Excerpt: Thicker than Water

“You gotta get outta there,” Mike yelled through the locked door. No response.

“Hey! I mean it!” he tried again. Silence.

From the first floor, came the sound of a door opening. “I’m next!” he yelled and sprinted down the stairs to the sound of the door closing again.

He began pounding on the door, “Get out… Vamos …I gotta go now!” After a pause, he added, “Por favor?”

The door slowly opened. His oldest sister, Kerry emerged, crowned in a pink towel. She stared down at him, narrowed her eyes and said, “You’d better make it quick.”

He slipped in and as he closed the door she added threateningly, “And don’t stink up the bathroom!”

It was like a conspiracy among the girls. Every morning, they managed to claim and hold both bathrooms until Mike was desperate. He had tried getting up earlier, asking nicely, bribing and even threatening to pee right there at the door. He was always reduced to begging by the time somebody took pity on him, or Mom came to the rescue and ordered someone out of the bathroom.

Once in the bathroom, he had to wade through a sea of cosmetics, hair care products, scrunchies, creams and perfumes, acne treatments, razors, damp towels and sometimes left behind underwear. His needs were simple: soap, shampoo, toothbrush, toothpaste and a clean towel. He didn’t want his hair to smell like bubblegum, strawberries, or any other fruit. He wanted a comb without long, blond hairs tangled in the teeth. He wanted a bathroom when he needed one.

At breakfast, his sisters continued to take over the table. Through cereal, toast and juice were conversations about clothes, hair, who liked who and how their teachers were really clueless. They usually told him that his haircut was hopeless and how geeky he looked in that shirt. Mike just wanted to get to school.

“What a birthday present, squirt. First day of school,” Kelsey said. Kelsey was three years older than Mike and towered over him.

“I know what you’re getting,” sang Kayla. Kayla was a year younger than Mike, but was already taller.

“Don’t be late from soccer practice,” Mom said as she placed toast in front of him, “Birthday dinner, tonight. You pick.”

“Burrito bar,” said Mike.

“Consider it done,” said Mom.

The trip to Singer Middle School only took a few minutes in Mom’s car, but it seemed like twenty. Mike was looking forward to the new school year. He was down to two hours of English as a Second Language and got to add an elective. He had chosen Computer Skills as his elective class.

“Let’s get to our first project,” said Mrs. Hallihan, Mike’s new Communication Arts teacher, “it’s a book called Holes by Louis Sachar. Boys, you’re going to like this one. There are all kinds of bad guys, plot twists, murder and mystery.”

Groans from the girls were scattered around the class. “There’s also a tragic romance,” Mrs. Hallihan added, followed by groans from the boys.

Even though he barely remembered any Spanish, Mike’s English grammar and vocabulary held him back. It was like he still needed to think about words on a page before he understood them. Mike dreaded reading books, he read slowly and the words tired him out in minutes. He just couldn’t really get into very many stories. He wondered if this book had been made into a movie and was it out in DVD yet.

Math class was both good and bad. Mike was great at number problems and knew his math facts well, but word problems just sucked his grade down. He had a hard time just picking the right information out of the story to make the equation. Still, Mr. O’Malley seemed like a good teacher. At least he was a guy.

Walking onto the soccer field after school, Mike relaxed. He knew he was good, really good. He was faster and more agile than everyone. He loved it when opposing coaches put double coverage on him and he spun and darted past them to take a pass and send it into the goal like a bullet. Though Mike was in seventh grade, most of the players on the elite team he played with were in high school. Speed took him where he wanted to be.