Double Negative

By C. Lee McKenzie

"My life was going, going, gone, and I hadn't been laid yet. I couldn't go into the slammer before that happened." Hutch McQueen.

Sixteen-year-old Hutchinson McQueen is a big time loser. Trapped in a dysfunctional family, his one thought is escape, but everything he does to get away lands him in trouble.

Shackled by poor reading skills, he squeaks through classes with his talent for eavesdropping and memorizing what he hears. When he shoplifts and lands in juvenile detention, the court sentences him to a county youth program. There he meets the priest and Maggie, a retired teacher. They’re determined to set Hutch on a path leading away from trouble. Hutch is determined not to cooperate.

It isn’t until he’s facing serious charges that he confronts the truth—his own bad choices are trapping him. When he's offered the freedom he craves, all he has to do is take it.

14+ for adult situation and sexuality

• Language: English
• Publisher: Evernight Teen
• Release date: Aug 10, 2014
• ISBN: 9781771309172

C. Lee McKenzie

C. Lee McKenzie's background is linguistics with a specialty in intercultural communication. She's now a novelist who writes young adult and middle grade books. ALLIGATORS OVERHEAD, her first middle grade novel, received a sterling Kirkus review. https://www.kirkusreviews.com/book-reviews/c-lee-mckenzie/alligators-overhead/. Alligators Overhead is Book 1 in the Adventures of Pete and Weasel. The Great Time Lock Disaster is Book 2, and Book 3 is Some Very Messy Medieval Magic. Take a look at the Video on Youtube [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h59dYGrVQvs] It's all about fun and magic. Her Young Adult books include Sliding on the Edge (2009, Westside Books) and The Princess of Las Pulgas (2010, Westside Books). Double Negative (chosen the top ten YA in Ezid Wiki), Sudden Secrets, Not Guilty, and Shattered (Indie Book Award winner) are her most recent young adult books, published by Evernight Teen. The eBook anthology called Beware The White Rabbit (2015) includes her story called They Call Me Alice. Two & Twenty Dark Tales (2012) includes her short story, Into The Sea of Dew. Premeditated Cat is her contribution to The First Time (2011). She has dabbled in a bit of horror with Heartless in the anthology A Stitch in Crime. Specialties Intercultural communication in the classroom and on the job. Editing and writing.

Book preview

Chapter One

Kranski’s office might as well be home. I spend more time with him than I do with Dee Dee, and for good reason: the principal’s friendlier than my mom.

I ease into the familiar hot seat across from him and face the shiny nameplate on his desk.

See this? he says, holding up the plate in front of my face. It says, ‘Principal Noah Kranski.’ That means you’re supposed to follow my rules as long as you’re in this school.

I roll my eyes.

Dump the attitude, Hutch.

I shrug.

He shakes his head and slams a thick file down in front of him. This makes seven times this year you’ve cut Mr. Diakos’s class, and it’s only September. He writes something at the bottom of a page. When he finishes, he looks up. Did I miss any?

I’m not counting. That ain’t true. I count every day I can escape that stupid class, just like I count every day I wake up in Larkston. But I’m not going to be trapped here much longer.

Kranski jabs his pen into a World’s Best Dad cup, and leans back with his hands behind his head. This is what he always does before he sentences me. You get to think about changing your ways for the rest of the week. When you come back, you’re still responsible for all the class work and the tests, just like always.

Just like always. I repeat the words so I got something to say that don’t sound like I’m a smart mouth. Last time I left saying, Thanks, and Kranski told me to cut the sarcasm. Who gives a rat’s ass about what Kranski says? I’m free, for four days.

I’m almost at the door when the secretary pops her head inside. Sorry, Mr. Kranski, but there’s an emergency in the gym. They need you right away.

He’s out before me, a gimpy old guy running on bad feet.

I plug into my iPod, pull up The Rockets’ newest hit, and strike out across campus. Blaze’ll be at the Smoking Tree. I follow the hard-packed foot trail that leads from the back of the school, around the curve of the hillside and up the slope. The tree’s just far enough away to keep under Kranski’s radar, yet near enough to drop in for a few tokes when I need them to get through Deek the Greek’s English class, or face going back to Palm Street and Dee Dee.

