

Save Me!

The Logoria Series Book 1

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 1 - Raw Eggs and Barbecue

Chapter 2 - The Fight

Chapter 3 - The Punishment

Chapter 4 - Mr. James

Chapter 5 - Tough Guy

Chapter 6 - Martin's Decision

Chapter 7 - Spiritual Tests

Chapter 8 - Homecoming

Chapter 9 - Monday Morning

Chapter 10 - Facing Johnny

# CHAPTER ONE

# Raw Eggs and Barbecue

"Get open, man!" Martin yells across the court as he swiftly steps from side to side. His heart is pounding, synchronized with the basketball in his hand. The ball rises and falls in cadence, pelting the pavement with a steady thud. Each connection with the ground produces a small, but effective cloud of dust on the sandy driveway.

_Thunk, thunk._ Martin takes his time; flows with the rhythm of the ball in his hand; waits patiently for his opening _._ His cousin Will tries to steal the ball, but Martin's too quick.

Will sneezes, and Martin makes his move. He eyes his team mate, Max, readying him for the pass. His other cousin, Jerry, is in front of Max, blocking the pass. Max steps in front of Jerry, and Martin swiftly passes the ball. The ball floats beautifully through the air, but Jerry grabs it before Max can get to it and passes it to Will.

Will shoots the ball too quickly and it bounces off the backboard.

"Block him out! Block him out! Block him out!" Martin wails to Max as he rushes towards the goal.

Max obeys and blocks Jerry from getting the ball. Max grabs for it. His tall, lanky frame makes the feat easy, and he rushes outside the goal line to clear the ball.

Max stands near the corner of the court, his left hand clumsily dribbling the basketball. He can barely keep it in his hands, let alone keep it from Jerry. Martin tries to get around Will in time to catch a pass, but Max isn't paying attention.

"C'mon Max, get the lead out!" Martin yells for his attention.

Max looks up briefly and grins mischievously. Martin groans, realizing that Max is going to go for a lay-up. He flails his arms towards Max, eyes wide in apprehension.

"No! Pass it, Max! Don't shoot! Pass it!" Martin screams, but he is too late. Max is already running toward the right side of the goal, taking long, careful strides as his speed increases. He jumps off one foot and rockets the ball up towards the goal.

The ball slams hard against the backboard, shaking the pole with its force, and rebounds to center court – right into Jerry's hands. Jerry quickly grabs it and scores. Both of Martin's cousins hoot and dance, slapping each other on the back.

Martin groans in frustration as his cousins gloat. He glares at Max, who is beside himself with laughter.

"That was the worst shot I've ever made," Max jokes with Will.

"That's game, Mart," his cousin Jerry slaps him on the back as he heads to the house. "Now it's time for barbecue!"

The savory smell of sizzling spare ribs and hamburgers permeates the October air, stimulating all of their palates. Martin's parents are hosting a barbecue at their house and they've invited most of their relatives, as well as half the neighborhood, to join them.

The sun sits high in the mid-afternoon sky, accented by faint tufts of cloud, and the wind blows cool and easy. It's the perfect afternoon for a barbecue, but after such a humiliating game, Martin can't enjoy it.

"Smooth move, Max," he grumbles as he walks past him.

"Sorry I blew it," Max replies sheepishly.

Martin crosses his arms, brooding. "You totally ignored me out there! I was wide open!"

"Look, I said I was sorry," Max laughs and puts his arm around Martin in an attempt to lighten the mood. "It's just a game, right?"

Martin brushes off Max's shoulder and shakes his head, his mouth set in a permanent frown. "Yeah, yeah, just a game. It's always just a game with you, Max. Why can't you ever be serious?"

Max shrugs. "If I wanted to be a ballplayer, I'd be on the team with you, Martin. I just wanted to have some fun. Relax. It's just a game."

Martin frowns. "Yeah, a game you can't play worth —"

"Time to eat, guys!" Will pushes them both towards the house.

"Don't play on my team if you don't know what you're doing," Martin hisses as they walk through the house toward the dining room.

"Okay, I get it," Max replies glumly. "You like to win, I like to have fun. Whatever."

As they sit down to eat, Will and Jerry rehash the final play.

"You know white men can't jump," Will snorts as he points at Max.

Max begins to laugh but quickly stops after noticing Martin's murderous glare.

"That had to be the sorriest move I've ever seen," Jerry repeats for the third time. "I mean, what were you thinking man?"

Max shrugs and bites into his burger.

"He wasn't," Martin cuts in. "He was being stupid, that's all."

"Ah, come on, Martin," Jerry frowns at him.

Martin shrugs. "I guess he can't help it. Loser's in your blood, right Max?"

Max frowns and puts his burger down, chewing slowly. After a long pause he pushes his chair back and gets up.

"I've um... gotta go," he states quietly. Both Will and Jerry protest, but Max waves them away. "I forgot I had to do something at home."

A few minutes later Edward West, Martin's father, walks by. "Martin, I just saw Max leave. He seemed pretty upset. What's going on?"

Martin stares at his hotdog but says nothing. Mr. West moves closer until his muscular frame hovers over him. "Did you hear what I said?" he asks.

"Max left," Martin mumbles. "So what?"

"So, why did he leave?" his father probes. A few of Martin's friends glance in his direction, their attention captured.

Martin rolls his eyes, annoyed. "How should I know? I'm not a psychic."

Mr. West taps his chin in thought. "No, you're not a psychic. But you are his friend. Find out what's wrong with him and make it right."

Martin sucks in his teeth and rolls his eyes again. "If he's got a problem, he'll come to me. I'm not running after him!" Martin can feel the eyes of his friends watching him carefully. His father is embarrassing him.

"I don't care what his problem is, Martin," Mr. West replies sternly. "Fix it."

Martin rolls his eyes a third time and bites into his hotdog. He makes no move towards the door, sending a clear message.

Before Martin can swallow, he feels himself being lifted off of his chair. He grabs for the edge of the table, but it's too late. His father sends him scrambling toward the front door.

"Go fix it, Martin. And if you cut your eyes at me again, I'll do more than just embarrass you."

•••

Martin grumbles as he walks up the driveway to Max's house. He rings the bell six times in succession before Max answers it.

"What do you want?" he yells through the half opened door. Martin rolls his eyes.

"I want to give you something," Martin smirks.

Max raises his eyebrows and opens the door. "Oh yeah, what's that?"

Martin slugs him in his arm, and Max howls. "Hey, what'd you do that for?" he rubs his arm vigorously, wincing at the pain.

"That was for crying like a little girl and getting me in trouble," Martin replies.

Max sighs. "Is that all you came over here for?"

Martin shrugs his shoulders. "Nah, I feel like doing something. The barbecue is wack. Why don't we head out to the Hills?"

Max grins. "What do you have in mind?"

Martin smirks. "Well, let's see what I have in my bag here." Martin takes off his backpack and opens it. He pulls out three cartons of eggs and five rolls of toilet paper.

"Interesting survival kit," Max jokes.

Martin snorts. "Come on, let's go!"

Max laughs. "Let me grab my jacket."

"Aw, don't be such a girl, Shaw!" Martin protests. "It's seventy degrees outside!"

"Habit, you know my mom," Max shrugs and follows Martin to the bus stop. They get off at the entrance to Mogis Hills, the public housing community in Logoria. The sun is setting, and the street lights blink to life. Martin hears his cell phone ring and he turns it off.

"My keepers are trying to track me down," Martin rolls his eyes.

"Do you have a target?" Max asks.

Martin shrugs. "No one in particular. Let's start over there." Martin points to a cul de sac a few yards away. Quietly, they make their way to the driveway of a three unit building. Max checks around back while Martin makes sure the windows are closed.

When Max gives him the signal, Martin pulls out the first carton of eggs and two rolls of toilet paper. He places the carton on the ground and tosses a roll to Max. They cover the unit with sheets and sheets of paper, moving quickly and quietly. Once they're satisfied with their artwork, Max and Martin grab the eggs.

"Ready?" Martin smirks. Max nods and they begin hurling the eggs at the doors, windows, and cars in the driveway. Each egg makes a loud spat as it connects with its target. A light comes on from the inside of one of the units.

"Let's get out of here!" Max whispers. Martin grabs his bag and the empty carton and they both sprint down the street. Once they're a safe distance away, they fall down in laughter.

"Okay, who's next?" Max asks.

Martin looks up and down the streets before making a decision. "Let's hit Miggy's house," he replies.

Max's eyes light up with delight. Miggy is a geeky hall monitor at LHS. She's a know-it-all and a pain, and Martin and Max make it a habit to harass her whenever they can.

Max and Martin jog to Miggy's house. Hers is one of the few in Mogis Hills that is a stand-alone. They spot a used Ford Taurus in the driveway.

"Hey, isn't that the car Miggy's been bragging about at school?" Max asks.

"Seriously?" Martin scowls. "Does this thing even run?"

"Probably not," Max snickers.

"What do you say we give it a makeover?" Martin pulls out the second carton of eggs.

"I like the way you think!" Max laughs evilly. "But her light's on. You wanna wait til she goes to sleep?"

Martin shakes his head. "No, I want her to see this. Hey, I got an idea."

Martin grabs a black magic marker from his backpack and tosses it to Max. He pulls out a second one for himself. "Let's leave her a little message, eh?"

They both chuckle as they draw crude pictures and notes on the windows and doors of Miggy's car. When they're finished they chuck the eggs at it. They hear Miggy scream from the window as she spots them and Martin and Max bolt. They hide behind a few neighboring bushes as they watch Miggy run out of the house in her night gown.

"No, no, no!" Miggy wails. She screams unnaturally, piercing Max and Martin's ears.

"Let's shut this banshee up!" Martin whispers. They both come out of hiding and hurl eggs at her back. Miggy makes the mistake of turning around and gets an egg right in her face. It lands on her forehead and drips down into her open mouth.

Martin and Max laugh as they come out from hiding. Miggy is blinded by the egg yolk and can't see them.

"I'll get you!" she cries. "You...you juveniles!"

"Say cheese, Miggy!" Max pulls out his phone and takes a picture with the flash on. Miggy staggers back and screams as she slips on the yolk and lands on her butt.

"Come on, let's get out of here," Martin jogs off with Max trailing behind.

•••

When Martin arrives home his father is waiting for him, fuming.

"Where in God's name have you been?" he screams.

Martin shrugs. "You told me to go fix things with Max. What, now you want to punish me for doing what you say?"

"What were the two of you doing that brought you back home after midnight?"

"Playin' games?" Martin smiles innocently. "We were just hanging out, dad. Chill."

Mr. West frowns. "Did any of your games involve playing pranks on people in Mogis Hills this evening?"

"Nope," Martin lies. "Why would Max and I go to the ghetto, dad? It stinks over there, and they've got drug dealers and black people."

"Enough with the jokes, Martin," Mr. West scowls. The West family is one of two black families in their high end neighborhood.

"I got about a dozen calls from residents in Mogis Hills about eggs and toilet paper on their homes. I also got a call from Marjorie Griggs' parents saying that two boys vandalized her car and threw eggs at her. The poor girl is distraught!"

"You think it was me and Max?" Martin scoffs. "Dad, not everything bad that happens in this town is my fault. And besides, nobody likes Miggy. It could have been anybody. I mean, that geek gets egged every week. You'd think she'd be used to it by now."

"Did you and Max throw those eggs at her?" Mr. West asks sternly. "Do not lie to me."

Martin looks his father in the eye. "No, Max and I didn't egg Marjorie Griggs. We hung out, had some laughs, and played some games. That's all!"

Mr. West frowns. "Give me your backpack," he demands.

Martin frowns. "What?"

"Give me your backpack, Martin," Mr. West repeats himself.

"Why?" Martin asks.

"I want to take a look inside," Mr. West puts his hand out. "Now give me the backpack."

"No, I'm not giving you my backpack!" Martin pulls away, indignant. "You've got no right to search my things!"

"I am your father, I have every right!" Mr. West bellows. "Now give me the backpack!"

"You never trust me!" Martin screeches. "Can't you, for once, just trust me?"

"Martin, for once, would you stop fighting me?" Mr. West shouts. "I'm asking you to do something very simple. If you've got nothing to hide, then you've got nothing to worry about, now give me the backpack!"

"Fine!" Martin opens his backpack and spills all the contents to the ground; three video games, a small bag of candy, and a nerf ball lay silently as Martin glares at his father. "Satisfied?"

Mr. West frowns. "Martin..."

Martin turns away and heads to his room, backpack in hand. "Save it!"

