back down the stairs. She goes back to her room and grabs the letter her husband left her. She hopes it will tell her where he's gone.

# CHAPTER TEN

# The Lesson

Martin doesn't hide his surprise when Max asks him the next morning if his invitation to Bible study still stands.

"Really?" he asks with raised eyebrows.

"Yeah," Max places his hands in his pockets. "My dad skipped out on us last night, and my mom's taking it pretty hard.

Martin nods and they stand in silence for a moment. "So I'll pick you up tonight at about 6:30?"

"Sure," Max agrees.

•••

After school, Max comes home to find his mother asleep on the couch. Her face is a mural of dried tears. The telephone is by her ear, and her bible is on the coffee table. Mr. Shaw never called, and he still hasn't come home. She stayed up the night before, frantic with worry.

He keeps doing this, Max thinks to himself. His mother is clueless. She doesn't know what Max knows. His father isn't coming back. He packed his clothes and drove off shortly after Max accused him of being a deadbeat.

Good riddance! Max scowls as he grabs the phone from his mother. He studies her a while; at least she cares. His father doesn't care about anyone but himself.

"Arthur?" his mother stirs.

"No, it's only me, Mom," Max replies. "Dad isn't here."

"Oh," she replies, despondent. "I thought I heard him come in." Max can't bear the look on her face and he turns away.

"Hey," Max tries to cheer her up. "I'm going to bible study tonight, remember? Would you like me to stay home with you?"

His mother shakes her head emphatically. "No you go on," she waves him off. "I'm sure Martin will be here any minute anyways, right?"

"Yeah," Max says softly. On cue, the doorbell rings, and Max lets Martin in.

"Hey Mrs. Shaw," Martin greets her with a wave.

"Hello, Martin," she replies as cheerfully as she can muster. "Are you driving tonight?"

"No, ma'am, my Dad's going to take us," he answers.

The word "dad" chokes off the noise in the room, and after a long silence, Mrs. Shaw asks them to excuse her. Max signals for Martin to head towards the door.

Once they are outside, Martin comments, "Your mom looks like a wreck, Max." He shakes his head and looks at him. "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine, Martin," Max responds shortly. "Let me clarify one thing, okay? I'm only going tonight because right now my mom doesn't need to be under a whole lot of stress. This is the only way I know how to make her feel better. I figure if she thinks I'm at bible study, she won't spend all night wondering where I am."

"I'm not complaining," Martin replies. "I'm glad you're coming, whatever your reasons are."

Max shrugs and gets into the car with Martin and his father. The drive isn't long. It takes about fifteen minutes to get to the church. When they arrive, Martin shows Max the way to the youth room, pointing out the bathroom and the recreation area along the way.

"The rec room is new," Martin states. "We sometimes hang out there until service starts, but I want to introduce you to everyone."

Max shrugs and follows Martin to the youth room. A dark figure in the doorway stops him in his tracks.

"Hey Mr. Rick!" Martin smiles. "This is my friend, Max."

Mr. Rick is talking to another youth leader and turns when he hears Martin. He looks at Max and smiles. "Good to see you here, Max," he nods in his direction. Max only blinks in reply. Mr. Rick continues his conversation with the person in front of him.

"I already know him, Martin," Max whispers to him. "He's my probation officer."

Martin looks at Max sheepishly. Max swallows hard in an attempt to remove the lump forming in his throat. He and Martin find a seat in the middle row while the rest of the youth group trickles in. Jennifer is the first person they see, and she plants herself right next to Martin. Max scowls and crosses his arms, glaring at her with contempt.

Martin points out the other members of his youth group. First Tammie, then Rachel and Charlie, Angela, Ronald, and several others whose names Max can't keep up with. Ronald immediately begins talking to Max. They talk about school for a minute, then the football season, and by the end of the conversation, Max is loosening up. Everyone eventually finds their way to their seats and Mr. Rick opens them up with a quick word of prayer.

"Lord, we thank you for this evening, and for us being able to come together in your name. We've all gone through some things today, and we need your Spirit to help us. Give us practical wisdom tonight, Lord Jesus, that we may live life victoriously, and walk in Your ways. Give us peace, God, so that we may hear you clearly, and understand our purpose in life, and our destiny. Let what we learn this evening remain in our hearts, that we may grow, that we may prosper, and that we may bring You glory. In Jesus name we pray, Amen."

Amens resound around the room and Mr. Rick opens his bible.

"I'd like everyone to turn to Proverbs 30, starting at verse 4. Martin, will you read it for us?"

Martin flips the pages of his bible until he reaches the desired text. He begins, "'It is not for kings, O Lemuel, it is not for kings to drink wine; nor for princes strong drink.'" He pauses.

"Continue through to verse seven please, Martin," Mr. Rick instructs him.

Martin continues, "'Lest they drink, and forget the law, and pervert the judgment of any of the afflicted. Give strong drink unto him that is ready to perish, and wine unto those that be of heavy hearts.'"

Max shifts as the collar of his shirt becomes unusually tight.

Martin continues to read, "'Let him drink, and forget his poverty, and remember his misery no more.'"

Why is the message on drinking? Max wonders. Of all the bad habits to pick on, why did Officer Rick pick his? Max sinks lower in his seat and covers his face with his hat. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. Besides, Officer Rick makes his skin crawl.

"Thank you, Martin," Mr. Rick nods in satisfaction. "I want us to continue where we left off on our discussion last week. Let's take a look at verse four again for context. This is a woman instructing her son on how to rule properly. She tells him basically that those in leadership shouldn't drink. In Revelations 1:6 and 1 Peter 2:9, the apostles describe us as a nation of kings and priests. In essence, we are rulers and spiritual guides in this world. What we do directly affects the people around us. We have a responsibility as Christians to lead the world to Christ. There is a certain degree of self-denial that comes along with that. We can't be common, ordinary, or average. We have to set a standard of excellence. Tonight I want to give you some information about the use, misuse, and abuse of alcohol. Some of it you may already know, some of it you may not. Let me start off by saying that the bible does not condemn drinking." Some of the youth look at each other with raised eyebrows.

