by Anne Harris

Antonin’s warm, quirky, criminal family are a revelation to Harry, who grew up on an isolated island with his abusive, wealthy father. Harry’s unquestioning acceptance of Antonin and his loved ones is a refreshing change from the disbelief and scorn Antonin is accustomed to from classmates. The two teenagers become friends and soon fall in love, but Harry’s father has plans to manipulate their relationship for his own gain, and Antonin’s aunt harbors a secret that may destroy them all.

This is a preview of the first seven chapters of a young adult science fiction novel I am currently marketing.

Chapter 2 — Fights

Antonin sat in Mr. Roth’s Contemporary History Class, trying to keep his mind on the 1992 World Trade Accord and its impact on national identity and governmental authority. His eyes kept straying to the back of the room, where Fits sat jiggling one leg. He had two pencils, a red one and a yellow one, set in the groove at the top of the desk, and occasionally he’d bring his knee up to bump the underside of the desk and dislodge them. It had taken Antonin three bumps before he realized Fits was racing the pencils. So far red was winning.

Staring at the kid’s self-absorbed face, Antonin wondered if the rumors were true. Fits seemed innocuous enough now, and he’d left Antonin alone last night. But Antonin remembered him yelling about Captain Invincible. He remembered his face turning red and that vein popping up on his forehead. That face had haunted him all last night, at least when he wasn’t running down all the possible reasons for Jackson’s silence. He hadn’t slept well.

“The dissolution of economic borders brought about by the Accord led to the privatization of government services. Can anyone tell me what privatization means?” said Roth, a slight, grey-haired man with a receding hairline and old-fashioned round eyeglasses. The glasses were an affectation. No one wore glasses anymore. Corrective laser eye-surgery was effective and cheap, but Roth was a traditionalist. He didn’t allow computer notebooks in his classroom either. They had to take notes by hand, with pencil and paper.

Beryl raised her hand. “Privatization means hiring a private company to take over a job that was previously performed by a government agency.”

“That’s right, Miss Weishopft. Now who can tell us how those government agencies were funded?”

Simultaneously several students, their voices full of loathing, cried out “Income taxes!”

“Okay, scholars, calm down,” said Roth. “That’s right. Government services were paid for with taxes paid by the citizens of a given country. Generally speaking, people were taxed based on how much they earned. The more money you made, the more taxes you paid. Some people thought this was unfair. Can anyone tell me why? Ms. Vasananda?”

“Because poor people used the services too, but they didn’t pay as much for them.”

“That’s right. In 1991, a United States Senator named Headlee introduced a bill to abolish income tax and privatize all government services. That bill was called the Headlee Partition Act. Can anyone tell me why the word Partition was used in the name?”

Antonin raised his hand. “Because they’d already passed a similar act in the State of Michigan, and since in poor neighborhoods, no one could pay for services, they got really bad, and people put big fences up around them, and everyone who could afford it moved out. They called those places tax partitions.”

Roth raised his eyebrows. “Very good, Mr. Karganilla. You know all about this, it seems.”

“My aunt grew up in the River Rouge Partition,” he said.

“You mean your aunt the robot?” said Shane, two desks over, and he held his arms out stiff in front of him. “Seek and destroy, seek and destroy.” The rest of the class laughed, except for Fits, who frowned in concentration as he balanced three more pencils in the slot at the top of his desk.

“That’ll be enough, Mr. Billus,” Mr. Roth said to Shane. “That’s very interesting Antonin, perhaps you’d like to do a report on your aunt’s experiences, for extra credit.”

“This isn’t creative writing,” Beryl whispered to Hilal. They sniggered and Antonin’s cheeks grew hot.

Mr. Roth turned and paced in front of the blackboard. “So, with the spread of privatization--”

A loud thump and a clatter from the back of the room interrupted Roth and sent the students’ heads swiveling around to stare at Fits, sitting there with about ten pencils on the floor all around his desk. His blank look turned to a glower as several kids snickered. Two desks away from him, Marcus grinned and said, “Don’t have a hairy fit!” Everyone laughed, including Antonin, until Fits shot him a dark look and his heart froze in mid-beat.

“Mr. Fitzsimmons,” said Roth in a steely voice, “What was the name of the bill which abolished income tax and privatized government services in the United States in 1991?”

Fits shrugged and looked down. He placed the lone pencil that remained on his desktop in the pencil rest and bumped his knee against the underside of the desk to dislodge it.

Roth stalked down the aisle to stand next to Fits’ desk. “Mr. Fitzsimmons. I asked you a question.”

Fits looked up at him slowly, and Antonin found new admiration for Mr. Roth for not flinching. “I don’t know,” he said.

