Slumbering Read online

  I’d played the game for years, and it was the key to unlocking the secret of all life – that we were all just players, some of us winners, a lot more of us losers. That there was nothing more to life than filling it with fun, and working to fit all of the pieces of life together cohesively, in order to claim glory and the right to brag. It was a beautiful, meaningless thing, personifying my preferred existence.

  Plus having the title of Tetris King was a nice touch (I’d thought ‘Tetris Emperor’ was a bit much.)

  “Psst, Dinger.”

  I turned towards my friend, Evan von Ponce – whom I nicknamed ‘Poncey’ awhile back and everyone of course universally accepted – to see he was wearing a pair of glasses he’d no doubt pilfered from a nearby nerd. “What is it, Poncey?” I grinned. I knew what was coming.

  “Put that game away – now!” Poncey mimicked Martha almost exactly, with his own bit of dramatic flair for added effect.

  I attempted to keep my chuckles in, but to no avail. A matter of seconds later, the inevitable reprimand came.

  “Dinger! Ponce! Do I need to separate you?” Martha scowled at us, reminding me of a time when my mother actually used to act like a mother to me. All the other students in the class glanced over at us, and I played it cool, but the tension was thick; a few of my classmates wore smiles of smug superiority, while others tried not to be the next ones to giggle.

  It was really nothing different from the norm. Every day it was something else. Class stopped because of someone talking or playing games, and the intellectual lecture was traded in for a behavioral one.

  But there was never a day when Martha had punished me or any of my friends with a detention (which, in all fairness, she was supposed to do.) She’d always been fond of me and my cronies.

  Despite that, however, Martha was tightening her lips in irritation; she had to put on some show of authority. “May I continue?”

  “Sure, Mrs. Smithe,” I assured her, though my laughter was still trying to poke its way out of my mouth. “What was that about the American colonies?”

  “That was ten minutes ago. We’re discussing the new country disputes now. Pay attention, Hamilton Dinger!”

  Ugh. I hated it – and still hate it – when people use my full name. Or even my first. Trust my parents to come up with the weirdest name in all of history and give it to me. I was a victim of bad parenting and awkward social trends. My name said it all.

  Martha turned with a militaristic air towards the front of the room, continuing with her presentation. “Okay then… In his farewell address, President Washington clearly advocated for the unification of political parties and a policy of isolationism…”

  Her words faded as I fell back into boredom in record time. I thought about pulling out my Game Pac again as I essentially blew off the lecture. I was not worried; I would read the chapter later, and then I would ace the test. That’s how it was. That’s how it always was.

  Not that I’d complain. Being the class genius was fun. And being popular was too. It was nice to be a regular on the “Apollo Central High School Hot List” organized by the cheerleaders of the so-called ‘Social Elite’ (which was basically just the cheerleaders.)

  It was nice I had more than my share of charisma and probably more than my share of good looks, too (I was voted “Best Eyes” in the last two yearbooks.)

  It was great that I was, at sixteen, famous for my high school career as a football player on the Apollo Central Falcons (I’m sure you can look up my world record.)

  But what I was most well-known for is my trademark smirk, the one with the power to transform me from teacher’s pet to troublemaker, to instantly irritate a saint and charm a viper.

  There were some who don’t appreciate my commentary, my skills, or my presence. That happens a lot if you’re popular. Someone is always ugly, or jealous, or both, and they take out their insecurity on you. But I figured someone had to be popular, and I had to say I was very good at it. So it was my duty, my curse and blessing, to be so. And frankly, that’s the way I liked it.

  “Yo, Dinger.”

  I turned to see Jason Harbor, a member of my inner circle of friends. Jason was on the football team like me, and one of my most competitive rivals for MVP each year. But considering I’ve been playing sports since practically forever, that really isn’t as much of a compliment as it seems. “Yeah?”

  “You coming to the Falcons’ party tonight?”