"I know this may come as a shock to some of you, especially those of you whose parents have told you that it is a sin. But let me share with you what the bible does say about drinking, particularly overindulgence. Ronald if you will, read for me Psalm 104:1, 14-15.

Ronald quickly flips through the pages of his bible, clears his throat and reads. "'Bless the LORD, O my soul. O LORD my God, thou art very great; thou art clothed with honour and majesty.'"

He pauses to find verse 14. "'He causeth the grass to grow for the cattle, and herb for the service of man: that he may bring forth food out of the earth;'"

"'And wine that maketh glad the heart of man, and oil to make his face to shine, and bread which strengtheneth man's heart.'"

Mr. Rick thanks Ronald and continues his lesson. "Did you catch that? He causes the grass to grow and the herb to grow and oil and bread...and wine. We see here that wine can make the heart glad. Pleasure isn't something that God's against, but when you overindulge in certain kinds of pleasure, or take things out of God's context and intent, it brings forth destruction. We touched this verse at the last meeting, but let me read it to you. Go with me to 1 Timothy 5:23."

He waits for a moment for them to turn and begins to read.

"'Drink no longer water, but use a little wine for thy stomach's sake and thine often infirmities.' We can see here that Paul instructs Timothy to drink wine for medicinal purposes. Now, I want you to go with me to Isaiah 28:7. Travis, will you read that for me?"

Travis stands up nervously and reads. "'But they also have erred through wine, and through strong drink are out of the way; the priest and the prophet have erred through strong drink, they are swallowed up of wine, they are out of the way through strong drink; they err in vision, they stumble in judgment.'"

"Here we see where wine caused the priests and prophets of God to lose vision. You can lose sight of the assignment God has called you to perform by indulging yourself. Something that God intends to be a good thing can be perverted and mishandled until it becomes destructive and actually turns you away from God. Tammie, read Luke 21:34 please."

Tammie stands up and reads the verse. "'And take heed to yourselves, lest at any time your hearts be overcharged with surfeiting, and drunkenness, and cares of this life, and so that day come upon you unawares.'"

Mr. Rick thanks Tammie. "Now we're getting into the verses concerning drunkenness. It is without question that God does condemn drunkenness in His word. Could I get someone else to read Galatians 5:19-21 for me?"

Jennifer raises her hand. Mr. Rick nods in her direction and she recites the verses. She barely glances at her bible as she speaks. "'Now the works of the flesh are manifest, which are these; adultery, fornication, uncleanness, lasciviousness, idolatry, witchcraft, hatred, variance, emulations, wrath, strife, seditions, heresies, envyings, murders, drunkenness, revellings, and such like: of the which I tell you before, as I have also told you in time past, that they which do such things shall not inherit the kingdom of God.'"

"Thank you Jennifer," Mr. Rick nods. "As you can see, this is referred to as one of the works of the flesh. The flesh is an enemy of God. If you cooperate with your flesh, you're making yourself an enemy of God."

Mr. Rick continues passionately, "Now this is where we come into the scene as Christians. Our assignment requires that we be alert and focused. Read 1 Thessalonians 5:6-8 for me," he scans the room for someone he hasn't called, "Charlie."

A groan is heard from somewhere in the room. Charlie gets up and turns to the scripture to read. He looks again at Mr. Rick, his expression questioning. Mr. Rick nods in affirmation, and Charlie very timidly begins. "T-therefore l-let usss not s-s-sleep, as do o-others; but l-let us w-watch and b-b-be sob-sober.'" Charlie pauses in frustration as one of the youth snickers.

"Take your time, Charlie," Mr. Rick reassures him.

Charlie reluctantly continues. "'F-f-for th-they that s-sl-sleep sl-sleep in the n-n-n-night; and t-t-th-they that b-be d-dr-dru-dru-drunken are d-d-dr-drunken in the n-night. B-b-bu-but l-le-let us, wh-wh-who are of the d-d-day, be s-s-s-s-so-sob-sober, p-p-p-put-t-ting on t-the b-breas-breastplate of f-f-f-faith and l-l-love; and f-for an h-he-hel-m-met, the ho-hope of s-s-salva-sal-salva-t-t-salvation.'" Charlie sits down quickly and Mr. Rick continues.

"Let me read a few other verses to you. Romans 13:13 says 'Let us walk honestly, as in the day; not in rioting and drunkenness, not in chambering and wantonness, not in strife and envying.' 1 Corinthians 5:11 says 'But now I have written unto you not to keep company, if any man that is called a brother be a fornicator, or covetous, or an idolater, or a railer, or a drunkard, or an extortioner; with such an one no not to eat.' This is referring to how Christians ought to walk, and who not to walk with who claims to be a believer of Christ."

"Now I'm going to read 1 Peter 4:3. 'For the times past of our life may suffice us to have wrought the will of the Gentiles, when we walked in lasciviousness, lusts, excess of wine, revellings, banquetings, and abominable idolatries.' These are things that we are supposed to leave behind us, because they are part of our old man. If you're a new creation, the old things you used to do have to be let go of. You've got to embrace your new life in Christ."

Max squirms in his seat and tries to tune out Mr. Rick.

You don't need to hear this, Max.

Max blocks out the rest of Mr. Rick's message, until it's near the end.

"Now I know I've given you guys a lot of scriptures tonight, and it's getting late, but there's one more scripture I'd like for us to read. Max, will you read for us Proverbs 23:29-35?"

Max looks around the room, as if Mr. Rick called on someone else. Finally, he responds.

"I didn't bring a bible," he confesses.

"You can read out of mine," Mr. Rick offers.

Max accepts the bible unenthusiastically and asks, "Verses 29-35?" Mr. Rick nods and Max sighs aloud.

