STUCK DOWN

CHAPTER ONE

If Kevin had known how the day would end, he’d have stayed home and finished his Shakespeare essay. He’d have raked leaves. Or discussed politics with his dad, and Kevin didn’t care much for politics. Or his dad.

But as far as he knew, it was just another day after Thanksgiving. He had plans to go skiing with his best friend, Mike, and wasn’t about to let anything get in the way.

He shoveled the last of his raisin bran down his throat when his dad poked his head over the Business Section of the Chronicle. "Kevin, you finished your homework, didn’t you?"

Kevin gulped. "No." The bran flakes went down prematurely, still in a semi-cardboard state.

His dad rustled the paper in half and placed it neatly on top of the front page. He removed his reading glasses and glared. Kevin could feel it coming. Why haven’t I learned to be a better liar? Surely a deficit in my upbringing.

"My essay’s done. Just need to clean it up a little."

His dad didn’t blink. What was it about his stare that made Kevin keep talking when he didn’t want to talk? Probably used that same technique in the courtroom to get criminals to confess.

"I’ll do my chemistry and algebra homework tomorrow, or Sunday. There’s plenty of time."

Kevin’s dad cleared his throat the way he always did as a preamble to one of his lectures. "You’re not going skiing until you finish your homework. You know I don’t like procrastination."

"But Mike’s going to be here any minute."

Kevin’s mom walked into the kitchen, her eyes puffy from sleep. "Quiet, you two. It’s too early for bickering. I haven’t had my coffee."

"Morning, hon." Kevin’s dad swiveled in his chair. "I made a fresh pot."

Kevin could always count on his mom to divert his dad’s attention. The clink of the coffee pot sliding from the coffee maker seemed to remind Kevin’s dad of his own breakfast that sat in front of him untouched, the same breakfast he always ate on a non-work day: French-roast coffee, black, because life was tough and a real man didn’t need sugar-coating; wheat toast with raspberry jam, seedless to eliminate those little, black dots from getting wedged between his front teeth and spoiling the image of perfection that was his; and a bowl of steaming oatmeal, never instant, with a dash of rice milk because he was lactose intolerant. Cow’s milk sent him running to the bathroom—unthinkable in light of the polish and discipline that defined who he was.

With Kevin’s dad preoccupied with the morning’s mush, this was Kevin’s cue. Only two yards out of the kitchen and Kevin would grab his coat and slip outside unnoticed. He gingerly began to rise from his chair—

"As I was saying, Kevin . . ."

Busted! Kevin plunked in his seat.

His dad rested his tablespoon inside the bowl. "Someday when you’re out in the work world, what do you think your boss will say when he wants you to work overtime and you tell him you have other plans?"

Kevin’s dad paused, for effect. It was one of those rhetorical questions, like he’d use to keep a jury thinking and awake during his opening statement.

"I’ll tell you what he’ll say. He’ll tell you you’re out of a job because he knows he can find someone else who’ll go that extra mile. And where will you be? Out on the street without a penny in your pocket."

Kevin’s mom slammed her mug on the counter. Coffee slid over the lip of the mug and streaked the blue glaze. "Bill, aren’t you blowing things out of proportion? Just let him go. The homework can wait."

"Whose side are you on?" asked Kevin’s dad. "I see where he gets his attitude. Lackadaisical if you ask me."

"Oh, please," said Kevin’s mom. "The kid gets good grades. The way you talk, you’d think he was flunking twelfth grade."

"Honey, I’m handling this."

Kevin’s mom sighed, grabbed her coffee mug, and tromped from the kitchen. She usually sided with Kevin. And usually caved in, leaving Kevin to fight his own battles.

His dad got up and put back the milk carton in the refrigerator which his mom had left out. "As I was trying to say, you’ve seen those bums begging on the street. How do you think they got there? By working hard?"

"I won’t end up homeless if I do my homework on Sunday. That’s ridiculous. And you’re unfair."

Kevin’s dad shook his head and smacked his lips tight. "I know you’re not happy with me right now, but I guarantee when you’re older, you’ll look back and be grateful."

