Zander's Affairs

By Cindy Preston

Alexander “Zander” Clegg is fourteen years old and has not yet mastered the ability to see the consequences of his actions. He’s ambitious and after a summer of making a lot of money doing yard work he comes up with an idea of selling condoms to other students. His booming business leads to an opportunity to make a small killing by hooking some freshman football players up with steroids. He’s very leery of getting involved with the local druggie, but the attention of a beautiful girl sways his decision.
Wanting to keep his hands clean, he sets up the deal so that none of the parties involved ever have their hands on the money or the steroids at the same time. But, something goes terribly wrong. The dealer doesn’t get his money and the players don’t get their steroids. Zander has a fitful time trying to figure out what happened, hang out with Rachael who’s anxious to use one of the condoms he sells, and gets beat up three times in one day in the process. Finally the drug dealer tires of waiting for Zander to get him his money. John’s learned that Zander is deathly allergic to eggs. He kidnaps Zander and threatens him. Unfortunately, John doesn’t realize the extent of Zander’s allergy. After coming in contact with broken egg, Zander starts loosing his ability to breath. John and his cronies become scared and leave him for dead.
Will Zander's older brother, Ging, and Rachael find him in time to save his life? Zander's actions have consequences for more people than just himself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cindy Preston
• Release date: Jan 6, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458149411

Cindy Preston

I am a wife, mother and grandmother of two. I live in rural Nebraska and work with my husband in his business and substitute teach grade school along with the writing I do. I was a teenage mom and am very passionate about abstinence before marriage and even more passionate about pro-life. After all, Ging and Zander were inspired by my two grandsons, the same two whom I wouldn't have today had I aborted my pregnancy when I was a teen.

Book preview

Zander's Affairs

By Cindy Preston

Copyright 2011 Cindy Preston

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Preface

I made lots of money the summer before my eighth grade year. The work from several regular mowing clients and other odd jobs I picked up here and there kept me exhausted, but prosperous. I spent ninety percent of my time working and no time spending any of my coin, so by the end of summer I had accumulated a tidy sum. Once school started, though, I had to find replacement income. Nothing came to mind until one day after school when I saw a group of freshman guys standing on the drugstore corner downtown debating something. Brows furrowed, fingers pointed, and heads wagged back and forth. I sidled up near them, as nonchalantly as possible, leaning against the drugstore’s brick edifice so as to covertly overhear the conversation. One said he had a hot date that weekend and wanted to be prepared, just in case. Well, he wasn’t going to buys condoms. Neither were the others. The little light bulb in my curly-topped head sitting atop my broad shoulders glowed bright. What did I do? You got it. While they continued debating the situation, I marched into the drugstore, purchased the foil-wrapped circles with no questions asked, and promptly left. Charging twice what they'd cost, my new business was born. It paid to be fearless. Looking older than my fourteen years hadn't hurt either.

Chapter 1

Bright morning sun beamed through the tabs at the top of the blue cotton sailcloth curtains hanging at my solitary bedroom window hitting my face. I woke startled and somewhat dazed trying to get a handle on where I was and what my name was. I sat straight up in my rumpled twin bed and looked at the digital clock on the nightstand. Crap. I was Zander Legg and the clock glowing seven forty a.m. meant that I was late to meet Nate Williams which just wasn't cool. I did not need the meanest line backer on the freshman team ticked at me. Would ditsy Ms. Fisch notice if I ditched first period English? I wondered shrugging my tanned bare shoulders into a long, lean stretch.

You want a ride? A cheerful voice followed a light rap on my closed door.

That would bemy older brother, Ging. The two of us are as different as any two strangers on the street. Let’s see. Well, for starters, he is smart. No, I mean really smart. He could read and write when he was four years old. In fifth grade he took the college entrance SATs scoring higher than most high school sophomores. I had trouble spelling my own name—Alexander that is. I was five years old before I could even say it. That’s why Zander stuck I guess. And Ging’s real name is James, but that's a whole other story. Ging has thick, coarse strawberry blond hair he keeps shorn close to his scalp like a military officer, perceptive deep blue eyes, and fair skin that burns on a cloudy day. I, on the other hand, have tons of dark ringlets that droop over my Machiavellian hazel eyes and always look like I just got back from a tropical vacation: gleaming skin, taut and perpetually tanned. We're both 5’ 8", he two and a half years older than me; but, while you wouldn’t necessarily describe him as scrawny; I’m built like a sleek Quarter horse—all lean rippling with muscle ready for the starter’s pistol.

