Until The Last Page

Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

TOM WAITED IN HIS ROOM, BROODING.

                   It wasn’t that he didn’t like his grandma – she was pretty cool for an old bird. It was just that he was going to be like a prisoner in his own home, and he could see this being the story of the entire summer. He would be starting high school in September looking like a ghost while everyone else sported their bronze tans. He didn’t need something else to make him stand out, now did he?

                   He rolled over to his desk and threw the notebook on top of a pile of others. He was always writing stories in those hardback jotters; when you couldn’t run around doing everything that popped into your head, it meant you spent quite a bit of time thinking up adventures and putting them on paper.

                   He thought about his latest story. Maybe he would ask Grandma Patty to read it. It did have an older character in it, after all. For the Generations Project just before they finished school, they had to write a story that had a character in it that was two generations older than them. He immediately thought of Grandpa Max in Ben 10. He didn’t copy that though – he was all for having his own ideas, and he was getting a bit old for kids’ TV.

                   He was pretty pleased with the outcome – he’d filled the entire notebook. His teacher had been less than helpful though. ‘Too long,’ she had said. And okay, he knew he wasn’t the best in the class, but at least his stories meant more to him than just making sure he had completed a school assignment. He put a little bit of himself into every one, this latest adventure included.

                   He just couldn’t get his dad to read it.

                   Dad was so busy these days.

                   He rolled over to where his TV and Playstation was set up, but then thought twice about switching it all on. Did he really want another day of just running and shooting and bashing and thrashing on a 2D screen? He looked across at his book shelf: he’d read them all, most of them twice.

                   What other options did he have? Paint one of his models? Jigsaw puzzle? Write another story?

                   What would be the point of no one was willing to read the last one?

                   Tom heard the door chime go. Grandma Patty was here. He sighed. At least today it will be a different person to be bored with, he tried to tell himself.

                   His mum called his name. ‘Coming!’ he replied.

                   As he manoeuvred into the hallway, Grandma Patty was stood waiting. She stood no higher than five feet tall and leaned a little to the right on account of a dodgy hip. She used a stick to help keep her upright on that side. It was ornately carved from dark wood but she’d customised it with stickers and transfers. She wore multiple bangles on both wrists and – under a black waistcoat – a cotton shirt that Tom’s mum had one described as ‘ty-dyed’. She had said it with her nose wrinkled, which Mum did when she didn’t approve of something. Grandma Patty dressed brightly, and perhaps not in keeping with her age. She wore a tartan skirt with bright blue leggings underneath. She was the only old lady Tom knew who wore Converse boots.

                   ‘Well hello, Master Tommy!’ she exclaimed.  Tom gave a brief reply. Her broad smile wrinkled her face even more. Her curly silver hair caught the light shining through the open front door, until Mum closed it. She ushered Grandma into the living room and offered her a cup of tea.