The Excluded

By J.D. Hines

   It has always been twelve-year-old Ethan Fost's dream to attend the school where crime-fighting vigilantes are born, the school where Ethan will be taught to control his power and use it for good. But things take a turn for the worst when he is forcefully taken to a secluded school where other kids like himself are forbidden to

• Language: English
• Publisher: J.D. Hines
• Release date: Dec 22, 2018
• ISBN: 9780578578187

Book preview

Chapter 1: Alone

The day Ethan Fost’s parents went missing was the day his life turned upside down and was given a rough shake. He trudged home from Pierce Grade School in tight, small shoes-the right ripping at the seams, forming a strange grin in the front-an oversized t-shirt which he was expected to grow into and headphones jammed against his curly, bushy hair styled into an afro, wondering if the day could get any worse.

It had started out a normal day as any, Ethan’s father heading off to work before he opened an eyelid. On special occasions, like when he actually felt like hauling himself out of bed earlier than usual, he planned to reach the table at around seven o’ clock on the dot right as his dad kiss his mother goodbye.

He used to hide behind the kitchen doorway when the gross smacking on the lips reached his ears, but now that he was twelve years old, he managed to bear it as best he could and built more time to say goodbye to his dad, even following him to their pickup truck parked in the garage.

Today, however, would be another sleeping in exercise, something he practiced when staying up too late completing puzzles on the floor, laying on his stomach and biting his bottom lip in concentration. Last night was one such unfortunate event, for the last puzzle turned out to be a particularly large one, both in size and length, with one thousand pieces in total.

Ethan Fost, if you don’t come down here right now I’m going to throw this food away. His mother’s voice rang through the walls, filling every nook and cranny in their cramped, one story house. Ethan rolled off the bed, inadvertently sliding the cameo, green and black blanket with him, hopelessly tangled in a thick fabric mess.

He had as much success unraveling himself as a drunkard would have walking a straight line on a narrow ledge. But he needed to appease his mother somehow, so the next best thing first came out as a raspy whisper, "I’ll be there in a second… I’ll be there in a second!" Okay, so maybe the second attempt was a direct opposite of the first: Too high to be considered casual. But it was better to placate her in some way than incur angry lectures while he had only a few minutes to eat his breakfast, get dressed, and hurry out the door to school.

Ethan burst out of his room so fast, he liked to think he looked like a quick blur, only slowing to a casual pace when reaching the doorway to the kitchen, and pulling out a white, plastic chair from under the table like he was wide awake and ready to start a new day.

Boy, I told you to stop staying up so late playing games, she scolded, grabbing a rusting skillet from the stove and scooping a pile of eggs onto his plate, the aroma pleasant to his nose. So, she had figured it out, anyways, he thought, shoveling most of the fried eggs into his mouth with a spoon, thin strips of bacon coming next.

That was the last time, I swear, he promised, gulping down his food then taking a swig of his orange juice.

Mm hmm, that’s what you always say when you get caught. Mrs. Fost’s brown eyes stayed on the boy as if she wanted to say something else but didn’t know how to begin. She cleared her throat, prompting Ethan to look up from his feeding frenzy. Great, here came the dreaded lecture he prayed would never show its face but continue to hide underground where it belonged. If promising to never stay up late again didn’t work then he was in a world of trouble. Guess I should have fell on my knees and begged, he thought, moving aside his glass cup. Now they’re probably going to make me go to bed a lot earlier.

The possibility was annoying because he had enough trouble falling asleep later on in the night. What made them think he wanted to spend his bedtime staring at the ceiling for hours on end, doing nothing but what? Counting sheep? Like counting imaginary cotton balls with legs actually helped anybody.

Is everything alright at school? she asked nonchalantly, stirring her coffee in a baby blue mug she’d won at some raffle in the county fair. She had her smooth hair tied back in a ponytail that was reserved for early mornings and when nighttime rolled around. Ethan relaxed at the harmless question, the storm passing before the rain was released in torrents and showed what it was really made of.

School is okay, I mean, I’m still getting good grades in all my classes. He displayed his most innocent smile, the one she loved the most where he showed no teeth and it looked genuine.

But you’re still struggling in science I heard.

I’m not as bad as I once was. Just don’t see the point in learning how plants grow and how to take care of them. When am I going to use that in life?

I know it’s frustrating but you have to do it anyways so you don’t fail and get held back. You want to get into a good college when you’re older, don’t you? No, I want to go to Warren’s School for the Gifted.

Yes, ma’am, Ethan grumbled out loud.

