Date: Wed, 30 May 2012 13:56:25 -0700 (PDT)
From: Tyler Adams <tyleradamsbooks@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Paths We Chose Chapter 1

     Chapter 1

     "Alex, I'm leaving for work," dad called up the stairs when he heard
me adjusting the shower. "Don't miss the bus." I guess he had to tell me
that after the way I practically begged him last night to let me miss the
first day of school.
     "I don't feel good," I called down the stairs, hoping one last time to
persuade him. "I think I'm getting the flu or something."
     "I'd better not get a phone call from the school telling me that you
didn't show up. Now get a move on."
     Life's been really bad since Friday night three weeks ago. That's the
night my world pretty much turned upside down.
     If what they say about opposites being attracted to each other is
true, that was me and Daryl. We were pretty tight in a lot of ways. He was
less than a year older than me, and for sure, he was my best bud. I'm not
sure where I ranked on his list on account of him having so many friends.
That's one of the areas we were opposites, because he was basically my only
real friend. He was confident, smart, happy, and popular. Me? There's only
one of those things that I would say fits me. In fact, I'm may actually
have been a little bit smarter than he was.
     Uncle Chuck, he's my dad's brother, called us "John's salt and pepper
boys." We could have almost passed for being identical twins if it wasn't
for the fact that his hair was blonde like mom's, and mine's dark brown,
almost black, like my dad's. Salt and pepper kind of described our
personalities too. Daryl always seemed to be able to bring out the best in
everything like salt does, while I added the sting and bite into things,
like pepper.

     I made the bus, just before it pulled away, and sat on the bench where
Daryl and I always sat; fourth row from the back, left side. Now that Daryl
wouldn't be sitting there anymore, I put my backpack on the seat beside me
so no one else would either. No one even tried until about the fourth stop
after I got on. That's when this guy who looked kind of familiar, asked me
if I he could sit there. I gave him an "are you kidding me?" kind of look,
and then turned away. He took the hint, and found another seat.
     I hadn't expected to see the same guy a couple of lockers away from
mine at school, but there he was looking at me like he wanted to say
something. Great, I thought as I was opening the combination lock I had
been assigned. I tried to ignore him, but didn't look away soon enough.
     "Hey," he said as he walked toward me, like we were old friends. "I'm
Phil. Remember me from ninth grade?"
     "Not really," I answered as I wracked my brain to try and remember any
red haired guys from ninth grade. I could only think of one, and if that's
him, he really changed since then. I mean, this guy's short, orange colored
hair stood straight out from his head like the fuzz on a teddy bear. The
way his ears stood out from the side of his head reminded me of Opie on the
Andy of Mayberry TV show that they run on cable.
     "I mean kind of. Did you used to have the dreadlocks or something?"
     His face kind of went red as he held out his fist and said, "Actually,
that guy died. I'm the new creation that took his place." Then he just
stood there like he was waiting for me to say something.
     The word "died" was not one I was ready to hear. Even though in the
only fight I was ever in I got my butt handed to me by an eighth grade
girl, I almost took a swing at him, thinking he was trying to make some
kind of sick joke. I felt tears flood my eyes and looked up to the ceiling
hoping he wouldn't notice as my mind took me back to that night three weeks
ago.

     It was the end of the summer. Daryl had finally convinced me to go to
my first ever dance at the local swimming pool. I tried to get out of it,
but he told me lots of other people went without having a date. I was kind
of curious, but at the same time I kept thinking `what if some girl asked
me to dance with her?'
     I finally decided to "brave it out" for Daryl's sake. He had been
telling me for several days that he got really bad headaches whenever he
did anything, and that sometimes he even felt dizzy. He made me promise not
to tell mom on account of being afraid she'd make him stay home if she
knew. Before we left I stood in the doorway of our bathroom and watched him
gulp down four or five extra strength pain relievers, then put another
handful of them into his pocket.
     If only I had told mom. If only Daryl hadn't been so afraid to miss a
party. If only...
     It was about 8:30 when I heard him screaming in agony out on the dance
floor. I knew right away it was Daryl. I looked just in time to see him
with his arms wrapped around his head, staggering around like someone had
hit him with a two-by-four. Then he just shriveled up into a ball on the
floor while everyone stood around him and wondered what was happening.
     Before the paramedics got there, two of the chaperones had started
doing CPR on him while I just stood beside them staring in disbelief.
     A police officer drove me to the hospital and asked me the entire way
there if Daryl was into drugs or alcohol. I don't think he believed me, but
that's one thing Daryl didn't do.
     Daryl never woke up. At nine-seventeen, exactly, the doctor in the ER
softly spoke the most awfulest words I've ever heard in my life to mom,
dad, and me.
     "I'm sorry." That's what he told us. ...not "we're trying everything
we can," or "Daryl's a real fighter." All he said was "I'm sorry." I wanted
to scream at him and tell him he needed to try harder but I knew it
wouldn't do any good.  There was nothing they could do to save him. He was
gone from this life, and with him went a big chunk of my life as well.
     Monday they told us that he had a brain aneurism that had burst, and
that it was most likely caused by a birth defect.
     When mom pressed him, the doctor told us that they might have been
able to operate had they know a few days earlier. "Was he complaining of
headaches or dizziness in the past week?" he asked them.
     I couldn't have known what was going on with him, but that did nothing
to take away the guilty feelings I had for not telling someone about his
headaches.

