Rebuilding Alden

By JR Thompson

Yeah, he beat his grandma to a pulp — she deserved it.

Of course, he fled from the law — it was the only way to keep the cuffs from going on.

And why should he tell the truth? — that would be a stupid move.

Alden is drowning in a sea of raging anger. His grandma, teachers, and principal have all but given up on him. More unsettling, the 13-year-old refuses to grab hold of the rope thrown to him by a man determined to drag him to safety. Alden's foolish pride is about to sink him into inescapable depths.

Who assigned Mr. Bones to be his personal lifeguard anyway?

Alden has no desire to control his temper, but Mr. Bones is adamant he can transform him into a model citizen. Can he rescue the troubled boy from self-destruction before it's too late?

It's a spiritual battle worth fighting!

Rebuilding Alden is the first novel in a series of motivational Christian fiction books which are serious yet funny at the same time and will be enjoyed by teens and adults alike.

Purchase Rebuilding Alden today and see if you have what it takes to become a Worthy Battle warrior!

• Language: English
• Publisher: JR Thompson
• Release date: Oct 16, 2018
• ISBN: 9788829529902

JR Thompson

JR Thompson is a God-fearing, wife-loving, outdoor enthusiast, as well as a rancher wannabe who just so happens to have a passion for entertaining readers. Many of his writings were inspired by his 15+ year history of working with at-risk youths. Thompson currently resides in the Rocky Mountains with his beautiful wife along with eight goats, a horse, and a dog. The author loves engaging with his fans. Feel free to get in touch with him through his Facebook page.

Book preview

26

1

Forget three strikes and you’re out. Three blows with the baseball bat and Grandma was out of the game. Confusion, sadness, and heartbreak erased the old woman’s smile lines as she begged the thirteen-year-old for mercy.

Do I get my cell back? the brat yelled.

Shielding her face with both arms, Mrs. Wamboldt cried, Alden… please! She curled herself into a ball, preparing for a continued attack.

Alden raised the bat and slowly repeated himself in an obnoxious, threatening tone, Do… I get… my cell… back?

Mrs. Wamboldt’s lips began to quiver as she nodded, Yes… yes... Okay?... You can have your worthless telephone.

With a devious smirk and an intimidating false jump toward his grandmother, Alden said, That’s what I thought... Where is it?

In my bedroom, Mrs. Wamboldt groaned. Under the mattress.

Alden tossed his weapon on the couch. Thanks, Grandma, he said while pushing a tuft of wavy blonde hair out of his face.

Darting to the old woman’s room, Alden knocked her mattress completely off her bed and found his smartphone still intact. There weren’t any voicemails; no missed calls for that matter. He checked his social media; not a single notification. Unbelievable!... That was a wasted effort, he told himself. Exiting the master bedroom, Alden shouted, Hey, Grandma!

She replied with a weak, drawn-out, What now, Alden?

Can you drive me over to the skatepark?

Mrs. Wamboldt met him in the hall, holding her ribcage. Are you kidding me? she asked in disbelief.

Alden shook his head. I’m bored. It’s not like there’s anything to do around this nursing home.

Nursing home? What are you talking about?

It’s a figure of speech, Grandma. You know… I’m saying you’re over the hill. A has-been. You’ve got one foot on land and the other one in the grave. Might as well be a nursing home.

I’ll tell you one thing, you little hooligan. If I had ever spoken to my grandmother that way, she’d have taken a weeping willow switch and—

Yeah, yeah, Grandma. I’ve heard this story a million times. Why don’t we just skip on past the lecture about dinosaur days and move into the present? I need you to run me over to the park.

You could have landed me in the hospital, Alden! Over a telephone! And now, before offering a simple apology, you just climb up on your high horse and expect me to give you a ride somewhere?

The remorseless teen popped a stick of wintergreen bubblegum in his mouth. Thanks, Grandma... I’ll meet you in the car. Dropping the gum wrapper on the floor, he slammed his shoulder into her as he barged past.