Good, then study hard and keep up your grades. I know it won’t be the school you wanted to go to in the beginning but we’ll make it work. You’ll see. She paused, taking a deep breath before continuing.

Those kids at school… they still giving you trouble? So, there it was, what she’d been skating around the entire conversation and finally found enough strength to bring up. Ethan wanted to slide underneath the table and let the ground swallow him whole so he’d never have to endure this conversation again. He knew if the entire story slipped out they wouldn’t question him about it as much in the first place, but seeing as how he wasn’t ready to let that cat out of the bag just yet, suffering in silence was his only other option.

They’re not messing with me anymore. I told you and dad I handled things already. The lie poured out easily as water down a steep slope, having been uttered a hundred times before, used to the territory.

I know but something’s telling me you’re not being entirely truthful, Ethan. I’m going to let you get ready for school, now, but when you come home we’ll finish this conversation. Ethan nodded as best he could without giving off the impression he was being impertinent. He grabbed his empty plate and cup, left them in the sink, then made a beeline for his room.

Time was of the essence, and Ethan knew his mom would never make him late for school unless she meant serious business.

The short run to school hadn’t been as hectic as he thought it would be, pinpricks of sweat beading on his arms and short breathes being the sole sign that he jogged half the way there. It was times like these he wished they had a second car so sleeping in later would be a current event. Unfortunately, a crumpled note hastily written by his mother and thrown carelessly into in the largest pocket of a black backpack sufficed as a good enough back up plan. His school, Pierce Elementary, stood as a nice backdrop in the middle of Gem Street, having survived for twelve years in a shabby neighborhood on the outskirts of town.

Brick and mortar, layered one on top of the other, composed the classrooms which formed a crescent shape surrounding the playground. Ethan huffed and dragged his feet to a slower canter as recess was in full swing, the first bell signaling the end of soccer, swinging on the monkey bars, and sliding down a whirling slide, the second bell not having blasted its call, yet. Ethan chose a path that led to the back of the playground, where the field spread almost the entire length of the grounds. It took no time to scamper over the locked fence and onto the other side, landing on both feet, perfectly balanced.

The hordes of animated soccer players didn’t so much as glance in his direction, so immersed in the prospect of scoring that only the bell could jerk them back to reality. Ethan saw him between two oak trees at the very side of the soccer field, the farthest away from the classrooms as he could possible get, hunched over so his back made a curve and scribbling away on a drawing pad propped on his bony knees.

The wind tousled his stringy brown hair, blowing a big patch into his face that he impatiently swiped away before going back to his drawing, forehead wrinkled in concentration. Ethan cupped his hands around his mouth and let out a sharp whistle, one loud enough to startle the other boy out of the trance he was in and jerk his head up, somewhat of a smile forming when he spotted Ethan coming his way.

Hey, Xavier, what are you working on today? asked Ethan, plopping down on some weeds tangled together like they had been trodden on one too many times.

Same thing as yesterday, but I made a few changes. Xavier held the picture under Ethan’s nose, a satisfied grin on his face. A vigilante in a black suit and a grey cape soared towards a skyscraper being split in two by a massive UFO beaming a brick red laser down the center of it. Xavier considered himself the youngest upcoming artist who was going to make a ton of cash someday and live in mansion that exhibited all of his paintings.

The comic books will have their own separate room, he would often say, gesticulating wildly and staring up into the sky. There will be shelves and shelves of comics, man, stacked into bookcases, all in alphabetical order, some by my favorite artists and the rest by me. Ethan would always humor him with an encouraging smile, but always kept it to himself that he didn’t think his friend’s drawings were all that good, even for someone as young as him, trying to ignore the stick figure like characters and colors that didn’t exactly stay in the lines and instead imagine them as what Xavier saw them as: Eye-popping illustrations of Cove City’s finest in action, stopping desperate felons from committing heinous crimes and speaking to the press about the importance of starting early in the training of young Gifted so they wouldn’t grow up following the wrong path.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a small group coming in their direction, a little too quickly for his taste, moving over the soccer field like they owned it. Ethan waved away another drawing Xavier put in front of his face, wearily watching the mass of boisterous laughter.

Come on, man, urged Xavier, nudging him in the arm. This is the best one-

Not now, Xavier, Ethan hissed, jumping to his feet. We got company. Ethan heard him jump up behind him, finally noticing Aaron Rider and his friends surrounding them.

If it isn’t the reject and his little best friend, taunted Aaron conversationally as if they had been friends for the majority of the school year. His dark brown hair flopped in the breeze and he wore a loose, grey and red t-shirt advertising the next motocross event the coming weekend. A small crowd gathered around him, some Ethan didn’t recognize as Aaron’s usual group but spectators who waited for the first punch to be thrown.

