SnowField

By Richard W Hunter, Jr

James F. Farriday III got tired of being picked on and fought back, trouble is he did not know how he did it but the bully died engulfed in flames.
Sara Jean Tomlinsen tried to attract the attention of a nice young man, a mean girl interfered humiliating Sara Jean. So the girl ended up on the school track without her clothes. Sara Jean was as surprised as everyone else.
Patrick S. Hart, called Butch was a school bully and received word that his cousin had just been killed in a fire by a “nothing” in the school. Getting cut off by another “nothing” the “nothing” becomes a ferret and scares a kid in class the kills it with a book. The ferret promptly returns to being a now dead student. Butch wonders how did that happen.
A group of men show up at the three’s school and produce Court Orders to take the three away for protection. Thus are the three of them introduced to the school for wizards called –SnowField.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Richard W Hunter, Jr
• Release date: Jan 20, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310194221

Richard W Hunter, Jr

Richard W. Hunter, Jr. has been a great many things in his life – a soldier, a bill collector, a policemen, a security guard, a paralegal, a husband, a father, and a grandfather . All of which lead up to his being a writer. He and his wife live in Alvin, Texas. He is the President of the Thelma Ley Anderson YMCA Writers’ Guild in Alvin, Texas.

Book preview

Chapter 01

Tripp

James F. Farriday, III at five feet seven inches was not the smallest kid in his class, nor at one hundred and five pounds was he the skinniest kid in his class; he was, however, the object of the most ridicule in his class. His hair was so pale blonde that from several feet away he appeared to be white haired, that with his ice blue eyes and his nice even tan set him out as very different. A little bit different is acceptable, but to be far outside the norm marks you as something that does not belong no matter how you try to fit in. Even the kids that normally would have been the victims of the class bully, such as the Chess Club members, all picked on James F. Farriday, III although they stuck to name calling and snubbing. None picked on James F. Farriday, III more than Billy Van Braght, the center for the high school football team and the largest kid on that team. Anyone who did not wish to have Billy Van Braght looking for him either became scarce when Billy started after James F. Farriday, III or offered encouragement by cheering or got in the way to block James F. Farriday, III’s escape.

With very blonde, almost white hair and the lightest blue eyes imaginable James F. Farriday, III could have passed as an albino, except for his tanned skin. Again, thanks to ignorance and fear Billy Van Braght had declared that James F. Farriday, III was an albino freak that brought the football team bad luck. Apparently, James F. Farriday, III accomplished this by the mere fact of his existence upon the face of the planet, for James F. Farriday, III had never ventured near the football field as well as making a very conscious effort to avoid getting nearer to football players than absolutely necessary or unavoidably.

Unfortunately, Billy Van Braght was unavoidable as they sat near each other in the front of the class for discipline problems as well as home room. So each morning James F. Farriday, III, called Tripp by those very few that did speak to him intentionally, and Billy Van Braght got to see each other first thing each day in home room where their desks were an arm span apart. Then Tripp got to follow Billy to the discipline class where they were placed for the entire school year.

Billy Van Braght was consigned to the discipline class for trying to bully a female teacher that had wanted Billy to sit down and listen to her lesson. Billy did not like to take orders from a woman and never in front of an audience would he put up with a female talking to him unless he started the conversation. He frequently spent half a school year in the discipline class until they could shuffle his schedule for him to have classes with only male teachers.

James F. Farriday, III, Tripp, was assigned to the discipline class mostly because he would never back down from Billy and friends and Tripp had been known to yell at a teacher when they did not stop the bullies from punching or shoving him. It made him unpopular with the teachers; they all assumed that Tripp was antagonizing the football players. Since no one wanted to be the reason the team lost, they punished Tripp for starting the fights. Instead of relieving the situation it forced Tripp and Billy into even closer contact on a daily basis much to Tripp’s dismay and pain.

Thursday’s were especially difficult for Tripp as Billy was always nervous before a big game, all games were big to Billy some just happen to be bigger than others. Since Billy was nervous about the upcoming game, he relieved his tension by beating Tripp as close to senseless as possible before a teacher could intervene and save the albino freak.

In order to go from their home room to the discipline class Tripp and Billy had to cross the quadrangle; the quadrangle was a green space between the buildings. There was no outside entrance to the quadrangle, you could only enter from a hallway and could only exit into another wing of the building from the quadrangle. Shrubs had been planted to break up the evenness of the space, but all it really did was to provide cover for some of the students’ activities that they would rather the teachers or staff did not notice.