Mrs. Wamboldt might not have been able to stand up for herself physically, but that didn’t mean she took everything lying down either. She was scared of her grandson but worse than that, his careless attitude was breaking her heart. I didn’t say I was going to take you, she stammered.

I know… but you will. See you in a minute. Alden trotted back to his room, snatched his wallet and the lighter he had shoplifted from Bernie’s Grocery Store, and headed to the driveway where he found the old rattle-trap locked. Nobody in their right mind would steal the rust bucket. Alden knew good and well why it was kept secure. Grandma didn’t trust him. Does she really think I’d be caught dead driving this old clunker?

No bother. Hopping up on the hood, Alden climbed his way to the roof and sat atop the car. Dangling his legs over the windshield, he kicked his feet while grumbling about how Grandma better hurry up.

Sure enough, there she came, hobbling out of the house on her cane.

It’s about time! Alden shouted at her, sliding down the windshield and inadvertently bending one of the wiper arms.

One of these days, young ‘un, Mrs. Wamboldt snapped, pointing her cane at him.

One of these days, what, old ‘un?

I’m going to report you to the strong arm of the law. It’s illegal to assault the elderly.

Alden waved her off. You wouldn’t do any such thing!... And if you ever dare to try it, you better hope they keep me in jail until the day I die. If they don’t, I won’t hesitate to take that crooked stick of yours and redesign your face with it.

Mrs. Wamboldt shook her cane. Alden, the only reason I’m taking your spoiled little behind to the skatepark is to get you out of my hair for a spell.

Right, Alden scoffed. You mean because you’re afraid of what’ll happen to your oversized, wrinkled behind if you don’t.

Without another word, Mrs. Wamboldt unlocked the car and drove the rebel to the park.

Thanks for the lift! he said.

Mrs. Wamboldt wasn’t in the mood to pretend everything was okay. You can walk home when you’re through. It’s only four blocks, and the exercise’ll do you good.

Really, Grandma? I’m the one who could use some exercise? Have you looked in the mirror lately?

Without providing an audible response, the widow drove away.

Alden looked around to see what he could get into. Oh, yeah! That four-eyed hairy skeleton should provide some entertainment! he told himself. The boy appeared to be a couple of years older than Alden. He was obviously a nerd. Big, square glasses, purple braces, a charcoal vest like a guy might wear to church, khaki-colored corduroy pants, arms that belonged on a stick figure... definitely the kid he was looking for. Nice sweater! Alden called out sarcastically.

Ha. Funny, the kid retorted.

You and your great-grandfather share the same wardrobe?

Get a life!

Alden walked closer. Oh, I’ve got a life alright; a better one than you’ll ever have. He kicked Skeleton Boy’s board out from under him and chuckled as the kid fell on his rump.

Oops! My bad.

The boy got up, rubbing his bony rear-end and lower back. I think I may have broken my tailbone, he whined, struggling to drag himself toward the bleachers.

Alden volunteered to call the kid’s mommy so she could kiss his boo-boo and make him all better.

Leave him alone! a girl’s fed-up voice suddenly squeaked from behind him.

Alden turned to see Marlee, one of the majorettes from school.

Oh, lighten up! We were just having ourselves some fun.

Marlee was not one who enjoyed confrontation. She half-smiled and said, I know… but Charlie’s had enough for now. At least wait until he’s back on his feet.

Fair enough. But only because you asked nicely, Alden said. Marlee, you don’t happen to have a cig you could loan me, do ya?

I thought you were going to kick the habit?

I’m going to, eventually.

You realize we’re only like thirteen, right? It takes years to get as addicted as you pretend to be.

I’ve been smoking since I was eight.

Okay, she said doubtfully. I’ll give you one, but this is the last time. You never pay me back.

Sorry; I would if I could. My granny doesn’t have any tobacco in the house, and there’s nobody else around for me to steal ‘em off of.

I feel sorry for you, Marlee said sarcastically. Do you at least have a light?

That I can help you with!

Alden whipped out his lighter, and the two lit their cigarettes. Seconds later a police car pulled up to the scene.

What are they doing here? Marlee asked.

Alden shrugged. Beats me.

