Mutiny

Chapter 1

Miles! Time to go!

I quickly tug my NASA t-shirt over my head, and put on some socks. I peek at my clock on the wall. Shes right, were going to be late.

I strap on my waterproof watch, toss on my hoodie, snag my messenger bag and coach whistle, and exit my bedroom after petting the obese black cat on my bed. As I am running down the hall, I accidentally collide the heavy bag hanging on my shoulder with my parents closed bedroom door. Oh, gosh.

Miles, seriously? my dad yells from inside, I am trying to sleep.

Why cant I be quiet for once? Im a mute, for Petes sake. Im not able to speak, and Im ironically pretty loud. Slamming into stuff all the time, sheesh. Miles, come on, youre going to be late for swimming lessons, and Im gonna be late for work, Mom says from the kitchen. I sit down on the steps near the coat closet, and shove on my grey sneakers. Do you have everything, Sweets? Mom askes, grabbing her purse and phone. I nod, then smile back, standing back up. We walk out to the car, and climb in, throwing our bags into the back seat. I inhale, getting a whiff of peach car freshener. Mom starts the red Honda, and backs out of the driveway.

I turn and look out the window, watching trees go by, and my mind drifts to an upcoming exam in English. Although I am probably going to ace it, just not having it done, and anticipating it, isnt that wonderful. Miles? I whip my head around, looking at my mom. We havent had a chance to talk in a while, She says, How is school going? Any upcoming events? I turn and grab the notebook wedged between the seat and the console. Theres a pen in the glovebox, Mom offers. I shake my head and pluck a small pencil out of my hoodies pocket. I write down something and show it to her.

Its going ok. I have an English exam next week.

Oh, Mom answers, That should go well. I nod, grinning. Mom understands my love and aptitude for writing. How is it going, socially? I wince, Mom also knows I dont really have any friends. Again, I write something on the pad. Mom glances at the words, then frowns.

Who wants to talk to someone who cant reply?

Mom is very silent after reading that sentence. I probably shouldnt have written it. Miles Nicholas Copper, She says, quietly, You should know that I absolutely love talking to you. It is never annoying, or a burden.

I guess

Your Father and I love you a lot.

Dad thinks Im asinine.

Mom scoffs. He does not. Thats a silly thing to say, Miles.

Ok, maybe not, but he always yells at me.

Because youre bangin around. Hes always tired after working the night shift. Being tired makes him cranky. You of all people should know that, Sweets.

Mom is right, as usual. Dad does work hard, all the time. And he is paying for my education. By cleaning. toilets. I chuckle.

Whats so funny? Mom asks.

I write something down, and she looks at it.

Nothing, I just think its funny how you always steer me out of self-pity.

Mom smiles and laughs, ruffling my chocolate brown hair. Dang straight She chuckles.

She keeps driving, and I pull my Ipod out of my hoodie pocket, and place the earbuds in my ears. I watch the Autumn scenery go by, as I listen to music. I absolutely love this time of year, all the colors, and the Fall-themed food in the restaurants. We speed past the nearby acreages, and fields of multi-colored cows. Its starting to rain a little. Shoot, Mom says, I just did my hair.

I start looking at her raven black locks, which she carefully styled into loose waves. I notice she doesnt have any grey hairs yet, which is good. That means I havent stressed her out too much. Dads whole head is salt and pepper, but he prefers the term Silver Fox. Mom doesnt have very many wrinkles either. Actually, she still looks quite young for 38. Dad is 42, and he hasnt aged to well, unfortunately. He has what Mom calls jowls. He wears glasses, and dresses in sweater vests most of the time. He used to be a professor at the local college, but was fired for not marking tests, quizzes, and assignments on numerous occasions. Now Dad has to work as a hospital janitor, which he doesnt mind. Mom works the afternoon shift at a bookstore in town, called the Bibliophile Burrow. She loves her job, and so do I, because she is happy, and I get discounts on books there. A couple times a week, I go to the swimming pool across the road, and when Im finished, I stay at the bookstore and hang out.

We drive past a wooden sign that states Welcome to Eastlake. The car jerks a little where the road transitions from gravel to pavement, and we proceed past a few truck-stops on the edge of town. By now it is pouring outside, and the wipers are moving rapidly against the windshield. Several semi-trucks ramble by us, spraying water from the deep puddles already forming on the road. The pavements glistens, and Mom is clutching the steering wheel tightly. The car skids to the right. I tense up, and Mom shouts Whoa! She manages to drive back onto the road, and she slows down. I exhale loudly, and relax. So does Mom. I put my hand on her back, and she smiles, saying Thank you, Sweets. I write something in my notebook, and turn it so Mom can see.

I love you Mom

She turns to look, and I glance quickly at the road while she reads. A huge gas truck is turning into the Esso just up ahead. The driver is staring at me