Wizard (Troy Sanders Book 1)

2: Now That Was Unexpected

Well, my day couldn’t possibly get any worse, I thought to myself as I trudged out the front doors of Krestwick High, my prestigious but now definitely “centre of all my life’s troubles” high school, down the front steps and into the parking lot just as the bell finally rung the end of the day. My body felt so heavy on me that I couldn’t bear to hold it any longer so I laid down on the bonnet of the very first car that was in front of me; I wasn’t sure who owned it but I wasn’t exactly in the mood to care either.

No sooner had I left my meeting with Miss Trask earlier that I ran into Roy again.

“The coach wants to see you, Sanders.” he said, sneering at me in that manner that screamed, “You are so dead, twerp.” I mean, why wouldn’t that kid just leave me alone? Didn’t he have better things to do like kissing a random cheerleader or checking out his biceps in front of the mirror instead of bothering me?

As my luck would have it, my personal torturer from hell Roy also happened to be the school football team captain and a nephew to Mr. Egerson, the school’s football team coach- Great, right?

Whatever Mr. Egerson wanted done and fast, he set Roy on it; latest of which included to fetch me for whatsoever reason that was. But I was soon to discover it.

Apparently, Mr. Foster hadn’t wasted any time in relaying my failed science project demonstration story to the coach- that old weasel never could keep a bad tale, especially if it concerned me, to himself- whom, as was to be expected, was nowhere near pleased about it. Very red-faced, the coach pelted me with words like lazy, insubordinate, dickhead, insubordinate again; and many other words I couldn’t bring myself to think about or remember.

“I can’t work with a student like you, Troy,” he finally said after so many hours of uncontrollable angry words. “I’m sorry but I have to kick you off the team.”

It was the most heartbreaking moment of my life, especially coming on such an already difficult day such as that one. Okay, it wasn’t like football was my life or something like that. But I had been working my socks off to prove myself to the team for like the whole of my high school life, the coach finally seeming to recognize my efforts at the beginning of the final year semester and granting me a first team place on the squad. And all it took for all that to come crashing down was a day with Mr. Foster and his watermelon of doom- Now, doesn’t that sound tragic?

Anyway, I left the coach’s office, feeling dejected as I still was at the moment, and made my way through the rest of the day without really paying any attention to it, unable to describe the gratitude that coursed through me when it was finally over and I made my way to where I was now presently.

“What in the world are you doing?!” I suddenly heard someone shout at me through the haze of my thoughts.

Looking up, I saw her standing there. Bella Evans, the blonde-haired, pink-wearing, infinitely obnoxious girl that I still couldn’t believe that life had decided to put in this world. You remember that thing I thought about my day possibly unable to get any worse? Well, I was wrong.

Bella was someone who could be described as the ‘Queen B’- excuse the pun- of Krestwick High. Now, that might not mean much if you lived in the city. But when your home was a small town with only one “standard” high school which also happened to be the pride and joy of the whole community, then that title was pretty big deal; and Bella knew that too.

Unfortunately however, “Her Majesty” and I never to seem to be able to get along; I mean, not even in the slightest “We’re both Homo sapiens" bit. She hated my guts and I hated hers in return. Funny though, neither of us, nor anybody else for that matter, could actually explain how we both got to that point or why we had no love lost between us. But from preschool, to kindergarten, to elementary, and up until high school; we had always been in each other’s vicinity, and we had never liked each other anymore than we did now.

But that state of mutual dislike wasn't the topmost on my mind at that very moment, definitely not with the sort of day I was having.

“Look, Bella,” I said to her as frankly as I could, “I’ve already had enough of you to last me two lifetimes. Now please, if you don’t mind, do me the favour of coming back never.”

“It’s my car you’re lying down on, you i***t!” she shouted at me in her trademark high-pitched voice- I’m very sure she practices it in front of her mirror every night before going to bed- prompting me get up from the car’s hood; and then I saw it.

Splayed across the car’s bonnet in bright pink glitter was a bold B.E. Of course, that made sense. I mean, why wouldn’t my stupid brain add one more horrific tale to my life on an already nightmarish day by having me lie down on the hood of the car that belonged to no other person but my lifelong nemesis?

Against my better judgment, I decided to apologize. “I’m so sorry, Bella. I didn’t realize that before,” I said to her, preparing for a quick getaway. But just like I had suspected, it was never going to be that easy.

Blocking my path just as I took a step forward, she said, “I’m going to check on my baby now, Troy,” she said, trying to sound all badass girl on me but really failing, “God help you if anything turns out to be wrong with her.”

“I couldn’t care less about you or your car, Bella,” I returned at her, knowingly brushing roughly past her as I went. And it would have really been a pretty good exit too; if not for what transpired next that is.

Just as I took about three steps away from her when she suddenly said, “Forgot your knockoff, Sanders,” behind me. I turned and saw her holding up my backpack like some cheap garbage, smiling wickedly as she did too.

I couldn’t control the wave of anger that coursed through me in that very moment at the sight of her like that. It was like a flood of fire, filling every part in my body and igniting it. Just like before, I felt my body temperature begin to rise like a very hot steam; but this time more than then, I felt it was much warranted.

Bella had always thought that everyone was made in the world so that she could kick them into the mud like the “no single cell working in her brain” mean girl that she was, but I was prepared to show her what happened when she messed with the wrong person.

Putting all of my strength behind the plan I had concocted, I walked determinedly towards her, collected my bag from her, making sure to snatch it out of her claws with more force than was necessary.

“Thank you so much for your great attitude towards other people’s stuff,” I said to her. “And now, this knockoff is going to do this.” And I banged my bag ferociously on her bonnet.