Roth nodded. “That’s because--”

“Because you’re a freak,” said Marcus.

It happened so fast Antonin could barely follow it. As Roth was turning to Marcus, Fits launched himself out of his chair, leapt over the intervening desk and body tackled Marcus. They both fell to the floor, along with Marcus’ desk. Antonin heard at least one meaty smack before Roth and Shane got in there, pulling the two of them apart. Marcus, his nose bleeding, was happy enough to go along with Shane to the front of the class, but Fits threw Roth off and ran out of the room.

Roth dashed to the doorway as Shane and Marcus started after Fits. “Everybody sit down,” he said, straightening his glasses. “Just sit down and calm down.” He took a deep breath himself, then pressed the intercom by the door and called security.

oOo

Well, he’d done it again, and on the first fucking day, too. Harry Fitzsimmons slowed to a walk once he was out of the school building. He’d taken the back way, grateful that he’d scoped it out the day before: a hallway that led past the kitchen and the utility room and then let out into a little concrete yard with a couple of sheds and a chain link fence surrounding it. Harry hopped the fence and sat down, leaning against it and looking out across the rolling countryside. St. Bart’s was built on top of a hill, and the green grass swept out below him, dotted with trees and traced with foot paths. Off to the west he could see the soccer field, and beyond that, the bell tower.

Harry sighed and leaned his head back against the fence, which squeaked in sympathy. The old man was going to be pissed. At least he didn’t hit the teacher this time.

It was peaceful out here, nobody around. Harry wished he could just stay out here forever, with no one to bother him. But pretty soon the authorities, the principal or headmaster or whatever, would come. And then there’d be a lot of lectures and yelling to sit through, and then eventually, his dad would send somebody to pick him up and take him to the next place. Nothing to do now but wait.

Listlessly, he rolled a pebble around in the dirt with his finger, wondering where his father would send him next. It didn’t matter, really. These places were all pretty much the same. Still, he’d just put his punching bag up and intimidated his roommate and all that. Just settling in, really.

Harry gazed up at the bright blue sky, wondering who would come and get him. If it was Hong it would be cool. Hong always let him buy DVDs when they stopped over in Miami on the way back to Belize. If it was Banks it would be a different story. He hated Banks almost as much as he hated his dad.

This was all his roommate’s fault. This Antonin kid was smart. Harry hated smart kids. He’d rather deal with a dumb, tough kid like himself any day of the week. There, it was just a matter of who could beat the snot out of who. But smart kids were different. Smart kids always found a way to screw him over, way worse than anything Harry could do to them. For a moment Harry regretted jumping the kid right off the bat like that, but what could he do? He couldn’t let him get away with touching his stuff, could he? He had to protect himself, didn’t he?

Anyway, true to form, the smart kid wasted no time getting his revenge. Harry had heard the name “Hairy Fits” whispered around him in the cafeteria this morning, and when that Marcus kid said it, he’d seen Antonin’s dark, mobile face glow with satisfied glee. Of course, anybody could have come up with that, but until just now, his roommate was the only one Harry had tangled with. Besides, as nicknames went it was lame in a brainy kind of way.

He’d definitely been called worse things, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that Marcus had started in on him and Harry had known many Marcuses. There’d been at least one at every school he’d ever been to. Marcuses liked to poke things with sticks. If you didn’t stop a Marcus right off the bat with all due and necessary force, he’d leave stick marks all over you.

oOo

Antonin was at his desk doing his Latin homework when Fits got back from the headmistress’s office. His outburst was the talk of the school, already taking on mythic proportions. In the cafeteria line at lunch Antonin had actually heard Amanda Chun tell Nathan Billingstoke that Fits had swung from a light fixture and landed on top of Marcus. According to Amanda, the assistant headmaster, Mr. Honig, had found Fits in a tree, and it had taken him and three custodians plus Ms. Abersham the gym teacher to get him down. So it seemed possible that the whole thing about him killing a kid was just as bogus.

Still, when the door opened and Fits walked in, Antonin froze, remembering the speed, the fury with which he’d attacked Marcus. The change had been instantaneous; one moment he’d been sitting there looking up at Mr. Roth, the next he was on top of Marcus, pounding the shit out of him. Utterly unpredictable, completely overwhelming. Maybe the rumors about him were just rumors, but he was dangerous. Antonin had witnessed that first hand. Twice.

Dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt, Fits went over to his punching bag and started working out on it. Punch, punch, kick. Punch, punch, kick. It was the only sound in the room. Antonin tried to get back to conjugating the verb audio, but it was hard to concentrate.

