Howell & Pierce: Lost Kid

Chapter One - Disappearance

"Just pretend you're running from someone coming at you with a knife!"

"Yeah! It's life or death!"

"Go! Go! Go!"

Field day.

The fourth graders gathered at the starting line for the relay race, and Alexander Howell was up next. His team was anything but pleased. They were never happy when their big win depended on this kid.

"Don't be so slow this round," Reggie snapped, all bravado and snark. "You can't make us lose this time!"

"Yeah, you have to run!" Amber stated the obvious. "Like, actually run!"

The scrawny boy adjusted his glasses and stared forward, trying to block out the sound of his hellbent peers.

"You have to be fast!" Bailey shrieked. "Don't be a slowpoke this time!"

"You actually have a shot at beating this one!" Xavier's eyes landed on Alexander's opponent.

Roscoe Pierce was a bigger kid whose comeback was to aggressively give the bully his middle finger, but before he could actually say anything, Alexander spoke up for himself instead. His voice was tender, with the mildest southern twang. "If you keep yelling at me, I'm just gonna run slower."

The students groaned, irritated by his defiance. Roscoe didn't join in the yelling. He never did.

Miss Hollander's voice boomed, "Ready? On your mark, get set, go!"

Alexander and Roscoe took off.

"Faster! Faster! Faster!"

"Alexander, go!"

"Pretend a killer's after you! He's right behind you! He's gonna stab you! Move!"

"You're about to get it, man! Go!"

Poor Alexander pushed forward, long legs kicking with fierce determination. His breath came out in harsh puffs and sweat accumulated on his skin, but no matter how much he exerted himself, it didn't make much difference.

"He's grabbing you, Alex!"

"He's got you! You're being stabbed!"

"You're bleeding out, Alex! You're dying! You're dead!"

"Dead!"

"DEAD!"

—

That had been fourth grade. Now, three years later, he was gone.

The morning the Hinton Middle School classroom was told by Mr. Carr that Alexander Howell was missing, everyone fell dead silent. Most of them had known him since kindergarten.

Alexander had been a mousy little boy with glasses, shaggy brown hair, and a face lightly dusted with freckles. He had been known for being a pushover and for his long-winded rants about whatever he'd brought for show and tell-usually some oddly shaped stick, rock, or acorn he had collected at recess. Sometimes he brought in stories he'd written himself, clearly laced with idealized self-inserts as the leading characters. Once he'd brought his insect-catching gear with a couple of butterflies and fireflies confined inside. Avery and Reggie laughed, but Roscoe didn't.

Show and tell always went one of two ways for the boys: either it was the highlight of their week or it ended with Miss Hollander confiscating something that was, apparently, "not appropriate for the classroom, gentlemen."

Alexander never meant to bring in anything dangerous. He just had a passion for nature. One week it was a "really cool stick" that had been sharpened into a sword for him by his uncle with a kitchen knife. Another time he proudly produced a chunk of granite with jagged edges so serrated that Miss Hollander gasped and held it like it might bite her.