Hold on, Ging. I’m there. Two secs.

With no time to brush the slimy film off my teeth that grew overnight or wash away the slight odorous top layer from my skin that morning, I rolled out of bed jumping into semi-clean jeans and a T-shirt I grabbed off the floor. Where was my other shoe? I tossed aside clothes, empty candy wrappers and a science paper that was due last week until my search netted me the matching Nike. I shoved my feet into clean white crew socks (some things are essential) and slipped on the sneakers leaving the laces to dangle. I met Ging in the hallway outside our respective bedrooms.

Oversleep today? You’ve been going to school early lately, which is so unlike you. What’s up? Ging’s eyebrows rose as he smiled. Gotta girl?

No man. No girl. Nothing’s up.

Uh huh. Ging knew better. He always knew better. Don’t get me started on how he always knew better.

Okay. Fine. I’ll find out soon enough I’m sure.

Yeah, I was sure he would, too. But better much, much later than sooner.

We pounded down the stairs with my laces flopping about my feet and breezed into the brightly lit kitchen. Mom stood at the double sink washing just-emptied muffin tins. Light streamed in between the open slats of the mini-blinds hung at the window that looked out into the immaculately manicured backyard. A hummingbird danced about the feeder hanging from the patio eve.

There’s cranberry muffins, still warm, in the basket there on the bar, she pointed with her soapy, glove-covered hand.

Skeeter, our giant-of-a-tabby cat, watched the flurry of excitement safe atop a furry bar stool hunched on all fours. We each reached into the warm towel withdrawing huge muffins dotted with lush cranberries and smelling of cinnamon.

Thanks Mom, we said in unison as we turned to leave, each patting Skeeter on the head as we passed.

The screen door banged against its frame signaling our departure. Ging’s 1971 Pontiac Lemans Sport waited patiently at curbside. The sun ricocheted off its canary yellow exterior returning blinding beams back to the globe in the sky. Under the hood, a four barrel carburetor sat on top of a 400 cc engine making it the fastest car around that would leave you in a wake of dust. Now, school work didn’t suit me, but it had paid off big time for Ging. He had tutored poor stupid kids for three years, saving up enough money to buy this sweet ride. I hoped my biz would net me enough for a 1968 Chevy pickup I had my eyes on. I thought I’d hit big time with the condoms.

A few blocks before school I spotted Nate standing with his buddies.

Ging, just drop me off here, man. I’ll walk the rest of the way, I said reaching for the door handle ready to make my escape, trying to avoid questioning.

You sure? Isn’t that Nate Williams and his cronies on the corner? You two don’t get along well, he said glancing at me as he careened the Lemans to a stop at the curb.

It’s fine. I can take care of myself. Later! I averted meeting his eyes. The heavy car door thumped shut behind me and Ging drove away spraying gravel. What a showoff!

Nate and his football buddies huddled on the corner at the edge of old Mrs. Jensen’s weeping willow tree. They were just a year older and one grade ahead of me, but acted as if they were gods looking down on their lowly worshipers. Wes Waterman, the freshman team’s quarterback who always looked like he had just stole the last cookie from the jar; Nick Tate, a linebacker, Nate’s personal stooge, falling over his own feet to do what ever Nate bid; Randy Cloves, the tallest of the group at six feet even and the best freshman receiver in many years; and Brenda Leonard, head freshman cheerleader, all stood adoring Nate. Brenda was stereotypically tall, thin, and blonde with the perkiest little A-cup boobs I’d ever seen. Too bad she was Nate’s and oh, a royal bitch.

Observing them from a safe distance across the street, I hollered, Hey Nate! Got your stuff, nodding my head toward him.

What stuff is that Zander? Brenda purred, ever on the prowl for her next prey. I can’t image Nate needs anything you’d have. She flipped the bangs out of her periwinkle blue eyes and linked her arm with Nate’s drawing closer into him.

Nate scowled removing his arm from her clutch and brushing her shoulder as he passed. Heading toward me he slipped his jacket off over his head and looked back to Brenda, It doesn’t concern you. I’ll catch up with you at lunch. Dismissing his court, he dictated, I’ll see all of you at lunch.

Wes yelled after him, I’ll watch Brenda for you! No worries.

You keep your hands off me Wes Waterman, Brenda sneered sauntering toward school, holding her nose haughtily high in the air.

Nate left them bickering and strolled across the street to me.

So Nate, sorry I’m late, man . . . overslept, I said standing with my hands deep in my jeans’ pockets,