Hunter Mccain and the Cookbook

By David Ross

Remember middle school? Being afraid to wear the wrong clothes, scared of saying something stupid in class or awkward attempts at that first kiss? How about parents who don’t understand? Or, teachers who put you to sleep in 0.2 seconds? Hunter McCain is living through all this and much more as an eighth grader at Franklin Middle School.

Add in a cookbook filled with recipes far more interesting then lasagna or a casserole. Love potions, strength formulas, and invisibility are just some of the entrees offered up in the archaic treasure. But these recipes may not be the tastiest; brownies sprinkled with toe nails, fudge using arm pit hair, or gum made from spider webs could just ruin an appetite.

Come on the zaniest adventure of a life time as Hunter and his friends use the cook book to encounter bullies, pretty girls, school projects, a dodge ball tournament, parents and even bank robbers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Dec 17, 2015
• ISBN: 9781329763548

David Ross

David Scott Ross has travelled and taught throughout Asia since he first moved there in 1987. He currently teaches in upstate NY, where he lives with his wife and two sons. When David is not writing or teaching, he dreams about becoming a chef, a rock star, maybe an actor, but probably not all at once.

Book preview

Hunter Mccain and the Cookbook

Hunter McCain and the Cookbook

Copyright © 2015 by David Ross

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

First Printing: 2015

ISBN  978-1-329-76354-8

DK Ross Publishing

940 Sea Shell Court

Rural Hall, NC 27045

http://huntermccain.weebly.com/

Prologue

Hunter looked down the staircase banister. His heart skipped a beat; she was coming. How stupid! How could I leave it out like that? Currently laying on his bed for all to see was his most cherished possession. He wasn't ready for the world to learn of its existence.

Letting his mother see the Cook Book was not an option, especially after the picture incident. Explaining anything out of the ordinary to his parents right now was about as appealing as jumping head first into a family of porcupines.

Toting a large basket of laundry down the upstairs hallway, oblivious to Hunter's sudden anxiety attack, meandered his dear mother. He knew it was his laundry day and the only possible destination for her was his room. She would waltz right in and see the book. It was too late to dart in and hide it. He had to think fast. After a few frenzied moments, the light bulb finally clicked on.

Running toward her, he yelled, Mom, Mom isn't that Jenny calling for you?

His mother, startled by his approach stopped and listened, I don't hear anything.

There it is again. Mom, I think you better go check it out. It sounds like she needs you.

She paused and crooked her head in an effort to hear. Looking back at Hunter, who stood with a feigned look of concern, she hesitantly spoke, Well...o.k, but I need to get this laundry into your room first. Again, she started walking towards his room.

Mom, Hunter shouted a little too urgently, I'll get it for you!

Having never heard her eldest offer to help with the laundry before, she halted in her tracks. Melanie McCain was truly surprised. Hunter, noticing the flabbergasted look, decided to intervene before his mother passed out, Mom, I'll take it. Come on, I'll help you, just go check on...

Mom, could you come here? Jenny called from down stairs, as if on cue.

Hunter's mom, already puzzled, immediately handed the basket to Hunter and bounded down the hall.

Whenever her princess called, she bolted into action. Still, the shock of Hunter's offer to help must have subconsciously gripped her. She stopped in mid stride, turned and gave her handsome teenage son, who was holding a basket of laundry for the first time, an awkward but happy look.

Convinced he must really want to help, she called back, Thanks Hunter, I'll be back in a minute to put it all away.

Hunter released a sigh of relief. Man that was close, he thought. Then he ran for his room, threw the basket on his bed, wheeled around and looked directly at the book lying open on his comforter.

Man, am I stupid, without hesitation, he shot for the book, closed it and stuffed it unceremoniously under his bed. Without this book, I’m nothing. Taking one last look to ensure it was hidden from view he waltzed back into the hallway.

Chapter 1 - The Family Portrait

But Dad, everybody is going to be there, pleaded the teenager.

I don't care if the Pope is going, you're not! his dad asserted while looking up from the papers he was grading.

But I... Hunter continued.

Forget it. We're through talking about it! His father's voice was rising.

I can't believe you. You never let me do anything. All of the other parents let their kids do things. Why can't you be like them? Hunter's face was glowing red with frustration. My life sucks! This time Hunter was shouting.

You will not talk to me that way. Don’t test me! Now go to your room and stay there till supper! His dad bellowed, and not another word or you're grounded!