As Tripp skirted the small stand of shrubs near the center of the quadrangle he was tackled and dragged behind the bush. One of the football players that Tripp did not know, the kid was not in any of Tripp’s classes and Tripp did not know the football players’` names, had knocked him down and was holding him waiting for Billy to catch up. As Billy rounded the shrub he smiled as he saw Tripp being held on the ground, Billy kicked Tripp in the crotch then began kicking Tripp in the stomach and ribs.

The other football player that had tackled Tripp got to his feet and kept the other students back as Billy kicked and stomped on Tripp. Tripp squirmed and tried to curl into a ball to avoid the worst of the kicks, but to no avail. Billy never said anything except to grunt with the exertion of kicking Tripp, Billy took aim and kicked Tripp in the mouth with the heel of his tennis shoe. Blood splattered the grass encouraging Billy to kick Tripp faster. Using both feet alternatively Billy increased the tempo of the beating.

Stepping back Billy smiled down at Tripp then spat on him. How you like that you albino freak. That should teach you, said Billy. Hitching up his pants Billy looked around the crowd that stopped to watch him kick the smaller body into submission and he smiled at them all.

Tripp lifted himself onto his left elbow and spit blood at Billy’s pants legs. At the same time he yelled a wordless shout and pushed his right arm out. Billy became engulfed in blue flames that began crackling and popping. Screaming Billy ran in circles waving his arms flapping at the air.

The assembled kids that had watched the beating of Tripp began screaming as they ran toward any exit they could find from the quadrangle and the human torch. A science teacher who had seen the fire grabbed a fire extinguisher from the wall mount and was chasing the burning Billy around the quadrangle trying to put out the fire. Billy brushed against several of the shrubs setting them on fire also.

Soon two more teachers were in the quadrangle with more fire extinguishers putting out shrubs and Billy. Billy collapsed as soon as the flames were out and did not move. The school nurse rushed in with the paramedics into the quadrangle and headed for Billy laying on the walkway.

Tripp was standing near where he had been beaten, his face darkening with the bruises, his right eye was closing and puffing up, his lips were puffed, split as well as covered in blood. He was holding his stomach as he tried to brace himself without relying on the recently burnt shrub to support his weight.

Teachers, the nurse and the paramedics all raced around passing Tripp to see to Billy. The paramedic had yelled at Tripp to move out of the way as he was in a hurry. Tripp had nodded as he shuffled several feet to the side to let him pass with the gurney. Not able to stay up any longer Tripp slumped to the ground; he pulled his knees to his chest then hugged his legs resting his battered face on the torn knees of his blue jeans watching the paramedics work on Billy.

Tripp felt a tapping on top of his head; he lifted his head off his knees to look up. Standing in front of Tripp was the principal, Mr. McArthur, with his fist on his hips glaring down at Tripp. Well get up boy. Get up, Mr. McArthur began tapping his right foot.

Grunting with the pain and effort Tripp forced himself to his feet then looked up at Mr. McArthur, Yes Sir?

Come to my office. Now! Mr. McArthur pivoted and strode off toward the nearest entrance to the building quickly leaving Tripp behind. At the door to the building Mr. McArthur pulled the door open then looked back for Tripp only to find him almost exactly where he had left him. I mean today, Mister. Get a move on.

Hobbling a little faster Tripp made it to the door and entered the building just ahead of Mr. McArthur. Mr. McArthur was a tall man, bald on top with a long fringe of hair just above his ears, he wore thick lens glasses with heavy dark frames that made him seem to be surprised all the time. Now he just looked angry and impatient as he paused at the corner of the hallway waiting for Tripp to catch up – again.

Entering the Principal’s office Mr. McArthur went around behind the desk and sat, he pointed to the chair in front of his desk. Tripp eased himself into the chair with a small groan.

Knock it off, Farriday. You’ll get no sympathy here. Now then just what did you do to young Billy Van Braght? Mr. McArthur folded his hands on a folder that was in the middle of his desk waiting for Tripp to answer.

Shaking his head Tripp said, A kid from the football team knocked me down and Billy kicked me – a lot. When I yelled at him to stop he caught fire and began running around.

