Foxworth Academy Read online

  “Now, your assignment for the weekend,” Mr. Martin said, wrapping up. A collective groan was heard in the class. “Now, now, class. Your assignment is nothing to be read or to be written. I want you to think. That’s all. I want you to think about a subject that you would like to learn more about this semester: an event, a milestone, a person, anything you want, from the twentieth century, of course.”

  Brett’s mind raced in all different directions. He had no idea what he wanted to learn more about. He looked over at Ally and thought that she would be something he could learn more about.

  “When’s he gonna get to the good stuff?” Frankie asked once they reached the hallway. “What good stuff?” Brett asked.

  “You know, the secret stuff. The stuff we just saw on the TV. The reason he made us sign that stupid form the other day. I think I was right about the dress-up part, don’t you?”

  “Beats me, maybe there is no secret stuff.”

  “There better be,” Frankie said.

  At lunch Brett looked for Ally, but she was nowhere to be found.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The beaches of Wildwood were as famous in New Jersey as Coney Island was in New York. Tourists came from all over New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Delaware, and even New York to visit the famous beachside town. A large boardwalk with multiple piers hosting all sorts of amusements was the major attraction. Ferris wheels, roller coasters, water parks, and games kept the boardwalk packed with people from morning until night. Since this was the unofficial last weekend of the summer, and the weather was great, it was even more crowded than usual.

  Brett walked with his parents and younger sister down one of the piers. At age fourteen, and a freshman in high school, Brett thought he was a little old for this scene but he indulged his parents anyway. Next summer will be different, he thought. It would be his friends alongside of him.

  Brett’s younger sister by two years, Reilly, was holding his mom’s hand and pulling strands of blue cotton candy off a stick with her teeth. As they neared the paddle boats, he saw her: Ally Davidson. She had just come out of the pirate ship haunted house and was laughing with two of her girlfriends. They walked toward him at the exact same time Brett’s dad put a hand on his head and was about to rub his short brown hair.

  “Whaddaya say, Brett? Should we race your mom

  and your sister?”

  Brett quickly pulled away from his hand. He did not want to be seen like this. He had to get out of here, fast.

  “What?” his dad asked. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” Brett replied. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw they were getting closer. Thirty feet and closing. There weren’t many people toward this end of the pier—maybe she wouldn’t notice him. Most of Brett wished she wouldn’t. He didn’t want to be seen walking the boardwalk with his parents and little sister. But the closer he got to her, the more he secretly wished she would recognize him.

  And she did.

  He took one more look her way and she looked right at him, locking eyes as recognition set in. He couldn’t turn away either. He tried to, but couldn’t. He just stared aimlessly at her, now ten feet apart. He slowed his walk to let his family get ahead of him a few steps.

  “Hey,” Ally said in a soft, questioning tone.

  He stood frozen as she stopped three feet in front of him. He had nothing to say. She looked good in a white tank top and khaki shorts.

  “Do you go to Foxworth in Delaware?” she asked.

  He had to say something. “Umm, yeah.”

  “Mr. Martin’s history class?” she asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “I thought so. Me too.”

  “Oh yeah,” Brett said, sounding surprised. “I thought you looked familiar.”

  “I’m Ally,” she said, waving her hand.

  “Brett,” he replied.

  “Pretty cool to get him first semester.”

  “I hate you,” the girl next to Ally said, laughing.

  “These are my friends, Lindsay and Emma. Emma goes to Foxworth too but she didn’t get Martin. Who are you here with?”

  The worst question he could possibly be asked was just asked. But what came next was even worse. “Ahh....”

  “Come on! Mom and Dad are waiting,” his little sister said, coming up around the girls and tugging on his shirt.

  “Oh,” Ally managed to say.

  “Yeah,” Brett responded. “Last weekend of the summer and all.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  One of her friends giggled and the other one grabbed Ally’s hand and started leading her away. “Come on, let’s get a slice of pizza,” the girl said.

