"A New Battle" Chapter 1
Noah’s heart pounded like the beat of a drum. Lungs aching with every breath, he struggled to move his legs as fast as he could. More than one person followed right behind him, waiting for their chance to tackle.
Just a little farther...
His strength was giving way. He knew it wouldn’t be long before someone caught up with him. Noah wanted to turn around to see just how close the mass of bodies was, but knew he would lose his balance and fall. He pressed on, cheeks flushed. Moppy, brown hair stuck to the sweat that poured from his brow. He was losing speed.
He felt a swish on the back of his jacket - too close, they were too close. Noah drowned out the screams and hollers coming from all around. His feet hammered against stone-like dirt. The thought of being slammed into the ground kept his legs moving, though deep inside he wished they would stop.
Another swipe at his jacket. This time a hand grabbed hold of Noah, refusing to let go. Struggling to free himself, Noah went down, instinctively curling into a ball to soften the fall and protect himself from the inevitable blows.
The hoard of bodies caught up and smashed him into the ground. His muscles tensed. He tried to lessen the pain by holding his breath. From beneath the pile of bodies, Noah could hear loud, excited voices.
One boy yelled, “way to go,” while another cheered, “we’re gonna beat ‘em!”
The weight pressing down on him lessened. Noah opened his eyes. He was the only person lying on the ground. Figures stood over him. The sun shone brightly above, masking the faces that peered down.
“You all right, Noah?” someone asked.
“That was awesome!” another exclaimed.
“I had no idea you could run that fast.”
“I told you he’d be good for our team.” It was Jake, Noah’s best friend.
Jake offered Noah his hand and, with the help of two other boys, pulled him off the ground. Noah tossed Jake the football and dusted himself off. Several people patted him on the back.
“We creamed them!” applauded Steven, a tall, lanky boy. He smiled, showing his crooked teeth.
“We’ll make a football player out of you yet, Noah,” added Dave, one of the playground football team captains.
Dave was a natural athlete and played for an all-star team over the summer.
Noah, who was thin and average in height, wasn’t good at sports. Before that school year, he spent recess studying bugs or collecting interesting rocks. He was never asked to participate in games, let alone playground football.
This year was different. Jake had asked Noah several times if he wanted to play recess football. Though he wanted to play, Noah always refused. Knowing little about the game, he would rather sit out than admit that he didn’t know how to play and risk everyone laughing at him.
Noah couldn’t remember exactly how he ended up playing that day, but he was glad he did. He scored the winning touch down!
The recess bell rang and everyone filed back into the classrooms. The rest of the day flew by. When school let out, Noah rushed to the bus to save the best seats for him and Jake who took forever to get on the bus. Noah slouched in his seat waiting, gazing out the window.
It was October. The weather was cool and the leaves had turned. Splotches of red and orange covered the ground, filling the streets of Noah’s neighborhood. Autumn was his favorite time of year.
When Noah was little, his mom and dad would rake the leaves into big piles; Noah would jump into them, scattering leaves everywhere. When he was done playing, he’d help his dad put the leaves into bags while his mom made hot chocolate for everyone.
Noah’s memories were interrupted by Jake flopping into the seat next to him. He took two bags of chips out of his sack, handing one to Noah, who in return, handed Jake a can of soda.
The bus ride’s gossip was all about the football game. Jake was impressed with Noah, but admitted there was still a lot Noah had to learn.
“For starters, you’re one of the fastest runners we’ve ever had. We just need to work on your catch,” he encouraged, pushing his wavy, blond hair away from his eyes.
Noah did prove himself a worthy player when it came to running. After all, he had plenty of practice over the years running from Kevin.
“I didn’t want to take all the glory today,” Noah joked.
“How about we practice this weekend when you come over to work on our Halloween costumes?” Jake suggested.
“Yeah, that’ll work. It’s supposed to be nice out. I can come over after breakfast on Saturday. We can get our costumes done early and have the rest of the day to practice.”
Noah was excited to learn all he could about football. He wanted to be good enough that the other boys would always want him to play.
