The Fanboy Who Fled

By Julie Hadler

David kicked at rocks and empty soda bottles as he walked home from school. Since his parents' divorce, his mother has enlisted Miss Lee, their elderly Chinese-American neighbor, to keep tabs on him. It's embarrassing, to say the least. Yet when he and Miss Lee discover a common interest in word games, a friendship develops.

Soon David sees that Miss Lee understands him better than Dad; who believes extra-curricular activities exist solely to pad his application to the perfect private high school.

Now narrow-minded Dad is trying to drive Miss Lee away. How will David choose between pleasing his Dad and enjoying Miss Lee's company?

As Miss Lee agrees to help David with his high school application project, she also wonders about the consequences. How will she straddle the fine line between mentor, and meddler?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Julie Hadler
• Release date: Nov 20, 2016
• ISBN: 9781540153692

Julie Hadler

Julie Hadler is proud to have been raised in the Iowa City area. She now lives in Chicago with her husband and two daughters. When not writing, Julie has more passionate interests than will fit on this page. A few interests that will always remain are Christian meditation and baking!

Book preview

The Fanboy Who Fled

Julie Hadler

Published by Julie Hadler, 2016.

Table of Contents

Title Page

The Fanboy Who Fled

Sign up for Julie Hadler's Mailing List

Also By Julie Hadler

About the Author

Chapter 1  1996

As David's mother backed their van down the drive, their five-foot-two neighbor peeked out her kitchen window at them. Her straight hair, once ebony, now revealed more salt than pepper. Miss Lee frowned as she watched David pound the armrest. It was probably good she couldn't David's words—which to her ears would sound full of dishonor for his mother.

I don't want to be by myself. I hate coming home to an empty house.

I wish it could be different, David, but since your Dad left, I'm responsible for all the bills. You know that.

But you work too much. You used to make me rice-krispy squares...

Lydia Kostner blew out a frustrated breath. I know. Please, honey, I'm doing the best I can.

David couldn't find a word that covered the scooped-out feeling when he turned the key and entered their silent house after leaving Brooklane East Middle School. Having spent almost three years at Brooklane, it sometimes seemed more like home than home—at least since Dad had moved to San Francisco.

They went in, David leaving his coat on the dining-room table. The coat-tree stood with its wooden hook forlorn, turned downward—broken.. He turned on the lights, illuminating the lumpy gray linoleum his father had installed, too impatient assure that each square lay flat.

Miss Lee watched the van turn the corner and disappear. She traversed the beige shag carpeting in her living room and found a box filled with old photos. She smiled as she located the few she sought. One was of David, from April, 1987. He had been little then—about ten years had passed. He wore a rain slicker and rubber boots and was  stomping through a puddle. He held his fist as if brandishing a sword, his mouth wide open, announcing his fierceness.

She flipped to the next photo, which David's mother had given her. It had been captured during a classroom activity, and David stood like a robot, without smiling, so different from the carefree three year-old he had been. Miss Lee sighed and laid the photos back in place.

She remembered the day his Mom had come close to knocking her down in her  enthusiasm when they met in the grocery store. He must have been about seven then.  Miss Lee, I have some news—David has been accepted into his school's gifted program!

I am happy you are happy, said Miss Lee, her English slightly halted. Happy Lydia pressed her good-down vest in to Miss Lee, hugging the slight woman.

His math, science and vocabulary scores are off the charts, she said.

Miss Lee felt her neighbor expected more emotion from her, so she rifled through her entire vocabulary for a suitable response.

You are proud of him. Miss Lee smiled with her eyes. Lydia's pride gleamed in her tired mother-eyes.

Since his first grade year, Miss Lee rarely had a chance to talk to David or his parents. They were always taking him interesting places—museums, ball games, even a Spanish class. Most of the time he had seemed a typical contented kid. Miss Lee pursed her lips. Two weeks ago a friend from the senior center had told her that the Kostners were getting divorced. Miss Lee had already started grieving for the little family, but lacked the words to make her sympathy known. At least, not yet.