He reads the first verse monotone and droll. "Who hath woe? Who hath sorrow? Who hath contentions? Who hath babbling? Who hath wounds without cause? Who hath redness of eyes? They that tarry long at the wine; they that go to seek mixed wine." Max stops.

"Please, keep going," Mr. Rick instructs.

Max rolls his eyes, but reluctantly complies, this time less monotone. "Look not thou upon the wine when it is red, when it giveth his colour in the cup, when it moveth itself aright." Max twirls his finger, gesturing the motions described in the verse. One of the girls giggles and Max smiles.

He continues reading with mock gusto. "At the last it biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an adder." Max hisses, instigating an assortment of chuckles throughout the room. He forgets himself and becomes very theatrical as he reads the rest of the verses, impersonating a Shakespearean actor. "Thine eyes shall behold strange women, and thine heart shall utter perverse things. Yea, thou shalt be as he that lieth down in the midst of the sea, or as he that lieth upon the top of a mast."

Max whimpers like a dog as he continues. "They have stricken me, shalt thou say, and I was not sick; they have beaten me, and I felt it not: when shall I awake? I will seek it yet again.'" Max returns the bible to Mr. Rick and bows to the applauding youth before he sits down.

"Thank you, Max for that...energetic recital," Mr. Rick chuckles.

"I'm going to read that same passage in the New King James version of the bible, in case you missed it the first time." Mr. Rick reads each verse slowly and deliberately.

"'Who has woe?

Who has sorrow?

Who has contentions?

Who has complaints?

Who has wounds without cause?

Who has redness of eyes?

Those who linger long at the wine,

Those who go in search of mixed wine.

Do not look on the wine when it is red,

When it sparkles in the cup,

When it swirls around smoothly;

At the last it bites like a serpent,

And stings like a viper.

Your eyes will see strange things,

And your heart will utter perverse things.

Yes, you will be like one who lies down in the midst of the sea,

Or like one who lies at the top of the mast, saying:

'They have struck me, but I was not hurt;

They have beaten me, but I did not feel it.

When shall I awake, that I may seek another drink?'"

Mr. Rick looks at all the young people in the room. "The issue I really want to drive home tonight is not just about drinking. It's using drinking as a cure for your problems. When you put yourself in a state of drunkenness, you cloud your vision, you ignore your problems, and you can cause harm to yourself and others. When you're in a place where you feel alone, God wants you to turn to him; but when you decide that the solution to your problem is in a drink, you communicate to God that you don't trust Him to be your source of strength."

Mr. Rick looks around the room at the face of each youth present, his expression intense. "You won't solve your problems by forgetting them, avoiding them, or pretending they don't exist." He places his hand on his abdomen.

"The emptiness and depression you feel inside isn't going to go away unless you give it to God. Christ loves you and died for you so that you could come to the Father and boldly ask Him for the grace you need to get through the tough times in your life."

Mr. Rick closes his bible and asks all the youth to stand. "Thank you all for allowing me to talk to you these last two weeks. Know that God loves you, and he wants you to not just endure life, but enjoy it. God's best for you can't be found in a bottle. It isn't found in any drug, any food, any person, or any possession." He holds up his bible.

"The answer is written here; God's gift to us his peace, and His peace can only be found in His presence. Let us pray."

# CHAPTER ELEVEN

# Proverbs

After service, Max barely speaks to Martin. His mind is too busy trying to figure out how to get to Jamie's house without his mom noticing. He decides to sneak out when his mother is asleep. She's in bed before ten, and things won't really get started until after eleven anyways.

Martin's father pulls to the side of Max's house; the driveway is blocked by Mr. Shaw's blue Focus.

Martin looks at Max, but Max is looking at his front door. His body is stiff and a firm line has formed across his forehead.

"Max?" Martin inquires.

Mr. West glances in the backseat. "Is everything alright?" he asks.

Max gets out of the car. "Yeah, thanks," he tells Mr. West just before closing the door behind him. His face is hot and he feels sick to his stomach. His mouth goes dry.

You know what you need.

Max opens the door slowly. The first thing he sees is his mother's beaming face. "Max! Your father's home!"

Max looks at Mr. Shaw in disgust. "You shouldn't have come back," he spouts angrily.

Mr. Shaw looks at his son apologetically. "Max, I know you're upset, and I want you to know how sorry I am."

"Upset?" Max looks at his father, incredulous.

Mrs. Shaw pleads with Max, "Maxie, just give your father a chance to explain – "

"Explain what?" Max stares at his mother, amazed that she is still so willing to take him back. "Explain how selfish he is? Explain why he's always leaving us without so much as a phone call? Explain why some woman called the house right after he left, asking if he was on his way?"

Max's mother looks cautiously at her husband. "What?"

Mr. Shaw looks at his wife, pleading for her understanding. "Harriet, I swear to you nothing happened."

Max turns to his father. "You ditched us. You have no right to be here." Max's voice cracks and he wipes at a stray tear, but his parents aren't paying attention to him anymore.

"You've been seeing someone else?" his mother asks with a tremor in her voice.

"I've been a fool, Harriet," Mr. Shaw responds, grabbing her hands as he speaks. "I didn't know what I wanted, but I do now."

She pulls her hands away and moves towards Max. "How could you?" she sobs. She shakes her head in disbelief as she cries.

Max balks at his mother's show of weakness, and he can't hide his disgust. "You're so naïve," he says cruelly. "Did you even stop to wonder where he's been this whole time?"

"Max, please," His father looks at him helplessly. "I promise you," he looks at his wife, "both of you...things will be different from now on." His eyes desperately plead for their understanding.

"Whatever it takes, I'll do it. I'll give up the late nights at the bar; I'll get rid of every ounce of alcohol in the house, whatever it takes. I'll make this up to you," he looks at his wife. "I promise."