The bus slowed at Jake’s stop.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Jake edged between seats toward the front of the bus. “Remember to ask your mom if she has any old clothes we can use for our zombie costumes.”
“Oh, right! I almost forgot. See you later, Jake.” Noah waved.
Noah’s stop was three after Jake’s. They lived three and a half blocks away from each other, which made it easy to get to each other’s houses. If they got bored at one house, they rode their bikes or walked to the other. They even had a short cut, so long as Mr. Fitter wasn’t home.
Mr. Fitter was a grumpy old man that lived half way between Noah and Jake. He had an old basset hound that always sat on the porch, letting out lazy “woofs” when anyone passed, but never got up, even when harassed by kids. Occasionally, Mr. Fitter would come out, shaking his fist, threatening to call their parents or the police. He never did, though. Noah figured the old man enjoyed being bothered every now and then to break up the monotony of his day.
The bus stopped in front of Noah’s house. He gathered up the empty soda cans and crumpled potato chip bags and scurried to the front of the bus. The haste of his movements caused his bulky backpack to slip from his shoulder. With the garbage in his hands, Noah couldn’t catch it. The backpack slid off, hitting someone in the head.
“Ouch,” squeaked a small voice.
It was a girl that Noah didn’t recognize. She had shoulder- length, black hair and glasses that had been knocked to the end of her nose by Noah’s bag.
Noah stopped, realizing what happened.
“Ooops… I didn’t mean to... my bag slipped,” he fumbled.
Trying to secure his backpack onto his shoulder, he dropped an empty soda can. He bent over to pick it up; his bag slipped again, landing in the girl’s lap.
“Ooof,” she coughed.
A few kids in nearby seats giggled. Noah cheeks turned red, but tried not to let her see.
“I’m...” he looked at her.
Her face was as red as his. She adjusted her headband, pushed her glasses back on her nose and gave Noah an equally uncomfortable look.
“No, it’s okay,” she forgave, lifting Noah’s bag off her lap. Underneath was an open book. Its pages folded and wrinkled from the weight of Noah’s bag. Avoiding Noah’s gaze, she fidgeted with a locket around her neck.
“Hurry it up now!” shouted Mr. Crowly, the bus driver. “You’re not the only person waiting to get home.”
The booming voice startled Noah.
“Uh…I’d better...”
“Let’s go!” Mr. Crowly bellowed.
“Thanks,” Noah stammered, taking his bag from the girl.
He hurried off the bus, trash in hand with his book bag hugged in both arms. He was too embarrassed to look back until the cranking of the bus faded into the distance as it drove away.
Noah closed his eyes, dropping his head. He hadn’t felt that clumsy or stupid in a long time. Taking a deep breath, he dragged himself up the walkway to the front porch.
“Idiot,” he whispered to himself before unlocking the door and slipping into the shadows of his house.
It was quiet inside. Noah set his backpack down at the bottom of the stairs. A soda can clanked as it fell onto the wooden floor. Noah sighed, thoughts haunted by the girl on the bus.
“Why do I feel so stupid? I was so clumsy! I couldn’t even think of what to say! I probably looked as stupid as I feel.”
Noah was used to that. He had always been made to look the fool – this was a new feeling. He remembered the look on the girl’s face. She was embarrassed, too. He stopped to imagine how he would feel if someone hit him in the head with their backpack and didn’t apologize. His heart sank; he closed his eyes.
Noah knew why he felt so strange - he felt like a bully. He had embarrassed that girl and didn’t even apologize! The kids on the bus weren’t laughing at him. They were laughing at her, and it was all Noah’s fault. Noah felt rotten. He knew what it was like to be laughed at and made fun of. Now because of him, that girl probably wanted to cry.
“What if she did cry? What if everyone on the bus began to laugh at her and point and call her names?”
Noah’s stomach hurt.
“Don’t be silly,” he mumbled. “It was just an accident. Everyone could see I didn’t mean to do it,” he tried to convince himself.