  “Nice meeting you,” her friend Emma said in Brett’s general direction.

  Ally turned as she was walking away and said, “See ya Tuesday, Brett.”

  He watched them walk away and hoped she’d glance back at him but she didn’t. He looked down at his little sister, still pulling on his shirt.

  “You little runt!” he said, his forehead creased in an angry snarl. He flicked her ear, hard. She let go of his shirt and ran toward his parents screaming, “Mom, Brett hit me!”

  <><><><><>

  Brett spent the final two days of the weekend scanning the beach for Ally but came up empty. The drive home, however, he spent thinking of Mr. Martin’s assignment. What did he want to learn more about this coming semester? His thoughts floated to sports, mainly baseball. He was a pretty good player himself and played on the local travel team. Unfortunately, Foxworth was too small a school to field its own team, but that was fine with Brett. The local teams were very competitive. The Philadelphia Phillies were his favorite team and he could always learn more about them, but Mr. Martin may not be so appreciative of his selection.

  What else did he like to do? He played baseball, liked to play games, like to chat with his friends on email. Email. Computers. That would be good. He decided on computers. His family had an Apple iMac so he chose that as his discussion topic to learn about.

  Tuesday came rather quickly and Brett found himself a little sunburned from the weekend at the beach and hoped he was not called on so no one would notice his tomato-like complexion. Sure enough, he was the third person called on.

  “Apple,” he replied to Mr. Martin’s question on what he wanted to learn about this semester.

  “Ahh, the forbidden fruit,” Mr. Martin replied.

  There were a few chuckles from the class and Brett could feel his face turning even redder.

  “No, the company,” he said, correcting the teacher.

  “Just having a little fun, Brett. I knew you were talking about Steve Jobs’ masterpiece of a company. Wish I had bought some of that stock back when it was fifty bucks,” he said softly. “Great discussion piece, Brett. You, Miss Catherine, what is it that you’d like to discuss?” He moved about randomly between the aisles of desks and asked almost half the class the same question. He then told them to take out a piece of paper and write down the name of their subject; then scrunch up the paper into a ball, making sure no one looked at the papers, and pass them forward. He went across the room and collected the paper balls from each person sitting in the front of the row and brought them over to his desk.

  Mr. Martin went into a closet in the back of the classroom and brought out a clunky looking bird cage of some sort. He brought it to the front of the class and placed it on his desk. “Got this when they upgraded the bingo equipment at my church a few years ago,” he said. It looked like a barrel that was lying on its side. There were long spokes made of rusty metal that connected the ends and a crank on one side. He opened the hatch on the top and dumped all of the students paper balls inside, closed it, and proceeded to turn the crank, which in turn, rotated the balls inside.

  The class was dumbfounded and watched in great anticipation at what Mr. Martin was doing. He turned the handle for about thirty seconds before calling on the kid in front of him.

  “Jimmy, come up here please.”

  A
heavyset kid with matted down black hair clumsily got out of his chair and walked toward Mr. Martin.

  “Pick one please,” Mr. Martin said, opening the hatch.

  Jimmy stuck his meaty arm into the barrel and swished around the balls a few times before extracting one. He was about to start opening it when Mr. Martin snatched it from his hands.

  “No, no, Jimmy. Thank you and back to your seat.” He watched Jimmy walk back to his seat before turning his back to the class. He unraveled the paper, flipped it over and nodded his head. “Ahh, yes. This should be fun.” He crushed the paper back into a ball, walked to his desk, and opened the top drawer. Mr. Martin fiddled for a moment before coming out with a cigarette lighter.

  The class watched as Mr. Martin moved over to the nearest window and opened it. Then, to their amazement, he proceeded to flick the lighter and engulf the balled up piece of paper in flame. He quickly dropped the paper on the tiled windowsill and watched as the paper charred and shrank, with the smoke going directly out the window. In mere seconds it was over and Mr. Martin brushed the remaining ashes out the window before shutting it.

