Middle School Blues

By Robert J. Knopf, Jr.

Middle School...Old friends become part of different cliques; new friends enter into your life; boys and girls begin noticing each other; and everyone begins to find out who they really are and if they are popular or not. It’s even more difficult being the new kid in school once again. It doesn’t help that every school you have been to, you have been labelled quirky by the teachers and just weird by your classmates. The fact that you have a secret that you are afraid to tell anyone complicates life even more; especially when the secret may have caused your father’s death and leads you into unwanted adventure and danger! Is it wrong to want to just be a normal kid?

MIDDLE SCHOOL BLUES is an emotional ride with humor, tragedy, suspense, and joy. A combination of Hardy Boys meeting Ghost Whisperer as ZZ slowly learns that being different isn't always bad as it can lead to wild adventures and that good friends can overcome even the worst of bullies.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert Knopf Books
• Release date: Oct 26, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311006950

Robert J. Knopf, Jr.

Robert J. Knopf, Jr., though born on Beale AFB in California, was raised in Cleveland, Ohio. He not only writes exciting and adventurous adult and middle grade novels and screenplays... he lives his adventures. When Rob is not writing his next novel or screenplay, he is off on another adventure riding his Harley Superglide, SCUBA diving in the Caribbean, or training in martial arts.A resident of Cleveland, Ohio, Rob has his undergraduate degree from the University of Cincinnati in Civil Engineering and his Masters in Information Systems from Case Western Reserve University.While writing, Rob listens to a vast assortment of music, but in particular Guns-N-Roses, AC/DC, Poison, Beach Boys, and of course, John Cafferty and the Beaver Brown Band who played at his college graduation.

Book preview

Brie and ZZ at Garfield Monument

Brie performing Forms

Brie Sparring at Black Belt Test

Prologue

Zane Zachariah Lynch, or ZZ as everyone called him, was sitting on the bench with the other kids, waiting for his turn to bat. Because of his name, ZZ was typically at the end of the list. There were only two kids left who sat on the bench-ZZ and another boy.

ZZ looked over at the other boy and saw that he was staring at him. Hi, I’m ZZ, he said to the boy. Are you nervous about the tryouts? The boy looked at him strangely, and then answered, Not really. I’m going to be just like Roberto Clemente. The coach just doesn’t know it yet. He never calls on me.

I never heard of him before. Who does he play for? ZZ asked the boy before assuring him, You will probably be called next. I’m always called last.

He plays for the Pirates. I can’t believe you haven’t heard of him. But, I have been waiting here for a long time, the boy responded back to ZZ. I remember walking home from a game one Saturday morning. My parents forgot to pick me up. My dad was probably still sleeping. I was crossing the street when I tripped. I looked up and saw a truck coming. I don’t remember anything after that. I used to walk around the park to find my parents, but now I just wait to get to play in one of the games.

Lynch. Zane Zachariah, the coach called out. Who are you talking to? Your turn to bat. I’ve been calling you. Are you deaf, son?

ZZ stood up and ran onto the field. Sorry, coach. I was just talking with the other boy.

The coach looked strangely at the bench then back to ZZ. What boy? You were sitting there by yourself, son. You’re the last one to bat.

ZZ looked back at the bench and saw the boy sitting there, looking at him. He looked back at the coach. He’s right there! ZZ said, pointing at the boy.

Son, maybe you need to put the bat down and just take a little rest, the coach replied. ZZ knew that tone and what was going to come next. He had heard it before. We don’t need any trouble. I think the pressure of trying out for the team might be a little much for you. Why don’t you go on home?

The coach might have as well said, Listen, son, I think you’re crazy and I really don’t want to put up with you for a whole summer. He was just being nice.

ZZ looked back and forth between the bench and the coach. He saw the other kids looking at him and laughing. One player pointed at the dirt next to him, Hold on coach, I have a friend who wants to bat next! The others joined in.

Weirdo

Dummy

Crazy

ZZ heard every comment. ZZ dropped the bat and ran off the field. He looked back and saw the boy from the bench following him. ZZ stopped.