He slams his door as he enters his room, makes his way to the bathroom, and turns his backpack inside out. He grabs a sponge and begins scrubbing off the egg yolk inside.

•••

# CHAPTER TWO

# The Fight

Martin leans back in the chair in the office, rubbing his swollen cheek. It's Monday afternoon, and he knows he's in trouble. He groans and stares at the red letters of his school, placed on wall above the secretary's desk.

Studying the letters doesn't block out the pain in his body. His head is pounding, and the garishly loud ticking of the wall clock isn't helping. His swollen knuckles pulse with each merciless tap of the secretary's pen.

Martin continues to concentrate on the letters, willing himself not to cry. Logoria High is the best school in the city, producing some of the highest achieving students in their region and boasting several state championship trophies. It's a stark contrast to their rival, Wellis High School, which produces most of the city's lower – class misfits.

Martin shifts his eyes to the trophy case in the office. It used to be in the forum, but after students from Wellis vandalized LHS a few years back, it was relocated to the safety of the office – protected under lock and key.

Martin winces at the pain, but tries to remain focused on the trophy case. The championship trophies awarded to the LHS Basketball team were acquired in the last two years, and Martin had been the MVP both times.

He was the first freshman to ever play on the Varsity team, and it took him several weeks to earn the respect of his teammates. His parents and his friends were proud when he was awarded MVP both years, but none so much as his father, who'd been awarded the MVP title during his junior year at LHS.

His parents attended LHS as teenagers and became successful, esteemed members of society. They bought a house in the upper - class community of Colera Heights. Mr. West is the District Attorney for Logoria; Mrs. West is an English professor at Clefton University, in the neighboring city of Clairmont. Nothing short of model citizens, the two are a perfect example of the American dream – Martin had been included in that dream until recently. His spiral into the role of juvenile delinquent has been an endless source of embarrassment for his parents.

Martin winces as he gently caresses his left eye. It's beginning to swell, and he needs some ice.

"Shouldn't I see a nurse?" Martin asks the secretary, but she's no longer in the room. A sudden, sharp pain in his eye causes him to swear. Martin looks around the room and spots the secretary in the next room making copies of something.

Martin leans over the secretary's desk, glancing at the papers strewn across the top, but quickly straightens as Principal Burke walks by. Mr. Burke shakes his head and clicks his tongue as he slips out of the office.

Martin watches him as he exits through the swinging office door and down the hall toward the lobby. The door swishes back and forth slowly, like a pendulum on a clock, ticking away, sealing his doom with each passing moment.

Martin swallows hard. This won't go over well with his parents. He puts his head down and clasps his hands over the back of his head. Both his head and his knuckles are still pounding, and he has a sick feeling in his stomach.

"Stupid Johnny," Martin mumbles to himself. Johnny Reese had been in the office earlier. His mother had already met with the principal and taken him home.

It all started around lunch time. Martin was sitting at his table, talking with his friends and eating his pizza. Nothing special; he did that every lunch period. The conversation had been light, until the kids around his table started talking about the barbecue at his house the day before.

◦◦◦

"Ohmigod! I wish I'd brought a video camera with me!"

The teens who were there began to laugh, and those who weren't were listening intently.

"Mr. West went ballistic! I swear to God, Martin's eyes got as big as golf balls when his father lifted him off his seat!" The girl telling the story nearly fell out of her chair in hysterics.

"It's not that funny," Martin interjected, but no one was listening to him.

"I thought he was going to choke on his hotdog," someone else added.

Everyone at his table began to either talk about what happened or ask someone to repeat what happened. Martin felt his blood boil as the conversation at his table quickly orbited out of his control. He scanned the other tables for something equally as entertaining, and not about him, to distract his friends. That's when he spotted Johnny Reese.

Johnny was trying to impress a girl by the front of the cafeteria. He's a thin, lanky kid with bad acne and a not-quite-Goth style of dress. With several rings in his ears, black fingernails, and black slacks, his orange tie dye shirt threw everything off. Martin tapped the table to get his friends' attention and pointed in Johnny's direction.

"Check this guy out," Martin smirked.

After catching their breath from the previous hilarity, the group watched with amusement as Johnny continued to try and talk to the girl.

"What is he doing?" one of the teens snorted. "Is he trying to tell her a joke?"

"She's too cute," one of the kids snickered. "Johnny doesn't stand a chance."

"I don't know, some girls go for geeks," one of the girls chuckled.

Martin shook his head. "I give him five seconds before she walks away."

The kids did a countdown and, sure enough, Johnny's final attempt to make Cute Girl laugh ended with him standing by himself. The group erupted with giggles and snorts as Johnny's hard work with Cute Girl crashed and burned.

"What a dork!" one of them snickered.

After standing awkwardly by himself for several moments, Johnny finally turned around and ordered his food. To Martin's delight, as well as that of his friends, Johnny wentdown their aisle to find a seat.

"Watch this," Martin whispered to them. He moved his foot into the aisle just as Johnny Reese walked by with his tray. Johnny crashed to the ground, and his lunch splattering to the floor with him, a mass of solids and fluids. Everyone nearby laughed, especially those at Martin's table; no one laughed as loud as Martin, or with nearly as much gusto.

Johnny looked around, flustered and embarrassed, searching to find what he tripped over. He spotted Martin's outstretched sneaker and flushed. Angry and red, Johnny pushed himself off the floor and stormed over to Martin.

"I know that was you, West! You'd better apologize and pay for my lunch!" he demanded.

Martin scoffed. "Uh, no."

Martin's blatant refusal elicited snickers from his table. Johnny's embarrassment was spread all over his beet red neck and face. He swallowed hard and continued his campaign.

"You'd better pay for my lunch, West, or you're gonna get it!" Johnny squeaked. His voice cracked, and the teens surrounding him laughed mockingly. No one messes with Martin.

Martin chuckled in his seat. "Oh, Johnny, you're turning red. You're not gonna cry, are you?"

More laughter followed, and Johnny clenched his jaw.

"I-I mean it, West!" he stuttered.

"Whatever, Johnny," Martin replied, rolling his eyes.

"You think I'm joking?" Johnny's eyes darted to his left as a small group began to crowd around them, escalating the tension of the moment. Johnny leaned in towards Martin, lowering his voice to an almost menacing tone.

"If you don't buy my lunch, I'm gonna wipe the floor with your face and make you eat it!"

"Excuse me?" Martin looked at Johnny with mock surprise. "You're gonna what?"

Johnny frowned as several kids nearby positioned watchful eyes on them. Backing down was no longer an option. But he couldn't take the first swing. There was only one option.

"You heard me, Nigga."

Martin was in the middle of rolling his eyes, but stopped cold when Johnny said the last word. He was comfortable using the term around people of the same color and his closest friends, but hearing it from Johnny, who was white and nowhere near being his friend, was unforgiveable. A hush fell over the teens at his table as all eyes watched Martin. He stood up slowly, swelling his chest.

"What did you call me?" Martin seethed.

Johnny hit his mark. He'd have to follow through.

"Y-o-u he-a-r-d m-e." he said slowly, pausing for effect, "...Nigga."

"Ooh," one teen interjected.

"I got your attention now, don't I -" Before Johnny could finish his sentence, Martin had slammed his fist into Johnny's nose.

Johnny staggered back, reaching for his face. The shock of the blow left him disoriented, giving Martin an opening to swing at him a second and third time.

Johnny couldn't dodge the second blow, but ducked from the third and charged at Martin, upsetting several quarts of milk as they both landed on a lunch table. Johnny pinned Martin against the table and punched him, once, in his jaw. The sight produced cries of protest from Martin's friends.

"They're fighting!" someone shouts, and a crowd immediately rushed to the scene. As Johnny swung a second blow, Martin pushed him off, but not before Johnny's fist made contact with Martin's left eye, sending him to the floor.

Students from all over the cafeteria made their way to them to see who was winning. Chaos ensued. Someone yelled for a teacher to call 911. A female student began to cry.

Johnny tried to kick Martin, but Martin grabbed his leg and twisted it hard. Johnny fell to the floor, jarring his knee on the way down. He tried to get up quickly, but the pain shooting through his knee made him pause.

Martin saw his opening and grabbed Johnny's tray from the floor, smashing it into his face. Johnny fell again to the floor and Martin dropped his knees into his chest, thrashing his fists wildly at his face. Johnny placed his hands in front of his face, but Martin's fists were coming too fast. Johnny reached around and grabbed the leg of one of the lunch chairs, bringing it down on Martin's head. Martin stopped his assault and grabbed his head, stunned.

Johnny pushed Martin off and rolled over to his side, moaning in pain. Martin tried to get up, fighting back the bile building in his throat. He slipped on something and fell back to the floor just as Johnny stood up, blood running from his nose. Johnny hobbled over to Martin, but was grabbed from behind by Mr. Bowen, the Vice Principal. Mr. Bowen immediately pulled Johnny out of the cafeteria.

Martin saw Mr. Bowen and tried to sneak away. He rose slowly and, hoping to avoid the same fate as Johnny, made his way through the sea of students. After recognizing an all too familiar face in the crowd, Martin made an about-face, but he was too slow.

Mr. Burke, the principal of LHS, saw Martin. He called out his full name, grabbed him by the arm, and marched him to the office.

•••

Martin takes a second glance at the school secretary's desk. The police had been called and a report filed. Martin spots the report sticking out of his very thick school file and grabs it. After reading a few pages, Martin swears. The report can only make things worse for him. All of the students, including those at his table, claim that Martin took the first swing.

Martin tosses the file on the secretary's desk and sits down again with his hands in his head. Mr. Burke returns to the office to announce that his parents have arrived.

# CHAPTER THREE

# The Punishment

Martin walks into Mr. Burke's office with his shoulders slumped and head down. Mr. Burke tells him that his parents are still in the lobby speaking with Mr. Bowen. Mr. Burke advises Martin to sit in his office and wait. So Martin sits down and waits.

And waits. And waits.

Martin shifts in his chair as anxiety builds in his stomach. His palms are sweaty and his legs are shaky. Finally, his mother and father come in with Mr. Burke. They take the seats to the right of Martin's chair. Mr. Burke sits at his desk with hands clasped and eyes closed, as if in meditative thought.

His father turns to look at him, examining the bruises on his face with the unreadable expression of an oak tree. Mrs. West is the first to speak.

"What happened?" she asks.

"Mom, it wasn't my fault!" Martin begins. "Johnny was asking for it." Martin's mother gives him a look, and Martin pauses, reconsidering his approach.

"Mom, I'm sorry I fought Johnny," he states with feigned sincerity, "but this really isn't my fault."

Mr. Burke interrupts, "Johnny and a few other eye witnesses at the scene claim that you perpetrated the fight."

Martin scowls at Mr. Burke's interruption.

"Eye witnesses?" Martin bristles. "Are you trying to impress my dad with your ability to use legal terms, Burky?"

"Martin..." Mrs. West gives him a warning look.

"What?" Martin glares at Mr. Burke. "We all know you're planning on being a lawyer one day, or is it a judge? But I wonder, will that be before or after you're finished making my life miserable?"

Mr. Burke swallows. "No one here is trying to make your life miserable, Martin."

"Oh, my mistake," Martin replies sarcastically. "I thought that's what adults with no life did in their spare time."

"Martin, cut it out," his father orders. "Why did you start the fight?"

Martin curbs his disdain for Burke long enough to think up a rational response.

"It was self-defense." Martin replies. "Johnny threatened me, and I had to protect myself." Johnny had called him a name. He had to protect his reputation.

Mr. West turns in his chair. "So, if you hadn't hit Johnny first, Johnny would have hit you. Is that what you're saying?"

"Yeah... I mean, no; I...I don't know, it all happened so fast." Martin gives his mother a pleading look, but her icy glare is not at all comforting.

"Martin, I thought we were done with all this," his father speaks impatiently. "Didn't you learn your lesson the last time?"

Martin bows his head low. The first week of the year, he'd been in a fight. It was the first time he'd ever lost one, too.

"Dad, that fight was different!" Martin tries to defend himself.

His mother nods in agreement. "Edward that was a separate issue. Those boys attacked him unprovoked."

Martin nods in concession with his mother. The first fight occurred in early August. Steve and Josh, two members of the football team, had decided that Martin needed to be taught a lesson.

It was the first day of school and Martin was headed to his homeroom. He was walking down the hall when he spotted one of his friends he'd known since preschool. Along the way, Martin accidentally stepped on someone's foot. The owner called out a warning; Martin said something inaudible and kept going.

