Marley Scrood: Anti-Bullying Series

By Jodee Steffensen

They called me a bully. But I knew what I was doing. See, my life was perfect. My parents did everything I told them to do. The kids at school were terrified of me, and most of the teachers left me alone. Heck, I could even schedule my suspensions for maximum chill time. Until late one night my friend, Jacob, flew into my room with a message. What was wierd was that Jake was dead. Holy Crap!

• Language: English
• Publisher: MetaMyth Publications
• Release date: Sep 28, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386916222

Jodee Steffensen

Jodee Steffensen has been a writer for as long as she can remember and received her first award for writing in the 8th grade. She has written in nearly all genres including novels, short stories, plays and screen plays. History is her favorite genre and especially loves the research that goes into a good historic story. She also loved being a reading teacher and many of her teen/young adult fiction is kid approved by actual students.

Book preview

Marley Scrood

Surfer Dude

by Jodee Steffensen

Copyright by Jodee Steffensen, 2013

All copyrights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. If you would like to use parts of this book, please contact me for permission at [e-mail]. Thank you, Jodee Steffensen

Edited by Anthony Radosevich

Cover Design by Kelly Ann Morgan

Published by Metamyth Books, 7028 Village Commons Way, Midvale, Utah 84047

This is a work of fiction interpreted from historical information. Though characters and events are based on historical figures, the incidents presented in this story are a product of the author’s imagination and are fictitious. For historically accurate information, please visit our website at [e-mail] for a list of sources used in the production of this work. Special thanks goes to Charles Dickens, who wrote a book of eternal consequences.

Printed in the United States of America.

With Special Thanks To

All my students who patiently read my book and gave me LOTS of suggestions. You are my inspiration!

And to Marley, who was one of my students, and who refused to get out of my head until I’d written his story. We fought about it a lot. In the end he won. I like to think there’s a message he wanted to get out to someone and I hope the message is received.

I miss you, Marley!

Contents

HEAVY CHAINS RAP

STAVE ONE

STAVE TWO

STAVE THREE

STAVE FOUR

STAVE FIVE

A CHRISTMAS CAROL

QUESTIONS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR!

MY OTHER BOOKS INCLUDE:

HEAVY CHAINS RAP

We all wear chains , forged in pains,

That twist and turn, until they burn.

Then we perform cruel acts we mourn.

The links grow longer; the chains grow stronger.

Our minds relieved, false innocence believed.

We say we don’t care, ‘cause the world’s not fair.

Until one day, we hear him say

The hurt he feels, his pain reveals.

It’s better by far, before making the scar,

To consider the action before the reaction.

We each must forgive and try harder to give.

And thus, in the end, hope our misdeeds we mend.

We all need each other to treat as a brother

And reach out to break the chains that we make.

STAVE ONE

Iwas dead.

There was no doubt about that.

The principal had already called my parents and had my parole officer on the phone. They had friggin’ videotaped evidence, no less. Who would have thought the only camera in school that was working would be in the snack machine room? Crap!

You’ve had it now, old man Cratchet says real quiet so the principal won’t hear. You just wait ‘til the hearing. I won’t be seeing you ‘til you’re a memory in the penal system.

Cratchet’s one of the holdovers from that time when teachers could pretty much tell students whatever was on their minds. You know, unfettered by fear of law suit for cruel and unusual punishment to us poor, high risk students being left behind.

I like that word, unfettered. It means free to do whatever, which was not what I was at the moment.

But to really tell this story, I better start at the beginning. That was yesterday. Man, seems like forever ago. Let’s just say it had already been rough. How could any of my days be anything but rough when I have to start them all with this new teacher, Ms. Fezzywig.

She’s one of those bleeding heart teachers who’s always whining about making life better. You could be a writer, she says that morning for the gazillionth time. You have an amazing vocabulary and this paper is really, really good.

Like I didn’t already know that. And like if she puts enough really’s together I’d like really, really care. This woman puts so much enthusiasm into her job, I wonder what meds she’s taking. Hey, maybe she should share some with old man Cratchet.

Anyway, after Fezzywig I make my way through the next three periods and on to lunch.

But I forgot my money and I’m hungry. I get really cranky when I’m hungry. It’s a blood sugar thing.

So I jostle the machine. That’s all I do, seriously. I jostle it a little and the change comes pouring out of it like some Vegas jackpot!

What could I do? I knew they’d blame me. So I scoop up all the coins and stuff them into my pockets. The weight pulls my pants down until the top of my shorts show. Now I’m in violation of the dress code.

Naturally, old man Cratchet sees me. He’s always out to get me. So he drags me into the hall to have one of his ‘student conferences.’

That’s what they have to do to fill out the referral forms. I can tell it’s not going to be any kind of conference, though, just a lecture.

To continue with the story, I’m standing there dutifully listening as he assaults me again with that crap about looking toward the future and being responsible. Look at me when I talk to you, he barks. I glance into his eyes.

See, I’ve learned you don’t have to look at them much. I like to look just to the right of the eye so I’m not making eye contact but not avoiding them either.

Teachers get mad if you look at the floor or off to the side. And never roll your eyes. That’s a dead giveaway. They’ll always tell you that you don’t have the right attitude, and then you can bet the lecture’ll be twice as long or worse.

‘Back to old man Cratchet. So he tells me to pull up my pants and, sure enough, he hears the jangling of the coins in my pockets, which is when he takes a closer look and sees the bulges.

It’s at that moment that his tiny brain kicks into gear. He pulls me toward the vending machine room and notices the slightly dented machine, puts two and two together, and it all hits the fan.

We both know that at this level of the game I have enough referrals to make ISS a given. Of course, ISS isn’t that bad. ISS stands for in school suspension and mostly I just sit in a room and make annoying tapping sounds with my pencil. It’s pretty much a waste of time.

But after all, that’s one thing I’m good at, wasting time.

Also, I like to harass the ISS woman, Mrs. Dilber. It’s not like she’s a teacher. She’s just an aide and doesn’t get paid enough to have to put up with much, so I like to dish out loads of it and see if she’ll explode. Let’s face it. I’m already in ISS, so where’re