  “Well, we are in for a great time this semester I shall say. It’s going to take the remainder of the week for me to prepare everything so here is your assignment. I would like a five-page summary of someone else’s subject of interest from each of you. That’s right, talk to your friend, or your enemy for that matter and research their subject.”

  Class ended shortly thereafter. Brett quickly searched for Ally as they got up from their desks and shuffled toward the door. He wanted to ask Ally if he could research her subject. Brett was a shy person to begin with and his brain was brimming with ideas on how to approach her. Drop his books? Bump into her? That was quickly decided for him as he exited into the hallway and saw Ally talking to another kid leaning against a locker. He stopped and looked in her direction. She returned his gaze. The kid was saying something and she turned her head and said something back to him. The kid smiled and left her standing there as he walked away.

  “Hey,” she said in Brett’s direction.

  He looked around startled. Was she talking to him?

  “Brett, right?” she said

  “Umm yeah,” he replied, walking in her direction.

  “How was the rest of your weekend down the shore?” she asked.

  “Ahh, cool, I guess,” he replied.

  “Do you ever wonder what Mr. Martin has going on? Should be fun from what I hear.”

  “Yeah, hey, I was going to ask you,” Brett stammered. “Do you wanna swap ideas and I can do a paper on your idea and maybe you can do mine?”

  “Aww, I wish you would’ve been here a minute ago,” Ally replied. “Lance just asked me.”

  Brett wanted to crawl into a hole. He glanced in the direction where the kid had just left and he saw him with a group of guys looking in his direction, smiling. “Oh, okay,” he managed to say.

  “Hey, Brett!” he heard from behind him.

  Frankie!

  Frankie came up behind him and put his hand on his shoulder. “We gonna swap papers?” he asked.

  Brett wanted to say no. He wanted to trade with Ally but what choice did he have.

  “Sure,” he said.

  “Well, see you around,” Ally said, closing her locker and walking away.

  “Man, she is hot,” Frankie said.

  Brett ignored him and started to walk away in the opposite direction. Frankie caught up and walked beside him.

  “So, Apple, huh? Wish you would’ve chosen something cool like me.”

  Brett looked at him and raised his eyebrows. “Yeah? What am I stuck with?”

  “Stuck? You should be happy to research...ready...drum roll...the microwave oven!”

  Brett lowered his head and said, “Seriously?”

  “What? The microwave oven was voted in the top five most important inventions of the twentieth century. Where would we be without microwave popcorn!”

  Brett continued walking down the hallway, dreading his research paper on the microwave oven.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The rest of the week moved rather slowly for Brett as he unenthusiastically wrote his paper on the microwave oven. Mr. Martin gave them time during each period to stay in the class and write, or to go to the school library and do their research. All the while, Mr. Martin would disappear into the closet for most of the whole period, leaving the class to wonder what on earth he was doing in there. He and Frankie would usually go to the library with Frankie complaining how boring the Apple computer was. On the day before the paper was due, Ally and her partner, Lance, walked in and sat nearby. Lance Hawk was the kid’s name, and in Brett’s eyes, he was a punk. He had that rich kid’s aura. He always wore the designer jeans and fancy shirts that Brett shied away from. His dirty blond hair was slicked with gel and never out of place.

  “Hey, Brett,” Ally said, “How’s it going with the paper?”

  “It’s okay,” Brett replied, rolling his eyes.

  “You boys having fun?” Lance said with a smirk.

  “You believe he picked the Apple computer?” Frankie said.

  “Ha,” Lance chuckled.

  “I love Apple,” Ally said. “My parents bought me the iPhone for my eighth grade graduation.”

  Brett showed a little grin and asked, “What did you guys pick?”

  “I picked Bill Gates,” Lance replied proudly. “The richest man in the world.”

  Now Ally rolled her eyes.

  “She gave me Amelia Earhart, of all people.”