Chapter 2

Miss Lee woke up the next morning feeling restless. She ate a boiled egg, a piece of toast and drank a cup of tea. The day began a clear and cold one for northern California. Preparing to walk Pedro, her yappy chihuahua, she reached for her pink parka with the fur collar. It was, perhaps, a strange name for a seventy-nine year-old woman from China to choose for her pet. But she liked to ignore what was expected of her sometimes.

By lunchtime, Miss Lee had cleaned her kitchen sink, counter and stove-top. She had swept the front steps and walk. Tidying up was important—Her friends May and Opal always came over on Wednesdays for their weekly Scrabble game. Ever since they became friends twenty-five years ago, they called her Lee San Gwin. The surname came first, and the first name last. This was the Chinese way.

They all loved Scrabble, perhaps even more than mah-jonng. They had grown up with mah-jonng and perhaps needed something new.

When she was seventeen, San-Gwin left China to immigrate to the U.S. She had pressed herself to learn English, but words still dropped into her head Chinese-end first. And spelling English words was always a gamble. A ponderous Oxford dictionary sat within easy reach during every Scrabble game. But as they played, she learned to spell many of the new words they tried out on each other.

San-Gwin and her friends lounged in her sun-streaked kitchen with the gold-striped curtains, cups of green tea and bowl of rice cracker snacks in front of them. They had a view of the backyard's large, heart-shaped flower bed and gardening shed. The snow drift had almost melted and water dripped from the white cast-iron patio furniture.

You remember my next-door neighbor's son David? He is going to be home alone after middle school every day.

May cocked her head to one side as if puzzled. They used to call it junior high, now it's 'middle school'. Wow, she said.

Why? said Opal, busy rearranging her sever letter-tiles.

Why they call it middle school? said San-gwin, distracted by trying to find a way to use her letter x.

Why he is home alone after school, said Opal, whose English was also far from perfect. She motioned for San-gwin to hurry and answer—and to play a word.

San-Gwin didn't look up at Opal. His parents are getting a divorce, and his mother works every day now. She asked if David can come to my house if there is an emergency.

Young women. Always needing help, said Opal, rolling her eyes and missing the point.

I told her yes, but I'm not sure I want to do this. I can't believe he is already twelve. She looked up at Opal. Or thirteen. I don't know how to talk to him anymore.

Your English is better than my English, said Opal.

No, it is just that young people make me nervous, said San-gwin.

Ahhh— said May, leaning away from the table, her blue-veined hand waving in the air, I remember him now. Ahhn—that boy! I saw him in the grocery store last month. I said 'hello' to him, and said like this to me! She bared her teeth and released a low growl.

He pretends he is a dog? said Opal, frowning.

I think you are saying lies, said San-Gwin, looking down at her Scrabble tiles.

"Aaaah, that boy— said Opal, her eyes bright, as if finally remembering. I was walking to the Stop N' Shop and I saw him throw a soda pop can at Mrs. Canton's cat. It bounced on the cat's tail!"

San-Gwin raised her hand to her mouth, then slapped it down on her lap. Okay, that is bad thing to do, agreed San-gwin.

May continued to rev herself up—her pointer finger still up in the air, wiggling.

Yes, this boy is not good boy, May continued. I remember—Mrs. Lanning said she saw him take a letter out of his mailbox, rip it to shreds, and throw it on the ground!

Why would he do that? San-gwin looked alarmed.

He's an angry boy—maybe dangerous! You should not go near him. said May, tapping the vinyl tablecloth with a long, polished fingernail.

There may be angry spirits around him, Opal agreed.

San Gwin rolled her eyes. Angry spirits—hunnh! She pretended to be  engrossed in her seven letter tiles, but May and Opal knew she was annoyed. 

Chapter 3

The next week, San Gwin woke up feeling energetic. She enthusiastically ate breakfast and walked Pedro. She spent the rest of the morning in a joyful struggle with a crossword puzzle. But when she saw David walking home, she quickly drew her drapes over her living room window.

David looked up at the gray sky and turned his gray face toward her house. It didn’t snow very often in Stockton, and David wasn’t in the mood for surprises. He walked with feet of concrete, down the sidewalk and up his driveway. He made an ugly scowl, then a snowball. He swung it down low, then up high, throwing the blob about ten feet in the air, where it startled a bird. It split into a million tiny flakes that floated onto his upturned face. His harsh laugh cracked in the cold air—a sound more like