He still felt bad, but knew there was nothing he could do at the moment. He took a deep breath.
“Tomorrow,” he said very matter of fact. “Tomorrow I’ll apologize. That should make it up to her.”
Noah smiled, trying to cheer himself up. He picked up the can taking it and the rest of the snack containers to the kitchen.
He threw the items away and looked around the room. His bowl from breakfast was still on the table. Running late that morning, Noah didn’t have time to finish his cereal. He examined the mush that was left of his Raisin Bran, took the spoon out and watched the milk rush into the hole created in its absence. A little raisin plopped into the center of the milk pool. It bobbed up and down.
Noah imagined that he created a great Raisin Bran earthquake – the sinking raisin unfortunate enough to fall into the milky lava that flowed between the cracks and holes left in the destruction. All the other raisins would have rushed to help, but they, too, were stuck in the ruins of what was once a happy Raisin Bran world.
Noah blinked. He didn’t like the idea of destroying an innocent world.
“It’s just soggy cereal.”
He threw the cereal away and washed the bowl and spoon. He even washed his mom’s coffee cup from that morning and emptied the old coffee grounds out of the coffee maker. He looked at the clock. It was 4:00. His mom would be home in about at hour. He filled up the coffee pot with water, put new coffee grounds into a clean filter and started the coffee maker.
“Mom will want some when she gets home.”
Noah made sure there was nothing else in the kitchen that needed attention before he gathered the trash bag and took it outside, tossing it into the trash bin. The force of his throw knocked over the rake that was sitting behind the bin.
Noah thought for a moment, glancing around the yard.
“There are enough leaves to make a large pile,” Noah said, snatching the rake.
He worked until the sky grew dim, creating a small mountain of leaves in the center of the yard.
The sound of the back door clicking shut interrupted Noah’s concentration. He turned to see his mother, holding two steaming cups in her hands.
“Thought I’d get an early start on the raking,” Noah yelled.
“Do you have time for a snack?” his mother offered.
“You bet!”
Noah tidied up the pile and carried the rake back to the side of the house before joining his mother in the kitchen. He plopped down at the table where a cup of hot chocolate was set. He took his jacket off and hung it over the back of his chair.
His mom brought over a small plate of cookies.
“You must have been hard at work. Your cheeks are like apples.”
“I wanted to get as much done as I could before you got home.”
“I appreciate it, a lot, Noah.” She looked at him with tired eyes. Noah could tell she was exhausted. “And thank you for straightening up the kitchen, too.”
“You’re welcome. Anything I can do to help.” He stuffed a cookie in his mouth.
Noah wished there was something more he could do. He hated that his mother had to work so hard. Even more, he hated that she had to work at all. He blew on his hot chocolate, staring at the steam as it twisted into the air.
“What are you thinking about,” his mom asked before taking a sip of coffee.
“Oh nothing. I mean, just about my day,” he lied.
“Oh,” she sighed, though she wasn’t really paying attention. She stared at Noah, lost in thought.
“Is it windy outside?” she asked suddenly.
Noah wrinkled his brow at her.
“No, not really. Maybe a light breeze. Why?”
“Your hair looks windblown.” She squinted her eyes and pursed her lips. “Looks like its time for a hair cut,” she said, leaning back in her chair.
“What’s wrong with my hair?” Noah asked, offended.
“Noah,” she said bluntly, “it’s a mess.”
“I like my hair,” Noah protested. “Besides, it’s not like we can afford to go to a barber anyway, and I’m certainly not going to let you cut it.”
His mother gave him a blank stare.
Noah, wishing he hadn’t said anything, stammered, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”
“It’s okay,” she interrupted, stood up and took her coffee to the sink, dumping its contents down the drain.
“I’ll get dinner started,” she said, opening a cupboard. “Do you have homework?”
Noah pushed the plate of cookies away. “No.”
“Go wash your hands, then.” She didn’t look at him. “I’ll get the dishes out. You can set the table.”
Noah eyed his mother. It wasn’t like her to be critical. It wasn’t like him to talk back.