Mrs. Shaw blinks and wipes away her tears. "I don't know, Arthur," she speaks softly. "You've made so many promises already."

Mr. Shaw nods his head in resignation. "I'll do whatever you want me to do." He lifts his hands in a gesture of surrender.

"Then why don't you leave!" Max injects bitterly.

"No," Mrs. Shaw looks at Max, then at her husband. "Just give us some time."

Max glares at his mother, his voice dripping with resentment. "You want to let him keep hurting you? Fine! But don't expect me to go along with it!" Max storms down the hallway to his room.

"Max," Mr. Shaw calls after him.

"Just give him some time, Arthur," His mother sits on the sofa and places her hands on her face. Mr. Shaw sits down at the edge of the recliner next to her. The wall clock ticks loudly in the silence. To Mr. Shaw it is a sobering reminder that he doesn't have any more time to waste. Mr. Shaw folds his hands in uncertainty before placing them on his wife's knee.

"Harriet," he looks into her eyes. "Nothing happened, okay?" Mrs. Shaw begins to cry.

"I stayed at a friend's house. He and his wife were going on a cruise and she called, apparently right after I left. She wanted to make sure I got the keys before they left, because they were in a hurry."

Mrs. Shaw looks away, but he gently puts his hand on her chin to get her to look at him. "I was there the whole time. I just needed some time to think things through." He becomes very quiet, and puts his hands in his lap.

"Max is right," he sighs. His eyes begin to moisten. "I don't deserve the two of you. I know that much. I've been a lousy father, a worthless husband and a poor provider." He takes a deep breath and continues. Mrs. Shaw looks at him with uncertainty.

"Harriet, there is something I do need to tell you."

•••

Max opens his window quietly and takes one last look at his door before climbing out. It's almost ten thirty, and he is ready to get to Jamie's house. He had planned to wait until his parents were sleeping, but they were in a heated conversation that could last all night. Max is sure they won't check on him for at least another hour. He walks a few blocks and then calls his friend, Joey, to pick him up. A few minutes later, they're on their way to Jamie's house.

When Max and Joey arrive it's already packed. Max bumps into several people as he makes his way towards the garage. The party is in the basement, but a lot of teenagers are lounging on the lawn. Max makes his way downstairs through a hazy cloud of cigarette smoke and finds the coolers by the table. They're loaded with wine coolers and beer; Max grabs the first can he touches and downs it. The music is deafening, and Max lets it drown out the argument replaying itself in his head.

Who has woe? Who has sorrow? Who has contentions? Who has complaints? Who has wounds without cause? Who has redness of eyes? Those who linger long at the wine, those who go in search of mixed wine.

The whispered words come out of nowhere. Max grabs another can and frowns. His father has let him down for the last time. Max barely tastes the second beer and quickly opens up a third.

Do not look on the wine when it is red, when it sparkles in the cup, when it swirls around smoothly.

Max remembers where he heard the words. He finishes his drink and reaches for another, defiant of the proverbs in his head. His mother's tear stained face floats into his mind. His own tears begin to fall and he quickly wipes them away. All the smoke is beginning to make Max feel dizzy.

At the last it bites like a serpent, and stings like a viper.

Max looks for something else to drink – something stronger. Someone is mixing drinks behind the counter, and Max grabs the first cup he sees. It stings going down, but Max grabs another. He sips this one, allowing the buzz to take over. His head begins to swim and he can't see clearly.

When was the last time he ate? Max spots a bowl of peanuts and grabs a handful as he watches a group of teenagers dance. The group soon becomes a distorted haze of objects in motion, and Max scans the room for a familiar face. He sees Joey and walks over to him.

"Great party, huh?" Max laughs. Joey nods and tips his beer. Max tips his cup in reply. He squints at a girl in the crowd.

"Doesn't that look like Tina to you?" he asks. Joey looks at the girl and shrugs.

"Nah, that's not Tina," Joey replies.

"You remember Tina, don't you?" Max snickers. "She dumped you for another guy, remember? Someone caught you in the men's room crying about the breakup."

Joey shakes his head. "That's not true, man. I didn't cry. I don't care about Tina. She's history."

"Really?" Max eyes him warily.

"Yeah," Joey replies, nonchalant.

"You sure?" Max asks with a slur.

Joey laughs and shrugs again. "I'm sure, Max."

"That's good," Max smiles and pats Joey on the back. "I'm the one she dumped you for."

Joey laughs and shakes his head. "What? You're drunk."

Max nods his head. "It's true." Joey shakes his head in disbelief. Max belches and laughs. "She dumped me for you. Isn't that funny?"

Joey frowns at Max and walks away. Max turns around and sees his ex-girlfriend, Shelly. She smiles at him, waving from one of the chip and dip tables, and he walks over to talk to her.

"So, how are things, Max?" Shelly asks flirtingly.

"Things are good, Shell," Max replies.

Shelly grins. "So, I've kind of missed you being around. I mean, nobody makes me laugh the way you do."

Max grins. "Well, I am a funny guy." Shelly smiles at him, and for a few minutes they are laughing and joking.

"So, guess what I'm thinking right now?" Shelly asks Max.

"You're thinking about getting back together," Max smiles.

Shelly grins again. "Maybe."

Max leans in close to her. "So, guess what I'm thinking about?" he whispers.

Shelly shrugs. "You're thinking about getting back together, too?"

Max shakes his head no. "Nah, I'm thinking you look really ugly in that outfit." Max snorts and laughs obnoxiously.

Shelly is not amused. "Max, that's not funny," she whines.

"I'm sorry," Max speaks to her in a baby voice. "Don't be mad at me, Shell. Look on the bright side. At least your family has money."

Shelly, apparently offended by his statement, tosses her drink in Max's face and, after cussing him out to her satisfaction, walks away. Max grabs a napkin to wipe his face, yelling out profanities in Shelly's direction. He grabs another drink and the haunting proverbs return.