I heard you’re not even allowed to use your Gift because nobody wanted you at that school for vigilantes in training. A few kids snickered, some munching on leftover chicken sandwiches from the cafeteria and others standing with hands firmly in pockets. So, it was going to be one of those days, was it?

Who said I’m not allowed to use my Gift? Ethan flexed his right hand, opening and closing it while several of their audience began backing away. He knew he wasn’t even supposed to pretend to use his Gift, but the wide-eyed look of fear on the other boy’s paling face made it all worth it.

Don’t you dare! Aaron pointed a finger at him. Because if you do my parents will call the cops on you for breaking the law and you’ll get arrested.

Is that right? I don’t see any policemen here now, so it looks like nothing’s stopping me. He waved his hand above the grass as a small gust of wind blew past and rustled it, hoping it would have the desired effect. And sure enough, frenzied whispers filled the air, and a voice that seemed to come out of nowhere quickly urged, Come on, Aaron, get him. What are you waiting for? He’s not going to use his Gift.

Ethan nonchalantly put his hand in his pocket and responded, He’s right. I’m not going to use my Gift because you’re not worth my time or energy. He remembered his mother saying the same thing to a pushy sales clerk over the phone and liked the way it sounded. Apparently, Aaron didn’t feel the same way, charging at Ethan like an enraged bull before he could turn around and walk away with a nervous Xavier in tow. He regretfully dropped one of his friend’s sketches on the ground and began walloping on the other boy just as a yard duty teacher appeared, frazzled and out of breath, a silver whistle hanging halfway out her mouth. By the time she started using it, a male yard duty teacher showed up, but Ethan hardly noticed as he swung his left fist and his right fist, hot anger clouding his judgment. He didn’t know what it would take for them to leave him and Xavier alone, but he silently hoped the swift beating he bestowed upon Aaron would do the trick.

The sky was clear that fall, not a single drop of moisture in the air and clouds still hiding out from the boiling summer heat that routinely attacks Cove City sometime in August. A roar of an engine complete with wheels screeching on the road, most likely flinging up mounds of dust, attacked the young boy’s senses as smog drifted to his nose. Outwardly, Ethan groaned, not caring in the slightest who heard as he shuffled his feet on the way home, dreading the inevitable talk about the stop sign red note in his binder that guaranteed he wouldn’t return to school until the next month.

Let the whole world hear if it pleased them, especially Ms. Howard, the widower who always complained that he was the one who trampled every day on her lawn, messing up her beautiful flowers. One, Ethan never saw any dang flowers flourishing her lawn, and two, he never walked on anyone’s lawn in the first place. What made her so special?

Ms. Howard is going through a difficult time, boy, his mother told him sternly after a barrage of complaints. A pain which you have never experienced, so try not to take her words to heart.

Her words echoed through his head as the bright yellow school bus drew nearer and nearer, pumping out smoke on the way there. And what about the kids at school who think it’s funny to call me girl’s names? Ethan thought savagely, rounding a corner. What’s their excuse? He listened to it follow him on the trek through the neighborhood on Gem Street, sure he had left early enough to miss an encounter of this kind, but today was certainly not a lucky one. The heaving vehicle lurched to his side for a minute, but that was more than enough time for the jeers to crash out the windows and strike their intended target.

Hey, look everybody, it’s Ellie! Ethan couldn’t see the speaker, only silhouettes through the tinted glass windows but he knew without a shadow of a doubt whose mouth it spouted from.

On your way to your next ballet recital, Ellie? Chris Evans shouted gleefully, putting on a show for the audience seated alongside him.

Yeah, you would know all about ballet recitals wouldn’t you, Chris? Ethan yelled after the departing, banana yellow school bus, howling laughter growing fainter in the distance. He hoisted his backpack higher on his shoulders with more force than necessary, believing firmly that no matter whose advise he followed, his dad’s or mom’s, the taunting would never end.

Don’t stoop to their level, honey, Mrs. Frost reprimanded inside their kitchen, cooking up fried pork and mashed potatoes. I know it’s tempting, but, sometimes the best thing to do is turn the other cheek. Mr. Frost, however, had quite a different opinion on the subject, Boy, why you always listening to what your mother say’s but never to the advice I have to give you? I know it’s not always right to act like your oppressors but sometimes you’ve gotta fight back to get the point across, and from what you’re telling me, these boys could use a good ol’ fashion butt whoopin’. Excuse my language. Oh, and one more thing, you tell those kids not to let the restriction placed on you fool them. Let them know you’re more than just a Gifted and can land a punch as well as anyone else on the block.