Kevin doubted it.

"I’m only looking out for what’s best for you."

A horn from outside blared like an alarm. Time’s up on the speech, Dad. Kevin stormed to the closet and grabbed his ski parka. "I’ll get everything done when I get back, I promise."

Kevin had one foot out the door when his dad stormed after him. His eye twitched the way it always did when he got mad. He pointed a shaking finger at Kevin. "Didn’t you hear a word I said? Get in here right now or you’ll regret it."

Something inside Kevin snapped. How dare he threaten me like I’m a criminal! Kevin tried to stay cool, but that only made his hands shake and riled a voice inside his head—a voice he tried to keep locked up. It could only make trouble. It made trouble before and he always paid for it.

But holding back made Kevin’s head throb. He lost it. The voice slid past his throat and into his mouth. This time he didn’t stop it. He couldn’t stop it.

"Lay off!" he yelled. "I’m sick of you not trusting me. I hate you and don’t want to be anything like you!"

Kevin stormed out the door and bolted to Mike’s car.

"Get back in this house!" His dad’s face turned beet red.

"Bill, please!" Kevin’s mom yelled from inside the house.

Kevin jumped into the front seat of Mike’s car. "C’mon. Let’s go."

Mike pulled out onto the road. Music blared from the radio, but Kevin barely heard it. A sinking feeling spilled into the pit of his stomach and drowned the melody.

.  .  .

Kevin glided off the lift at the top of Wolverine Meadows. The sides of his skis dug into the crusty whiteness, slowing him to a stop. He’d hoped for more powder, but it had started to snow and more powder would carpet the ski runs soon.

"C’mon," he yelled to Mike. Kevin felt fidgety and nervous, upset from the fight with his dad. Part of him was pleased for standing up for himself. Another part was sick for mouthing off, and leaving.

Mike jumped off the lift and skied past him. "Hey, race you to the bottom."

"You’re on," said Kevin.

Pushing off with his poles, Kevin cris-crossed down a roller coaster of a hill. Moguls dotted the terrain like a field of frozen boulders. He bounced and bumped across each mound as icy air filled his lungs.

Below, Mike carved a path in the snow. Kevin tried to pick up speed. The moguls now behind him, he straightened his skis and pushed off with his poles. Hot blood coursed through his veins despite the howling wind that bit at his cheeks.

Kevin cut his skis to the side to round a corner. "And the winner is . . . ," he yelled as he skied past Mike. A blinding spray of crushed ice kicked up like broken glass. A little wobbly, he wiped the wetness from his face and regained balance.

The snow was heavier now as though machine-gunned from the sky. A grayish shroud cast a shadow over the whiteness. Shivering, Kevin pulled his woolen hat farther over his ears and buried his chin into his collar.

Something clipped Kevin’s ski. It threw him off balance. His poles flailed in the air as his torso leaned backward. His speed doubled; maybe tripled. His left ski dragged behind him. His right ski slid in front. His heart beat wildly as he tried to straighten.

An evergreen seemed to pop up from nowhere. Snow-caked branches melted to a blur—a big, colorless blur quickly swallowed up by a bottomless, black hole. Tumbling over and over, Kevin spiraled deeper into its murky vacuum.

And then it was over. Somehow he’d stopped, and without a scratch. Lucky this time. Just plain lucky.

Everything was still, even peaceful. The hillside rolled into the distance like clouds of cotton candy. The sky sprinkled white confetti and the scent of pine tickled his nose.

"Kevin!" Mike’s voice echoed from the distance.

Kevin’s arm shot up. "Over here."

Mike zoomed over, snow flying from the sides of his skis as he cut them into the snow to stop. Trembling, he released his boots and dropped to his knees. "C’mon, wake up." His body quaked as tears slipped from his eyes.

Kevin knelt next to Mike, his arm around his shoulder. "It’s okay," he said, but Mike kept crying.

Kevin turned and saw a body lying in the snow. He recognized the face. It had been his own.