Your eyes will see strange things, and your heart will utter perverse things.

After finishing the drink, Max joins the crowd of dancers. He spins around to the beat of the music, shaking his head faster and faster until the dizziness becomes overwhelming. Three teens jump back in disgust as Max vomits in the middle of the floor. Max looks up in embarrassment as everyone stares at him. He spots Shelly next to Joey, laughing.

"What a junkie," Joey mouths while shaking his head.

Jamie runs to the floor with a towel in his hand.

"Max, are you kidding me?" Jamie scowls as he instructs someone to get a mop.

"I may be drunk, but I'm always good for a laugh, huh Jamie?" Max jokes, but Jamie doesn't smile.

Max decides to go outside and get some air. There are fewer people on the lawn than before. Max is having trouble walking straight, and runs into several people, making derogatory comments to each one. One of them retaliates and pushes Max out of his way.

Max's legs give out, and he falls, face first, to the ground. He is surrounded by a sea of cans, bottles, and cups. His eyes begin to glaze over and he can see very little; grass, feet, and then, nothing. The sounds around him become softer and softer until they can't be heard at all. The only thing Max hears is the quiet whisper of the proverbs that have troubled him all night.

Yes, you will be like the one who lies down in the midst of the sea, or like one who lies at the top of the mast, saying, "They have struck me, but I was not hurt; they have beaten me, but I did not feel it. When shall I awake, that I may seek another drink?"

# CHAPTER TWELVE

# The Loss

Martin heads to the backyard as soon as his father pulls into the driveway. He grabs his basketball and begins working on his jump shot. Mr. James has been teaching him a few basketball moves after school to help him when the new season starts. Mr. West joins him and they play a short game of one on one.

"Time out," Mr. West holds up his hand a few minutes in and sits on the pavement. Martin stops dribbling the ball and smirks.

"Getting old?" Martin jokes.

Mr. West nods. "I haven't done this in years."

Martin tosses the ball to his father and joins him on the ground.

"I came out here to talk to you about something," Mr. West confesses.

Martin crinkles his brow. "About what?"

"Marjorie Griggs," Mr. West frowns. "Her parents are petitioning for your expulsion from LHS."

Martin swallows. "What? Why?"

Mr. West gives him a look. "Do you really have to ask? Martin, you put humiliating pictures of her all over the school. She's a straight A student with a lot of promise, but you destroyed her confidence. We're lucky they aren't suing for harassment!"

Martin shakes his head. "I told you, Dad, that wasn't me."

"Just like you told me it wasn't you who threw eggs at her?" Mr. West fumes. "Martin, your mother and I have done everything we can to protect you from the consequences of your actions, and all you've done in return is make us regret it."

Martin shakes his head. "For once in my life, would you just listen to me? I know I've made mistakes in the past, but I promise you I had nothing to do with this."

Mr. West sighs and shakes his head. "I'll do what I can, see if we can work something out." Mr. West tosses the basketball in the yard and heads back to the house.

"Dad," Martin begins, but stops. His father doesn't turn around and Martin's shoulders slump. Had Mr. James been wrong?

†††

Max opens his eyes and immediately closes them again. His head feels like it's been trapped by a meat grinder, and little stars dance behind his eyelids. Just the thought of opening his eyes makes his head hurt. He hears someone knocking on the door. Max mumbles for them to go away, but the knocking persists.

He reluctantly opens his eyes again. Everything he sees is cloudy. He hears his father's voice and the continued knocking. It's the front door.

"How did I get home?" Max wonders, remembering the party. He'd locked his bedroom door before he left. Now it looks like someone kicked it open; the wood is chipped by the door handle. Max gets up slowly, trying not to move his head. It doesn't matter. Max feels nauseous the minute he sits up from his bed. He hears the front door open, and the muffled sound of a man's deep voice.

"Mr. Shaw?" the voice inquires.

"Yes?" his father answers.

Deep Voice states authoritatively, "We're from the Logoria police department."

Max's heart nearly stops. They're after him. They know he's violated his probation. Max breaks out into a cold sweat.

They're going to arrest me, he thinks. He looks around his room frantically, trying to find a place to hide.

"What's this about?" his father asks. Max wonders if his father will cover for him.

Tell him I'm not here, Max pleads in his mind.

"Mr. Shaw, there's been an accident. We believe your wife, Mrs. Shaw, was involved."

Max freezes. He has to be dreaming. His mother is fine. He'd seen her that evening. Max looks at the clock. It's 3:27 am.

"There must be some mistake," Mr. Shaw replies in a panicked tone.

The officer replies, "The victim was driving a blue sedan and had your wife's identification on her person."

That's it, Max thinks. Someone stole his mother's car and wallet. That had to be it. But why wouldn't they recognize the victim from the picture? Max walks to his door, fighting against the nausea and dizziness. His father looks surprised when he sees Max walk into the living room.

"Max, when did you get in?" Mr. Shaw asks. Max's eyes are glazed and he doesn't look like he can stand for very much longer.

"Where's mom?" Max asks tentatively.

"I don't know," Mr. Shaw replies. He looks back at the officer.

"I'm going to have to ask you to come with me," the officer speaks softly. His eyes are full of sympathy.

Mr. Shaw heads out the door with Max close behind him. The drive to the hospital is surreal. The bright lights swallowing the dark road do little to ease the pounding in Max's head. They arrive at the hospital and are escorted through the emergency room doors. The hospital is full of people, but Max filters everything through tunnel vision.

Max follows his father as he talks to the police officer and then the receptionist, who directs him to a nurse who leads them to a room around the corner.

Max stays in the hall, unsure of what to expect. Someone robbed his mother and wrecked her car. He keeps telling himself his mom is fine, but panic takes over him when he hears his father moan. Mr. Shaw comes out of the room, trembling. His eyes brim with tears as he looks to Max and shakes his head.