He sighed, getting up from the table.
Just get through the evening. Tomorrow will be better.
Just a little farther...
His strength was giving way. He knew it wouldn’t be long before someone caught up with him. Noah wanted to turn around to see just how close the mass of bodies was, but knew he would lose his balance and fall. He pressed on, cheeks flushed. Moppy, brown hair stuck to the sweat that poured from his brow. He was losing speed.
He felt a swish on the back of his jacket - too close, they were too close. Noah drowned out the screams and hollers coming from all around. His feet hammered against stone-like dirt. The thought of being slammed into the ground kept his legs moving, though deep inside he wished they would stop.
Another swipe at his jacket. This time a hand grabbed hold of Noah, refusing to let go. Struggling to free himself, Noah went down, instinctively curling into a ball to soften the fall and protect himself from the inevitable blows.
The hoard of bodies caught up and smashed him into the ground. His muscles tensed. He tried to lessen the pain by holding his breath. From beneath the pile of bodies, Noah could hear loud, excited voices.
One boy yelled, “way to go,” while another cheered, “we’re gonna beat ‘em!”
The weight pressing down on him lessened. Noah opened his eyes. He was the only person lying on the ground. Figures stood over him. The sun shone brightly above, masking the faces that peered down.
“You all right, Noah?” someone asked.
“That was awesome!” another exclaimed.
“I had no idea you could run that fast.”
“I told you he’d be good for our team.” It was Jake, Noah’s best friend.
Jake offered Noah his hand and, with the help of two other boys, pulled him off the ground. Noah tossed Jake the football and dusted himself off. Several people patted him on the back.
“We creamed them!” applauded Steven, a tall, lanky boy. He smiled, showing his crooked teeth.
“We’ll make a football player out of you yet, Noah,” added Dave, one of the playground football team captains.
Dave was a natural athlete and played for an all-star team over the summer.
Noah, who was thin and average in height, wasn’t good at sports. Before that school year, he spent recess studying bugs or collecting interesting rocks. He was never asked to participate in games, let alone playground football.
This year was different. Jake had asked Noah several times if he wanted to play recess football. Though he wanted to play, Noah always refused. Knowing little about the game, he would rather sit out than admit that he didn’t know how to play and risk everyone laughing at him.
Noah couldn’t remember exactly how he ended up playing that day, but he was glad he did. He scored the winning touch down!
The recess bell rang and everyone filed back into the classrooms. The rest of the day flew by. When school let out, Noah rushed to the bus to save the best seats for him and Jake who took forever to get on the bus. Noah slouched in his seat waiting, gazing out the window.
It was October. The weather was cool and the leaves had turned. Splotches of red and orange covered the ground, filling the streets of Noah’s neighborhood. Autumn was his favorite time of year.
When Noah was little, his mom and dad would rake the leaves into big piles; Noah would jump into them, scattering leaves everywhere. When he was done playing, he’d help his dad put the leaves into bags while his mom made hot chocolate for everyone.
Noah’s memories were interrupted by Jake flopping into the seat next to him. He took two bags of chips out of his sack, handing one to Noah, who in return, handed Jake a can of soda.
The bus ride’s gossip was all about the football game. Jake was impressed with Noah, but admitted there was still a lot Noah had to learn.
“For starters, you’re one of the fastest runners we’ve ever had. We just need to work on your catch,” he encouraged, pushing his wavy, blond hair away from his eyes.
Noah did prove himself a worthy player when it came to running. After all, he had plenty of practice over the years running from Kevin.
“I didn’t want to take all the glory today,” Noah joked.
“How about we practice this weekend when you come over to work on our Halloween costumes?” Jake suggested.
“Yeah, that’ll work. It’s supposed to be nice out. I can come over after breakfast on Saturday. We can get our costumes done early and have the rest of the day to practice.”
Noah was excited to learn all he could about football. He wanted to be good enough that the other boys would always want him to play.
