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  Secret of Mars

  The Chronicles of Tom Stinson

  By

  Eric Johnson

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons or extraterrestrials, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic and printed editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

  Published by Eric Johnson

  ISBN: 9781797721873

  Copyright © 2019 Eric Johnson.

  To Jennifer, Christopher, and Caitlin

  Special Thanks to Ian Hugh McAllister

  Contents

  Freedom

  Incarceration

  What The?

  Critical Thinking

  Run

  Nuts Give Us a Rash

  Pedal to the Metal

  Emmett Wanted to See

  Kick a Teddy Bear

  Skateboards and Rope

  Natural Odor

  Bloody Kisses

  Thirteen

  Destructively Yes

  Teddy Bears, Deer, and Ducks

  Percival Lowell

  It’s - Aahhh!

  Foolproof

  Disrespectful Children

  Freedom

  The trailhead sign in the parking lot read: No bikes. Tom Stinson pedaled faster, bunny hopping over the curb onto the path. The knobby wheels cut into the dirt, tires gripping the trail. His homemade Spud Tater t-shirt clung to his body in the morning heat. It felt good. It felt right. If he got up enough speed, he was going to make it over Deadman’s Rock.

  Down the path, and around the bend he tucked into his bike to lower the wind resistance on the hill that ended at the river. He couldn’t do chores if he was outside. His bike was tuned to perfection. “Deadman’s!” he called out.

  Wood finches and sparrows made their racket in the spaces between the trees, protesting his passing. Simple distractions from simple witnesses. The ruts and grooves in the trail guided him on, Deadman's wasn't far.

  A fallen tree cut along the side of the trail was the ramp. Sometimes it was slippery from the morning dew. He wasn’t going to slip off this time. The jump was only twenty feet. Twenty feet wasn’t far when you were standing there. Twenty feet at twenty miles an hour, six feet in the air, that was far. Nothing was going to stop him.

  Bark crackled under his wheels and rotting splinters flew as he took the center line on the log to launch off the end into the blue. A split second of weightlessness and the tingle of his stomach dropping told him everything he needed to know. This time!

  A jogger appeared on the trail right in his path from behind a tree, and froze. Tom screamed, and his body clenched, bracing for impact. It was going to hurt, but like the dentist’s drill there was nothing he could do.

  The jogger tumbled out of the way into the poison ivy. Tom’s wheels hit, flush on the ground, and he skidded to a dusty stop. Too close. His whole body shook. “Dude! I called out, didn’t you hear?”

  The jogger straightened his clothes and headed at Tom like he was going to do something. His shoulders squared and his chest puffed up. One earbud hung free. “Kid. No bikes!”

  Tom’s eyes widened and his head pulled back, what was this guy doing? “Dude, I’m a kid,” he said.

  The guy paused, his expression shifted. The word kid stopped him. “You’re lucky not to end up in the hospital for being so stupid. Don’t ride here again. This trail is for running.”

  “Whatever, dude.” Tom blinked the sweat out of his eyes and took off, he was at the core of a summer day; nothing was going to stop him. Deadman’s rock was his.

  Colorful dots danced through the leaves as he neared the meadow by the river. He could hear mesmeric chanting coming from the field; jump, jump, jump. What were so many people doing there? Nobody hung out in the meadow this early.

  Tom broke through the tree line and Anidea ran up wheezing. “You make the jump?”

  Tom nodded.

  She straightened her hair. “I could tell, your head isn’t bleeding. Better than a face full of dirt, and two weeks of calamine like last time.”

  Anidea had no sense. She was the kind of kid who was the product of her parents being dropped on their heads. “What’s everyone doing here?” Tom asked.

  “I thought you were grounded. Prison break?”

  “Yeah, my dad’s freaking out about my mom again. I guess I’m ungrounded.”

  “Did your dad ask about the handle bars?” She stepped in close. “They look good on your bike.”

  “Dude, stop stealing stuff, you’re going to get caught.” Tom wheeled back. “I appreciate the help, but if I get caught doing anything again, I’ll never see the light of day.”

  “You’re already doing something.” She smiled. “Forget it. Come on, I’ve got a surprise.”

  The soft foam handlebar grips squished under his fingers, it was going to be a cooker. “What did you do now?”

  Anidea took off, hopping across the meadow. “Don’t ask, come see the awesomeness!”

  Tom rode after her. The crazy stuff she did was going to be the end of him one day. But what were friends for?

  She stopped and turned, waving him to follow. “I’ve outdone myself. Come on!”

  “What now?”

  “I thought I’d create a miracle.” Anidea ran alongside the bike. “Like a messiah. Think of the confusion; kids dropping their game controllers and going outside. Parents are freaked!”

  “Yeah, a double-edged messiah.”

  Sun flashed across the meadow green. Windblown tarps and litter caught in the bushes, accentuated the effects of unobserved freedom. In the middle of the field a garage door was propped up on a dilapidated picnic table fortified by banged up trash cans. Twenty kids were lined up in two rows on either side of the ramp. There was a partyish feel to the gathering, something important, something fun.