  I nodded. “Sure am. Still gotta tell Mark and Cheryl though. Supposedly, she’ll be home early tonight, but I’m not going to hold my breath or anything.”

  I can’t honestly remember how long I’d been on first-name basis with my parents. It’s not that I didn’t love them or anything, because I supposed I did (sort of.) But it’s just that their years of parenting, the parts which didn’t come with a bill or some kind of other payment attached to it, were well over with.

  “Sweet.” Jason cautiously glanced back at Martha before telling me, “Poncey’s coming over early to help set up. You wanna come? Simon can pick you up.”

  “Nah, it’s okay. It’s not too far to your new house.”

  I’d lived across the street from Jason nearly all my life, ever since I moved to Apollo City with my parents. But Jason’s dad had recently lost his job, so Jason and his family moved away from our ritzy, upscale neighborhood to the northern slums of the city, where it is considered “more cost-effective to live.” (That means it’s for poor people, but I wasn’t going to make discriminating judgments like that on a friend; I was content to save those for other people at school.)

  Because of the awkward subject, I focused on a more substantial concern. “I still can’t believe Cheryl and Mark aren’t letting me get my license until I’m eighteen.”

  “Well, you were caught trying to break into your own house at two in the morning,” Jason reminded me with a smile.

  If you knew the story, my parents would have been turned over to social services for excessive punishment. But after it was told so many times and exaggerated in so many ways (to legendary status), I was quite bored by it. “I forgot my key at Poncey’s. It was a simple mistake.”

  “Breaking down the back door and setting off the indoor sprinkler system was a simple mistake? I’m still trying to figure out how you managed that.”

  “Ah, shut up,” I said, glaring. I must’ve had this rage-fueled look on my face, because when Poncey interrupted the conversation, Jason’s expression involuntarily looked relieved (it’s well known people who argued with me usually ended up being hated in some form or another; whether I encouraged it or not was another matter, of course.)

  “Did I hear you’re coming to the party, Dinger?” Poncey asked, his expression pathetically eager.

  It was always endearing to me to know my friends depended on me as immediately as they did food and water, so I humored them. “Sure am.”

  “I hear Gwen’s going to be there.”

  At the sound of her name, I felt my heart give a happy jolt. I’d never thought, at that point in my life, that there was only one true love for me. It seemed like people who thought there was only one person for them out there were narrow-minded, and kind of shallow. Or really picky.

  I really just wanted someone who would love me and would fit well into my life. And I didn’t think this would be too hard for me to get (I never had a problem getting them – it was always getting rid of them that was the problem.)

  I was Hamilton Dinger, after all. I was smart, strong, and hot. Who wouldn’t love me? Who wouldn’t change her whole life around to fit into my world?

  And I was sublimely happy nonetheless, at the thought of Gwen. There was no girl in the world to compare with Gwen Kessler, in my own humble opinion (I’d searched and compared enough girls to know she was the perfect girlfriend for me.) She was cute, and smart, and at
hletic, and she agreed with me on mostly all the right things. She was the one who nicknamed me ‘Hammy,’ saying it went well with my “cocky, devil-may-care attitude.”

  And on top of all things, I was more than happy to ask her out. I contentedly leaned back in my chair. “Cool.”

  Mrs. Smithe effectively ruined the chance for my friends to rag on me about Gwen; I was able to tell by their expressions they were looking forward to it, too. I didn’t blame them. Let’s face it, it wasn’t often they got to do it.

  “Okay, class, before we go, our first history exam is coming soon,” she announced.

  Everyone groaned. Immediately, whispers and concerns were voiced unappreciatively. I refrained, but only because I knew I’d pass the test without a hitch.

  Mrs. Smithe ignored the complaints. “It’s on everything covered in the book, lectures, and notes I’ve given you. It’s worth fifteen percent of your grade this marking period.” Then she looked down her nose at all of us, eyes narrowed. “And this exam is not curved, so bribing Dinger to stay home will not help you.”