The bus slowed at Jake’s stop.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Jake edged between seats toward the front of the bus. “Remember to ask your mom if she has any old clothes we can use for our zombie costumes.”
“Oh, right! I almost forgot. See you later, Jake.” Noah waved.
Noah’s stop was three after Jake’s. They lived three and a half blocks away from each other, which made it easy to get to each other’s houses. If they got bored at one house, they rode their bikes or walked to the other. They even had a short cut, so long as Mr. Fitter wasn’t home.
Mr. Fitter was a grumpy old man that lived half way between Noah and Jake. He had an old basset hound that always sat on the porch, letting out lazy “woofs” when anyone passed, but never got up, even when harassed by kids. Occasionally, Mr. Fitter would come out, shaking his fist, threatening to call their parents or the police. He never did, though. Noah figured the old man enjoyed being bothered every now and then to break up the monotony of his day.
The bus stopped in front of Noah’s house. He gathered up the empty soda cans and crumpled potato chip bags and scurried to the front of the bus. The haste of his movements caused his bulky backpack to slip from his shoulder. With the garbage in his hands, Noah couldn’t catch it. The backpack slid off, hitting someone in the head.
“Ouch,” squeaked a small voice.
It was a girl that Noah didn’t recognize. She had shoulder- length, black hair and glasses that had been knocked to the end of her nose by Noah’s bag.
Noah stopped, realizing what happened.
“Ooops… I didn’t mean to... my bag slipped,” he fumbled.
Trying to secure his backpack onto his shoulder, he dropped an empty soda can. He bent over to pick it up; his bag slipped again, landing in the girl’s lap.
“Ooof,” she coughed.
A few kids in nearby seats giggled. Noah cheeks turned red, but tried not to let her see.
“I’m...” he looked at her.
Her face was as red as his. She adjusted her headband, pushed her glasses back on her nose and gave Noah an equally uncomfortable look.
“No, it’s okay,” she forgave, lifting Noah’s bag off her lap. Underneath was an open book. Its pages folded and wrinkled from the weight of Noah’s bag. Avoiding Noah’s gaze, she fidgeted with a locket around her neck.
“Hurry it up now!” shouted Mr. Crowly, the bus driver. “You’re not the only person waiting to get home.”
The booming voice startled Noah.
“Uh…I’d better...”
“Let’s go!” Mr. Crowly bellowed.
“Thanks,” Noah stammered, taking his bag from the girl.
He hurried off the bus, trash in hand with his book bag hugged in both arms. He was too embarrassed to look back until the cranking of the bus faded into the distance as it drove away.
Noah closed his eyes, dropping his head. He hadn’t felt that clumsy or stupid in a long time. Taking a deep breath, he dragged himself up the walkway to the front porch.
“Idiot,” he whispered to himself before unlocking the door and slipping into the shadows of his house.
It was quiet inside. Noah set his backpack down at the bottom of the stairs. A soda can clanked as it fell onto the wooden floor. Noah sighed, thoughts haunted by the girl on the bus.
“Why do I feel so stupid? I was so clumsy! I couldn’t even think of what to say! I probably looked as stupid as I feel.”
Noah was used to that. He had always been made to look the fool – this was a new feeling. He remembered the look on the girl’s face. She was embarrassed, too. He stopped to imagine how he would feel if someone hit him in the head with their backpack and didn’t apologize. His heart sank; he closed his eyes.
Noah knew why he felt so strange - he felt like a bully. He had embarrassed that girl and didn’t even apologize! The kids on the bus weren’t laughing at him. They were laughing at her, and it was all Noah’s fault. Noah felt rotten. He knew what it was like to be laughed at and made fun of. Now because of him, that girl probably wanted to cry.
“What if she did cry? What if everyone on the bus began to laugh at her and point and call her names?”
Noah’s stomach hurt.
“Don’t be silly,” he mumbled. “It was just an accident. Everyone could see I didn’t mean to do it,” he tried to convince himself.
He still felt bad, but knew there was nothing he could do at the moment. He took a deep breath.