Ethan liked the sound of throwing a punch to wipe the smirk off their smug faces, knowing exactly how to exert enough force into one to make the blood gush onto the streets. Though he often wondered how circumstance would play out in his favor if he was allowed to use what all the adults referred to as the Gift, some weird genetic anomaly that affected very few of the population and yet had everyone amazed by its’ existence. Like so many others he wasn’t allowed to use his Gift, so the chances of scaring away future aggressors were zero to none. Ethan often wondered why he had a ‘Gift’ he wasn’t supposed to use.

What is the point of even giving it such a name? And that wasn’t even the worst of it. A girl in his grade continually boasted that she could practice using her gift any time she wanted, to prepare for when I’m old enough to attend Warren High and train to become a vigilante.

Ethan always shrugged when she demanded to know why he wouldn’t be going to the best school in the world with her. Didn’t he want to be one of the good guys when he grew up? He honestly had no clue how to answer such questions because he hadn’t the faintest idea either. He’d tried to explain that the suppression of his powers wasn’t his idea in the first place, but Mindy refused to believe anything other than Ethan wanted to only look out for himself and didn’t care for people in need.

No, you’re right, Mindy, Ethan responded casually to her while scooping up dessert from a counter in the cafeteria. I’m not going to school there because when I grow up I want to steal from the homeless and terrorize the entire city. I hope you won’t be a vigilante around that time because no one will be able to stop me. Poor Mindy rushed to the nearest teacher, tears spilling down her cheeks, eyes enlarged, ensuring Ethan a weeks’ worth of detention for talking dangerously.

Do you know why you’re in here, Ethan? began Mr. Riley, the principal and only faculty member Ethan admired who requested a visit from the boy after a scathing tell-all from a particular teacher.

No, sir. I really don’t know why I’m here. I don’t think I did anything wrong. He stared at the lines on his hands, some curving into little arcs, others splitting in half, but not one pair exactly the same.

You told another student that you wanted to be a bad guy when you grew up, and coming from a Gifted, those are very dangerous words. You’re lucky only a few people know about this, and the little girl you frightened was asked to keep the previous conversation to herself, though I’m not sure if that will make any difference. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?

Yeah, I think so. Ethan looked him in the eyes for the first times since entering the cluttered office. I’m not supposed to talk about being the bad guy, but am not allowed to be one of the good guys…. or something like that. Mindy doesn’t get it, so I said those things to get her out of my face, not because I was serious or nothing. The best Mr. Riley could do was simply stare at the young boy in front of him, removing his thin, brown glasses before placing them in his shirt pocket, searching for a clear answer to the dilemma but nothing particularly ground breaking coming to mind. Instead, he managed to muster up an alternative response that majestically appeared in the nick of time after wracking his brain in a frantic scurry.

You know, Ethan, the best I can do right now is call Mindy in here as soon as you leave and tell her to leave you alone. Would you like that?

"Yes!" Ethan flopped back in his seat, relieved to finally catch a break from miss- know-it-all herself. He could now add another reason why the principal was his favorite out of anyone at the school he hated going to so much, and there were a lot of places he preferred not to venture down. Gem Street being one of them.

Ethan gritted his teeth and ducked his head as old Ms. Howard appeared in the front window of her tiny, white house, her birdlike eyes watching him intensely, darting back from him to the lawn. He winced, not believing his wretched luck as the front door burst open, banging loudly as Ms. Howard stormed out and slammed it shut again. Her skinny arms formed perfect v shapes as her hands clutched at her tiny waists.

The large sundress hung off her small form awkwardly and a large blue and white church hat with multiple flowers hanging to the side, tilted on her head. Uncomfortable, Ethan debated whether to stay in place or bolt the rest of the way home. He knew Ms. Howard was crazy but how crazy was something he didn’t want to find out. Not this day or the next. On the other hand, running might incur the vindictive nature of the old woman, and he dreaded another long lecture from his mother about the tragedy their neighbor had to endure years ago. Before he could make a solid, sure-fire plan, Ms. Howard broke the silence, a frown etching up the left side of her face.

You’ve been stepping on my lawn? Ethan shook his head, eyes downcast, hoping he’d make it home in one piece.

Then why is the little patch over there flattened and shredded like someone done trampled them? She pointed to clumps of dirt and crabgrass in the far corner of the lawn, waiting for an explanation. Not that it would have done any good, but Ethan defended himself anyway, figuring he’d nothing to lose at this point.