Why are you following me? Tears fell from ZZ’s eyes. You just made me look crazy in front of everyone. Why did they say they couldn’t see you? He flailed his arms in frustration.

You’re the first person to be able to see me in a long time, the boy said with a big smile. ZZ looked closer at his face.

The boy sported a crew-cut – he remembered seeing pictures of his dad with his hair cut like that as a boy. His jeans were rolled up at the bottom and he wore a collared plaid shirt. Not the typical clothes that ZZ or any other kid his age would wear to play baseball.

That’s why it took me a while to realize I could talk with you, the boy continued. Most people can’t see me.

But, why? ZZ cried. Why can I see you but no one else can? Why is this happening to me? ZZ began gasping for air. His family thinks he has asthma, though the doctors tell them it isn’t.

What’s wrong? The boy asked. Can I help? What do you want me to do?

ZZ slowed down his breathing. Take long deep breaths, his father often told him whenever he started to hyperventilate. ZZ looked at the cause of his attack and shook his finger at him. He didn’t want any help from his new friend.

The attack stopped and ZZ continued to walk home, but he had opened a hornet’s nest. Once ZZ started talking with the boy, he wouldn’t stop talking the entire way. Finally ZZ had enough. Will you just leave me alone and go away?

ZZ ran the rest of the way home, being cautious to not bring on another attack. Once there, he locked himself in his room. What am I supposed to do? Not talk to anyone? ZZ thought to himself as he looked out his window to see if the pest followed him home. No sign of anyone outside.

Maybe my parents can home school me? Then I can just stay in my house all day. ZZ smiled at the thought of not having to deal with the other students that have caused him to doubt his sanity. He already tried to seem as normal as possible, but what was he supposed to do when he saw people that no one else could see?

ZZ’s heard what his teachers thought of him...Asperger’s, autistic, and special. Each school wanted to test him, but he never stayed in once place long enough for it to happen. ZZ knew that he was different than most kids his age. He could see things that no one else could see. Not anything weird like aliens or dancing elephants, but people.

These people seemed fascinated that ZZ could see them and ZZ couldn’t help but stare. They looked like real people and they talked like real people, so ZZ had a hard time knowing that they were different. He did notice that, even though they seemed to walk, their feet never actually touched the ground. ZZ knew what they were; he just didn’t want to admit it to himself. They were ghosts.

Ghosts were everywhere, especially in schools or other places where lots of people gathered. Some of them stood in the hallways and just watched students. Others were more mischievous and would pull pranks on students.

ZZ often thought that he should try to stop the ghosts from having their harmless fun. Thought. What exactly would he do? Mr. Ghost, please don’t pull the chair out from under Steve who throws spitballs in my hair every day. Please don’t tie Wendy’s shoe laces to her desk even though she makes fun of my clothes. No one would know who I was talking to and they would just make fun of me more! This plagued ZZ almost on a daily basis. Seeing ghosts was his secret. He didn’t need to give the other kids any more ammunition to think he was weird. They already thought that. So if ZZ saw a ghost, he wouldn’t say anything and tried to ignore them.

This never really worked very well, though. The ghosts would always discover that ZZ could see them, and they tried to converse with him. It was really difficult to pay attention in class with a ghost constantly talking the entire time. No matter what, every school he went to, people would just find ZZ different, quirky, you could call it.

ZZ raced up to his room, tripped over his football that had been lying in the middle of his room for days and quickly glanced out his window to see if the ghost boy still followed him. He looked around his room to the neatly cluttered assortment of toys scattered about – action figures, sports equipment, and books – each as he had left them before going to the baseball tryouts.

He looked at his computer, playing in a endless rhythmic pattern calling to him…Play with me. I won’t make fun of you. We can spend all day together.

That wasn’t what ZZ was interested in, though, on the computer. His worst fears were realized as he soon found that he was already the talk of all his classmates on Facebook.

What a weirdo! one classmate wrote.

Did anyone see who he was yelling at? another one asked.