It wasn't until he heard their insults that he'd confronted them.

•••

"Hey, wait a second!" Steve called out to Martin. "Come back here! Josh, you just gonna let him walk away without saying sorry?"

"I'll get him later," Josh shrugged. "You'd better watch your step, West!" Josh called after Martin. The two began to bad mouth Martin loud enough for everyone in the hallway to hear.

Martin's temper boiled with each insult, until finally he turned around to confront the two boys. Josh was a football player – the star quarterback to be precise – a senior, about 6'2" and 280 lbs, according to the LHS Student Newspaper. His hands could easily wrap around the diameter of Martin's head. The kids in the hallway stared curiously as Martin approached Josh and Steve.

Josh saw Martin returning and greeted him with the cliché, "What are you looking at?"

For a moment, Martin's voice abandoned him and he only gawked in reply. Josh's friend, Steve, started his taunting afresh.

"Hey, you stepped on the King's foot," Steve sneered, using Josh's nickname.

Martin rolled his eyes and his voice returned. "What kind of stupid name is that? You were the homecoming king last year. Big whoop."

Steve frowned. "You got a big mouth, kid. If you wanna keep your teeth, I suggest you keep it shut!" He laughed and turned to Josh, who smirked in accession.

Martin studied Steve; his body was thin and toneless, his posture was weak, and he had more mouth than muscle. Easy target.

"At least I've got teeth worth keeping. Your teeth are so yellow I thought you had a gold grill in your mouth."

Steve frowned and swelled his chest. "You'd better watch it, kid."

"Or what? You're gonna breathe on me?" Martin shoved Steve just as the morning bell rang.

Steve jerked his fist in retaliation, but Josh stopped him.

"We'll get him later," Josh pushed Steve down the hall as he glared at Martin. "We'll be seeing you."

Martin had hoped it would be the last he saw of the two, but it wasn't. Two days later, Steve and Josh cornered Martin as he was walking home from school, jumping him before he could make it out of the parking lot. Martin received two days of suspension and a week of detention for the fight, although he didn't hit either one of them. Martin did swing at Steve, however, who ducked, causing Martin's fist to connect with the person behind him - a teacher trying to intervene.

Martin's parents had very reluctantly defended his story of self-defense then, but they knew as well as he did that there was more to the story. Still, they insisted that two boys ganging up on one was inexcusable. Mr. West's status as the District Attorney ensured that Steve and Josh didn't get off easy. Martin wasn't really sure what happened to the two boys, but he hadn't seen them after that.

•••

"Unprovoked isn't the best term to use," Mr. West scowls.

"So, what is it that we have to do?" Mrs. West scolds Martin. "You obviously haven't learned that nothing good can come from fighting."

Mr. West nods. "I agree. Martin, you can't let yourself fly off the handle like this!"

"Were you thinking of the consequences?" his mother continues. "Mr. Burke could have you expelled, or taken off the basketball team –" The cries of protest from both Mr. West and Principal Burke cut off his mother's lecture.

Mr. Burke clears his throat. "Well, um, I don't think it's come to that, Mrs. West. After all, it would be a great disappointment to the team if Martin didn't play this year."

"Yes, the team shouldn't be punished for Martin's misbehavior," Mr. West adds.

Mrs. West raises her eyebrows. "So, what are you suggesting, Mr. Burke?" she asks.

•••

Martin walks with heavy steps out of Mr. Burke's office. He has suspension for the rest of the week. Four days isn't bad, but it's still tough. What will his parents make him do for four days?

•••

"No! Mom, not him!" Martin groans.

He and his mother discuss what he'll be doing during his suspension while his father finishes up some work in his office.

"You're complaining?" his mother scoffs.

"No," Martin answers slowly. "But four whole days?" He sighs in frustration. "Mom..."

"Actually, no," his mother shakes her head. Martin looks at her, hopeful. "It will be five days, including Saturday."

Martin's face falls to the ground. "What? But mom! He'll—"

"No buts, Martin. You're staying with Mr. James and that's final. I'll take you over there tomorrow, so have your things packed tonight."

"That overzealous fanatic?" Martin scowls. Mr. James is the youth pastor at his parents' church. His parents always go to Mr. James for advice on how to deal with Martin.

"He's not an overzealous fanatic, Martin," his mother sighs. "He's a very wise person who can help you with your problem."

"You always go to him for advice, Mom, and it's obviously not working. How do you figure me spending a week with him is going to be any different? Besides, I don't have any problem."

His mother looks at him. "Oh no? Martin your temper is out of control-"

"Here we go," Martin rolls his eyes.

His mother continues, "You don't know how to control your emotions, you follow whatever impulse you have, and you've just been suspended for fighting in school. Again. You don't think you have a problem?"

Martin groans. "Mom, all he's going to do is quote that same stupid scripture over and over about a man ruling his spirit and blah blah blah."

"He who controls his anger is better than the mighty, and he who rules his spirit stronger than a city," his mother quotes.

"Yeah, that, whatever," Martin sighs. "Look, I'll behave myself forever, just don't send me to that guy, he's a psycho!"

"You're going, Martin," his mother frowns at him. "Don't fight me on this."

Martin frowns. "You can't just pack me up and send me off to stay with this guy. It's not fair!"

"We have a right to do what's best for you, Martin," his mother replies sternly. "Now go pack your stuff. We're leaving early tomorrow."

"Ugh! This is bull!" Martin swings his arms in frustration, knocking a glass from the table.

"Watch your tone!" Martin's father bellows as he leaves the office. "You haven't been given an option or preference, now get upstairs and pack, now!"

Martin storms up the stairs and slams his door, muttering curses under his breath. Mrs. West sighs and glances at the mountain of school papers on the living room table.

"I'm going to finish grading these and then I'll come to bed, okay?" she tells her husband. Nodding, he leans over and kisses her forehead before heading to their room.

•••

Mrs. West sighs as she sits on the bed beside her husband. "I can't believe this is happening again," she exhales in frustration.

"Honey, we're doing the right thing," Mr. West comforts her. "Mr. James has a powerful testimony and it may be just what Martin needs to finally grow out of this."

Mr. West embraces his wife and kisses her softly. "Don't blame yourself, ok?"

Mrs. West cries, "But Martin seems to be getting worse! And he won't talk to me. He cringes when I speak, and he moans like he's in physical pain whenever I ask him questions about school or his friends. Every time I try to reach out to him, he shuts me out. I feel like I'm losing him." Mrs. West begins to cry.

"He's growing up. We can't make him stay a baby forever. All we can do is discipline him and pray. These are his choices, not yours."

"But what about all the bad examples we set for him?" she sniffles. "I mean with my drinking and –"

Mr. West puts his hand up to stop her from continuing. "Admittedly, we haven't always been the best example to him, but we've taught him right from wrong. Now we need to leave the rest in God's hands."

"I know you're right," she sniffs, wiping her tears with her hand. "But I'm so worried about him. What if he does something that we can't fix? He's so angry, Edward. I'm just afraid for him."

Mr. West holds his wife tighter. "I know, Dear," he says, praying a silent prayer. "I know."

•••

Martin slams the door to his room and grabs the remote for his radio. He turns the music up full blast and grabs his cell phone. There's a text from Max.

Max: Herd abt susp u ok?

Martin texts him back.

Martin: 5 days n I got 2 stay w/Mr. Lame James.

Max: Crazy preacher?

Martin: Ya,. Bad enuf my parents make me go 2 church evry wk tryn 2 brainwash me.

Max: Sry to hear it. Hang n there... Stay black.

Martin: LOL... Stay white.

Martin hears his father knocking on his door and rolls his eyes.

"Martin, turn your music down!" he yells from behind the door. "It's time to go to bed!"

Martin frowns and turns his head, ignoring his father. Finally, Mr. West enters the room.

"Didn't you hear me?" Mr. West walks over to Martin's stereo and unplugs it.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Martin cries.

"Saving whatever sense of hearing you may have left," Mr. West replies sarcastically as he removes the stereo.

"Why do you do that?" Martin frowns as he watches his father confiscate his radio. "I can't even breathe without you or mom screaming at me!"

"I told you to turn it down, Martin," his father wraps the cord around the stereo.

"I'm not even going to be here! Why do you have to pack it up?" Martin tries to take the stereo from his father.

"Martin, you know the rules," his father sighs and pulls the stereo away. "After nine o'clock, no loud music. Now, if you'd have used common sense and turned it down when I asked you, this wouldn't be happening. But you don't think, Martin."

"I'm sick of you and your rules!" Martin rolls his eyes. "Ever since you and mom started attending that...that church with Mr. James you've been ruining my life! I can't go to parties, I can't have a girlfriend, I can't be out past ten, I can't do anything remotely fun!"

"Martin, your mother and I explained this to you before," his father sighs. "We're born again Christians now. We have a responsibility to make sure we set the right example for you. You're not the only one who's given up a few things. Your mother and I both gave up smoking and drinking and going to late night election parties because we want to live our lives righteously and we want you to do the same."

"It's not an election year, dad, you don't need to sell me on your moral uprightness," Martin scowls. "I want things to go back to the way they were. I want to have fun with my friends without you screening them and checking up on me every five minutes."

"Martin I wouldn't have to check up on you if you showed me I could trust you," his father snaps.

"Maybe if you stopped treating me like a criminal, I'd stop acting like one!" Martin snaps back.

"That's not how it works, Martin," his father frowns. "I hope you learn a thing or two while you're with Mr. James, because the way you're headed now is trouble."

"Whatever," Martin quips before turning on his iPod.

Mr. West sighs before closing the door, stereo in hand.

# CHAPTER FOUR

# Mr. James

Martin wakes to the sound of his mother's calls. He can hear her downstairs getting breakfast ready. She never makes breakfast in the morning, not even on weekends.

"Get up, get dressed, and get down here, Martin!" she calls. Martin looks at the clock: 6:51. It's the time he usually gets up in the morning. Martin gets out of bed, still in his clothes from the day before, and gets ready.

Breakfast is cut short when Martin tells his mother he isn't packed yet. His father leaves for work while his mother cleans up the kitchen. Martin goes upstairs to pack his clothes. When he gets to his room he frowns at the clutter. After his shower he'd tossed his dirty clothes on the floor. While searching for something to wear, Martin threw items on the bed or on the floor that didn't meet his criteria. Since this has been his routine for a few weeks, he really doesn't know what's clean and what's dirty.

Martin begins cleaning his room before he starts packing. He turns up the volume on his iPod, scrolls to his favorite playlist, and gets to work. He judges how clean his clothes are by how they smell. He picks up several books from the floor, throws away old papers and gum wrappers, and puts all his shoes in his closet. When he finishes clearing the floor, he brings the vacuum into his room.

Martin looks at his room, admiring the now clean floors and neatly made bed.

Martin's mother walks upstairs to his room.

"Martin, what's taking you so...?" his mother trails off as she sees the clean floor and bed.

"Wow, I'm impressed." she smiles at him.

"I made a mess, I cleaned it up," Martin smirks. "Come on, mom, don't make me go."

Her smile falters. "Martin, you're still going..."

Martin groans. "Come on! I made a mistake; it's not like you've never made a mistake before!"

"Martin that's not the point," his mother sighs. "What you did was wrong, and dangerous."

"You're making this out to be completely my fault!" Martin cries. "I wasn't the only one throwing punches!"

"But you were the first," his mother replies. "If you were anyone else, you'd be expelled, or worse. Your father and I do our best to protect you, Martin, but you've got to take responsibility for your actions."

"Look, I said I was sorry," Martin sighs.

"Are you, really?" his mother looks at him.

"Yes, really," Martin answers.

"Then you won't mind apologizing to Johnny Reese?" his mother challenges.

Martin's eyes grow wide in apprehension. "I'm not apologizing to him! Do you have any idea how humiliating that would be?"

"Alright, off to Mr. James we go," his mother nods.

•••

Martin walks downstairs with a small suitcase in his hand. Dragging his feet, he follows his mom out the front door and into the car. They drive out to Mr. James' house in silence. Martin sits on the passenger side, brooding, as his mother silently prays.

When they arrive, Mr. James is waiting for them on his front porch. Martin grimaces and gets out of his mother's car. Mr. James greets Martin's mother.

"Good morning, Mrs. West." Martin's mother replies in kind.

Mr. James turns to Martin. "Hello, Martin. That's a pretty nasty bruise on your cheek."

Martin rolls his eyes and makes a face. His mother gives him a threatening look, and Martin walks up to the porch to shake Mr. James' hand, muttering a greeting.