Blaze is there, talking on his cell and dealing with some kid with slicked-back hair. Blaze jerks around, pockets the phone, and then relaxes when he sees me. Yo, thought you was the cops for a minute. You get suspended again? 

Rest of the week. I take my ear bud out, drop my backpack and plop onto the shady ground. I need a joint.

Where’d you get that? He points to my iPod.

Can’t remember. It sort of appeared.

Right. He smirks and tosses me a joint along with a lighter.

The kid with the greased hair ducks under a limb, and walks in the direction of the school. Hope you got cash, man. I’m outta credit here, Blaze says.

I dig into my pocket and pull out a ten. 

He laughs. With what you already owe me, for that ten, he coughs, you get a few––another cough––hits, man. He holds out a roach clip with a smoking joint. Give me that one back.

I hand him the joint, settle against the tree trunk and roll my lips over the small brown tube. Closing my eyes, I suck the warm fog into my lungs and hold my breath. The weed winds its way through my blood and into my brain. Kranski turns into a cartoon of a cup with World’s Best Dad wrapped around his middle. Dee Dee stretches into a giant beer bottle and rolls across the kitchen linoleum. The sky turns soft and blue, with the Smoking Tree splashing crazy shapes over my jeans.

So, how are you breaking the news to Dee Dee this time? Blaze reaches out and grabs his joint. She said she was bouncing your butt the next time Kranski suspended you.

My mom don’t care what I do, but Kranski makes her life hell when he calls her in to see him. These trips to his office take away from her social life and shake her out of bed before noon. I laugh. Guess I’ll have to move in with you, dude.

Anytime. I told you, man. Blaze inhales, coughs, and then inhales again to replace the gray smoke he’s wasted in the air.

I plug back into some tunes and hang with Blaze under the Smoking Tree through three more sales. He rewards me with a few hits for acting as lookout, something I can do while I get a story together for why I’m bounced for four days. The weed and the Rockets take the edge off what’s going down later. I’m in for ‘Destruction by Dee Dee’ no matter what I say. I roll over on my right side and trace the white line from my wrist to my elbow—one of her nicer moves with a broken glass. 

Stretching out on the lawn, I stare up through the tree branches. How’d it be to fly straight into those clouds, poke my head inside and stay until I wind up on the other side of the world? Goodbye, Larkston. Goodbye, Dee Dee. 

I must doze off because when I open my eyes the shadows from the tree have shifted from my right side to my left. I squint at my watch. It’s after three. My ride! Hope Eddie didn’t take off without me. I hate that walk, halfway across town to Palm Street. I grab my books. I’m out of here. 

Me too. No more supplies, man. Business was totally awesome today. Blaze tucks the front of his shirt into his jeans, forgetting the back so it flaps as he walks down the sloping hillside toward the sidewalk below. He stumbles on a rock, swears, and disappears down the street, his cough like the backfire of a junker car.

I unplug from the Rockets and stuff my iPod into my backpack, then jog after him and around to the front of the school, where Eddie’s Jetta idles. In the back seat, Marnie and Gage press together into a single body, making moves on each other in time to Eddie’s pounding music.

You’re late, Rat Face, Eddie says. I told you I had to be at work by four. As soon as I close my door, Eddie cranks the front wheels, lurches from the curb and speeds downtown.

Sorry. But Eddie don’t answer me. You can’t hear what anybody says over the boomba, boomba that blasts from his speakers.

Eddie drops me at the parking strip in front of my house and speeds off. Marnie and Gage remain sealed at the lips, his hand inside her sweater. Dad’s pickup, the side panel not dented anymore but still a gray primer, sits in the driveway. I haven’t seen it there for over a month. 

What’s he here for?

My shoes crunch down on the dry weeds where lawn used to grow, and when I get to the porch I inch the door open.

The voices I’ve heard for sixteen years come from the kitchen. A long time ago they used to make sweet, soft sounds—I think so, anyways. Sometimes I think I dreamed all of that lovey stuff when I was a kid, and it’s stuck in my brain. Now when they talk to each other they hurl words like sharp knives. So far they aren’t screaming. Now’s a good time to wave on my way past the door, before I duck into my room. I set a straight course past the kitchen door.

