The Scars of Qulin Moore

Chapter 11

In his pocket his phone buzzed—Mom. She'd been calling more and more over the last few days. It started off just once to check in, but now it seemed like every five minutes. Why was she so obsessed with knowing his whereabouts at every waking moment? She treated him like a helpless little boy who couldn't take care of himself. The phone acted more like a leash. Nag, nag, nag. He pressed the ignore button, and stuffed the phone back into his slacks.

Dianna sat on the bleachers. Next to her, bundled up in his customary puffy green coat and scarf, was their neighbor, James Mwangi. James lived in the house across from Lucas. The only son of Kenyan immigrants, him and his family had only been in Derryton a few years and hadn't acclimated to the plummeting temperatures of fall and winter. Lucas and James bonded under their shared scorn for Derryton, though James's disdain was mostly playful, directed at the capricious weather. James, or "the walking math book" as Lucas called him, was a robotics whiz, the youngest student ever in New Hampshire to win the state's highest esteemed robotics award. James always carried a frayed notebook stuffed with sketches of weird imaginary robots and math formulas that only a math wizard could translate. Lucas was convinced one day that James would grow to be the mastermind behind the inevitable robot world domination.

"What took so long?" James groaned at Lucas. "Get lost again?"

"Mr. Jostin held me up after class for some stupid reason," Lucas said tossing his book bag on the bleachers. He sat next to Dianna.

"You get in trouble for something—again?" asked Dianna. A devious smirk creeping across her face.

"Something like that," Lucas said, a gleam in his eyes. "And that's not even the worst of it...you know what I had to sit through in History class today?—an entire spiel about that inventor-guy, Thomas Edison, and all the weird things he created. I mean why do we have to waste time learning what someone did a century ago. How does that even matter today?"

James piped in like a walking encyclopedia. "He was quite interesting. Invented some cool stuff—lights, batteries, and the phonograph."

"My grandpa had an old phonograph..." Lucas said, staring off at a passing cloud. Grandparents, now there was a thought, he wondered if they even knew he was in this shit town? Would they come visit?

"I had trouble with Mr. Jostin too," Dianna said, tying her hair back. "So don't feel bad, he can be really strict, an asshole to put it better. Gave me a detention once for chewing gum—gum! My dad was pissed. Grounded me for like a whole week. Said I 'disappointed the family.'"

"Really? Mad over one detention?" Lucas said.

"My Dad doesn't like when me and Mitch get in trouble at school—or anywhere, really. He expects us to be perfect. But I still chew gum so he and Mr. Jostin can shove it." She chuckled at her bravado.

Lucas smirked. He liked that flash of rebellion in her. Butterflies, an entire swarm, fluttered for her.

"What a natural rebel you are, Dianna," James snickered. "But, you guys are correct, Mr. Jostin is definitely a tough one. I should know, I had him in advanced calculus last year."

Lucas shook his head. "Adults are always acting as if they know some better way to live, and yet they mess things up all the time. Who gave them the right to be in charge? Their authority should be stripped. Just because they're older, they get to run over the rest of us, with no regard for how we feel. Age doesn't mean shit. Doesn't mean they've learned anything."

They sat still for some length of time, unsure how to respond.

Dianna shifted towards Lucas, having thought on his remark. "I think they mean well, but they can be too harsh," she said, her voice direct, "but sometimes, it's fun to mess with them, right? My dad pays more attention to Mitch, and treats me like I'm invisible. I find the only way I can get his attention is to get under his skin. I don't know if it's right but it's a way to get back at him."