Mr. James smiles at him, belying his tough exterior. Mr. James is a big man with dark skin and seriously toned muscles. His smile is as big as he is, though Martin finds it more annoying than inviting. He walks with Mr. James into the house, his mother close behind.

"Mr. West and I just want to say thank you again for agreeing to watch Martin on such short notice," she gushes. "Mr. West and I both work and Martin can be a handful. We couldn't let just anyone watch him."

Martin rolls his eyes again.

"Well, it's no trouble at all," Mr. James replies. Martin makes gagging gestures as the conversation lingers twenty minutes longer. His mother leaves after a short goodbye, and Mr. James shows Martin to his room.

After dropping his suitcase in his room, he follows Mr. James on a tour of the house. It isn't much. There are two bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen, and a small room Mr. James uses as an office. The last stop is the garage, where Martin happily finds a weight set.

Mr. James has several religious paintings and pictures of people who look like family and friends. Gaps of awkward silence are quickly filled with Mr. James' explanation of this and that, and Martin sighs with relief when he's finally allowed to his room to unpack.

Martin rushes upstairs to put his stuff away in the spare bedroom that will be his for the next five days. Martin overheard Mr. James tell his mother that he had previously used this room for storage, but recently cleared everything out and put a bed and dresser in. A single object hangs on the wall. It's a painting of Jesus; his face is glowing and he has nail prints in his hands.

Jesus is in a standing position, wearing a white robe and golden sash, with his arms outstretched. There is a Scripture on the painting that Martin doesn't bother to read. He scowls in aggravation, grabs the picture and places it in the bottom drawer of the dresser.

Martin sits on the bed with his head propped on his palms. The bed is surprisingly comfortable, but Martin is in no mood to be comforted. He pulls out his cell phone and texts Max.

Martin: I hate this place. Johnny is dead when I see him again.

Martin waits a few minutes for Max to respond. Martin knows he's in class, or sleeping. Finally, his cell phone chirps.

Max: call u n 5 mn.

Martin taps his foot on the floor until he hears Max's ringtone.

"What took you so long?" Martin asks.

"Sorry, had to get around Miggy. She was checking everyone for hall passes. What's up?"

"I've been here less than an hour and I'm already going crazy, that's what's up," Martin groans. "My parents took my iPod and my DSi, I'm surprised they didn't take my phone. This guy has no computer in here, no TV, no stereo, I mean, what am I supposed to do here?"

"Beats me," Max snorts. "Hey, you know Johnny Reese is at school today?"

"What?" Martin exclaims. "He wasn't suspended?"

"Nope," Max answers. "He looks like crap, but he's here."

"I don't believe this!" Martin scowls. "I get four days of suspension and he gets to go right back to school?"

"Yeah. There was a quiz in Chem this morning, too," Max adds.

Martin groans. While on suspension, most students aren't allowed to make up tests. "Agh! I can't fail Chemistry. They'll kick me off the team."

"Ah, they'd never do that," Max chuckles. "Kick you off the team, that is. You might fail Chemistry though."

Martin scowls, "Why is this happening to me? Johnny Reese is a nobody, a loser. I mean, he's practically invisible. How could he get me into so much trouble?"

"I don't know," Max yawns.

"And where were you at lunch yesterday?" Martin asks. "You're supposed to have my back, Shaw."

"I was with Shelly, sorry," Max replies. Shelly is Max's girlfriend. "By the looks of Johnny's face, I doubt you needed my help anyway."

Martin clenches his fists in frustration. "It wasn't nearly enough."

"Let me know what you wanna do," Max laughs. "Anyway, I'd better go before Miggy the Munchkin catches me. Later."

Martin flips his phone closed and kicks the bed.

He hates this place. He hates Mr. James. He hates his parents for leaving him here. And he hates Johnny for being the reason he's here. Martin grabs his suitcase and walks over to the bedroom dresser. He stuffs his clothes in the top drawer and closes it with a loud bang.

_Johnny_ , Martin draws a mental target around his name. Johnny is the one responsible for this whole mess. He's probably laughing about it with his dorky friends, if he has any. Martin slams his fist into the dresser. The pain doesn't register at first, but when he sees his knuckles bleeding his hand immediately begins to sting.

The pain serves as a catalyst to his fury. The more he thinks about the pain, his situation, and Johnny, the more heated he becomes.

The throbbing increases and Martin swears, cradling his hand in his arm. He's still sore from fighting Johnny, and he can literally see his knuckles pulsing.

Martin studies his hand, taking deep breaths to keep from crying. He never cries, and the possibility that he might irritates him further. He shakes his head defiantly. He's channeling his anger the wrong way. He looks over the old, hand-carved oak dresser. He can't even locate where he's hit it. The bedroom door opens, interrupting Martin's thoughts.

"Martin?" Mr. James steps into the room.

_Can't you knock_? Martin frowns. "Yeah?"

"I heard a noise." Mr. James scans the room; his eyes stop at the bare wall above the bed. "What happened?"

"Ah, the picture fell," Martin lies. "I tried to put it back up there, but it won't stay."

"So where is it now?" he asks.

"Oh! Uh..." Martin opens the bottom drawer. "I wasn't sure where to put it, so I just stuck it in here." Martin can tell that Mr. James isn't buying it, and he folds his arms, ready for anything Mr. James may say.

Mr. James narrows his eyes and focuses on Martin's hand. Martin wonders if he will call him out on his lie, but Mr. James instead takes the picture from the drawer and replaces it on the wall.

"The trick is to press it in as you hook it," he tells Martin. Martin stands, apprehensive, and wonders when Mr. James will confront him about lying. After perfecting the alignment of the picture Mr. James walks back downstairs, calling behind him, "Come downstairs and we'll put something on those knuckles."

Martin walks reluctantly down the stairs. He takes a seat in the living room, watching Mr. James as he gathers rubbing alcohol and cotton swabs. Mr. James motions for him to come in the dining room and have a seat at the table.

_His wooden chairs are hard,_ Martin thinks to himself.

Mr. James wastes no time in applying the first aid. He mercilessly swabs Martin's knuckles with a cotton ball full of alcohol, and Martin swears before he can catch himself.

Mr. James stops momentarily, his eyes communicating a warning. Martin gets the message, but proceeds to curse in his mind. He can feel his temper rising and, once again, his thoughts circle back to Johnny.

Martin imagines his next encounter with Johnny. He'll beat him so badly, Johnny will beg him to stop before it's over. The thought appeals to Martin, and he smiles.

Shortly afterward he winces. Mr. James is the worst nurse he's ever encountered.

"You know, Martin, I was a lot like you when I was younger."

_Oh great! Here it comes,_ Martin thinks.

"I had a temper and it cost me a lot."

Martin tunes him out and begins replaying his revenge in his mind. Johnny messed with the wrong guy. Martin considers how much satisfaction Johnny's bloodied face will give him. He is going to make him sorry. Martin looks at Mr. James' mouth.

_Yup, he's still talking_ , Martin thinks. _Man that dude can talk. I don't know how much more of this I can take..._

"And I almost killed him." Martin hears Mr. James, but barely catches what he says. The words have jumbled so badly in his mind that they no longer make any sense.

Out of boredom and a little curiosity, Martin asks him to repeat himself.

"My best friend. I almost killed him," Mr. James repeats.

Martin can't believe his ears. Mr. James is either lying, or Martin still hasn't heard right.

"You did what?" he asks again.

Mr. James stops working on Martin's hand and sighs. "I never shared this with the youth group, but yes, I almost killed him."

Martin tries to reason out his meaning. "You mean, like, you almost _accidentally_ killed him? Like...maybe he jumped out in front of your car?"

"No I mean I went to his house with a gun, fully intending to kill him."

Martin sits, stunned. Now he wishes that he had been paying attention. "But why?" he asks.

Mr. James chuckles and repeats the story.

"I fell in love with a girl named Theresa. She liked me well enough, but she was absolutely crazy about my best friend Rick. I pretended not to notice, and pursued her anyway. I thought maybe I could convince that I was a better choice. But I couldn't change her mind."

"Rick knew I liked her, but he wasn't interested, and he told me so. He told Theresa too, which broke her heart. I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to win her, but she told me being around me reminded her of Rick. Her heart was broken and she'd never give me a chance. I thought Rick had ruined my one shot at love, so I got my dad's gun, went over to his house, told him he didn't deserve Theresa, and shot him."

This new piece of information takes a few minutes for Martin to process.

"You actually shot him?" Martin asks. "Do my parents know about this?"

"Yes. To both."

"But you shot him in the knee or something, right?" Martin asks.

"In the chest, Martin," Mr. James answers with a slight frown.

Martin sits back, bemused. "Why would you shoot your best friend over some girl?" Martin asks. "And why aren't you in jail now?"

Mr. James shakes his head. "In a word, I was jealous. And not just about Theresa. That was just the tip of the iceberg. You see, I grew up poor. My family always struggled, and nothing ever came easy for me. I wanted to go to a local university on a basketball scholarship, but my grades weren't good enough, so I didn't qualify."

"I was accepted to the university, but I couldn't afford to go. Rick, unlike me, grew up wealthy and his life seemed so easy. He applied to the same university and they gave him a full four year basketball scholarship. I was furious when I found out, but I told myself it wasn't because I was jealous. It just wasn't fair. I was struggling and couldn't afford college, and he got a scholarship he didn't even need."

"I was a better player, but he had the grades, and I hated him for that. So he had my school, my scholarship, and Theresa's heart. He was living _my_ life, and I was jealous. He had everything I wanted, and you know what? He turned it all down. He turned down the scholarship, went to another school and rejected Theresa. What's ironic is that he did it all to make me happy."

"So, you got a raw deal and you shot him?" Martin shakes his head. Mr. James nods. "But that's stupid."

"Like I said before," Mr. James sighs, "I was a lot like you when I was young. I was irrational, I didn't think things through, and as soon as things didn't go my way, I would explode." He adds pointedly, "Even if the situation was my own fault."

Martin furrows his brow and crosses his arms.

"So what happened to your friend?" Martin asks.

"He threw the rubber bullet at me, and after telling me how insane I was, he kicked me out of his house."

Martin feels like he's missed something. "What?"

Mr. James chuckles. "My dad had a hunting gun, and he didn't use regular bullets. He didn't want to kill the animals; he just wanted to stun them. So he used a low powered rifle with rubber bullets. I wasn't thinking about that when I grabbed it. The bullets can leave a nasty bruise, but they generally aren't lethal from a distance."

Martin is relieved. The idea of the youth pastor in front of him being so cold blooded, however intriguing, is unsettling.

"Martin," Mr. James continues, "had those bullets been real, a lot would be different now. God was looking out for me. He had a plan for my life, just like He has for yours. Don't think the same thing can't happen to you. You lose control often enough and you'll wind up making mistakes that you can't reverse." Mr. James looks at Martin's hand, nodding in satisfaction.

"You're all set. Are you hungry?"

"No, I'm gonna finish putting my stuff up." Martin gets up quickly, eying Mr. James warily. How can he compare himself to Martin? Mr. James doesn't know anything about him. No one does. If his parents really understood him, they wouldn't have sent him here. His thoughts return to Johnny, and Martin begins to form a plan.

•••

After Martin finishes unpacking, Mr. James gives him a rundown on the rules of the house.

"Okay, Martin. Starting tomorrow you'll be doing your school work with me between the hours of 8:00 am and 3:00 pm. Those are the basic school hours, aren't they?"

Before Martin can answer, Mr. James continues. "I'll be teaching you a few things during that time period as well, and I expect you to pay attention. I'm sure we won't have any problems, but just 'F.Y.I.', you will face the consequences for any misbehavior."

"If you have any questions, feel free to ask. After 3:00 pm, you can have some leisure time, but you won't be allowed to go out. As far as the house goes, I don't have cable or any kind of game consoles, but I have plenty of books if you want to read them. And you're welcome to anything in the pantry if you get hungry."

"Blah, blah, blah," Martin mutters under his breath.

Mr. James sighs. "Martin, I've known you for a while now, so you know what I expect from you. We've got a long day ahead of us. We're going to go to the church today." Mr. James looks at his watch. "Right now would be more precise. Let's go!"

"Go where?" asks Martin. "To church?"

"Yes, church," Mr. James answers. He walks to the door that leads to the garage and signals for Martin to follow. Martin walks into the garage and waits for Mr. James to unlock his car door. When they both get in, Mr. James starts his car and drives to Upside Christian Church.

"Why do we have to come here?" Martin grumbles as they walk up the church steps.

"I have some office work to do, and we've got some studies to work on," Mr. James answers.