  Anidea waved her arms like a gameshow host. “The greatest ideas are the simplest. Do you like the garage door motif?”

  “That can’t be safe.”

  She touched his hand. “Can’t you feel the temptation?”

  “How in hell did you get that down here?”

  “The Egyptians used copper tools to build the pyramids, I’ve got my secrets too. I found it, get it?”

  Tom’s lip twitched and his right eye reflexively closed tighter than his left. “Stop making stuff up. I’ve known you too long. Seriously?”

  “A garage door is perfect for a guerrilla ramp. Go on, dial it in.”

  Tom rolled up on the ramp, the metal flexing and crackling under his weight. Maggots dappled the trash cans. “What in Frankenstein’s creation did you make? It's rickety.”

  “Don’t tweak, dude, it’s tested,” Anidea said, noticing Tom’s disgust. “The maggots are for extra awesomeness.”

  A kid raced down a scar in the meadow where the bikes had torn the grass out, and shot up the ramp, narrowly missing Tom. The ramp bowed; he table-topped, and nearly ate it when he landed.

  Tom shot an angry look at Anidea. This was comic school textbook. “Who are these clowns? They don’t look like they know what they are doing.”

  “Don’t get mad, get even. Show them. I built this for us. It’s your turn.”r />
  “No way, dude. I’m not risking my neck.”

  “Never doubt the Anidea. Why you holding back?”

  “Me? Caution is the spirit of not going to the hospital with a broken neck. Besides, who here has a phone?”

  “Chicken? Do that bar spin thing. If you eat it, I'll personally carry you to the parking lot and flag down someone.”

  “Dude, it's smooth in the bent parts, and bent in the smooth parts. I ain't stupid.”

  “Hey, everyone! Tom's going to do some sick tricks.”

  “Dude?”

  A random kid rode up, sounding anxious. “Go on, Anidea hasn't shut up about you all morning.”

  “Pressure’s on. Don't fail me,” Anidea said.

  Tom sat back on his seat. “I don't know, dude. I have to go.”

  “I'll help you with the carburetor kit for your mini bike, then we’ll really jump with power.”

  “That's not how it works. I don't even have the money to get one.”

  Anidea’s fingers stretched into a claw. “Do a trick.”

  “You talk too much,” Tom said.

  “Go on, we're friends.”

  “Only when it makes you look good. I do a dope trick and the Anidea built a cool ramp achievement gets unlocked.”

  “You need me as much as I need you.”

  “How's that work?”

  The stench of bologna coming from Anidea tweaked Tom’s nose. Misty eyed, her lip flubbered at the corner. “Because you're the only true friend I have. One trick. If you don't, everyone will think I'm a loser.”

  “Dude, stop faking. Everyone already knows you are a loser. I feel sorry for you, but I'll do it just because I know when to do the right thing.”

  “Yeah?” Anidea perked up. “Show me a superman.”

  “Carburetor kit?” Tom asked.

  Anidea thrust her fist into the air. “Coming up.”

  “Ha, I’m just messing with you.” He poked at her. “The ramp is awesome. I still want the carb kit.”

  “Remember who saved you in third grade.”

  Tom rode to the end of the meadow past the scar, getting distance to build up a lot of speed. He had to pull this off. No pressure.

  Anidea gathered the riders. “This’ll be big. He’s never disappointed me yet.”

  Tom flew across the meadow and hit the point of no return just as a cop car came into view. The kids around the ramp scattered into the trees a dozen different ways, wheeling their bikes, leaving him hurtling through the air. The cop skidded to a stop right as Tom reached the azimuth of his arc. He landed on the cruiser’s hood and bounced, crashing onto the ground.

  Flat on his back, Tom’s head buzzed. A cop car in the meadow didn’t make sense.

  The cop was out of his car and on him in half a second. He looked up, feeling the weight of his sweat soaked hair. The officer whipped a zip tie out from a pouch. “Don’t run. That was a pretty amazing fail.”

  Tom smiled, but didn’t answer. He wasn’t guilty.

  “Ever been cuffed?” the cop asked.

  “Why you busting me?” His voice cracked with confusion. “I didn’t do anything.”

  “I thought that was obvious, you didn't run.”

  Incarceration

  Tom's dad turned their old Ford pickup into the parking lot of Taylorville Middle School, stopping in the student drop off zone. A banner above the doors read, Welcome, Summer School Students. Tom thumped his head against the window and closed his eyes, hoping to wake up in another universe. When people see you walking into a school during vacation, they think you’re stupid, it’s embarrassing. Small towns talk.

  “Dude…” Tom said.

  His dad turned suddenly. “Tom!”

  “I mean, Dad. Give me a chance,” Tom choked. “It wasn’t even me. I only got caught.” The fight wasn’t over. If there was any way he could get out of his punishment, he had to try.

  “That’s not the point. It’s the choices you make. When you wreck your bike and nearly kill yourself, and then you get arrested after you sneak out, how am I supposed to manage you?”

  “What was I supposed to do? I’ll call you every half hour.”

  “Really, you’re going there? Where are we going to get the money for a phone?”

  “I can’t prove anything to you if I’m stuck in summer school.”