     ...and now this jerk is making jokes to me about dying.
     He must have figured out what he did, because he immediately started
apologizing.
     "I guess maybe the drugs I used to do messed up part of my brain," he
mumbled.
     It was him, then. Some of the guys in homeroom used to call him
Stoner, which I knew wasn't his last name on account of our room going
alphabetically from Gainer through Keeney. At least he knows where he
stands as far as brain power goes.
     I just stood there, hoping my lack of congeniality would cause him to
give up and go away. No luck in that department either.
     "Look," he started again. "I... I like heard about your brother, and I
can't believe I just said something so stupid to you. I don't know if you
can forgive me for that, but... Well the reason I said hi on the bus is
because... Umm... Well I knew about your brother, and Ed told me that maybe
you'd want to hang out with someone since you and..." He stopped before he
mentioned Daryl's name. Then he finished with "Ed's my stepdad," as if I
cared.
     I was really ready to take a swing.
     "I can't believe I almost said it again. Look," he finally said
without beating around the bush. "You want to hang out at the skate park
with me after school? I mean, I don't really have anyone to hang out with,
and I saw you on your deck a couple of times, so I thought maybe we could
get to know each other and maybe become friends or something."
     "I don't really think I'd feel like it," I managed to tell him,
looking past his shoulder at the far wall.
     "Umm... well, I'll look for you on the bus ride home and see if you
want to."
     "Whatever," I mumbled as I turned back to my hall locker. What I was
thinking was `I'm sure I'm not going skating with Red the dead.' I couldn't
believe anyone could be such a loser and make a joke about dying like that.
     Making my way into homeroom, I couldn't escape thinking about me and
Daryl skateboarding at the park. Daryl and I used to goad each other into
trying stunts too difficult for either of us to do, and then crack up
laughing when we'd fail. He always saw the proverbial "glass of water" as
at least half full -- and that was another big difference between me and
him. I always managed to see the same glass as half empty. Sometimes, we'd
crash in his bedroom after we got home, and end up wrestling each other on
his bed. He was always smiling and laughing. Even when he slept, you could
see that he was smiling by the way the corners of his mouth turned up. I
know it's messed up, because he's my brother and all, but I guess I sort of
used to stare at him a lot when I was sure he wasn't watching. I think he
was the first guy I ever crushed on.

     I went out of my way after third period, to go past room 202 and see
if the poster was still there.
     Last year, when I first noticed it, I forgot to watch were I was going
and nearly ran into some guy. Then when he saw what I was looking at he
hollered "Hey Trent, wait up." It's bad enough when someone sees you doing
something like that, but when they also yell "Trent, guess what? Daryl
Harper's bro is a homo" it's at least a hundred times worse.
     I don't think they should put things like that up, due to the fact
that it can bring a lot of trouble down on someone like me. I guess I'm not
real good at ignoring guys who look like those two do. I know the teachers
do it to get students interested in joining a club so they meet other
people like them, but still...
     The clubs are Mrs. Marshall, the Vice Principal's idea. She keeps
telling us to get involved because of all the new students that'll be
arriving this year due to the new housing developments being built just
outside of town. Thing is, I'm not sure I want to meet other people like
me. I mean I actually do. It's just that I don't want anyone else to know
they're like me. Second thought; what I actually don't want anyone to know
is that I'm like them. Even Daryl didn't know. ...at least I don't think he
did.
     I can't imagine my life if someone was to find that out about
me. Every September and January there's an assembly in the auditorium where
each club has to do something to try and get people to be interested in
joining their group. Judging from what I hear when the group that's
responsible for the poster outside room 202 is up front, I'm thinking my
mom's not the only person around that thinks if a guy likes another guy it
automatically makes them a bad person. Anyway, life is tough enough without
having to deal with ignorant people all the time, so I joined the Writer's
Club instead. Writing's what I want to study in college, so it's not like
joining them is a total waste, either.
     It was still there. The poster, I mean. ...Two guys holding hands and
staring into each other's eyes. I didn't stop this time, but I remember how
they got me into trouble more than once last year. I had to pass it every
day on my way to Spanish class. Sometimes I'd end up thinking about them
for like half the period -- usually until Ms. Deshays, pronounced miz-z-z
Deshays, would ask me some stupid question in Spanish, to which I always
end up saying "huh?" like a total idiot. Then after I'd say that, she'd
always say "Thank you for rejoining our class, Mr. Harper," only she said
it in Spanish. I found out what she was telling me by asking the class
brainiac one day after class. She laughed at me too like I was a total
loser.

     Phil was waiting for me in the bus after school. He was standing
beside Daryl and my seat looking like he wanted to sit down, but not sure
if he should.
     "Hey," he quietly greeted me as I slid past him and hugged my backpack
to my lap. "So I was just wondering if you thought about it."
     Thought about it? I wrestled all day with the idea of skateboarding
with "Red the New Creation." I had wondered if he actually died of an
overdose and they brought him back to life in the ER, ...wished they could
have done something like that for Daryl, ...wondered if he was maybe gay,
...and agonized about the virtues of trying to make a new friend,
remembering how badly it went when Ron Kyle from Writer's Club and I had
hung out together. That time, a couple of older guys tricked us into
smoking pot. After they got us feeling pretty mellow, they tried to make us
do a certain thing to them to pay for the weed by telling us that a friend
of theirs said we liked to check out the scenery in the locker room
--which was totally not true. I'm sure no one ever saw me doing that. Ron
and I just kind of avoided each other after that, afraid to be seen
together because of what those guys said.
     "I don't know," I told him. "I always mess up when I meet new people."
     "I already told you, man, we were in homeroom together in ninth grade,
so I'm not really a new people."
     He was laughing and gave my shoulder a shove. "Come on, man, we'll
have some fun. You'll see."
     That's the first time I thought I heard Daryl talk to me from the
"other side." I must be losing it, I thought to myself, but I swear it
sounded in my head like he told me to not be such a wuss. That's why I'm
sure it was him. He used to always say that when I was afraid of doing
something he wanted to do.
     "What time?" I finally asked as the bus drew to a stop where Phil got
off.