Now, the next thing that happened afterwards could never have been predicted, not even by me. Immediately the bag made contact with the car, her headlamps suddenly exploded- I’m talking like a “blockbuster movie, glass spraying into the air in all direction before dropping to the ground haphazardly while everyone ran for cover” explosion here- and that was not my plan.

Sure, I would admit that I really hated that darn car of hers then and wanted nothing more than to see it destroyed; and watching Bella scream like a kicked rat was pretty fun too. But my plan was actually to bother her like she bothered me by taunting her with the bag attack, or maybe at most leave a deep dent in that hood which she loved so much that she’d need top dollar to fix.

But it was never my intention for that action film end scene sequence that just occurred back there to happen; and I was going to pay dearly for that mistake.

“Bella, I’m-”

“No!”

“I didn’t-”

“You murdered her!”

Almost immediately, I saw two boys- they didn’t seem to be of the friendly sort- running towards the scene and knowing exactly how much trouble I was in for that stunt I just pulled, I didn’t wait for a second prodding when my instincts told me to run while I still had the chance. Barely two seconds later, I heard the two boys shouting for me to stop; but I didn’t. There was only one way an encounter with two unfriendly boys after destroying Queen B’s car could end and it wasn’t in my favour. They chased after me but my everyday experience with running away from bullies granted me an advantage of high speed which I pressed to lose pursuers.

Quickly as I could, I got to my bike, unlocked it from where it was chained to the sidewalk, and rode off on it just before boys could reach me. I looked back at them and gave a wide “Missed me” smile; one of them returning the favour by flipping me the bird. I couldn’t tell what would happen tomorrow or the day after that; or maybe I could. But I was safe for that day and that was all that mattered.

Despite riding through the town at a neck-breaking speed and almost colliding with a car almost at every turn I made, I got home without a scratch; parking my bike and chaining it to the pole in front of a suburban white picket fenced bungalow that was my house before running up the small steps to the front door.

Immediately I opened the door, I was greeted with the scent of an ocean breeze perfume and the sound of water running; a telltale sign that Mom was home and preparing dinner.

Mom worked as a fitness trainer in the town’s local gym; and that coupled with her recent appointment as coach of the local girls’ basketball team, she was a very busy entity. But whatever time she had at home, she used it to the fullest.

“Is that you, Troy?” she called from the kitchen.

“Yes, Mom,” I returned.

“How was school today?”

“Fine.”

“Okay. Wash up, then come and help me prepare dinner. ”

That was how our conversation always went every day; except for weekends that is, when she was more at home before she had to check in with the basketball team in the evening; she asked the questions in quick short sentences, I answered them as concisely as I could.

Thing is, Mom was someone who just didn’t like to waste time; a polar contrast to my own que sera sera approach to life. She had tried more than thousand times to get me to change, but we always had differing philosophies to it; and that wasn’t the only thing that we had in difference.

For starters, her hair was a regular golden blonde colour whereas mine was sandy brown, her chin curvy but mine sturdy; and then there was the part of her thriving sports life and career and mine, obviously, was already died and buried. If not that we happened to share the same average height- although I’m beginning to tower over her now- and the same emerald eye colour, no one would have believed I was even remotely her son.

Apparently, I had most of my looks from my Dad; not that I would ever be able to accept or reject that statement as he wasn’t around. Not that he was dead or anything like that. He just happened to have mysteriously stepped out of the picture before I could get to know him. Mom never talked about him and I never asked.

Anyway, I raced up stairs to my attic room but suddenly tripped and fell on my face at the top of the stairs. Now, that was strange because it wasn’t just me or my clumsiness that had caused that to happen. It was just that as I was about to lift myself up to the last step, I suddenly felt the ground shift underneath me and vibrate with enough force to cause the whole house to shake and me to lose my footing.

Earthquake was my first go-to, but that would be nearly impossible as earthquakes rarely happened in Krestwick; I mean, like never once since I was born or even longer before then. My next thought was that perhaps a train just passed. But the train station was very far from the house and the neighbourhood wasn’t even anywhere near the rails. So, the question remained, what could have caused such an event?

Thinking less about myself and more about Mom, I quickly stood up to run back downstairs to go check on her. But I stopped short when I looked down to see her already out of the kitchen and staring at a man standing in our doorway. Contrary to what would have been expected of someone who just discovered an intruder in their house, there wasn’t fear or alarm or confusion in her eyes; just an odd sense of familiarity.

The man wore a tailcoat which reached down to his knees, the top partly opened to reveal a well-tailored shirt underneath with a lot of golden buttons to match the golden wristwatch which ticked silently away on his hand. His hair was solid gray, almost silvery in appearance, and with no sign whatsoever of balding. He held a top hat in his hand, making him look like someone who had just stepped out the Victorian era- not that I believe in any of that time travel or sci-fi stuff, though.

“I’m sorry if I gave you a fright,” he said, his voice coming out in a very smooth tone, “sometimes I forget how not everyone is used to me or my style.”

“And who might this old chap be?” I asked, finally came down the stairs to stand next to Mom.

“Troy, don’t be rude.” Mom warned me sternly, a little too sternly, if you ask me. “This is your grandfather.”

“Wait, what?! I thought grandpa Cole's dead.” She herself told me that; and although I might not be an expert on the subject of death, I did know enough to understand that the dead didn’t come visiting.

“This isn't your grandpa Cole,” she replied, sighing in that “You’re not gonna like this” manner I grown to recognize over the years. “He’s your paternal grandfather Blake. Blake Sanders.”