His father's look backed up his words, so Hunter clamped his mouth shut, turned abruptly and stomped up the stairs. Racing with anger, his head spun with confusion. He felt as if he was going to explode. Control had slipped away; spiraling him down a path of unconstraint. He was in a tailspin. Ripping into his father flashed through his mind; the first time he had ever felt that way. I hate him! Really hate him. Why didn't he understand? Why was he such a jerk?

His mind kept reeling as he hit the second floor. Reaching his room, he grabbed the door and slammed it with his full fury. CRASH...Hunter heard a loud explosion of glass in the hall.

His rage screeched to a halt, replaced by an invading dread. What was that? He slowly opened the wooden door and stepped out into the hall. There it was...the family portrait, which had been hanging on the wall ever since he could remember. It was now face down on the wooden floor. An army of shiny glass shards surrounded the now crooked and splintered square frame.

Cringing at what he saw, his feeling of dread intensified. His problems had just multiplied.

What in the...? The unmistakable voice of his outraged father stung his ears.

Quick, hard steps followed the voice and in a blink of an eye, Hunter's attention moved from the destruction of the picture to the vision of his emerging father.

His dad was a stout man, neither heavy nor skinny, just sort of compact. He stood 5 foot 8 and had an athletic build. Thinning hair topped his head, framing a usually pleasant complexion. Hunter was perplexed at seeing the current facial expression; it was nowhere near pleasant.

The trepidation that had hold of Hunter was not a physical fear. His father had never hurt him. It was the apprehension of severe punishment sure to come. He could not hide the fact that he had caused this calamity. He could not spread the blame to another; he was guilty as charged. Not only that, but it came on the heels of already being sent to his room.

Hunter! his father's voice snapped him out of the trance. What is wrong with you?

His dad suddenly moved in on him. For the first time in his life, Hunter felt like his father was going to strike him. The look of indignation in his eyes was surreal. As Hunter cowered away, his dad suddenly stopped. His eyes quickly, but unmistakingly, changed from blind rage to a controlled anger.

He took three steps back and with a hushed tone ordered, Go get a broom and clean this up.

Hunter bolted into action before his dad could say or do anything more. Picking up the picture frame, he dusted the glass off of the corner of the portrait. With his fingers, he gingerly pried the parchment off the floor, lifting it into the air. Carefully, he shook the picture as small bits of glass and wood slid recklessly to the ground. The portrait itself looked undamaged. Thinking of his mom, he glanced at his dad, still watching from the banister. They both shared a sigh of relief.

Put it on our bed. Your mom is going to want to see this, with that, his father slowly turned and headed back down the stairs.

Hunter was certain his mother would not forgive the desecration of this family heirloom. It was a photo of the McCain family from several years ago, one of those Wal-Mart photo shop portraits. A stale sheet hung in the background, the family carefully placed in a pretend pose. Hunter wore bib overalls and a blue denim shirt. His hair had that, mom just combed it look. A weird smirk was written across his face, his gaze looking off at something. It bugged him that he couldn't remember the picture being taken. Every time he looked at the photo, he wondered what the heck he had been looking at. Jenny, his younger sister was just a baby. Being held by their mother, he had always thought she looked like an angel, although he'd never tell her that. His father had a full set of hair back then. His youthful look reminded Hunter of the good times the two of them used to share together.

Loving was the best way to describe his mom. She had the look of every boy's dream mom. He couldn't explain it. It was just there. The bright smiles pasted on his parent's faces were definitely picture grins, but they had always seemed genuine to Hunter. The photo made him happy to be a McCain. But now, as he lightly held the portrait, it seemed to epitomize the reality; that the dream family was just a sham. Real life with the McCains was just like the picture...broken.

Carefully he took the priceless treasure into his parents' room and gently placed it on the bed. Thinking of how his mother was going to react tugged at his soul. Not to mention the fact that she was going to kill him.

Begrudgingly, he grabbed the broom and dustpan and went to work on shattered remains of the frame. With the cleanup complete, he slunk into his room, carefully closed the door and slumped down on his bed.

His room had always been a comfort to him, a safe haven from the rest of his world. Navy blue walls with a US Navy border around the top, surrounded by eggshell colored carpet. He loved the Navy and planned to follow his Uncle Dave's footsteps. His uncle had been in the Iraqi War battling terrorists in the sands of far away deserts. Hunter could listen to his stories for hours on end.