Why did he have to move to our school? someone else commented.

His Twitter and Vine accounts were no less harsh. It wasn’t the first time I made a fool out of myself, ZZ thought. ZZ tried to count how many times he would be talking to someone who would suddenly disappear. Ten times? Twenty times? The other kids in his grade complained about not getting a toy or computer game that they wanted. All ZZ wanted was to be normal and not see things that weren’t really there. Or am I just going crazy?

ZZ opened his desk drawer and took out the pocket knife that his father bought him when they went camping a few years before. He pulled up his pant’s leg and pulled down his sock. He felt the raised scars of the cuts he had placed on the back of his calf before.

Every day that the kids at school made fun of him, a piece of his soul died. Though it hurt when someone called him a name or pushed him, it lessened each time. ZZ was scared that someday he just wouldn’t feel anything anymore.

A knock on his door brought ZZ back to reality. His mom poked her head into the room as the door creaked open just long enough for ZZ to pull his sock back up. Hey, honey, she started. I have something important to tell you. ZZ knew that there was a problem. The only time she ever used the formal word honey instead of the abbreviated hun was when something was wrong.

ZZ wiped his eyes as he tried to hide the fact that he was crying. What is it mom?

She could tell right away. It must be a mom thing. You’re crying. What’s the matter?

ZZ forgot to turn off the Facebook page that he knew he wasn’t allowed to be on. He wanted to fit in with his classmates and lied about his age like the rest of them.

What’s this that you’re looking at? Her heart went out to her son as she read post after post. Words didn’t need to be said to see how she felt. Her simple Oh, my was all ZZ needed to hear for Niagra Falls to let loose from his eyes again.

It wasn’t the words that were spoken, but how they were said. It was a perfect combination of sadness and disappointment that would have caused Darth Vader to break down. A funeral dirge consisting of two simple words mixed with a simple acknowledgment that her son was not going to have a simple life in school.

His mom nonchalantly wiped tears from her eyes. ZZ hated when she cried and she knew it. Well, I guess this will be good news then, she said with a faint smile. We’re moving to North Carolina at the end of the school year.

Chapter 1 – Same Thing, Different Place

ZZ was used to being the new kid on the block. His parents moved the family to Greenville, North Carolina from Cranberry, Pennsylvania only a few months earlier. The year before that it was Houston, Texas. He had spent first and second grade in Los Angeles, California. He had more road miles under his belt than a local trucker.

Being different in school was the mark of death in the attempt to be popular, or even in the attempt to just not be the outcast. ZZ wanted the fifth grade in North Carolina to be different. He tried with every fiber in his body to ignore the ghosts. He wanted to hang out with the cool kids and he even began to misbehave in school at times. He wasn’t so bad that his parents were mad at him, but he did enough to get noticed by his classmates.

So far it had worked. Seven months after moving to this new town, his classmates thought that he was just another normal kid. He was even personally invited to a birthday party by Courtney Hodgeworth, the most popular girl in his school. Things had turned around for him.

His mom stayed at home full-time. That was one of the main reasons that his family moved to North Carolina. His mother told him that she was able to stay at home because his father made more money. ZZ knew better.

Other than making dinner at night, folding laundry, and taking care of ZZ, he wasn’t really sure what his mom did with her time. It wasn’t like ZZ needed special attention, other than the unending times of being called in for another incident at school. Though even those times had reduced drastically since the move.

ZZ didn’t mind since his mom now had time to do things for him–like making his favorite dessert, buying him new clothes for school, or driving him to Courtney Hodgeworth’s party.

His mother dropped him off with his pillow, sleeping bag and clothes at the party right after school. That was before the snow started falling…and falling… and falling.

This was North Carolina. It wasn’t supposed to snow here. His neighbors told them that the last time it snowed and stayed on the ground for more than thirty minutes was five years ago. Even then, it had all melted away within two hours.