"I've got a headache," Martin complains. "I don't feel like studying."

Mr. James unlocks the church doors and leads Martin inside, promising to give him a few Tylenol. Martin looks around the old church. The inside has stained glass windows, cushioned maroon pews, and deep burgundy carpet to match the pews. There is a balcony above the pews on the floor and staircases on either side.

The pulpit is as large as a stage, and there is a large area behind it with three rows of seats for the choir. There are drums, an organ and microphone equipment on the left side, and a door leading to the kitchen on the right.

Mr. James leads Martin to the kitchen and out through the back doors of the church where a second building stands; it's used for the youth meetings. This building is smaller and has chairs instead of pews, but the layout is similar. There are two doors in the back. The one on the left is the bathroom, and the one on the right is Mr. James' office. Martin stands in the building and looks around while Mr. James goes into his office. When he returns he has a plastic cup full of water and some Tylenol in his hand.

Martin grudgingly accepts both from Mr. James.

"So, what are we gonna do?" asks Martin.

Mr. James looks at his watch and replies, "We're going to have Bible study." Martin rolls his eyes and groans.

"We'll start with the basics. First on the list is salvation. Second is the Walk. That should take up the whole session."

"Wait a second," says Martin. "What do you mean by the Walk? I mean, you're always using terms that don't make any sense."

Mr. James answers, "The Walk is a term used to describe the daily lifestyle of a Christian. How we think, talk, and act on a daily basis should coincide with the basic principles given to us in the Word."

"Oh, good thing I'm not a Christian, then," Martin smirks. "Why do you call it the 'Word'?"

Mr. James picks up his Bible and says, "This book right here is the written Word. If you take the letters B-I-B-L-E they are abbreviations for the purpose of the Book."

"Well, what do they stand for?"

Mr. James answers with a smile, "Basic Instructions Before Leaving Earth."

_Space Cadet,_ Martin thinks as he squirms in his chair. His original suspicions are definitely substantial. Mr. James is insane, and Martin's regard for him dwindles every time the man speaks. Nevertheless, he is curious about where all of this is heading.

Martin asks in a condescending voice, "If I leave Earth, where will I go?"

Mr. James leans back in his chair and replies, "Depending on the condition of your soul, you'll either go to Heaven, or to Hell. If you have received the gift of salvation, you'll have received eternal life in Heaven. If you reject the gift, you are accepting death and Hell."

"But I haven't been given anything," Martin states, becoming agitated with the conversation.

"But you have," Mr. James smiles. "Jesus Christ is the only begotten Son of God, and He was sent by God to die for our sins. None of us can claim to be righteous without accepting that gift of salvation. Through Jesus we can fellowship with God and spend an eternity with Him in Heaven."

"I'm not claiming to be anything but human," Martin scoffs. "You're the one talking about leaving Earth. Do you honestly expect me to believe that?"

Mr. James looks at Martin and answers, "As strange as it is, it's all true. I believe it because I know it's true. The answers to life's questions begin with the stories in this Book."

"I'm not asking any questions," Martin groans. "The only question I may have is why God makes so many stupid rules. I mean, how can you call God fair? You almost killed your best friend but you're going to go to Heaven. I'm not perfect, but I've never tried to kill anyone. Why should I be sent to Hell?"

Mr. James shakes his head. "You're missing it, Martin. The point is that no one deserves to go to heaven. That's why we need a savior. But if you don't accept salvation, how can you enter heaven?"

"I don't care!" Martin rolls his eyes and gets up from his chair. "Why do I have to sit here and listen to this, anyway? I bet Johnny is having a good laugh right now about me."

"I get sent away, but him? He's the victim, so he gets to go right back to school today. What about me? Why am I always the villain? If God is so fair, He'd give me parents who could understand me instead of ramming the Bible down my throat and making me feel like a criminal!"

Martin kicks his chair in frustration and glares at Mr. James. He hates the man in front of him. How can he go on about the Bible and God with a past like his? And who is he to judge Martin?

Mr. James responds, "Martin, there are some things in this life that none of us will ever understand. In the Bible, a man named Job has questions about why he goes through so much hardship. He loses his family, his possessions, and his health. In fact, the only thing he has in the end is a wife and friends who give him bad advice."

"But when God finally responds to his questions, Job realizes that he is asking God about things he cannot understand. God created everything, Martin. He's all powerful, he knows everything, and he is everywhere. It is God alone who has all power."

Martin shifts in his seat and frowns.

"Now, I know this may be hard to accept but your parents love you and they want what's best for you. But Martin, you have got to learn to control your spirit, and you do that by controlling your thoughts."

"Right now you think the world is against you, but it's not. You think that this boy Johnny is somewhere laughing at you and your situation, and maybe that's true, maybe it isn't. But Martin, you can't allow your feelings to govern your actions, and you cannot control your feelings if you do not control your thoughts. This is how you control your spirit."

Mr. James continues, "Now, as far as forgiveness goes, understand this spiritual truth: none of us deserves to go to Heaven. All of us have sinned and have fallen short of the glory of God. I know perfection is a hard concept to grasp, but God is perfect. His ways are perfect. He is holy and He demands that everyone who wants a relationship with Him be holy as well."

"Because of our sin nature, it is impossible for us to work our way into Heaven. This is why whether or not we get into Heaven is not determined by what we do; it's all about relationship. Once you accept Christ and ask His forgiveness, you are cleansed of all your unrighteousness. Once you realize that you're no better than someone who murders or steals, you'll come to appreciate God's liberality."

Martin closes his eyes in frustration. "This stuff doesn't make any sense," he says.

"You understand more than you let on, Martin," Mr. James replies. The phone rings in Mr. James' office and he gets up to answer it.

"I'll be back in a moment."

Mr. James leaves Martin alone with his thoughts.

_What if Mr. James is right?_ Martin wonders. _What if there really is a Heaven, or a Hell?_ _And what about Johnny?_

No, he has to pay Johnny back. Whatever the cost.

•••

Three o'clock comes and goes, and Martin and Mr. James return to the house. Martin goes upstairs to his room, and Mr. James goes to his office. Martin is sifting through the apps on his phone, searching for games, when Mr. James' phone rings. After the third ring, Martin assumes Mr. James is too busy to answer his phone, so he picks it up.

"Hello? Mr. James?" It's his mother.

"It's me," Martin replies flatly.

"Oh, Martin!" she exclaims. "How are you doing, Sweetie?"

Martin rolls his eyes. "You dumped me off at this guy's house. How do you think I'm doing?"

His mother sighs, exasperated. "Martin, your father and I explained to you that we both think its best that you – "

"No, you and Dad both decided that you're tired of trying to handle me, so you dumped me off on somebody else!"

"Martin!"

"It's the truth!" Martin yells into the phone. "If you and Dad are so ashamed of me than just say so! I'm not a child, so, stop treating me like I can't figure things out!"

"Martin, that's not it at all! Your father and I love you."

"No you don't!" Martin can feel the heat rising in his neck. "I hear the things you say about me. You think I'm no good, and I'll end up dead or in jail one day. Isn't that what you said? Isn't it?"

"Martin, that's not what I meant," his mother pleads for his understanding. "We worry about you, and I know I shouldn't but—"

"That's right. I'm not worth worrying over, am I?" Martin's words ooze with sarcasm. "What point is there in caring about someone like me, right?"

"Martin, just listen for a minute! We love you, but sometimes you act so out of control."

"Where do you suppose I got that from?" Martin asks. "How many times have I watched you come home drunk after some party, or watch dad smash everything in the house when he didn't get his way? Whenever you guys fight it's like world war three, so if you want to blame somebody for the way I act, then blame yourself!"

"Martin, that's enough!" Mrs. West speaks firmly. "You are my child; it is NOT the other way around. Don't you dare talk to me that way!"

"No problem!" Martin shouts. He slams the phone into the receiver and turns around to find himself facing Mr. James. The look on his face could turn flesh into stone. Mr. James is deathly calm, a stark contrast to Martin's heavy breathing.

"What was that?" Mr. James asks quietly.

Martin clenches his jaw. "That was my mother," he replies.

Mr. James cocks his head to one side and takes a long breath. "You were speaking to your mother... like that?" he questions.

"She had it coming to her," Martin frowns. He knows Mr. James will never take his side over his parents', but right now he doesn't care.

"Martin, I will not tolerate that kind of disrespectful behavior in this house, not even over the phone. You're going to call your mother back and apologize to her, are we clear?" Mr. James waits for Martin's response, but Martin says nothing. "I know you heard me, Martin."

Something in Mr. James' voice tells Martin he had better respond. "Yeah, whatever," he replies.

"Excuse me?" Mr. James is obviously not satisfied with Martin's response. Martin glares at Mr. James defiantly.

"Martin, you may think you have the right to be angry with your parents, but you don't," Mr. James warns. "You have no one to blame for your bad choices but yourself."

"My parents are hypocrites and so are you!" Martin glowers. "You don't know anything about my family, and you don't know anything about me!"

Martin grabs the picture of Jesus from the wall and slams it to the floor, breaking the frame into pieces and tearing a hole in the middle of the painting. They both stare at the picture in silence.

Martin looks up at Mr. James, apprehensive. "I didn't mean to..." Martin's voice trails off and he looks away.

Mr. James looks at the picture a long time before speaking. "I think you need some time to think things over, Martin. It's best you stay in here the rest of the night."

Mr. James takes the broken frame and the picture and leaves Martin's room. Martin leans against the wall and stares at the empty space left where the picture once hung.

# CHAPTER FIVE

# Tough Guy

Martin opens his eyes the next morning, groaning heavily. The early morning sun peeks through his bedroom window, and Martin covers his head in his pillow to hide. He smells something cooking downstairs and his stomach growls. It smells like bacon.

He risks peeking out from under his pillow to check the time. It's nearly 7:00 am.

_Great_ , Martin moans. He's going to be late for school. He throws off his covers and his pillow and turns to face the ceiling. The face of Jesus stares back at him from above the bed and he leaps up, smashing his knee against the bed stand as he tries to escape the dreaded sight.

"What the..." Martin is disoriented for a moment before he remembers where he is. He's at Mr. James' house. This isn't his bedroom, and he's not running late for school. Martin stares ominously at the frame on the wall. How did Mr. James fix it so quickly?

"...Jesus," Martin rubs his eyes and his sore knee before sitting back on the bed. He stares at the clock again. 7:02. He's got to get out of here, somehow. The picture, and Mr. James, is giving him the creeps. Martin hears Mr. James whistling downstairs to the gospel music on the radio.

He rolls his eyes and considers returning to bed. He thinks better of it and takes a shower instead. By the time he's done it's 7:30. Mr. James is still downstairs playing his music. He probably won't bother to knock on Martin's door until 8 o'clock, so Martin figures he has a half hour to get as far away as possible.

Martin puts on his tennis shoes and heads for the window. He pulls open the curtains, feeling a renewed sense of freedom, and pushes the window open. Martin smiles as he looks past the bars into the distant trees that will cover him as he makes his escape. He knows Logoria backwards and forwards, and Mr. James is no match for him.

Martin allows himself another moment to bask in the cleverness of his plan. He'll camp out at a friend's house for a couple days and by then his parents will be too worried about him to punish him and too concerned with what he might do next to try to send him away again.

Martin takes a second look at the bars on the window. They stand in watchful pride as they imprison him. Soon enough, the bars will cower in quiet defeat, and Martin will bid them farewell. He pulls against the first, but it doesn't budge. He shrugs, then pulls on it a second and third time.

Still, it doesn't move. Martin scans the base of the bars for a latch, but finds none. He hadn't anticipated this. He'd assumed they were simple bars to keep pigeons off the ledge, not bars to keep people out. Their only hope of release is a deadbolt on either side that Martin would need a few days and a box full of tools to loosen.

Martin groans in frustration and kicks the bars with his feet. He can hear Mr. James making his way up the stairs. He swears again under his breath as Mr. James walks in.

"Breakfast is ready downstairs; we'll be headed out in ten minutes. I'm glad to see you're dressed and ready." He smiles and makes his way back downstairs.

Martin rolls his eyes. "The guy never knocks," he mumbles under his breath as he follows him downstairs.

•••

"Okay, on three? One, two, three!" Martin grunts as he and another teen lift the long, heavy pew and make their way to the basement. The old pew is damaged and needs to be removed from the sanctuary.

Martin steps in first and immediately realizes the pew is too wide for the narrow entry.