They watched as an officer approached. You kids are a little young to be smoking, aren’t you?

Yeah. Sorry, sir, Alden said, dropping his cigarette and stomping it out.

Me too. Sorry, Marlee agreed, following Alden’s lead and extinguishing her own.

The officer looked pleased. He scoped out the park for a moment before crossing his arms and saying, Young man, is your name Alden Wamboldt by any chance?

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, Alden glared at the stranger. Who wants to know?

Whoa, son! That’s no way to talk to a man who’s wearing a badge.

That dirty ole thing makes you better than everybody else because…?

Marlee was terrified. Stop, Alden! You’re gonna get both of us in trouble.

The officer grinned. Thanks for identifying him, little missy.

Alden spun and ran in the opposite direction.

Get back here, boy! The deputy wasn’t playing. He charged after the teen like a raging bull; within ten seconds flat, Alden was pinned to the ground with his hands behind his back and the cuffs clamping down on his wrists. You’re under arrest for assault and battery as well as for fleeing from law enforcement.

Assault and battery? Of who?

You know exactly what I’m talking about, Alden. Do you have a record?

What do you think?

Chill with the attitude! I’m going to read you your rights, and we’re going downtown.

You can read ‘em. Doesn’t mean I have to listen.

The officer cleared his throat and began to deliver his spiel. Alden interrupted him by shouting, Help! He’s attacking me! Help! Somebody!

2

When was Philip’s adorable lioness able to prowl into his office and claw into his laptop? He didn’t care. There was no better way to start his day than to find the words I love you scrolling across his screen. Somehow, he would have to return the favor.

Philip’s love-struck smile took his secretary off guard as she peeked her head through the door, Mr. Bones?

Minimizing his screen, Philip put his business-face on. Yes?

Rebekka Simon’s here to see you.

Thanks. Send her in.

At the age of fifteen, Rebekka had already earned quite the name for herself. Stealing, vandalism, running away from home, fighting… Satan would have been proud.

Following her normal routine, the pale-faced, black-haired teenager tramped into the room and slumped down in a chair opposite Philip’s desk; her six-month pregnant mother eased herself into the chair next to her.

How are you lovely ladies doing this morning? Philip asked.

Great, Rebekka replied coldly. She crossed her legs and clenched her purse. I checked in. Can I leave now?

You know better than that, Rebekka, Philip replied, leaning back in his chair and rolling an ink pen back and forth between his hands.

Just hoping for a change of pace. Can’t blame a beauty for trying, can you?

Not for trying, no. But for throwing herself off a cliff, absolutely, Philip retorted. The whole purpose of our meetings is so you can improve. Are things going any better?

Rebekka rolled her eyes and pursed her lips, Of course!

Mrs. Simon casually shook her head.

So, you’ve not gotten into any trouble since you were here last month?

Shifting in her chair, Rebekka claimed things were going wonderfully.

Again, Mrs. Simon shook her head.

Philip set his ink pen on the desk and leaned forward. What’s my motto, Rebekka?

The girl made air-quotes with her hands, I won’t make any bones about it.

Exactly, Philip replied. So, here’s the deal; your mom has been sitting over there shaking her head the entire time those lies have been spewing out of your mouth. Now, I’m ready to hear the truth. How are things going?

Rebekka shot her mother a dirty look. If she’s gonna talk smack with that big head of hers, she might as well just snitch on me with her lips… You tell the man.

Philip straightened in his chair. First of all, that was both unladylike and uncalled for. Secondly, I didn’t ask your mother, Rebekka; I asked you. What’s going on?

Uncrossing her legs and allowing her purse to slide to the floor, the she-devil said, It’s not a big deal, really. I just slipped out to a party the other night.

Mrs. Simon interjected, Breaking your curfew and acting like my rules mean absolutely nothing.

Philip rubbed his goatee. I hate to admit it, but that’s exactly the kind of report I was expecting. What else, Rebekka? How have you been doing on the other issues?

Fine.

Mrs. Simon inhaled a deep breath. Not true... How many times have you been tardy to school this month, Rebekka?

" I don’t know... Two?...