  “Cool,” Brett replied.

  “Yeah, cool,” Lance said sarcastically.

  In the short time Brett had known Lance, he already hated the kid. He couldn’t believe he was working with Ally. Did Ally get pressured into working with him? Or did she really want to work with him? They went back to their papers and worked the rest of the period. Brett was always trying to steal a glance at Ally, hoping to catch her looking back at him, but it never happened. Instead, he was caught looking at her by Lance who simply shook his head, mocking him. When the bell rang to indicate the end of the period, Brett and Frankie gathered up their books and papers and headed towards lunch.

  <><><><><>

  There was no bus service at Foxworth because of the low enrollment and because students came from many different communities, so those who were not old enough to drive would either get a ride home from an upperclassman, or from their parents. The latter was something Brett didn’t look forward to. Not that he didn’t like hanging with his dad, but having a parent pick you up from school was just not cool. His dad, Nick, was a personal chef for the wealthy. He cooked all day and then delivered the meals to five or six houses, depending on their schedules.

  “How was school?” his dad asked, just as he had done the day before, and the day before that.

  “Eh, you know, it was okay. What’s for dinner?” Brett said, closing the car door.

  “Steak tips on the grill. They’ve been marinating since this morning. I’m also grilling corn on the cob in the husk, and we’ll have some asparagus with fresh basil.” His dad loved to talk about his cooking.

  “Yum,” Brett indulged him.

  “Do you remember what time your game is this Saturday?” his dad asked, referring to the baseball game.

  “Yes, Dad,” Brett whined back.

  “It’s nine o’clock so that means no sleeping ‘til eight forty-five and rolling out of bed. It’s a home game, but that still means you need to get up, eat breakfast, change into your uniform, and get to the field by eight-thirty.”

  “Dad, it’s not like this is my first game, ya know?”

  “Well, it’s your first game after your first week of high school. You just had the summer off and slept in every day.”

  “I know, Dad.”

  “I’m just sayin’...”

  A few minutes later, Nick pulled his green Land Rover into the circular driveway and stopped just past the steps to the house. T
he grounds surrounding the house were in great shape, even after a dry summer. The grass was perfectly manicured and cut to just the right height. The ornamental grasses stood tall on either corner of the house and rattled gently in the breeze. The house was just over ten years old and was located in a new development, just west of Wilmington, Delaware, not far from the Pennsylvania border. They had bought the land prior to the house being built, having it custom designed by the breadwinner of the family, Brett’s mom. Lauren Logan was an architect with the Walker & McCary firm out of Philadelphia. She took the train to Philadelphia a few days a week, choosing to work from home the rest of the time.

  Brett bounded up the steps of the great stone house, punched in the security code, and threw open the door. The house opened into a large foyer with tan ceramic tile that led down a hallway into the spacious kitchen. A six burner Viking gas stove sat to the left. Brett threw his backpack on the barstool fronting the granite countertop. He opened the left stainless steel refrigerator door, grabbed a blue Gatorade, twisted the cap, and took a large gulp. Shutting the door, he walked over to the kitchen pantry and proceeded to pull out a bag of Doritos, tearing into them like he hadn’t eaten in days.

  “Whoa, whoa, save some room for the steak,” his dad said, entering the kitchen.

  “Will Mom be home for dinner?” Brett asked, with orange, dust-covered lips.

  “Tonight she will,” he responded. “Wanna do your homework now or hit the cages?”

  “Cages,” Brett responded. He crumpled up the bag and put it back in the closet. Grabbing his backpack, he walked down the hallway and up the stairs to his room to change clothes. His room was pretty clean for a teenager. His bed wasn’t made, but there were no clothes, books, or sports equipment on the floor. He had posters of Phillies players on the wall and one large map of the world with small black “x’s” on the states and countries that he had visited. Changing into gym shorts and a T-shirt, he walked back downstairs, into the mud room, and found his baseball bag and put on his cleats.