“Tomorrow,” he said very matter of fact. “Tomorrow I’ll apologize. That should make it up to her.”
Noah smiled, trying to cheer himself up. He picked up the can taking it and the rest of the snack containers to the kitchen.
He threw the items away and looked around the room. His bowl from breakfast was still on the table. Running late that morning, Noah didn’t have time to finish his cereal. He examined the mush that was left of his Raisin Bran, took the spoon out and watched the milk rush into the hole created in its absence. A little raisin plopped into the center of the milk pool. It bobbed up and down.
Noah imagined that he created a great Raisin Bran earthquake – the sinking raisin unfortunate enough to fall into the milky lava that flowed between the cracks and holes left in the destruction. All the other raisins would have rushed to help, but they, too, were stuck in the ruins of what was once a happy Raisin Bran world.
Noah blinked. He didn’t like the idea of destroying an innocent world.
“It’s just soggy cereal.”
He threw the cereal away and washed the bowl and spoon. He even washed his mom’s coffee cup from that morning and emptied the old coffee grounds out of the coffee maker. He looked at the clock. It was 4:00. His mom would be home in about at hour. He filled up the coffee pot with water, put new coffee grounds into a clean filter and started the coffee maker.
“Mom will want some when she gets home.”
Noah made sure there was nothing else in the kitchen that needed attention before he gathered the trash bag and took it outside, tossing it into the trash bin. The force of his throw knocked over the rake that was sitting behind the bin.
Noah thought for a moment, glancing around the yard.
“There are enough leaves to make a large pile,” Noah said, snatching the rake.
He worked until the sky grew dim, creating a small mountain of leaves in the center of the yard.
The sound of the back door clicking shut interrupted Noah’s concentration. He turned to see his mother, holding two steaming cups in her hands.
“Thought I’d get an early start on the raking,” Noah yelled.
“Do you have time for a snack?” his mother offered.
“You bet!”
Noah tidied up the pile and carried the rake back to the side of the house before joining his mother in the kitchen. He plopped down at the table where a cup of hot chocolate was set. He took his jacket off and hung it over the back of his chair.
His mom brought over a small plate of cookies.
“You must have been hard at work. Your cheeks are like apples.”
“I wanted to get as much done as I could before you got home.”
“I appreciate it, a lot, Noah.” She looked at him with tired eyes. Noah could tell she was exhausted. “And thank you for straightening up the kitchen, too.”
“You’re welcome. Anything I can do to help.” He stuffed a cookie in his mouth.
Noah wished there was something more he could do. He hated that his mother had to work so hard. Even more, he hated that she had to work at all. He blew on his hot chocolate, staring at the steam as it twisted into the air.
“What are you thinking about,” his mom asked before taking a sip of coffee.
“Oh nothing. I mean, just about my day,” he lied.
“Oh,” she sighed, though she wasn’t really paying attention. She stared at Noah, lost in thought.
“Is it windy outside?” she asked suddenly.
Noah wrinkled his brow at her.
“No, not really. Maybe a light breeze. Why?”
“Your hair looks windblown.” She squinted her eyes and pursed her lips. “Looks like its time for a hair cut,” she said, leaning back in her chair.
“What’s wrong with my hair?” Noah asked, offended.
“Noah,” she said bluntly, “it’s a mess.”
“I like my hair,” Noah protested. “Besides, it’s not like we can afford to go to a barber anyway, and I’m certainly not going to let you cut it.”
His mother gave him a blank stare.
Noah, wishing he hadn’t said anything, stammered, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”
“It’s okay,” she interrupted, stood up and took her coffee to the sink, dumping its contents down the drain.
“I’ll get dinner started,” she said, opening a cupboard. “Do you have homework?”
Noah pushed the plate of cookies away. “No.”
“Go wash your hands, then.” She didn’t look at him. “I’ll get the dishes out. You can set the table.”
Noah eyed his mother. It wasn’t like her to be critical. It wasn’t like him to talk back.
He sighed, getting up from the table.
Just get through the evening. Tomorrow will be better.
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