"Hold up," he tells the kid on the other end. He looks younger than Martin, possibly 15. The pew keeps moving towards Martin despite his warning. Martin's knuckles scrape the side of the door and he cusses.

"Hold up, hold up! Man, I said stop!" Martin yells.

"Oh, sorry," the kid stops and backs up. He puts his side of the pew down; at the same time, Martin slams his to the ground and makes his way to him. He pushes the young boy, angry.

"Yo, didn't you hear me say hold up?" Martin glares at him. "What are you, stupid?"

"I'm sorry," the young kid replies timidly. "I just didn't hear you man, chill out."

Martin grabs him by his shirt and throws him into a nearby pew. "You'd better watch yourself, kid. And stay outta my way if you don't know what you're doing."

The young kid stares at Martin, frightened, and Martin's eyes narrow as he watches him cower. "What? Are you gonna cry? Huh?"

The young kid shakes his head no, but is immediately contradicted by the tears falling down his face.

Martin laughs. "Seriously? I barely touched you. What, you can't take it?" Martin raises his voice an octave higher and launches a verbal attack on the young boy.

"Shut up, you little cry baby! I said shut up!" Martin kicks the boy's legs when he doesn't comply. Agitated, Martin picks the boy up by his shirt. The boy winces as Martin raises his fist.

"What's going on in here?" Martin hears Mr. James behind him and immediately releases the boy.

"Nothin,'" Martin grumbles. "Except this little idiot tried to take the skin off my hands."

Mr. James narrows his eyes at Martin. "Mitchell, go to the youth building," Mr. James instructs, never taking his eyes off Martin.

Martin glares back at Mr. James, eyes defiant.

"Is this how you build yourself up, Martin?" Mr. James bristles. "You pick on kids who are smaller than you, so what, now you're a tough guy?"

Martin rolls his eyes and looks away.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you!" Mr. James barks. Martin returns an icy glare. Mr. James continues.

"You're not tough, Martin. Not even close. Mitchell is thirteen years old. He's here because his mother had nobody to watch him after school today. He's partially deaf, and he has no father and no brother to look up to or watch out for him. You must be so proud of yourself for being able to intimidate someone like him. Bravo."

Martin exhales in frustration as Mr. James makes his way to the abandoned pew.

"I didn't know the kid was deaf," Martin defends himself. Mr. James ignores him and continues to pick up the pew and make his way to the basement, angling it so that it fits through the doorway with ease. Martin skulks towards him and grabs the other end, but Mr. James waves him away.

"I'm sure you've done enough for today," he dismisses him. "Wait for me in the sanctuary."

•••

Martin rides back with Mr. James to the house and sinks into a chair as soon as he gets inside. He broods in the living room all afternoon as Mr. James prepares dinner.

"There's a youth meeting tonight, Martin," Mr. James breaks the silence.

Martin shrugs. "What's that got to do with me?"

"I want you to come with me," Mr. James grabs some plates from the cabinets.

"You'll have to drag me kicking and screaming back to that place," Martin scoffs.

"Is that really necessary?" Mr. James sighs. "You know the rules, Martin. I'm not leaving you here by yourself."

"Forget it, I'm not going." Martin crosses his arms stubbornly and slouches in his seat. Mr. James lets out a long sigh.

"Martin, the way I see it there is only one option."

"And what option is that?" Martin asks with a smirk on his face. "You can't touch me, so I don't see how you plan on getting me out of this chair."

Mr. James raises his eyebrows as Martin smiles smugly.

•••

Martin scowls as Mr. James walks past his chair, smiling.

"Good evening everyone," Mr. James greets the youth group. "Let's start with a word of prayer. Where's Jennifer?"

"She said she couldn't make it today," one of the youth offers a reply.

"Ok, no problem," Mr. James shrugs. "Mitchell, why don't you start us off this evening?"

The young boy stands quietly and begins a prayer. "Lord, thank you for bringing us all safely here this evening. I pray the word falls on good ground and bears fruit in Jesus' name. Amen."

Mitchell sits down quickly, daring a glance in Martin's direction. Martin looks away.

Mr. James begins his message, and Martin makes an immediate exit to the bathroom. He spends the duration of the service there, sitting on the toilet with his head in his hands. When he hears the final amens he makes his way out. He's instantly greeted with smirks and snickers.

"Somebody _really_ had to go," one of the teens jokes. Martin turns his head in his direction.

"You got somethin' to say to me?" he snarls.

The teen stares at him, wide-eyed. "Nah, man I was just joking. Relax."

Martin balls his fists. "Yeah, you're real funny. How about I wipe that stupid smirk off your face?"

The young teen is obviously nervous, fueling Martin's bloodlust further. "What, nothing to say now? That's what I thought." Martin shoves him, but Mr. James immediately pulls him back.

"That's enough, Martin," Mr. James bellows. "Get to the car, now!" Mr. James releases him, and Martin glares at his victim one last time before making his way outside.

"Wow, you okay, Trevor?" one of the youth asks the teenage boy. Trevor is still rubbing his chest where Martin shoved him.

"Yeah, I'm alright," Trevor replies. He looks at Mr. James. "What's that guy's problem? I was just joking around."

Mr. James shakes his head. "Don't take it personally, Trevor. He's got some things to sort through. Keep him in your prayers, okay?"

Trevor nods and helps Mr. James and Mitchell clean up the youth room.

•••

Martin sits in Mr. James car, sulking. If he'd been with his parents, instead of Mr. James, Martin would have knocked Trevor's face off. Mr. James is really starting to cramp his style. Martin hadn't expected him to be such a difficult person to get around. His parents never fought with him when he told them he wasn't going to bible study. They just told him to try to behave while they were gone.

Martin stares at his knuckles, still bruised but no longer swollen from Monday's fight. Had he known he'd go through so much trouble afterwards, he would have really laid into Johnny. He went easy on him Monday compared to what he'd do the next time he saw him. Johnny would wish he'd never heard the name Martin West.

A knock at the window startles him. Martin turns to see his mother's face in the window. He rolls his eyes and turns away, ignoring her. Her voice is muffled, but he can hear every word.

"Hey hon, I know you're probably still upset," she starts, "but I want you to know your father and I love you, okay?" Mrs. West sighs as Martin continues to look away.

"Listen, this is for your own good, Martin. We're only thinking of what's best for you, honey."

After a few minutes of silence, Mrs. West gives up and finds Mr. James. Martin watches angrily as they both talk, convinced they are discussing Martin and his behavior. Mrs. West frowns several times, but when they finish, she leaves. She doesn't even look in Martin's direction.

Martin frowns as he watches her make her way to the parking lot. She meets with Mr. West and they both drive off. His father hadn't even bothered to speak to him. Martin sniffs. What does he care, anyway? They've already dumped him off with Mr. James, so why should they bother with him at all?

Mr. James opens the car door and starts the engine. Martin expects a lecture during the ride back to the house, but receives none.

# CHAPTER SIX

# Martin's Decision

Martin feels himself being shaken and opens his eyes.

"What?" he mumbles, disoriented.

"Time to get some work done," Mr. James stands over him in shorts and a tee shirt.

Martin grumbles and turns to grab his cell phone.

"It's six am, Mr. James. Why do I have to get up so early?"

Mr. James shrugs. "I figured you'd want to get in some practice." Mr. James tosses a basketball to Martin and turns to leave.

"Meet me downstairs in twenty."

•••

Martin wipes the sweat from his brow with his left hand as he dribbles the ball with his right. Mr. James is good. They've been playing for hours and neither one is showing signs of fatigue.

"This is game point, Martin," Mr. James smiles. "You gonna fake left? You gonna fake right?"

"Stay out my head," Martin smirks. Mr. James is fast, despite his size, and Martin finds it difficult to dribble past him. He takes a step back and Mr. James goes for the ball. Martin switches to his left, then bounces it behind Mr. James. He runs to pick up the ball, but Mr. James quickly turns and grabs the ball before Martin can get to it.

"Let me show you how it's done," Mr. James taunts.

Martin shakes his head. "I don't need advice from you, old man."

"Oh no?" Mr. James smirks. "Watch and learn, son. Watch and learn."

Mr. James looks straight into Martin's eyes as he dribbles the ball. Martin grabs for the ball, but Mr. James switches hands and dribbles right past Martin for a slam dunk.

"It's all in the footwork," Mr. James winks as he tosses the ball to Martin.

Martin scowls and grabs the ball. He walks over to the check point and waits.

"You want to play again?" Mr. James asks.

Martin nods his head.

"Okay," Mr. James shrugs and checks the ball. Martin tries to get the ball past Mr. James, but is unsuccessful. After losing the ball to Mr. James several times, Martin grabs the ball and slams it against the garage door.

"Hey!" Mr. James frowns. "Martin, that's not good sportsmanship."

"I don't care!" Martin frowns. "You keep making that same stupid move, and I can't get the ball past you!"

"Martin, relax," Mr. James shakes his head. "You want me to teach you the move?"

"I don't want you to teach me anything!" Martin scowls and storms back into the house.

•••

Dinner is unnervingly quiet. Martin watches Mr. James and barely touches his food. Mr. James eats as if nothing's wrong. Martin wonders if he's playing some silent mind game.

It doesn't matter. Martin has plans of his own.

Martin excuses himself early, complaining of a stomachache, but waits by his bedroom door, listening for Mr. James' movements. It's not long before the house is completely silent, and Martin calls his friend, Max. It's a little after midnight, but Martin knows Max will be up.

"Hey Max, I need you to do me a favor," Martin whispers into the phone. "Can you pick me up?"

"Sure, man, but aren't you over at that preacher's house?" Max asks.

"Yeah, but don't worry, he's asleep." Martin reassures him. "Meet me in half an hour about a block from here, okay?"

"I'll see you there."

Martin creeps down the stairs as quietly as he can, stopping several times. To Martin, each step sounds like an explosion in a quiet forest, though the stairs are carpeted, and he is wearing tennis shoes. Martin slowly opens the back door in the kitchen, the door furthest from Mr. James' bedroom door. Before he walks out, he looks inside one of the kitchen drawers.

He'd seen Mr. James put a Swiss army knife there earlier after using it to unlock a rusty trunk. He finds the knife and continues out the door. He quickly goes through the back gate and down the dark alley to the next block where he agreed to meet with Max. When he finds him Max is finishing a can of beer, leaning against his car.

"So what are we up to tonight?" Max asks as he drops the empty can to the ground.

"You know where Johnny lives, right?" Martin asks him.

"Uh, yeah." Max hesitates. "Why?"

"We're gonna pay him a little visit," Martin answers with a smirk.

Max looks quizzically at Martin and then smiles. "I was wondering if you were gonna let him get away with all that talk."

Martin frowns. "What did he say?"

Max continues with a slight slur, "He says he's gonna finish what he started on Monday, and he won't take it easy if you tell him you're a preacher now and don't want to fight."

"What?" Martin has never heard anything so stupid.

"Yeah, the rumor is that preacher guy is gonna make you a preacher. Um, you aren't gonna be a preacher are you, Mart?" Max looks at him with genuine concern. Martin can tell his friend is drunk.

Martin laughs. "Max, what are we about to do? Go ask Johnny if he wants religion?"

Max laughs. " That's good to hear. Your parents are already pretty weird. I just wanted to make sure they didn't get to you too."

"It was kind of harsh for them to kick you out of the house, though. I mean, if it were me, I'd hate my parents for the rest of my life. Of course, I hate them anyways. Parents don't know jack." Max scowls and kicks the empty can away with his foot.

"Yeah," Martin frowns.

Martin and Max get into the car. Max puts the keys in the ignition, but the car doesn't start.

"You've got to be kidding me," Martin glares at Max.

"Come on, you piece of junk!" Max cusses at the steering wheel and makes several attempts to get the car engine to turn over.

"How much gas do you have in the tank?" Martin asks.

Max looks at Martin and shrugs sheepishly.

"Max!" Martin groans.

"It's not my fault my parents are cheap!" Max defends himself. He tries again to turn over the engine, but is unsuccessful.

"Forget it," Max shrugs. "We're not going anywhere."

Martin shakes his head. "Move over, Max."

Max switches seats with Martin and hands him the key. Martin turns the key in the ignition and pumps the gas as the car idles. It finally revs to life and Martin hoots.

"Next time put some gas in your car, moron."

Martin drives, with Max in the passenger seat, to the East side of Mogis Hills. They park on the street behind Johnny's house.

"Did you bring the stuff?" Martin asks.

"Yeah," Max replies, pulling out two ski masks. They park the car and walk quietly to the side of Johnny's house. They hear shouting, followed by glass shattering.