Hi, Dad. How’s it going? I got homework—

Hold it, Hutch. I came to see you. Dad rocks his chair down onto four legs and stands up. Dee Dee says you been cutting classes regular.

I’m trying to decide if Kranski called already, but if this was about today’s suspension I think there’d be more sparks flying. I slide my eyes over to Dee Dee and back to Dad. He’s put on weight since his last visit—mostly in his belly, so I can only see the lower half of his Texas-sized belt buckle with the bottom part of the engraved ‘J’ for Jimmy. 

Dad pushes his Rangers baseball cap to the back of his head, and dark curls streaked with gray poke out along the edge. His beard coats his square jaw. I know that jaw. It’s the one I see in the mirror everyday, so even when old Dee Dee says stuff like, He’s probably not your real dad anyways, I know that ain’t true.

What you got to say? Dad’s question comes out in slow Texan.

Last week I got caught sneaking into Deek’s class without a tardy slip and Kranski sent me to detention. Maybe that’s what Dad’s talking about. I hate Deek the Greek’s class?

What kind of excuse is that? Dee Dee’s face is already nasty from afternoon beer.

I know better than to shrug or give her an answer she don’t like, which is pretty much anything that comes out my mouth. I lean against the door and wait.

See? That’s the kind of crap I get from this brat everyday of my life. She slams the flat of her hands on the table then lurches toward the refrigerator. Want a beer?

Dad shakes his head in his slow way. Cracking his knuckles, he takes a glass out of the cupboard and fills it with water from the tap. He drains the glass in steady gulps, and then levels his eyes on me.

My eyes kinda hurt watching him. I miss his easy ways. Dee Dee’s part insect, the way she darts around and makes gnat sounds just before she jabs her stinger into me.

So what’re we gonna do about this school thing, Hutch? Dad’s thing still comes out thang even after twenty years living away from Texas.

When I answer him, I’ve already picked up that sound and Texas is in my voice, too. I guess I’ll have to stop ditching?

You get to Kranski’s office and talk over the problem. If he wants a conversation, you best give him one. 

Dad doesn’t know he’s talking about an old crime, one that happened over two weeks ago. I already done my time for that. It looks like Kranski ain’t made the call to Dee Dee yet. Bless those gym emergencies.

Dad puts his glass on the counter and walks toward me. If Dee Dee was coming at me, I’d duck. But it’s Dad, and he don’t hit.

Call me next Saturday. I got me a run to Arizona, so I’ll be on the road until then, but I want to hear what your principal says. He punches me in the arm and winks. Coming close to my ear, he whispers. Latch onto that diploma and get out of here, son.

That’s my plan, Dad. But way before any crappy diploma.

Chapter Two

The next morning I grab my backpack, just like I’m on my way to school. I can hang with Blaze, walk around town, and maybe catch a movie in the afternoon. I’ll have to sneak in the side door when the show changes and the audience leaves, because Blaze kept my last tenner.

Can’t ask for money from Dee Dee. One, she’d want to know what I shot that money on and, two, she’s still in bed. As long as old Dee Dee sleeps I got myself some peace, so I never even think about waking her up. Being broke sucks. I keep thinking I should ask Eddie if he could get me on at the car wash where he works. He makes good dough. He got himself that Jetta. Yeah. I’ll ask Eddie next time I see him.

When I climb the slope to the Smoking Tree, Blaze ain’t there yet. I wait, but the grass is still wet from the sprinklers and my butt’s getting soaked from sitting. I hoist myself and start toward town, tunes in my ear, sun up, and no Deek or Kranski in my day. If I cut through the back of some apartment houses, hop a fence and zigzag through a few flowerbeds I can make the main street in fifteen minutes.

When I reach the fence I shut down the tunes and stash my iPod in my backpack, then step onto a crate. It’s easy to push off and sling my leg over the top. As I drop down on the other side, a woman straightens from leaning over a garbage can and stares at me like I just dropped from Mars. She’s in a bathrobe and fuzzy house slippers.