  “Oh, that’s great.” He hammered the steering wheel. “By putting yourself in situations where you have to make the right decisions, you’ll prove to me you’re responsible? What did I just say?”

  “All I did was ride my bike. If I had to stay in the house for another minute, I was going to go crazy.”

  “You left when you were grounded. This is your last chance. If you weren’t a part of it, who did it?”

  “I told you. Anidea.”

  “Well nobody can find this mysterious Anidea of yours. The house you took us to hasn’t been lived in for months. Do you even know how lucky you are I went to high school with officer Rick, and the homeowner was willing not to press charges if I repaired that garage door? If you stay out of trouble here, we can talk.”

  “But Dad?” Tom said.

  “Are you even listening?” He held his face. “What happens the next time I turn my back? I can’t risk leaving work again. I’m under a lot of pressure, jobs are hard enough to keep when you are my age. It was your choice to go along with those kids, and there's no telling what you’ll do next. I’m trying here, you know.”

  “What if?”

  The attendance bell rang and kids hurried into the school. His dad growled. “We’re done. Next time I won’t be there to bail you out. It gets worse from here on out.”

  Tom shoved the door open with his shoulder. “Fine.”

  He grabbed his bike out of the truck bed, and wheeled it to the lockup. It was like being set adrift at sea, only worse, school.

  Anidea and several kids rode up to him. They wore swimsuits and had towels hung over their shoulders. “Tommy!” Anidea said with hopeful enthusiasm. “Just the person we need. The only one who truly knows how to have fun. We’re heading down to the river. Wanna come?”

  Tom looked over his shoulder at his dad. “The cops are looking for you. What are you doing here?”

  “Thinking of you, friend.”

  “You left me there.” Tom pulled the lock and chain off his handlebars, letting it hang from his fist. “I got busted.”

  Anidea held her hands up. “Whoa, calm down. What’s the big deal, you had fun and your dad got those people’s garage door back on, right? Besides, that ramp was awesome and you weren’t like, where’d you get the garage door?”

  “Yeah, actually I did ask.” Tom jabbed the air with his finger. “You didn’t even get into trouble. And the house you say you live in is foreclosed. What’s up with that?”

  Anidea wiped the sweat from her face slowly and sat back on her bike seat. “If you want to know, I made sure no one saw when I took that door. Think. Someone ratted on us. Maybe one of your neighbors, who’s nosy? Who doesn’t like you? Be mad at them, not me.”

  “Don’t you mean your neighbors? Wherever they are? Someone had to see you.”

  “That cop car was just random misfortune. I know you’re mad, but how much trouble did you get into? Summer school? Check in then leave, and pretend like you were here. I got the carb kit. We can grab your mini-bike and have it up and running in no time. Do yourself a favor have a little fun. It’s all you really want.”

  “You got the kit?” Tom hung the bike chain back on his handlebars. “I suppose. Maybe I can get out the back and meet you there.”

  “Now you’re talking. What are friends for?”

  The truck horn blasted and his dad got out, pointing for him to go into the school. “Don’t you dare! Is that Anidea? I need to talk to her.”

  “I think you’re being watched.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Lame-wad, you got busted again. What’d I just say? We’re out of here.”

 
Tom’s dad ran after Anidea as she took off across the school yard. “Stop right there.”

  *

  A rain-threatening gust of July wind pushed Tom into the school. The polished tile and two-tone institution green walls made him nauseous. Maybe it was the fact that school was the last place he wanted to be. Maybe because it was like being in the tomb with the windows shut and the doors locked.

  Paper blew across the floor around two men stood next to the stairs. One wore a suit, the other was a security guard. The man in the suit clipped his phone to his belt and motioned Tom over, he was all smiles.

  Tom hurried across the entry hall, keeping his eyes focused on the floor and pretending not to have seen, make eye contact and there would be questions.

  “Not so fast, mister,” the suited man said. “You’re Stinson. I need to talk to you.”

  Tom had had enough of bossy adults, he just wanted to keep his head down and get his sentence over. “I have to get to class, or I’ll be late. You don’t want that to happen, do you?”

  “I’m Principal Davies.” He thumbed over his shoulder. “He’s Miles, school security. Your dad called and told me why you’re here. You need to know I’m here to make sure you have a good time and get what you need.”

  Tom kept silent.

  “Why, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you have contempt written all over your face. You know what that means, don’t you?”

  The school doors slammed open and two boys ran in, stepping between Tom and the Principal. They were almost identical in appearance. “Which way to the 8th grade class?” the first kid interrupted. “Which way?”

  Principal Davies’s cheek spasmed, showing a little tooth and tricking the world into thinking it was a smile. He didn’t like interruptions. He was a willing pallbearer for things out of order. “Oh, the Mastic twins. I don’t want any trouble out of you.”

  The other kid stepped in close, making the principal shuffle back. “Where are the classes?”

  “All classes are on the north side of the school. Your class is down hall three room twenty-seven. Remember, when asking directions always be polite and wait your turn.”

  Both the kids replied. “Yes, sir”, and then sprinted around the corner.