A Young Adult Literary Fiction Book Series
James Madison Series by Patrick Hodges
Series Excerpt
This isn’t my bedroom ceiling. Where am I again?
I opened my eyes all the way, scanning the room for something familiar. I saw a dresser, a desk, and a chair. No other furniture. A few posters hung on the walls, depicting rock bands that I’d barely heard of and had never had enough interest to listen to. I tapped a button on the ancient AM/FM clock radio next to the bed, silencing the annoying-as-hell buzz that insisted on waking me every morning.
Oh, yeah. Right. This IS my room. It’s been three weeks, you’d think I’d be used to it by now. Sigh.
I missed my old room. It wasn’t much, but at least it was mine. I missed my old neighborhood, my buds, my routine. I even missed going to school.
School.
Oh, crap.
I leapt out of bed, pulling on the black denim jeans that were draped over the chair. Grabbing the cleanest-looking T-shirt I could find off the pile in the corner, I turned the knob of my bedroom door. My father was standing there, smiling. I appreciated that he was trying to reassure me, but it was going to take more than a smile to do that. A lot more.
“Yeah, Pop, I’m up, I’m up,” I said.
“Good,” he said. “Go get yourself ready. Make sure your brother’s ready too. Breakfast will be waiting for you.” He turned and walked back down the hall.
I put my shirt on, then knocked on the door of the room right next to mine. “Who is it?” came a voice from within.
I sighed. “It’s the Tooth Fairy. You ready to go?”
“I don’t wanna go to school,” said the voice. “It’s not my school anyway.”
Damn, I hope he’s not in one of his moods. “It’s not my school either, Sketch, but I’m going.”
The door opened, and my ten-year-old brother emerged with an angry frown. “Can you please not call me that anymore … Ethan?”
“Dude, chill,” I said, smiling. “It’s a compliment. Your drawings are awesome, you know.”
“Whatever,” he replied. “I still don’t like it.”
“Fine. Let’s get ready for our big day, Logan.” My eyebrows went up. “Happy now?”
Together we went into the bathroom. I glopped a healthy dose of hair gel into both my scalp and Logan’s. By the time it dried, we looked about as close to being spiky-haired bad-boy loners that we were ever going to get. I still felt like it was a complete stranger staring back at me from the mirror.
Logan had his head turned, looking at himself in the same mirror. “How do I look?” he asked hopefully.
“Like a stud,” I teased. “Those fifth-grade girls will be all over you.”
He made a disgusted face. “Ewww. Girls can stay the heck away from me.” He raised himself up on the balls of his feet. “Not bad,” he said in self-admiration. “What’s the big whoop about girls, anyway? They’re gross.”
I sighed. “Betcha a month’s allowance you’ll feel completely different before the school year’s out.”
“You’re on,” he said, grinning.
Too easy.
The kitchen table had our traditional Monday breakfast on it: a bowl of Frosted Flakes, a piece of lightly-buttered, slightly-burned toast, and a glass of OJ. “Hey Pop,” Logan said, shoveling cereal into his mouth.
Pop, already dressed, was sitting on the sofa watching the morning news. “Hey boys. We’re on the road in ten minutes.”
I sighed, looking around our sparsely-furnished house, at Pop, and at my brother. None of us were smiling.
My name is Ethan Zimmer, and my life sucks.
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