Yes, I know he was on fire. There were many reports of that, all of them say you threw something on Van Braght that burned him. The telephone on Mr. McArthur’s desk rang; he answered then listened for several seconds before thanking the person on the other end. Hanging up the telephone Mr. McArthur glared at Tripp, That was the nurse, Billy Van Braght just died from the burns you inflicted on him. Now tell me what you threw on him!

Dead? Billy is dead? Tripp tried to focus his one good eye on Mr. McArthur. He had to have heard him wrong, but Mr. McArthur just nodded his head in response.

Looking around the room Tripp said, But I didn’t do anything except bleed. Well, young man, you most certainly did do something, you killed another student. A highly valuable member of this school’s football team, he was one of our highly valued classmates. You took a shining star from us, Mr. McArthur was shaking the index finger of his right hand at Tripp. You will pay for this. Mark my words, you will pay for this. I’m inviting the city police into this. You can’t just kill people and get away with it. Not in my school you can’t.

But. . .but all I did was bleed and yell at him, moaned Tripp.

Chapter 02

Sara Jean

Sara Jean Tomlinsen sat at the back of the home economics class trying to press herself into and through the wall. Home economics was the second class of her day, much to her displeasure physical education was her first class; trying to build up some excitement for running laps first thing in the morning was hard enough. But Sara Jean was an extremely shy young lady. The very thought of sharing a large room with twenty or twenty-five other young ladies each of them taking a shower from wall mounted nozzles that were placed well over Sara Jean’s head caused her to feel sick to her stomach.

Usually, Sara Jean managed to be the first in the dressing room, quickly shower and be half dressed before the rest of the giggling, gabbing, gaggle of girls made their way to the showers. Then she could also be the first out of the dressing room without having to speak to any of her classmates. Sara Jean had failed to develop the normal post puberty changes that all girls develop to one degree or another. To compensate for that Sara Jean kept two wads of tissues held in place in her bra to disguise her pending development.

The majority of her class mates considered her to be weird at the least and for most of them they felt she was just a plain freak. These were the same people that Sara Jean had gone to school with since the first grade; many of them lived within blocks of her so she saw them at school and after. Sara Jean had become the object of ridicule when in fourth grade several of the girls had found Sara Jean standing at the edge of the playground staring into space. When they got her attention Sara Jean had pointed toward a bare dirt hillside and said, Aren’t the lights beautiful? I could look at them all day, couldn’t you?

No one else saw any lights where Sara Jean pointed, or even close to where she pointed. Word quickly spread that Sara Jean was not right in the head and you had better be careful around her. Within days the story had gotten to the parents of the other girls and a number of the parents petitioned the school to send Sara Jean to a special education class. As one parent put it, That kid just ain’t right in the head. You never can tell what them kind is gonna do next. Shouldn’t be mixing with real kids.

Well the school had Sara Jean tested and evaluated by doctors who all declared that there was nothing wrong with Sara Jean. One doctor held that from the angle Sara Jean was standing maybe she saw refracted light that the others could not see from their angle – natural phenomena not mental instability.

But no matter what batteries of tests, the doctors, teachers and the school said the other kids had marked Sara Jean as weird; that was that; at least as far as they were concerned. And that was how it stayed for the rest of the years she remains in school with these people.

This day Marilyn Melissa Michelson had felt slightly ill while trying to run around the track and had slipped away to the girls’ dressing room ahead of everyone. Marilyn was in the toilet area when Sara Jean snuck in for her usual early shower. Peeking through the crack in the toilet door Marilyn saw the lack of development that Sara Jean had been trying to keep from the other girls. As Sara Jean was in the shower Marilyn slipped out of the toilet and headed for Sara Jean’s locker, there she checked out Sara Jean’s bra. Returning the garment to the hook in Sara Jean’s locker Marilyn covered her mouth to suppress her laugh. She could hardly wait to share this bit of information with the rest of the girls. Sara Jean had been the school weirdo forever as well as the one that ruined the grading curves for everyone else making them work harder.

All through the entire class time for home economics Marilyn had been looking back at Sara Jean and smiling before turning back to face the front of the class. Yet every time Sara Jean looked toward the front she met the eye of Marilyn, who nodded and smiled. Sara Jean frowned; she and Marilyn had never spoken much less been close. They had never even traded the greetings of the day in the nine years they had been going to school together at least as far as Sara Jean could remember.

Watching the large clock hanging over the teacher’s desk Sara Jean quietly began packing up her supplies and books anticipating the bell. As with most classes Sara Jean liked to be one of the first out of the room, it also let her be the first in the next class and therefore able to pick her seat. It also allowed the other girls to not sit near Sara Jean. The weirdness might rub off if you sat too close, you never can tell with these people.