  Half of the kids in the class rolled their eyes, while the other half snickered. Hoshi Tokugawa, the exchange student from Japan, groaned. “Darn, I was saving my money for that, too.”

  All of this happened while I basked in a sea of my own satisfaction. It’s well known I had the highest grade in the class.

  “Hey, Jase,” Drew McGill spoke up. “What time are you going to be ready for the party?”

  “Around seven. Don’t forget to bring your video games, okay?” Jason sat back, relaxed. “After all the arguing over which ones to bring, you can’t forget them; I don’t want to have to kill you.”

  “Yeah,” Poncey agreed, “Nothing says, ‘Let’s go Apollo Falcons’ like a stack of pizza, buckets of ice cream, and hours of playing Death Raiders III: Alien Slayer.”

  “Parties, girls, and school-wide fame….Ah, I’m glad to be a football player,” Drew sighed happily.

  “Not to mention all the trophies we get,” I added smugly.

  “You mean you get,” Jason shot back. “You’re the best player on the team. The rest of us suck, man.”

  I knew that, but I liked to hear it as often as possible. “Well, there’s no denying I can smoke you guys on the field, but I’m not as good as all of you in other things….Or at least, most other things.” Attempting to be humble was hard due to my insincere tone and the large smirk on my face. “Still, it’s fun.”

  “Very true,” Evan agreed. “And it’s cool to watch the cheerleaders. Some of them are pretty fast, if you know what I mean.”

  Before we could laugh, a classmate of ours, Guy Fitch, interjected into our conversation. He was tall and lanky with glasses, and hung out with uncool people a lot. I couldn’t help but pity him sometimes – Fitch tried so hard to be popular, it’s really a shame how bad he was at it. I sighed inwardly, preparing for the usual misplaced Fitch comment.

  It came as expected. Fitch smiled. “Yeah, I’ll say. One time, I saw this girl start running down the track, trying to tackle this kid who’d stolen her hot dog.”

  The guys and I gave him a weird look before laughing awkwardly. It was clear Fitch didn’t understand Evan’s statement. Really, it’s no surprise, I thought pityingly. Fitch didn’t seem to get anything. I sometimes wondered if he acted stupid, or if he really was that dimwitted.

  Oh well. Either way, it didn’t really matter. He’d never be popular like me, so I didn’t have to worry about him.

  The bell rang, and everyone headed out of the room. “Dinger!” Mrs. Smithe called. “Come over here a moment.”

  I walked over to her desk, pausing for a moment to wave to my friends. I watched as Evan waved back. His elbow hit Brittany Taylor, causing her books to go flying all over the floor as she fell. Evan was too busy laughing to help her pick up her things.

  I had to literally choke down a chuckle at the scene; Mrs. Smithe wasn’t a good person to go to happy when you’re pretty sure a reprimand was coming. And I was pretty sure it was coming. “Yes, Mrs. Smithe?” I put on a charming, eager face, wide-eyed with innocence. “Do you need me to run an errand for you?”

  “Dinger, I understand you aren’t impressed with my class.” Her tone had some bite to it, so I knew I need to tread carefully.

  “That’s not true,” I argued. Not completely true.

  “Put your lips in park, Dinger,” she snapped lightly. “I know you’re capable of learning; you have the lowest attention span and the highest grades. You must’ve been born under a lucky star.”

  I grinned. “Thanks.”

  “You know that’s not a compliment,” she replied. “Luck and miracles can’t get you through life unless you die young. I can’t have you being a distraction in my class. You want more work?”

  “No.”

  “Fine.” She paused here momentarily; I saw the hardness on her face leave as genuine concern replaced it. “Your mind is a gift,” she told me. “But if you don’t start to use it, you’re going to lose it.”

  “I thought I was,” I replied in my best non-confrontational voice. It was good that I was an exceptional student, because otherwise I don’t think she would’ve bought it.

  “Not in the way of common sense,” Mrs. Smithe huffed. She scrunched up her nose and added, almost as an afterthought, “Or manners, come to that.”