Are you here about the sheets? she asks.

I do a slow look over my shoulder in case there’s somebody behind me, then I turn back and I point to my chest. Me?

Do you see anyone else in this alley? I was sure Mrs. Valdez said she was coming. So she sent you instead?

I don’t know nothing about no sheets.

Oh, dear. She looks like she’s ready to cry.

Hey, sorry. What about the sheets? I say this real fast because I don’t want the old witch crying all over me.

Just forget the sheets! She glares at me. Where did you learn to talk like that?

I don’t have an answer to that because I don’t understand the question, so I stick my hands in my pockets and look at the sky which is now gray and I’m thinking rain’s going to make this day perfect.

Never mind, she says. Will you help me find the sheets?

Now I understand her question, even if it’s nutty as hell.

I’ll pay you, of course.

That sounds good. I can use some dough. I guess. Sure.

She does a one-eighty and walks away, her slippers flip-flopping against her heels. Then she stops and stares back at me. Well? Are you coming?

I follow her down the path that leads along the side of the apartment complex. She turns left and walks up the steps through an open door. For a minute I think about taking off. Something weird’s going on, but I’d like some cash, so I go in after her.

Close the door, she says from down the hall. Then come into the kitchen. That’s where I saw them last. I think.

The old bat’s a loony. I got to be able to make it out of here fast if she goes postal on me with a knife or something, so I don’t close the door all the way.

Inside, cushions from the living room couch are piled on the floor and all the pictures that used to be on the walls are in a stack on the floor, too. I take my time going down the hall, thinking maybe I don’t need money this bad. In the kitchen, pots and pans, stacks of dishes, knives, forks and spoons are piled on the counters. The old woman’s at the sink, dumping soap into a dishpan.

I took my dirty sheets off the bed this morning, and I know I gathered clean ones from the linen cabinet. Now, for the life of me, I can’t find that clean set to put on the bed. I’ve looked everywhere. She drops a handful of spoons into the sudsy water. Why don’t you take a look around and see if you can find where I put them.

She picks up a plate, washes and rinses it and sets it in the dish drainer. It’s like she’s forgotten I’m here. I stand behind her, waiting. I should back out of here now.

Well? She jerks around and pins me down with those freaky eyes. She reminds me of how Deek the Greek looks every time I don’t know the answer to his questions.

Pretending I’m trying to find the sheets, I look under the table.

Already looked there, she says.

How about here? I point to the lower cabinets.

Looked there, too.

I ignore her and walk to the other side of the room to check inside a row of drawers. The gas flickers on one burner, so I turn it off since there’s no pot on it. Then I spot something sticking out of the oven door. When I open it, sheets are on the top rack. Uh. I think I found what you want.

She comes to the oven, her hands dripping soapy water. So that’s where I put them. She wipes her hands on her robe and takes the sheets out. Now I can make that bed of mine. I’m not usually this scattered. Mrs. Valdez should be here. It’s easier to keep things straight when she comes. She takes out the sheets and leaves.

The old bag’s gone so long, I’m sure she’s forgotten I’m here. I want the dough she promised, but no way am I going down that hall to look for her. I’m checking out of here.

I’m at the door when it swings open and a woman rushes in, talking to herself. How many times do I have to tell her to keep the door loc . . . oh my god, who are you?

I’m—

Her eyes dart around the living room and her hand flies to her mouth like she doesn’t want the scream to come out, but it does anyways, and I’m toast if somebody hears her and comes running in and thinks I just ransacked this place.

I hold up both hands and talk soft like I would to a dog that needs convincing to stop showing its teeth. I didn’t do nothing. The old lady asked me for help. That’s all.

Where’s my mother?

She said she needed to make her bed. She lost her sheets in the oven. I found ‘em for her. I point to the mess in the living room. This was here when I came in. I didn’t do it.

She drops her bag on the floor and rushes past me down the hall. Mom!

I’m history. Down those steps and around the corner before she can call the cops and nail me with breaking and entering. Man, this is not my week.

Chapter Three

After I split from that apartment, I catch a movie like I planned. By the time it’s over,