I didn’t do it, Ms. Howard. I swear.

You didn’t do it. Hmm! That ought to be a lie I should tell your parents ‘bout, but seeing as how they were stolen this afternoon, I’ll take my chances another day. Jerking his head up, Ethan’s dark brown eyes met that of the woman’s empty, large black ones, wondering if he heard her right. Stolen? She really is a complete psycho, he thought irritatingly, wondering why he hadn’t gone with his gut instinct and scampered on home, avoiding reactions with anybody in the neighborhood and just kicking back and relaxing.

Yeah, you heard me right. Stolen. Taken away. And I was here to see it all. They came all silently, the most silent I’ve ever seen them, like a cat stalking its prey. Ethan turned sharply and began on his way again, attempting to silence the crazy old woman by pulling a disappearing act. She continued anyhow, walking steadily to the front porch, her voice lifting through the streets as if someone handed her a megaphone.

Your dad flew home a little while after they took your mom out kicking and screaming. Yeah, they snatched him too, and I suspect they’ll be coming around to get the youngest prey as well. See if they don’t, little boy. See if they don’t! The front door never seemed more of a welcoming sight than it did now, beckoning warmly to open it and run inside. Ethan was already a step ahead of it, rapidly climbing the three front steps, grabbing the silver key from under the yellowing Welcome mat, fumbling with it in the lock for a couple seconds before blessedly jamming the door open and slamming it closed on the inside.

He felt a strong urge to run to his room, open the closet and settle down on the clean floor, completing a puzzle or two, keeping himself occupied until Mr. Fost returned home and helped him with his homework; but something was…terribly wrong. He could it feel underneath his skin, oozing along his spine, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Darkness swallowed the little space in one enormous gulp, seeping through every nook and cranny and forcing Ethan to snap his eyes shut and count to ten. When he opened them, objects came into better focus, furniture like their couch and La-z Boy chair formed shadowy outlines, but that was a start.

Mom, are you home? Ethan called, stumbling to the glass door leading to the backyard, utterly confused as to why their curtains were closed during the daytime. Dead silence was his only response, eerie in a place where either the sound of the television or oldies from the radio situated on a cabinet in the kitchen poured in the air. He limped halfway to the door, knocking his knee onto the black coffee table between the couch and television with a painful thud, and grasped the floor length, heavy curtain in his hands, thinking that if the day got any worse he’d pretend to have a nasty cold and stay home from school the following day. No, scratch that. They’d be onto him in a second.

Light flooded the space in a swift spray, the bulk of the room reappearing to its normal place, a place Ethan recognized…almost.

Crouched on its wooden, pegged stand, their small television was where it needed to be, if not scooted uncomfortably near the edge, dangling by a thin cord plugged into the back wall. Inside the kitchen, drawers lay opened as far as they could go, as if someone had thrust them open in a rage. Their contents, mostly old letterers and postage stamps, littered the ground under the plastic, round table, beneath the matching chairs, and some floated next to the refrigerator which was left half open, the light inside having burnt out. Ethan, frozen in the same spot by the curtains, found it in himself to lift his legs one after the other on the carpeted floor, fear twisting his stomach into sickening knots.

There had to be an explanation, whether real or imagined but Ethan could take imagined if it included his mother safely away from home, having rushed out to go meet a friend or family member and leaving the place in shambles. Yeah, that had to be it, he thought frantically, crossing the border between living room and kitchen area, where carpet met white, square tiles. He landed on two of the tiles, feeling as if he transformed into Captain Scourge in an exploration video game, leaping across unfairly spaced stones and falling through the cracks to his death while the screen blacked out and the words ‘Game Over’ materialized to add insult to injury. But this wasn’t some pixilated, badly put together game Ethan discarded a long time ago, it remained a little too real for his liking and the bloody ‘Game Over’ replayed in his mind as he surveyed the damage.

A lone kitchen chair leaned back on its back legs against a cabinet beneath the sink, while a thin wire dangled above it, zipping and twitching as electricity coursed through it. Ethan carefully stepped around it, avoiding a puddle settling around the chair’s legs. He peered inside a drawer, not entirely sure what he expected to find. More papers? A clue? Everything back to normal? Unlikely.

If this is some sort of sick joke then I need to switch families, he grumbled, nerves rattled and considering making a call to the nearest relative because if the day was going horribly before, it had now reached an apex, earning itself a crown and a flowing robe for all its trouble.

Standing around moping doesn’t help me. I need to get out of here and freakin’ relax. I think the