"What was that?" Max looks over at Martin, uneasy. "Maybe we should forget about the whole thing?"

Martin shakes his head. His hand glides over his back pocket, where the small knife is. "There's no way I'm letting Johnny go. You have no idea what this guy's put me through, Max."

Both boys watch quietly as Johnny storms out of his house, cursing and kicking at the ground. He begins walking down the street in the opposite direction.

They decide to follow him on foot and come back later for the car.

Johnny seems oblivious to his surroundings. He almost crashes into two parked cars and doesn't respond to greetings from other pedestrians. Martin and Max watch a safe distance away as Johnny goes into a convenience store. While Martin keeps his eyes on the door, Max looks up and down the street.

"Hey check this out," Max points to a group leaving a restaurant a block away from the store. The entire group is dressed in black. Some of the women are wearing veils around their faces.

"I think it's a funeral," Max whispers.

Martin rolls his eyes and pushes Max further back, into the shadows. "If you can see them, they can see us, Max. Step back. Besides, they don't have funerals in restaurants"

Max moves back but continues to watch the group as they wait outside. "You know what I mean. Hey, that looks like Mrs. Miller."

Martin frowns. "I don't care, Max. We're here for Johnny."

"I'm gonna get a closer look," Max takes a step closer to the group and Martin pulls him back.

"What's the matter with you, Max?" Martin glowers. "You're gonna get us caught!"

"I was just-" Max stops as the door to the convenience store opens and shuts. They both duck down as they watch Johnny exit.

"Idiot!" Martin hisses.

"Sorry," Max replies quietly.

They follow closely behind Johnny as he walks to the park. Johnny wanders around the playground for a few minutes before settling onto a bench. Max looks at Martin, waiting to see what he wants to do next. Martin pulls out the knife he brought with him and looks at it. Max looks at the knife, too, and then looks nervously at Martin.

_This is it_ , Martin's hand trembles as he feels a sudden panic. He closes his eyes and thinks of the embarrassment Johnny has already put him through. His parents are ashamed of him. Why else would they have sent him away? He has to spend the rest of the week with a man he can't stand, listening to him harp over and over about the same things. All because of Johnny.

Martin shakes his head, resolute. This is what he wants to do. He'll make Johnny suffer. Martin grimaces and fingers the knife. His hands tingle and his anger rises to the boiling point. He welcomes the rush of adrenaline that follows.

_I'll kill him_ , he thinks. He doesn't realize how loud his thinking is.

"What did you say?" Max asks in alarm. Martin swallows and stares at the knife. Max looks at Martin intensely.

"I think that was Mrs. Miller. Back there. She works with my mom and she just lost her son." Martin stares at the knife, but says nothing. Max places his hand on Martin's shoulder.

"I know we were gonna scare him, Martin, but..."

"Max, if you're not with me I don't want you here!" Martin growls.

Max looks at Martin, confused. "Martin, what are you talking about?"

Martin feels his heart rate increasing and he pushes Max to the ground, much more forcibly than he intended.

"Get out of here, Max!" Martin hisses. "If you're gonna chicken out, I'll do this myself!"

Max looks up at him. "He's not worth it, man."

Martin grabs Max's shirt. "I said get out of here!" he growls. He releases Max's shirt with a shove, and Max staggers back. Max reaches his hand out to Martin.

"Don't try to stop me!" Martin warns. He takes the knife and swings it at Max's hand. Max instinctively pulls it away.

"Martin..." Max takes a long look at his friend, shakes his head and backs away.

As Max disappears into the night, Martin feels a mix of emotions. What if Johnny spots him before he can get to him? He wants Max to have his back, but now Max is gone.

Martin pulls the ski mask over his head and focuses in on Johnny, rage building as he looks back on his suspension, the lectures, the relocation, and the sermons. Johnny has this coming to him. If he wants to finish what they started on Monday, Martin will give him a chance to show what he's made of.

_The same thing everyone else is_ , Martin thinks morbidly. Martin imagines kicking Johnny's bloody, lifeless body one last time before leaving him right there in the park. He imagines how good it will feel to finally even the score.

His mouth goes dry as the words of Mr. James fight their way into his thoughts. " _You lose control often enough, and you'll wind up making mistakes that you can't reverse."_

Martin shakes his head stubbornly. Knife in hand, he makes his way towards Johnny. He takes a step off the curb, heart beating, palms sweating, mind flooding with images of Johnny's blood on his knuckles.

A screech and a honk yank Martin out of his fantasy, and he falls backwards as a squealing car turns the corner. The car veers right to dodge Martin, but the rearview mirror catches his jacket pocket, spinning him around. Martin loses his balance and lands on his left shoulder. His head scrapes the pavement and his teeth dig deep enough into his tongue to draw blood.

Martin watches from the ground as the owner of the car stops, shouts a curse and backs up. Martin, realizing he still has a ski mask on, takes off down an alley in a panic. Somewhere along the way he realizes the knife is no longer in his hand.

Martin's head is dizzy and he feels like he's suffocating. Another step and it would have been Martin's blood on the ground. Had he been so focused on Johnny that he didn't see the car? The streets were clear, how could he have missed it?

His adrenaline wanes, giving way to shock and nausea. Martin stops running, pulls off his ski mask, and vomits. An erratic sob overtakes him and his legs go weak. What is he doing here? His parents were right, Mr. James was right. He's out of control.

Martin places his hands on his head to still the dizziness. He needs to talk to Mr. James.

Martin swallows a lump in his throat and manages to find his legs. He walks back to where Max parked his car, but there's no sign of it when he gets there.

It's after two in the morning. Out of options, Martin begins walking back to Mr. James' house. After walking for half an hour, a familiar black car pulls up beside him.

"Get in," the driver orders.

Martin feels a wave of dread but does as he's told. He puts his head down and avoids eye contact. They pull into Mr. James' driveway and walk quietly into the house.

"Sit." Mr. James points to a chair in the living room. Martin chances a look at his face, but only briefly. He can't tell if he is angry, worried or disappointed, but he is certain he'll find out soon enough.

"Well?" Mr. James frowns, waiting for Martin to explain himself.

"I um..." Martin's eyes mist over. "I'm sorry," is all he can manage to say before breaking down in sobs. Mr. James' face softens, and he pulls a chair beside him and sits down.

Mr. James waits for Martin to calm down. When he does, Martin tells him everything that happened. He breaks down several times in the process, but Mr. James is patient and lets him get through it. When he finishes Martin apologizes again.

"I shouldn't have snuck out," Martin frowns. "I've been fighting you all week, Mr. James. All this time I thought I was in control. I thought I knew best. Instead, I almost got myself killed." Martin shakes his head, overwhelmed. "That car came so close..."

"Martin, understand that none of this took God by surprise. He knew exactly what you would do, and He was looking out for you. Tonight could have ended so much worse than it did."

Martin sits down and puts his head in his hands. "I wanted to get back at Johnny so badly. I knew it was wrong, but I let myself lose control anyway. How did you do it, Mr. James? How did you get past all your anger? I know I'm responsible for my actions, but I didn't choose to be like this, Mr. James. Anger is all I know."

Mr. James nods and grabs his bible. "Martin, let me show you something."

Mr. James flips the pages of his bible to 1 John 1:9.

"In this verse we're told 'if we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us all our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness.' Once we realize that the things we're doing are wrong and confess those things to God, He forgives us. And not only does he forgive us, he takes those things away. He takes away our desire to do them, and he gives us power to refuse to do them."

"Are you saying I can choose not to be angry?" Martin asks.

"I'm saying that if you give yourself to God, you'll be able to choose whether to let anger take you to a place you don't want to be. Martin, when I shot Rick I was beyond rage. I was so wrapped up in anger that even if I wanted to stop myself, I couldn't. I had given that anger permission to take me as far as it wanted to go, and I was a slave to it. But when I repented and turned my will over to God, I stopped being a slave to my anger. I didn't stop getting angry, Martin. Sometimes I still get angry. But now, because of what God's done in me, my anger cannot force me to do anything. I can still choose to go down that path, but I no longer want to."

"Mr. James, I don't want to be controlled by my anger anymore," Martin looks up at Mr. James. "If this is God giving me a second chance, I want to take it. I don't want to be like this."

Mr. James nods and he and Martin bow their heads in prayer. Mr. James encourages Martin to speak to God himself as they pray.

"Lord," Martin begins, "Thank You for sending your Son Jesus Christ, to save me from my sins. I know I've made some bad choices, and I know I don't deserve Your love.

But I also know that I need You. Please come into my heart, and change it. I need your help with my anger. I don't know how to control it. There's so much I don't understand, God, but please show me what You want me to do. I give my life to You. Thank You, God, for the gift of salvation. Amen."

Mr. James smiles as Martin wipes the tears from his face. "Get some rest, Martin. This marks a new beginning."

# CHAPTER SEVEN

# Spiritual Tests

Martin dribbles the cold basketball outside as he waits for Mr. James. He promised to show Martin the move he'd used the day before. It's nearly seven in the morning, but Martin never went to sleep. He'd been up all night, thinking.

"You ready?" Mr. James steps into the driveway with a jersey and a grin.

Martin frowns as he dribbles the ball. "I don't think I can do this."

Mr. James steps in front of Martin and takes the ball. "It's not as hard as it looks, Martin. It's all in the footwork."

Martin shakes his head. "That's not what I mean." Mr. James waits for Martin to continue. "Last night I saw myself for the first time, and I didn't like it. How do I know I've changed?"

Mr. James sighs. "Let me show you." Martin watches as Mr. James moves his feet back and forth as he dribbles the ball.

"The first step to learning this move is balance. You're not going to get it right away. Sometimes you'll lean too far to the left, and sometimes you'll lean too far to the right. If you lean too far, you'll trip over your feet. But that's okay, because you're just learning. Don't be afraid to trip, because if you just stand still, you'll never learn the rhythm. Try rocking back and forth on your feet."

Martin nods as he watches Mr. James, then imitates his feet.

Mr. James smiles. "Good. The next step is a little trickier. You've got to learn when and where to move your feet." Mr. James bobs back and forth, switching his feet in a pattern Martin has trouble following.

"There's a pattern we've been given to follow, Martin. You have to learn the pattern and study it, then put it into practice. That's how you learn when and where to move your feet."

Martin tries to mimic Mr. James, but he steps on his right foot with his left.

"Ugh! This is stupid!" Martin frowns and turns towards the house.

"Martin, you have to keep moving," Mr. James says softly. "If you stop moving, you stop learning and you never grow."

Martin sighs and turns back around.

"Try again," Mr. James instructs him. Martin tries again, but messes up. He looks at Mr. James, frustrated.

"Remember what I said, Martin," Mr. James encourages him. "You're going to mess up. It's okay. You're still learning."

Martin keeps trying the steps, and with Mr. James' help, he gets through the pattern with only a few missteps.

"Very good," Mr. James smiles. "The next part is a little tougher; it requires more focus. You start dribbling the ball while you move your feet." Mr. James begins dribbling and Martin grabs his face with his hands.

"Are you kidding me?" Martin groans.

"Sometimes you've got to juggle more than one thing at a time," Mr. James laughs. "Do you remember when you first learned to dribble and walk at the same time?"

Martin shrugs. "Sure."

"Think of this as the same thing. At first it's awkward and difficult to command your feet and hands at the same time, but with practice, it'll become as natural as breathing."

Martin nods and grabs the ball from Mr. James. He practices dribbling while moving and smiles when he accomplishes both with even fewer mistakes than before. "What's step four?"

Mr. James swells and steps in front of Martin. "Step four is opposition. You've got balance, direction, and focus right now, but when opposition comes, it changes everything. You've got to learn how to deal with opposition."

"How do I do that?" Martin continues to dribble the ball.

"Trust," Mr. James replies. "You've got to trust that what's in you, what you've learned, what you've practiced, what you've studied will be enough to get you through."

Martin stops dribbling the ball. "We're not just talking about the move, are we?"

Mr. James shakes his head. "In your walk with God, you will go through challenges. You'll be dealing with inner turmoil as well as outer obstacles beyond your control. But these trials aren't random. They're spiritual tests."

"Tests?" Martin raises his eyebrows.

"Yes, Martin," Mr. James smiles. "And before a test is given, God equips you with the tools you need to pass. It's up to you to learn them, study them, and practice them so that when the time comes, you'll be ready."

"What if I fail?" Martin frowns.

"Go back to step one," Mr. James offers. "Find your balance and start again." Mr. James holds his hands out for the ball and Martin tosses it to him.