Boys’ things in the den, girls’ things in Courtney’s room. Courtney’s father, Gentry, told everyone in his slow Southern drawl as each guest arrived. There were already twenty classmates at Courtney’s house when ZZ walked in. It had started snowing just as everyone arrived for the party. By the time cake was served, an hour after the party began, there was over three inches of snow.

After cake was done, Gentry Hodgeworth began telling the birthday guests about their home. Courtney lived on a large farm just outside of Little Washington. Her family had lived there for years, even before the Civil War.

And before the War of Northern Aggression, Gentry Hodgeworth continued his talk, our family’s farm was the most prosperous tobacco farm in the area. During the war, the Yankee army came down and burnt our family’s farm to the ground. Courtney’s great, great, great grandfather lost his life defending his homestead. Luckily, his wife and kids had fled to live with relatives in the Appalachian Mountains. If it hadn’t been for that, Courtney wouldn’t be here now.

Gentry Hodgeworth brought the kids around for a quick tour of the farm. That was like letting the dogs out of a kennel without a leash. Within seconds, the kids started throwing snowballs at each other. ZZ was the best of the group at making snowballs since this was the first time for many of his classmates to actually get to play with snow.

One of his classmates hit ZZ with a snowball in the face, causing him to fall backwards. Instead of feeling the softness of the snow as he fell, he landed with a thump onto something hard. ZZ looked down and saw a pair of snow covered doors.

ZZ stood up and shook the snow off. Where do these doors go to? He asked.

Gentry Hodgeworth walked over and brushed off the snow from two large doors that went down into the ground. This is the farm’s root cellar, He said, opening the large doors. This is where we store all of the food that we don’t sell to the stores. All the vegetables that we had for dinner today were all stored here.

The root cellar was very dark, with just a few hanging lights that made seeing anything clearly almost impossible. It reminded him of being in a scary movie with an axe-wielding pyscho waiting to jump out. There were storage bins stacked nearly to the top of the cellar holding various vegetables and fruit. ZZ could tell that it was old; the bricks that made up the walls were crumbling and there was a hard-packed dirt floor. It was also very damp; small puddles formed along the ground.

ZZ decided to look around the cellar more, leaving behind the other guests who were still huddled near the entrance. Curiosity tended to get ZZ in trouble more than anything. His Grandma used to tell him, Remember ZZ, curiosity killed the cat. Later, ZZ would wish that he had suppressed the urge to walk around and not stay with the group.

ZZ turned the corner to find a row of large bins that were overflowing with corn. As he walked towards the middle of the row, he saw something move. ZZ couldn’t make out what it was because of the shadowing caused by the lack of lights.

ZZ moved closer, very slowly. He figured there couldn’t be anything that dangerous down here, maybe a mouse at worst. Surely it was too cold for a snake, he thought as he inched closer and closer, wishing the rest of the group was with him.

An older man, about the age of Courtney’s father, but with a long brown beard and greasy hair, walked out of the shadows towards ZZ. He pointed an old shotgun towards ZZ.

Who’s here? the old man yelled with a deep Southern drawl. An old straw hat was on his head and he gnawed on a piece of straw as he spoke. You better not be one of them Yankees trying to sneak on in and steal my food.

Why would anyone want to steal your food? ZZ asked the man as he focused on the shotgun that was pointed at him as he started to shake slightly. He wished that it was brighter so that he could get a better view of the man.

I be hearing things. Word travels quickly around here about them there cowards from the Northern parts trying to force their ways on us poor farm folk, the old man snarled, adjusting the one suspender strap that held his overalls over the torn white shirt that he wore. You’re of age to be knowing things. Didn’t your pappy teach you right?

ZZ was told never to argue with adults, even if they are wrong. Why are you carrying a gun? Are you going hunting? Are you down here because you lost something?

School? The old man spat. You must be one of them city folk from up around Raleigh. I learnt what I needed on this farm as did my kinfolk. Kids these days! Don’t you be knowing what is happening or may you just be light in the britches?

ZZ shook his head no. He didn’t know what was going on. But he did know that he regretted talking with the old man. His chest started to constrict. He couldn’t breathe.