Sari told Antonin he should talk to the housing director and get moved to a different room. Probably a smart move, but there was one problem with it. The school would notify his mom of the change. Then she’d want to know the reason why, and when she found out, she’d worry. She’d start calling him all the time, to make sure he was safe. She might want him to go to another school or come home altogether. He’d worked so hard to put her fears at rest, to get out from under her ever-watchful gaze. He couldn’t throw all that away now.

Punch, punch, kick. Punch, punch, kick. Punch, punch, kick, ring! It was a cell. Fits’ cell, no doubt, since Antonin did all his voice and text messaging on his notebook. Antonin abandoned his Latin for the moment, watching Fits surreptitiously as the other boy rummaged through his duffel bag to retrieve the phone.

“Yeah?” Fits sat on his bunk. He held the cell to his ear with his left hand, shielding his face from Antonin’s view, but there was no mistaking the sullen fearfulness in his voice when he said “Hi Dad.”

Antonin looked back at his homework. Audio, audiens, audituris, oh screw it. He was going to listen.

“I guess,” said Fits, and then there was a long silence during which his breathing grew increasingly unsteady. At last he uttered a husky, half-choked “Yeah.” Then there was an even longer pause, and a flat, dead “Yeah,” from Fits. Suddenly his tone turned to softly desperate protest, “No.” There was a brief pause, while Antonin could hear him taking a shuddery breath. “I know,” he said quickly, and then, “Yeah, I will, I promise.”

Antonin pretended to need something from his backpack, which was slung over the back of his chair. As he pawed through it he watched Fits covertly from under his eyebrows. Fits switched off the phone and sat there staring at it. He looked too scared to move. Antonin wondered what could scare a kid like Fits. Then Fits looked up and saw Antonin watching him. He stared back with that particularly focused, abstract look he had; blue eyes as distant as mountain peaks, and as lonely.

Antonin didn’t know what made him say it, what inner well of foolishness he’d unconsciously tapped to allow him to say anything to Fits, especially now. But he did. “Are you in trouble?”

For a moment the blank stare just continued. And then Fits lifted the corner of his mouth in a sneer, and said, “What do you think?”

Antonin lifted one shoulder. “I think you just got chewed out for beating up Marcus.”

Fits tilted his head and shrugged in admission. “So? What’s it to you?”

Good point. “Nothing.”

Fits nodded, then sighed and lay back on his bed, turning onto his side with his back to Antonin, who returned to his homework.

oOo

The St. Bart’s cafeteria was a bright, busy, noisy place in the morning. Sunlight slanted in through the wall of windows on the east side of the dining room, opposite the hot food service. Students sat at the square tables scattered about the dining room, or stood in line for scrambled eggs and oatmeal. Everyone was talking, about the day’s upcoming classes or tests or the latest gossip. Antonin sat with Sari and Ted, all three of them observing Marcus’ new morning ritual.

The tall, dark-haired boy waited until Mr. Honig had his back to the table where he sat with his buddies, Shane and Jean, and then he chucked a tater tot at Fits, sitting alone by the window. The glass behind Fits was marked with the greasy residue of past, failed volleys, but this one found its mark, hitting him square on the nose. Marcus and his friends laughed. Fits plucked the potato missile from where it had landed in the middle of his scrambled eggs, placed it beside three or four others resting in a small pile in the middle of the table, and went on eating. He never once looked up or acknowledged Marcus in any way.

“I still can’t believe it,” said Ted. “I’m seeing it, but I just can’t believe it.”

“I think Marcus’ aim is getting better,” noted Antonin.

“Well it should be,” said Sari. “This has been going on for three weeks now. Ever since Nathan bumped into Fits coming out of the dinner line and spilled Fits’ macaroni and cheese.”

“I know,” said Ted. “I thought Fits was going to kill him, but instead he just cleaned up the mess and went on about his business. He cleaned it up. And now, this shit that Marcus has been doing, hassling him in the halls, all of it. And Fits just takes it. I don’t get it. He can kick Marcus’ ass. He did kick Marcus’ ass. Why is he just putting up with it? Not that I mind, you understand. It’s taken a lot of the heat off of me. Marcus has been so busy with Fits that he barely has time to call me fag anymore, let alone corner me in the bathroom and give me swirlies. Much appreciated, really, but. . .”

“It’s weird,” said Antonin.

Ted nodded. “Yeah, definitely weird.”

“I think it has something to do with that call he got from his dad,” said Antonin. “After that he was different.”

“So much for him being some kind of homicidal maniac,” said Sari.

Antonin shook his head. “You know, I wish I could say that my mind was at ease on that point, but it’s not. If anything, he’s even scarier this way. I keep waiting for him to explode. Back at the room? He’s just working out all the time. He never says anything, but he’s taking some shit out on that punching bag, I can tell you that. Last night I thought he was going to knock the thing loose from the ceiling. He’s like a mountain lion, man.”