"No," Max rasps. His mother is fine. She has to be.

"It's not possible," A deep emptiness forms in the pit of his stomach, and Max pitches forward. His father grabs him before he completely loses his balance, holding him steady. Max pushes his father away and glares at him, angry.

"Where is she?" he demands.

"Max, she's gone," Mr. Shaw replies. He can't believe it himself. He is trying to keep his composure for Max's sake, but after seeing his wife's lifeless body, it's taking all of his will to keep himself from running to the nearest liquor store. He puts his hand on Max's shoulder in an attempt to console him.

"I'm sorry, Max," he sobs.

Max pulls away. "Why was she gone?" he screams at his father. "Why was she out so late? What did you do to her?"

Mr. Shaw watches Max closely. "Max," he begins, "she was hit by a drunk driver. Some teenager hit her with his truck."

"No, you made her leave!" Max accuses. "You sent her away!"

"No, Max," Mr. Shaw says as calmly as he can. "I didn't send her away. Don't do this."

"I heard you arguing with her," Max continues, his voice becoming hysterical. "You said something to her to make her go. She wouldn't have just left!"

Mr. Shaw tries to calm Max down. "Max, it's going to be okay." Mr. Shaw hopes that's true. "Just calm down."

"No, it's not going to be okay!" Max cries. "She can't...she can't leave me. Not her. Anyone but her."

Max glares at his father. "It should be you in there, not her!"

Max cries uncontrollably. His head feels like it is going to crack, but he doesn't care. His mother is dead. All he has now is his father, which means he has nothing.

"I hate you!" he says hoarsely in between sobs. His voice cracks with raw emotion, and he shrinks to his knees with his head in his hands. The pain in his heart is overwhelming.

Mr. Shaw tries to get close to him. "Max," he speaks softly.

"Why did you let her go?" Max whimpers. His words are barely discernible between his sobs.

His father sighs heavily as he sits next to Max, his face drenched in tears as he speaks.

"Max, she went looking for you."

Max's breath catches in his throat, locked there for an eternity. She was looking for him? It isn't his father's fault, after all. Max hangs his head, unable to speak.

Mr. Shaw continues, "After we finished talking we went to your room to check on you and explain some things to you. But the door was locked. We called your name, but you didn't answer. You were so upset, we thought maybe you'd hurt yourself or...anyway, I pried the door open and we saw that you weren't there."

"Your mother got on the phone and called everyone she could think of. She called Jamie first, but all she got was an answering machine. So we decided to go look for you. Your mother took her car; I took mine. After about an hour, I still hadn't found you. I called your—" Mr. Shaw chokes on his words. His eyes are full of pain and he gulps several times before he continues.

"I called your mother on her cell phone to see if she'd found you, but my call wouldn't go through. I thought maybe her phone had died—" Mr. Shaw, unable to continue, begins to weep. Max cries as well. Mr. Shaw continues, but his words are broken and full of emotion.

"I came back to the house, hoping to find her there. I had just put my coat up when I heard someone knocking on the door." Mr. Shaw closes his eyes, reliving the moment.

Max shakes his head in denial. He looks at his father, wishing it were some cruel joke. "How did she die?" he asks.

Mr. Shaw opens his eyes and looks in the direction of the room holding his wife.

"She was hit by a kid who'd been drinking. His truck knocked her car upside down. She died on impact." He looks at Max, hoping to ease his pain.

"They say she didn't suffer."

Max asks, "Do they know who the driver is?"

"I think so," Mr. Shaw answers. "He wasn't wearing his seatbelt and he flew through his window. He died too. He was just a kid."

Mr. Shaw looks at Max. He remembers how he felt after seeing what was left of Max's car, and watching him as he lay unconscious in the hospital bed. He wonders how the young boy's family is taking the news. He can't begin to think about how he'd cope with losing his child. Losing his wife is hard enough.

"I didn't know I'd never see her again," Max says quietly as fresh tears run down his face.

"The things I said to her...I didn't know."

Mr. Shaw nods and hugs his son. This time Max doesn't pull away. They both weep until they run out of tears.

# CHAPTER THIRTEEN

# Second Chances

"Max's mother is dead."

Martin hears his mother's words, but he doesn't believe them. He was outside before dawn, working on his jump shot, when his mother had called to him. At first he had ignored her, but the edge in her voice made him pause. Martin blinks several times before it sinks in.

"How is Max?" Martin finally asks. His mother shakes her head.

"Not too good," she replies. "We're going over there later on today. We'll pick you up after school."

"What?" Martin hesitates, not sure he wants to know. "What happened?"

His mother cries into her hands and Martin feels his stomach pitch. He clenches his jaw to thwart the emotions rising up inside him. Watching his mother cry is breaking his heart, and his resolve.

"She, um," she begins with a choked sob. "She was hit by a drunk driver."

Martin's mother pulls him into an embrace as she continues to cry. She and Max's mother had been close once upon a time. Martin wonders if Max will be okay.

Mr. West walks outside and places his hand on Mrs. West. He tells her to go inside, promising to follow shortly.

Martin watches his mother go inside and places his hands on his head.

"I can't believe it," Martin says quietly, swallowing the lump in his throat.

"Keep the Shaw family in your prayers," Mr. West says quietly.

Martin nods, then turns to his father, resolute. "Dad?"

Mr. West looks at Martin with curious eyes.

"I'm going to make things right with Marjorie," Martin says firmly. "I don't want you and mom to be disappointed in me anymore."

Mr. West studies his son for a moment. "What are you going to do?"

Martin smiles as he tosses his basketball to the side and heads to the house. "I'm going to go to prayer."

†††

Martin slips into the back of the JROTC room unnoticed and listens as Jennifer and the rest of the group pray in a circle. He spots Marjorie Griggs and closes his eyes in prayer.

"Lord, please let this work."

Martin hears the final amen and opens his eyes. He walks tentatively over to Marjorie, who is talking to Jennifer, and clears his throat.