"Now, show me what you've learned."

# CHAPTER EIGHT

# Homecoming

Late Saturday afternoon, Martin's mother comes to pick him up. They'd spoken on the phone in the last few days, but Martin hasn't seen his mother since Wednesday night. Mrs. West hugs her son as soon as she sees him.

"Hey Mom," Martin smiles at her. He holds her a long time, wanting to communicate his remorse. She smiles at him, blinking back the tears forming in her eyes.

"Where's Dad?" he asks.

"He's at home," she replies. She wipes a tear from her face. "So how was your week? Did you learn anything?"

"Yeah, I learned a lot about myself. I found out why I get into so much trouble." Martin continues.

"Mom, I want to apologize to you for all those things I said before." Martin looks his mother in the eyes. "I didn't mean any of it. I was angry. I love you and I'm sorry. I've given my life to Christ now and I want you to know I'll do better."

At this Mrs. West hugs Martin tight. Mr. James already spoke to her about Martin's conversion on the phone, but hearing it from Martin is even better.

"I'm so glad, Sweetheart!" she cries.

Martin continues, "I also learned a verse that will help me to stay out of trouble."

"What verse is that?" asks Mrs. West.

"It's Proverbs 3:5-6," says Martin. "It says: 'trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean to your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him and He shall direct your paths."

"Well, I'm glad to hear you're trusting in God from now on," Mrs. West smiles.

Mrs. West turns to Mr. James, but before she can speak, he holds up his hand, "Martin was very little trouble, and it was a privilege for me to have the opportunity to share the Gospel with him."

Martin adds, "I'm glad I had this opportunity to hear what Mr. James was saying – what God was saying." He turns to his mother. "So, Mom, have you made me a homecoming dinner?"

"Well, I baked you a cake," she replies. "I made dinner, but we couldn't wait for you to get there to eat. Don't worry though; we left the dishes for you." They all laugh and, after his mother thanks Mr. James several times and Martin hugs him, they leave.

"Thank you," Martin says. "For everything."

"My doors are always open, Martin," Mr. James replies. Shortly afterward Martin and his mother head home.

When they arrive, Mr. West is outside waiting. "So, tell me about your week?" he asks Martin.

"It was good," Martin answers. "Mr. James and I did a lot. We repaired a few of the church pews, vacuumed the rugs in both buildings, washed all the windows, waxed the kitchen floor, and raked all the leaves in the front yard. He also taught me how to cook an omelet."

"Well, tell me all about it inside," Mr. West replies. "Your mother was so excited about you coming back home that she cooked everything in the house!"

•••

Early Sunday morning Martin gets out of bed and gets ready for church. It's warm and sunny outside with a moderate breeze blowing. The drive to Upside Christian Church is pleasant. Both Martin and his parents are in high spirits.

When they arrive they are greeted by Mr. James, who walks with Martin to the youth building for Sunday School. Inside the youth building are kids Martin's age; some go to his school, others go to Wellis.

"Hey, Martin! I didn't expect to ever see you here." Martin turns to his left and sees Jennifer Smith. She is in two of his classes at school. She is very pretty, and as long as Martin has known her, she's been a chatterbox. She's talking to Martin a mile a minute, but he only hears her say his name.

"What did you say?" he asks.

Jennifer repeats herself. "I said I didn't expect to see you here."

"Oh," says Martin.

"So, what are you doing here?" asks Jennifer.

"Martin is the newest member of our family," interrupts Mr. James.

"Oh," says Jennifer. "Well, that's great! I'd almost given up on you, but I never stopped praying."

Martin raises his eyebrows. "Um. Thanks," he says. "So, what do you do in here on Sunday mornings?"

"Well, we talk about Monday through Saturday, basically," says Jennifer. "Were you here Wednesday night? Sunday mornings are something like that. I wasn't here last Wednesday, because I had to help my girlfriend Tammie with her crazy brothers at the last minute. They were throwing up everywhere. It was a mess!"

Martin shrugs. "Yeah, I was here."

Jennifer looks at him with concern. "Hey, by the way, where were you last week? I heard you got into a fight but I wasn't sure."

Martin's bruises healed sometime between Wednesday and Thursday, but the memories are still fresh in his mind. "Well, I did get into a fight last week."

"Really, with who?" asks Jennifer.

"Johnny Reese, but it wasn't my fau—" Martin stops and corrects himself. "Well, I lost my temper, but I've learned my lesson," says Martin.

"So, you were suspended?" she asks.

"Yeah, for four days," says Martin.

"Well," says Jennifer, "you missed a geometry test on Wednesday and we had a chemistry test on Tuesday."

"Thanks for the info," says Martin. "So, how was your week?"

She smiles. "Well, I'm sure it wasn't as interesting as yours, but I guess it was ok." answers Jennifer. She turns to Mr. James. "How was your week, Mr. James? Did you notice that the second row pew has been fixed?"

"My week was fine and Martin fixed the pew."

"Oh really?" Jennifer looks at Martin.

"It was just a few loose screws," Martin shrugs, but smiles.

"Martin's been helping me all week," says Mr. James. "Now let's pray and get started."

•••

After service is over, Martin and his parents go home, anticipating a pot roast for dinner when they arrive. "So how was the youth service, Martin?" asks Mrs. West.

"It was pretty good. We talked about turning the other cheek. You know, I never thought about what would happen if I just let somebody hit me. I don't think I can."

"That's what Jesus did," says Mr. West.

"Yeah, I know," says Martin, "but I'm not sure I have the love in my heart that Jesus did."

"Sure you do," says Mrs. West. "God is in your heart now, and so is His love. All you have to do is remember that and believe it."

"I hope you're right," says Martin.

"You'll be alright," says Mr. West. "'Greater is He who is in you than he who is in the world.'"

"I'll try to remember that on Monday," says Martin. "Right now, I just want to eat."

# CHAPTER NINE

# Monday Morning

Martin opens his eyes at the sound of his alarm clock. It reads 6:00 am, which is early for him. A wave of anxiety rushes over him as he remembers Johnny Reese. The last thing he wants now is another confrontation with Johnny. Martin is gripped with a sudden fear of what may lie ahead of him and becomes sick to his stomach.

_That's it_ , he thinks. _I'll just tell Mom I'm not feeling well today_. Martin considers it briefly before throwing the idea away. Aside from the fact that it would be dishonest to tell his mother that, Martin realizes he will only be delaying his next meeting with Johnny. It will be impossible to avoid him.

But what will he do if Johnny provokes him into another fight? A third fight will definitely get him expelled from school.

Martin shudders at the thought of losing control again. He looks at his clock. It is 6:05. What is he going to do? Martin recalls the verse Mr. James taught him.

"Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths."

Martin feels relieved, realizing that, so long as he trusts in God, he will be ok. He cannot allow fear to control his judgment.

After a quick prayer, Martin dashes to the bathroom to get ready.

•••

Martin arrives at school just before the bell rings. He has to go to the office first and then he has to go to his locker. After receiving an admit slip to class, Martin races down the hall to his locker. When he gets his books he runs back down the hall and around the corner to get to his chemistry class. He isn't paying attention to who is on the other side of the corner and runs right into Johnny Reese.

# CHAPTER TEN

# Facing Johnny

Martin looks up briefly to see who he's run into. When he sees that it is Johnny, his heart all but stops. Johnny keeps going, apparently not realizing who it is. Martin sees Johnny begin to turn his head in his direction, so he quickly ducks around the corner and walks into his chemistry class. He is greeted by Jennifer, who brings him up to date on the class notes.

Chemistry and Geometry are his first two classes and his hardest, so Martin expects to have a lot of catching up to do. He is overwhelmed with class work, homework, and notes before the bell rings for third period.

On his way there, Martin sees Johnny again. Johnny glares back at Martin and begins walking towards him. At first, Martin thinks he will stop right in front of him, but Johnny walks right past him, as if he doesn't see him at all. During lunch, Johnny's friend, Frank, gives Martin a note. It reads:

Meet me after school behind the bleachers. We'll finish what we started there.

J.R.

Martin folds up the note and throws it in the garbage on his way out of the lunchroom. After school, Martin gets the books he needs out of his locker and begins to walk home. He has no intention of facing Johnny again.

As he walks past the football field, he glances at the bleachers and sees Johnny standing there, waiting for him. Martin realizes he has to face Johnny sooner or later. He owes him an apology, first and foremost, so he turns and begins walking toward the bleachers. As he gets closer, Martin begins to pray: "Lord, show me what to do."

_Johnny_ _sees Martin coming and rushes towards him. Both stop only a few feet away from each other. Before Martin can speak, Johnny pushes Martin to the ground. Martin's temper flares and he gets up, ready to fight. Johnny swings at him, but Martin dodges. Martin pushes Johnny to the ground but mid-kick he realizes what he is doing._

" _Hey Johnny, I don't want to fight you!" Martin backs up._

" _It's too late to back out now," Johnny spits, picking himself up quickly and wiping the grass off his jeans. "You're not going to get off that easy!"_

" _Johnny, I'm sorry I hit you last week, but I don't want to fight you again," Martin puts his hands up._

" _Why not?'' Johnny frowns. "Are you afraid I'll win?"_

" _This is pointless," Martin shakes his head. "The only thing fighting will do is get us into trouble. Johnny I know you don't like me, but let's just call this off, okay?"_

Johnny pauses, then asks, "Did you trip me in the lunchroom?"

" _Yeah," Martin admits. "This whole thing is my fault."_

" _Why didn't you just apologize, then?" Johnny asks._

" _Well, you were yelling at me, and after talking so much trash in front of my friends I felt like I had to do something," Martin looks at Johnny. "It was stupid, I know that now, but that's how I felt at the time and I'm sorry."_

" _Well, I feel like hitting you right now," says Johnny, "but I won't. To be totally honest, I didn't really want to fight you, either. I was just trying to prove I wasn't afraid of you._

" _So, no hard feelings then?" Martin asks._

" _No," Johnny replies._

" _Well, I guess I'll see you around," Martin gives him a high five._

" _Alright," Johnny smiles. "See ya."_

Martin snaps back into reality as Johnny closes in on him. His imagination is running away with him. He wishes Johnny would just let it go, but if Johnny is anything like Martin that's not going to happen. Martin is certain Johnny is going to hit him, or at least try to. What will he do when Johnny swings at him? Will he hit him back, or will he just take it? He has to defend himself doesn't he?

What would Jesus do? Martin imagines Jesus commanding a demon to come out of Johnny. Martin knows that Jesus wouldn't hit him back, whatever He decided. Martin can't think of any Scriptures that okay physical fighting.

Martin remembers Mr. James' lesson on challenges and obstacles and realizes his fight isn't with Johnny. This is a test of faith, and fighting will only guarantee his failure. The last thing Martin wants to do is fail a spiritual test, so, even if it means losing the fight or looking like an idiot, he is going to trust.

As the distance between them closes, Martin begins quietly praying "Lord, please direct my path."

"Johnny," Martin begins, but before he can say any more Johnny swings hard at Martin's jaw. The blow sends Martin to the ground. He can taste the blood as his teeth drive deeply into his tongue. He feels his temper flicker, but closes his eyes and remembers his God.

"Come on, Martin!" Johnny begins spewing profanities at him, readying himself for Martin's return swing.

Martin gets up slowly, wiping the blood from his mouth. "Johnny, I only have one thing to say to you."

Johnny stiffens, then raises his fists high. "Yeah, what's that?"

Martin looks at him intently. "I'm sorry."

Johnny shakes his head in disbelief. "Shut up and fight me!"

"No," Martin says. "I was wrong, and I'm sorry." Martin notices the swelling around Johnny's face and knuckles hasn't gone down. He watches the emotions playing out on Johnny's face, and, for a moment, their eyes connect.

"What's your problem, West?" Johnny snaps suddenly. "You think I'm afraid of you? I'm not afraid of you, so fight!"

Martin stands resolute.

Johnny continues. "You think you're better than everyone else? You think no one can touch you?" Johnny pushes Martin. "Come on!"

Martin takes a step back and finds his balance, but doesn't retaliate. Johnny is enraged and launches a verbal assault. After each, angry, hate-filled word, Johnny looks at Martin, as if hoping to press some button to trigger a reaction. But Martin doesn't move. He suffers the attack in silence, refusing to fight back.

Johnny, seeming to have run out of insults, spits in Martin's face, shoves him to the ground, and storms off. Martin gets up, wipes his face with his sleeve and walks home. He knows who has truly won this fight.

He'll soon discover there are more to come.

###

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>