Those Yankees be coming through here burning every farm they can. The old man moved closer to ZZ. One of them came here before and shot me in the gut. I woke up and he run off like the coward he is. If your home was going to be burned, you’d be angry! What be wrong wit you? I don’t think I be trusting of you. The old man cocked the shotgun.

ZZ tried to scream as he hyperventilated and stumbled back toward the others, knocking over the bins as he made his way to the door. We have to get out of here! ZZ tried to shout, but the words came out as a whisper. He had no breath. There’s some old guy with a shotgun. He’s going to get all of us. One of the girls screamed.

Now calm down, boy, Gentry Hodgeworth replied back, trying to calm down the other kids. There can’t be anyone down here. I unlocked the doors before we came in. I’m the only one with a key.

I just saw him! ZZ caught his breath. He’s on the other side of the bins.

Fine. I will take a look. Gentry Hodgeworth shook his head as he walked behind the bins. His classmates stared at him as Courtney’s father walked away. ZZ recognized their looks. The same look that they gave him at every other school he had been at before. Same story, different town. ZZ knew what was going to happen next before any words were even said.

Courtney’s father walked back from the bins, followed by the old man. I didn’t find anything except some field mice. Boy, I think you had a little too much cake. Too much sugar can cause kids to overreact to things, though I’ve never seen someone react that way to some mice.

ZZ looked past Courtney’s father to the old man that moved toward him. He saw that the old man’s feet weren’t touching the ground... another ghost. Why couldn’t he be standing when I saw him the first time? ZZ didn’t know what to do. He looked around at the others. They didn’t need to say any words. ZZ knew what they were thinking. The same thing as they did in every other town...

Weirdo

Idiot

Crazy

I think you need to go back into the house, boy, Gentry Hodgeworth whispered in a very slow voice into ZZ’s ear.

ZZ ran back to the house and straight into the bathroom and started to cry. He didn’t want to cry in front of the others. ZZ splashed some cold water from the faucet over his face, then looked up to see if there was any evidence of him crying. His eyes were still red, but at least any sign of tears were gone.

When ZZ opened the door, he saw Courtney talking with her father. The other kids continued to play outside in the winter storm. Courtney’s father brought ZZ to another room so that no one could hear them talk.

Boy, you’ve upset my little Courtney on her birthday, Gentry Hodgeworth said to ZZ. Because of how the weather is, I will let you stay. I wouldn’t wish anyone to travel in a storm like this, but I want you to keep to the guest room so you don’t cause any more scenes.

ZZ stayed in the guest room for the next hour. He listened to the others talking and having fun. Then he heard them talk about him.

Weirdo

Idiot

Crazy

It took everything he had to not cry. His luck had run out in North Carolina too. A phone sat on top of a small decorative dresser next to the queen-sized bed with a large canopy over it. The bed must have had twenty small pillows neatly arranged on it. ZZ gently sat on the bed so not to disturb the pillows and called his mother. He begged and pleaded for her to pick him up. He didn’t want to stay here one more minute.

You drove in worse weather than this in Pennsylvania. I can’t stay. Everyone is talking about me. I have to go home. Don’t make me stay here just because you are scared of a little snow!

They argued for a few minutes until his mom ended the conversation with we will wait until your father comes home. He should be here any minute…

ZZ scanned the room for something to do as he waited for his father to call. Not much… the dresser with the phone, the bed, and an old sewing machine stuffed in the corner of the room. He walked over and spied a pair of old knitting scissors pushed inside a ball of blue yarn. He carefully glided his finger over the edge of the scissors. A small red seam formed on his finger..Sharp…good…Pain to relieve the pain, he thought as ZZ grabbed the old scissors. He gazed over them… So sharp…

Ring…Ring…Ring…

The ring of the phone shook ZZ out of his trance. Courtney’s father opened the door… he was obviously annoyed.

Boy, pick up the phone, Gentry scowled at ZZ. I think your pa’s on the line. He scampered back out of the room just as quickly as he came.

ZZ picked up the phone and argued and pleaded with his father.