"Marjorie?" he speaks her name in a low voice.

Marjorie turns around with wide eyes that quickly narrow into a look of disdain. "Get away from me!"

Martin almost listens to her, but an encouraging look from Jennifer gives him the strength to stay. "Marjorie, please, just give me a few minutes?"

"To do what?" Marjorie frowns. "Humiliate me again?"

Martin shakes his head. "No, to apologize. And to make things right."

Marjorie turns to Jennifer. "If he's going to be here, I'm not coming back."

"Marjorie..." Jennifer takes her by the hand before she can walk away. "I know you're hurting, but please, just listen to Martin. He's trying."

Marjorie swipes at a stray tear and looks hungrily at the door. Without shifting her gaze, she speaks quietly. "You've got three minutes."

Martin smiles. "Thank you, Marjorie. Can you walk outside with me?"

Marjorie eyes Martin suspiciously, but after receiving a nod from Jennifer, the three of them walk outside, past the building to the parking lot. They walk past a row of cars until they reach the space where Marjorie's car is parked.

"Marjorie, can you tell me what you see?" Martin looks at her expectantly.

Marjorie frowns and shrugs. "I see my car."

"Now tell me what you don't see," Martin raises his eyebrows hopefully. Marjorie's face registers confusion at first. She takes a long look at her car, then runs her fingers along the windows.

"The graffiti is gone," she says softly. "I scrubbed and scrubbed, but I couldn't get it out." She looks at Martin. "How did you get it off?"

"I've had enough practice cleaning up graffiti to know what will get the job done," Martin shrugs.

"Marjorie, I want you to know I'm really sorry. For everything. If there's anything I can do to make things right between us, just name it."

Marjorie stares at her car a long time before charging towards Martin in an embrace. Martin returns the gesture, at first awkwardly, then warmly.

"This will do," Marjorie smiles.

†††

Each day for Max seems worse than the day before. He hasn't gone back to school yet, so he's spent every day at home with his father. It's impossible for him not to think of his mother. Everything in the house reminds him of her. Mr. Shaw was sober for two days before reverting back to his old habits.

Max can't blame him for losing control. He thinks he might go mad if he spends another day in the house, and is actually looking forward to his weekly visit with his probation officer.

The doorbell rings Friday afternoon, and Mr. Shaw invites Martin and his father in. Mr. West and Mr. Shaw go to the kitchen and Martin sits in the living room with Max.

"Max?" Martin asks.

"Yeah?" Max responds blankly from the couch and grabs a sports magazine from the table.

"I'm sorry, Max," Martin looks at his friend, unsure of what else to say. Mr. West and Mr. Shaw are discussing funeral arrangements for Max's mother. There isn't any money to bury her, and Mr. West has offered to help out. Max is pretending to read the magazine, but the tears sliding down his face betray him.

Max continues to hide himself and says nothing for a long time. Finally, he throws down the magazine and unloads his burdens.

"Is this God's way of punishing me?" he asks.

Martin looks at Max with surprise, then concern. "No, Max," he responds. "God isn't punishing you."

"I think he is, Martin," Max speaks with resolve. "I'm a sinner, an awful, evil, worthless, wretched sinner. Isn't that what God does to people like me?" He looks Martin in the eye.

"Doesn't God punish people like me?"

"Max," Martin shakes his head, but Max continues.

"I can't count the number of times I've lied," Max frowns. "I lied to my mother probably every day of my life. I said some pretty lousy stuff to her, you know? I used to tell her that I hated her, that I wished someone else was my mother. What kind of person says those things to their mother?"

Martin opens his mouth to speak, then closes it, listening quietly.

"The night she died I yelled at her. I treated her like less than a person. She didn't deserve that. I told my father he was always hurting her, always leaving her. The whole time I was doing the same thing. She was always alone because my dad and I were out, trying to get away from home. She worked so hard for us, and I... I threw all that away. She'd still be here if it wasn't for me. If I hadn't snuck out, she'd be alive now. It's my fault she's dead."

Max looks at Martin in desperation. "When you talk to God, tell him I'm sorry. Tell him I'll never drink again if he'll just give me my mom back. I'll do anything if he'll just bring her back."

Martin swallows the lump in his throat as he helplessly watches his friend break down. Martin quietly prays, placing his hand on Max's shoulder. He hopes that somehow his presence can be of comfort to his friend. He prays for God to open Max's heart and enter in. He prays for Mr. Shaw as well. They both will need God's help and strength to get through this. Martin can tell that Mr. Shaw is already falling apart. Max is on the verge of doing the same.

"Lord, help my friend," he pleads.

†††

Late Monday morning Max watches as his father's Ford Focus is towed away. He's certain an eviction notice will soon follow. His mother had been the bread winner of their family; without her income, their bills weren't being paid. His father hasn't worked for weeks now, and he can't stay sober long enough to look for a job.

Max glances at his father, dozing quietly on the sofa. His father has become somewhat reclusive. He rarely goes out anymore. He doesn't even visit the bar. He's drawing unemployment checks every week, which helps, but not much. His father spends most of his days drinking and staring at pictures of his mother.

Max wonders how he is going to get to his meeting with Officer Rick this afternoon. He can't think of anyone who might want to take him, except Martin. He'd made a nuisance of himself at Jamie's party, and lost the respect of most of his friends.

Jamie, he found out, was the one who dropped him off at home the night of the party. Martin told Max after Jennifer told him. She'd asked why Max wasn't in class, and shared with Martin the rumors going around school.

Jamie was heard making the comment that Max was smashed and passed out on his lawn. No one else would volunteer to take him home, and he couldn't leave him outside. Since his mother passed, Max hadn't received any calls from Jamie.

"You've got some great friends," Max comments to himself. Max moves away from the window and goes to the kitchen. There isn't much in the fridge, just beer and leftover pizza from the night before. On a normal day, Max would have grabbed a beer and headed to his room. But today is hardly normal. Max doubts that any day will ever be normal again.