When the bell sounded to end home economics Sara Jean was out the door while the bell was still ringing, before most of the other girls in home economics class could get to the door Sara Jean was down the hall standing at the door to Biology, her next class. As she looked in watching the students slowly gather their books and possessions which they were stuffing into backpacks.

A touch on her shoulder startled Sara Jean making her jump and turn quickly to face the person behind her. Chad Parton was the stuff of young girl’s dreams, six feet three one hundred ninety with curly blonde hair sparkling blue eyes and dimples that a girl could get lost in. He had wide shoulders without appearing overwhelming; he slouched slightly around others because he was so much taller than everyone else.

As Sara Jean settled from being startled she smiled up at Chad, Hi Chad. What’s up?

Hey, I just wanted to say thanks for the notes on biology, Chad had a couple of sheets of paper in his hand held out to Sara Jean. They got me a solid C this time. Thanks. Chad was the Captain of the tennis team; some schools had great football teams well this school excelled at tennis thanks to the extreme reach of the tall captain of the tennis team, not to mention his quickness on the court and a killer serve.

Like most of the girl students and even some of the young female teachers, Sara Jean was straightening her clothes while smiling at Chad as he spoke to her. A girl could get lost in those eyes and dimples when they were focused on her.

Suddenly the left side of Sara Jean felt icy cold and wet. Tearing her eyes off Chad, Sara Jean looked to the left to see Marilyn Michelson holding a paper cup almost at shoulder level. Looking down at herself, the tissues that held up the left side of her bra had collapsed with the water; Sara Jean screamed. Marilyn laughed. Chad turned red and averted his eyes to stare over Sara Jean’s head at the opening door to the Biology class.

Bitch, screeched Sara Jean as her face flushed, she dropped her books and clenched both hands into fists as she advanced toward Marilyn.

Blinking back the tears Marilyn disappeared. She did not leave, she did not walk away or even run away. She just was not there. Well not completely gone, her clothes were dropped on the floor behind Chad in a big tangle.

* * * * *

I don’t know how you managed it. To tell you the truth I don’t really care how you did it. I just want you suspended for it. You traumatized that poor girl to the point she is going to need therapy for years. Her family, a very well connected old family with lots of friends in high government offices as well as lots of money behind them, Mr. McArthur the school principal ran both of his hands through his hair pushing it back as he leaned back on his chair, they are big supporters of this school and all of our programs. As well as supporters of the administration here.

You not only traumatized that poor, poor girl; you scared those six boys that were running on the track. Imagine their shock and dismay at rounding the track to find a naked female student lying there, Mr. McArthur leaned forward slapping his hands and forearms on his desk.

Shaking his head Mr. McArthur glared at Sara Jean Tomlinsen, What do you have to say for yourself? Anything? Anything at all?

Very quietly Sara Jean said, She threw water on me.

Water? You brutalized her, stole her clothes and left her on the track field because she spilled a little water on you!

But. . .but. . .I. . .I didn’t do anything. She’s bigger than me, I couldn’t have done that. Besides I was talking to Chad Parton when it happened.

Standing Mr. McArthur leaned forward to put his fists on the desk top, Mr. Parton said that when you started to yell at Miss Michelson for spilling water on you he left to avoid a scene.

No, he didn’t. He went into Biology with me, pleaded Sara Jean.

So the Tennis team captain is lying about you, and a member of the Student Council assaulted you - with drops of water, Mr. McArthur sat back down. Well you have had a terrible day. And to make matters worse the member of the Student Council left her clothes in the hallway and ran out to the track right after that just to get you in trouble.

You don’t understand, wailed Sara Jean.

Chapter 3

Butch

Cowering behind the flimsy protection of the small school desk Jerome A. Kirkpatrick adjusted his glasses to keep an eye on the hulking bully that had been making second period Algebra a living hell. Butch Hart was laughing and pointing at Jerome as he wiped blood from his sore swelling nose that Butch had caused to become so enlarged. All Jerome had done, this time, was to see a paper on Butch’s desk and comment that he had not know Butch was really named Patrick. It would seem that Butch really did not like that name and liked even less when people used it in public. Teachers and parents could not be stopped, but fellow students could be taught to only use Butch if they had to address him at all.

Clenching his fists