Bunk beds sat in the corner, decorated with rope from a real Navy ship coiled around the bedposts like a hungry snake climbing a vine. His laundry was put away in a treasure chest and clothes hung on a huge anchor in the corner. Really, there wasn't much to it, but it was his; his safe little cave in a mountain of catastrophe. Although sitting in his room usually calmed him down, the current events were pressing him on all sides; it would be an hour before his mom got home. Too much time to endure.

Squarely planted on his bed, Hunter's thoughts settled on the disaster that was his life. Why can't I be like other kids at school? Why couldn't my dad just let me go to the party? Just once! All of his friends, including his best friends, Cooper and Keegan, were going to be there. So what if Gabe’s parents weren't going to be home? Big deal. This was the first time he had really wanted to go to one of them anyway. All of the other kids were allowed to stay out late, spend the night at a friend's house, and have fun. How many parties had he heard about lately? Everybody seemed to be going over to other kid's houses where they would play games like spin the bottle, hide-n-seek, or watch horror flicks. He had even heard about boys kissing girls in closets. He hadn't even kissed a girl yet. Wasn't 8th grade supposed to be a great time? Wasn't he supposed to be trying new things...experiencing life? How could he do that with his 'old school' parents?

Anybody looking in from the outside at the McCain family would see nothing wrong. His parents were middle class working folks who had bought a four-bedroom two-story house seven years ago. They lived in a quiet neighborhood with like-minded people, many who just lived the common American experience. Middle aged, middle class people who vacationed once a year at the beach and worried about how they were going to pay for their children's college education.

Hunter was one of two kids. His dad was a teacher at Franklin Middle School, the same school he attended. His mom was a teacher assistant at Jenny's elementary school. Everything must have looked as normal as a Norman Rockwell painting. But that was just the image for the outside world. Hunter's perception of his life was much more jaded.

According to Hunter, he had the only parents in town that didn't allow rated R movies in the house. MTV was forbidden, along with any other cutting edge television shows; the 'V' chip taking care of that. He was the only kid in his circle of pals who had to buy all of his clothes at Wal-Mart. Everyone else had Abercrombie, Tommy Hilfiger, or Gap. The plain white Wal-Mart sneakers that adorned his feet were the biggest embarrassment. They look just like Adidas, his mother had pointed out. Hunter sighed, no they didn’t.

Not only was he dressed and treated like a child, he was also driven like a slave. While every other kid was playing, Hunter would be hauling logs, raking leaves or cleaning the garage. None of his friends had half as many chores as he did. Even something as ordinary as the food they ate was a joke. The breakfast cupboard in his house had only two kinds of cereal, Wheaties and Grapenuts.

Every time a friend slept over, he cringed at the thought of dinnertime. The last time Keegan had stayed over, his family, again, out did themselves. It was bad enough that he couldn't leave the dinner table until every last scrap of food was consumed, but to make his friends do the same?

That night Keegan had ended up sitting at the table until half past eight, staring at his portion of liver and onions. It took him two and a half hours, not to mention a half-gallon of milk, to finish that night. His parent's rationalization: If he comes to our house, he lives by our rules.

Starting to become numb from self-pity, Hunter refused to let his misery slide away. He refocused himself on the imminent grounding that was sure to come. As the minutes marched by, he began pacing around his room. Man, why did things always happen to him?

What a joke, he thought. I am living in a nightmare.

Chapter 2 - Grounded

Sitting around like a prisoner waiting to be hung just wasn't cutting it anymore. Hunter felt a sudden need to get out of his room. It was no longer serving its purpose as a security blanket.

Hearing his dad outside, tinkering around in the back yard, he decided to risk an escape down to the kitchen. A low growl in his stomach reminded him he was hungry. Left-over desserts, his mom might have lying around had an urgent appeal to his appetite.

Cruising past the upstairs bathroom, Hunter jerked to an abrupt stop. Backing up slowly, he caught his reflection in the bathroom mirror. The image he had seen so many times stared back at him.

Hunter stood just under six feet, pretty tall for a thirteen year old. He had two inches on his father already, genes from his mom's family ensuring a taller outlook than the McCain blood on his dad's side. His collar-length, sandy blond hair framed a smooth, young face that had 'shy' written all over it. Quiet brown eyes completed his soft and reserved demeanor.

An odd quirk to becoming a teenager was the inevitable pull of shiny glass that reflected one's likeness. Hunter found himself in this situation a