  I smiled shyly (the goody-goody face.) “I understand, Mrs. Smithe. I’ll be a better example.”

  “Good. I’ll hold you to that.”

  “Cool. Well, I got to go. See you later!” I waved good-bye, closed the door, and a victorious smirk crawled onto my face. “Another one bites the dust!”

  Semantics are wonderful (not for nothing was my mother one of the most influential lawyers of Apollo City – probably the whole state of Ohio, too.)

  I’d set a better example, all right – next year, when time just seems to be more convenient than it was at the moment. After all, my life was absolutely perfect – except for a few minor things, like my parents and my brother and all the unpopular people who thought I was just awful so they could sleep better at night knowing their lives sucked. Why bother risking a change?

  At the time, I didn’t really believe that anything outside my control would change my life. Or at least, not in a significant, substantial way. My life was all about myself, and I figured I had complete control over that. Anything that happened outside of my control was more or less because I let it happen and didn’t feel like stopping it.

  It’s funny how one disaster of epic proportion can really make you change your mind.

  2

  Irritation

  My groans echoed loudly throughout Jason’s small play room as Poncey, Drew, and I all wrestled with Jason’s old couch. “Man, Jase, what did you do to this couch? It smells like a fart factory exploded on it.”

  The guys beside me half-chuckled but that did nothing to improve our situation. It was close to party-time, and we had to get everything set up, despite the obstacles we faced – namely, the large, oversized, over-smelly couch.

  “This couch is perfect for gaming,” Jason grinned as he made his way into the room, hopping over the big blue couch stuck halfway in the door. “You guys can put it over by the window.”

  Drew, Poncey, and I all looked at him as if he had five heads. Jason smirked. “Oh, all right, I’ll lend you weaklings some muscle.”

  A few shoves, a lot of heaving, and some inappropriate comments later, the couch was in perfect position for maximum television interaction. “This is really going to be big with the gamers coming,” Drew said, pumping his fist into the air triumphantly. “And I’m going to beat all of you!”

  “Doubtful,” I laughed. “You know I’m the reigning champ.”

  “Yeah, yeah, enjoy it while it lasts,” Drew smiled widely, alm
ost eerily. “I’ve been practicing.”

  “Speaking of practicing, I told Mikey to come early,” Jason spoke up.

  “Why did you tell him to come at all? It’s not like we need him,” I sneered.

  A moment of silence passed in its usual awkward fashion. Everyone knew Mikey was not my favorite person at the moment.

  “Well, he’s stuck in detention today, so I thought it would be good for him.” Jason’s soft-spoken response was weak. Really weak.

  Poncey jumped up from his seat on the couch, suddenly inspired. “Dinger, you gotta hear what he did to Elm’s student teacher today!”

  “You mean the short, skinny, underfed German girl, Poncey?” My face broke out into a large smile as I conjured up a picture of the latest eyesore in my biology class, Ms. Nolte the Dolt. “Oh really now? Tell me about it.”

  “Mikey decided it was wrong to dissect animals this week –”

  “Probably because he failed the dissection quiz on Monday,” Drew interjected from the floor as he untangled the game controllers.

  Poncey laughed. “So Mike decided it was only appropriate for him to help other students learn the parts of the frog’s anatomy –”

  “Because he was just so concerned for the other students and all –”

  “And what he ended up doing was, he took all the frog’s innards and laced them together, and then he strung them all around the room,” Evan said. “It was so hilariously funny, too, because at first, Jason told me, Ms. Nolte didn’t even know what it was.”

  “He’d hung them like Christmas tree lights,” Drew explained. “With some randomly thrown here or there. Ms. Nolte was having puppies by the time that class was over. She kept finding organs in odd places. Can you imagine her finding stray pieces of dead frog, months from now? Awesome. Mikey’s a genius.”

  “I heard a cockroach was even chewing on a frog lung,” Evan added.