Sari tilted her head to the side, her chin on her hands. “My boyfriend’s so dreamy.”

Antonin’s face went hot. “Shut up!”

Sari frowned at him. “Oh come on, Antonin, tell me you don’t want to eat Jet Whip off those shoulders of his. Oh, wait, that’s me.” She gave a little shake of her head, then gave him a shrewd look. “But you’re living in the same room with him. You must be going insane. Have you told him you’re gay yet?”

Antonin started, then leaned over and lowered his voice. “Are you insane? I want to live to see the end of term. Besides, even in the highly unlikely event that he’s gay, and not a really scary straight guy who’d kick my ass if he knew. . .” Antonin trailed off for a moment, watching Harry brush off another tater tot. He shook his head. “It’d be a bad idea. I mean, look at him--”

“I’m looking at him,” Sari said warmly.

“--issues,” said Antonin.

oOo

But that didn’t stop Antonin from following when he noticed Marcus, Shane and Jean shadowing Fits in the hallway that afternoon after classes. They were walking in a tight cluster about five yards behind him, whispering amongst each other and laughing. As far as Antonin could tell, Fits wasn’t even aware of them.

Fits turned down the hallway that led to the utility yard, and sure enough, Marcus and his buddies went that way too. Antonin hesitated. This was none of his business. Fits was more than capable of taking care of himself. There was no reason to get involved. Antonin was still telling himself these things when he reached the end of the hallway and went out into the utility yard and crept past the tool shed.

Even before he turned the corner, Antonin could tell the fight had already started. There was just no mistaking the muffled grunts and thuds, or the mocking voices of Marcus, Jean and Shane. He poked his head around the corner and saw Fits reeling back into the chain link fence surrounding the utility yard. Marcus was in front of him, Jean and Shane on either side. Antonin watched in astonishment as Fits hung there, fingers twined in the swaying, squeaking fence, breathing hard, head bowed.

“Come on,” raged Marcus. “What’s the matter with you, you freak? Fight!”

Antonin wasn’t sure which was more shocking, the depth of Marcus’ death wish or Harry Fitzsimmon’s refusal to cooperate. Marcus swung again, an upper cut to the face that sent Harry’s head flying back and brought a rivulet of blood streaming from the corner of his mouth.

Antonin was halfway there before he even realized what he was doing. “Hey, cut it out! Leave him alone!” he yelled as he ran. Marcus and his buddies stared at him with amused astonishment. Harry looked puzzled, and wary. Antonin skidded to a halt between Marcus and Harry. “Leave him alone.”

Marcus grinned, apparently thrilled with this development. “And what are you going to do about it, ‘Zilla? Are you going to fight us instead?”

Antonin tried to keep from shaking. “Yeah, I’ll fight you. If he won’t fight for himself,” Antonin whipped his head around, bared his teeth at Harry in frustration and continued, “for some insane reason.” Harry just stared at him blankly.

Antonin looked back at Marcus again. “I’ll fight you. I’ll get my ass kicked, and you’ll have the honor of having bashed a gay kid. Administration’ll be all over it, but if you want it that way, sure. Let’s go.”

Marcus shook his head and grinned wider. “You can’t play that card here, Garglezilla. No one’s around. If you say anything, we’ll tell Headmistress it was the two of you fighting again. Everyone knows he punched you in the nose the first night, even though you didn’t report it. And even if you manage to give one of us a scratch, we’ll all say we were trying to break you two up. See? Two for the price of one.” And with that he tackled Antonin around the waist, lifting him up and shoving him toward the chain-link fence.

Antonin felt the cool autumn air rush through his hair as he hurtled backward into the fence. It rang like the Halleluiah Chorus and he slid down it, aided by Marcus’ fist in the front of his shirt. Marcus jerked him forward and punched him in the stomach. Antonin tried to curl up around the appalling, nauseating pain, but Marcus’ grip prevented it. He was reeling Antonin in for another one when Antonin heard a guttural snarl from behind him and then out of the corner of his eye, he saw a blur of movement. Suddenly Harry and Marcus were rolling around on the ground and Antonin was standing there with his shirt torn.

Harry pinned Marcus with a wrestling move Antonin had seen Magnolia use upon occasion. “Get out of here!” he screamed over his shoulder at Antonin. Jean and Shane leapt on Harry and he disappeared in a hail of punches and kicks.

Antonin knew all too well how bad even one of those hurt. He shook his head. No fucking way, he thought, and threw himself on Shane, grabbing him by the hair and doing his best to knee him in the side.