Max wonders why he was ever drawn to alcohol to begin with. Drinking has lost its luster, as far as he is concerned. Max walks toward his room with stale pizza in his hands. He feels hollow on the inside. He looks at the picture of his mother that he placed by his bed.

"I'm sorry, mom," he whispers. He closes his eyes and prays in desperation.

"God, if you're there, please, show me a sign," he asks. "I'm lost and I don't know what to do. Please help me."

†††

Max doesn't have to worry about finding a ride downtown to his probation officer. His probation officer comes to him. The doorbell rings in the early afternoon, and Max opens it to find Officer Rick standing there.

"May I come in?" Officer Rick asks.

The sight of Officer Rick still unnerves Max. "Sure," he answers hesitantly.

Officer Rick steps inside. Mr. Shaw greets him with a grunt as he walks from the kitchen to his bedroom with a beer in his hand. Max shows him into the living room to have a seat on the sofa.

"How are you doing, Max?" he asks.

"Um, I'm not sure," Max replies. "My Dad and I are having kind of a rough time right now." Max fights back the tears that are threatening to emerge, but fails.

Officer Rick allows him a moment to compose himself and looks in the direction of Mr. Shaw's room.

"You seem to be handling it better than your father is." Max shakes his head.

"I'm sorry you lost your mother, Max. My impressions of her tell me she was a wonderful person with a good heart." He looks at Max seriously.

"However," he pauses, "I need to make a few things clear to you." Max clears his throat and waits for him to continue.

"You violated your probation, Max. I'm sure you know what the consequences are for that." Max nods quietly. As far as he is concerned, things can't get any worse.

Officer Rick continues. "I spoke with Judge Brown on Thursday. When you didn't show up for your hearing he was concerned. He received written statements from the officer who took you and your father to the hospital the night your mother died. The officer described you with glazed, bloodshot eyes, liquor on your breath, and an alcohol level of 2.02."

Max vaguely remembers being examined before he and his father left the hospital that night. Officer Rick continues.

"I asked the judge to make an exception, considering the recent loss of your mother as well as the broken support system supplied by your father."

Max looks up at Officer Rick curiously. "Why would you do that?"

"Because I'm not done with you yet, Max," Officer Rick states casually. "I see so much potential in you. You know what I was thinking the first time I met you?" Max shakes his head.

"I thought 'this is a good kid with a good heart, and all he needs is someone to give him a little push in the right direction."

"And now?" Max asks him.

Officer Rick shakes his head and looks at Max. "Now I know you've got a good heart. You're just afraid to let it show. That careless and carefree attitude that people see in you is just a cover up."

Max scoffs in disbelief. "You have no idea who I am, or what I'm about," he says. "I'm selfish and I'm stupid and I'm..." he breaks down in tears. "I'm weak," he says despondently.

Officer Rick looks at Max with compassion. "The best time for God to speak to us is when we recognize that we're weak. Once we stop pretending and accept just how fragile we really are, we remember our Creator."

Max frowns. "I don't... I don't believe in God," he says.

Officer Rick sighs. "He believes in you, Max. He loves you, and He wants to invite you to be His child. He wants you to accept the gift of salvation through Jesus Christ and let Him be your strength. You need the Lord in your life, Max. You can't find your purpose in life without Him."

"I have no purpose," Max replies dejectedly.

"You do," Officer Rick reassures him. "Come on, Max, let's go for a walk." Officer Rick gets up abruptly. Max watches him as he heads for the door. Officer Rick signals for him to follow and Max reluctantly obeys.

"Where are we going?" Max asks.

"We're going to find your purpose," Officer Rick informs him. They walk outside and down the street as Officer Rick explains.

"Judge Brown agreed to be lenient provided you complete 500 hours of community service in the next nine months. In about six weeks you'll be evaluated and if Judge Brown is satisfied with your progress, you won't be sent to juvenile hall. I suggested that your community service take place at the St. Christopher Children's Hospital. It's only a few blocks from here. You'll be there four days a week for three hours. You'll volunteer from 4pm to 7pm on Monday, Wednesday and Thursday and on Saturday you can choose your time, so long as you're there for three hours and don't stay later than 8:30pm. They already have all the paperwork ready, and your supervisor will log your hours for you each day."

"You can pick up the remainder of your hours by volunteering in church organizations, hospitals, big brother programs, and other community programs in the area. You now have a curfew of 10pm. I'll be calling you periodically to make sure that you are keeping your curfew. I'll also be stopping by from time to time. I don't usually make house calls, but you're an exception." Officer Rick stops walking and looks at Max. "Do you have any questions?"

Max nods his head. "When do I start?"

"Tomorrow," Officer Rick replies. "You should probably go right after school to get to know everyone. You'll also have a few forms to sign. I think you're going to like it there."

Max walks with Officer Rick quietly for several minutes before speaking again. He is looking at the ground as he walks. "My mom believed in God," he says quietly.

Officer Rick looks at him, waiting patiently for him to continue.

"She prayed with me every night when I was little, until my dad made her stop. He said she was filling my head with nonsense. She still prayed for me in her room at night, even though we didn't pray together anymore." They walk back towards the house and Officer Rick says his goodbyes.

"Max, call me if you need anything, alright?" Officer Rick offers. "I mean it. Anything at all."

Max nods and Officer Rick heads to his car. "Officer Rick?" Max calls after him.

"Yes?" he answers.

"Thanks for talking to the judge for me. And..." Max hesitates, unsure of his next request. Officer Rick waits. "Will you pray for me?" Max asks finally.

"Every day, Max," Officer Rick promises. "You have my word on it."

###

For additional updates on books in the Logoria Series, visit the author's website at

http://www.phylicia.us

Or visit her smashwords page at

<http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/pjleigh>

