The Cards That Are Dealt

By Nathan Peel

Fifteen-year-old Marshall Álvarez seeks the antidote to his problems from a highly-organized, secret gambling club within his high school. Here, students take part in poker games, sports betting, and other forms of gambling.

Despite coming from a low-income family living in a slummy apartment, Marshall attends a high schoo

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nozithus Books
• Release date: Nov 3, 2021
• ISBN: 9781737742814

Nathan Peel

Nathan Peel was born and raised in the San Diego, California area. The Cards That Are Dealt is his first book and was inspired by his own experiences in high school as well as his love for story telling. The idea that someone can exceed and win with many tribulation, limitations, and hardships drove him to write this book for others who feel doubted and shamed. If he isn't reading or writing, you can find Nathan playing the violin, spending time with his family, or eating some kind of spicy food.

Book preview

Chapter One

A Chicken in the Fox Den

To those who don’t believe

In my ability to succeed

Eventually, you will see

It’s not impossible

Get off your pedestal

Stop being skeptical

I’m perfectly capable

Your disbelief brings not a tear

I have no fear

Air rushed past Marshall’s face as he sprinted on the clean walkways trailing around the foreign place he called school. He had hope, though just a little, that maybe that day would be better than the last. Deep down, he knew the truth all his classmates knew as well. He was an outsider.

Even while nobody was around to give him shameful glances as he ran through the school, he felt the doubt. The buildings themselves mocked Marshall and thought less of him. Their shiny windows and uniform construction contrasted his raggedy clothes.

Although he had hatred in his heart and resentment in his eyes for the school he ran through, Marshall wanted to use the few minutes he had to get to his class on time. He was late the previous day and once the week before. While the tardiness was not directly Marshall’s fault, Mr. Anderson didn’t see it that way. Maybe it didn’t matter how he saw it. Some of the teachers wanted to make Marshall’s already-difficult life even worse in any way they could. It wouldn’t be the first time Mr. Anderson assigned Marshall extra homework for reasons like being late. Hopefully that morning wouldn’t be one of those times. But unless Marshall ran faster, it would.

The contents of his backpack rattled as the bag bounced up and down. He tried to quicken his pace, but the lack of sleep made it tough. At the same time, Marshall wondered why any of it mattered. Maybe he should’ve stopped and saved his breath.

Still, he kept going. He passed the cafeteria on his left and the library on his right. After passing a few more buildings, all of which looked the same aside from their different sizes, Marshall got to the back of the school.

The stillness, caused by the absence of students, comforted Marshall. He tried to enjoy it while it lasted. Nonetheless, nothing would stop his heart from beating faster and his hands from sweating as he got closer to his destination. His increased heart rate and clammy hands were not a result of his sprint through the school but his anxiousness for the approaching class period. Any attempts to calm himself down failed. The most he could do was not let it show on the outside.

He walked alongside the math building, passing room 16, then 15, until he finally came to room 7. It was the room that proved difficult to find for so many freshmen on their first day and parents on open house night.

Marshall stopped and took a deep breath before he entered the room. It would’ve been wise to enter as he got to the door because the bell rang just before he walked inside.

Fortunately, Mr. Anderson was busy scrolling and clicking on his laptop with a coffee mug in his hand. Maybe he was busy enough not to notice Marshall’s two-second late entrance. Trying to avoid the attention of the old teacher, Marshall sneaked to his seat.

As he got to his seat, Mr. Anderson spoke, You are late. That man disregarded so many things during class, but when it came to Marshall, nothing got past him. It made Marshall angry, but it made sense. Looks like an extra homework sheet for you, Álvarez, Mr. Anderson continued. All the eyes in the class were directed toward Marshall, most of them giving abashing looks.

I’m sorry. It wasn’t my fault, Marshall said.

You were the one that was late, weren’t you?

Yeah, Marshall sighed.

I’ll get that homework sheet to you by the end of class.

Oh, well, Marshall thought. It wasn’t anything surprising. The other students continued to stare at him as they murmured among themselves. He hated looking like an idiot, but it happened all too often. His classmates’ eyes pressured him, making him feel uncomfortable. Pretending to be invisible, Marshall hoped they would go back to their conversations and ignore him. It was especially important Marshall didn’t attract the attention of Josh’s eyes.

Careful not to catch the gaze of any other students, he glanced around the room. No corny math posters hung from the bland white walls and no book shelves stood on the floor. The room was simple with five large wooden desks taking up a majority of the space and Mr. Anderson’s desk near the front. The wooden surfaces gave off a slight tinge of chemical cleaner which mixed with the smell of coffee coming from Mr. Anderson’s desk.

Marshall looked up at the clock and saw it read 7:02. Continuing to stare at the clock, he took a deep breath. He wanted class to start, not because he cared about it, but to avoid the possible interaction with other students.

He didn’t know most of the students at the school because of his introverted nature. There were many students he knew of, though, including Josh Greene. Josh was the school’s basketball champion. He was considered one of the best on the varsity team. Currently, he was talking to his friends at a different table. He wore a name brand T-shirt and a pair of pricey basketball shoes. His broad face intimidated Marshall. Looking away, Marshall thought, definitely don’t want anything to do with him today.

He looked at Mr. Anderson, then at the clock again. Unintentionally, he looked into Josh’s mean gaze. It was an accident, but Josh wouldn’t care.

What do you want, Marshall?

Marshall tensed up. Nothing. Sorry. He looked away, trying to make the interaction end sooner.

Josh smirked. Hey, he said, getting Marshall’s attention. Nice clothes. You’re really killing it with the homeless person look. And you have your hair to match. Looks great, man. Josh chuckled, which was echoed by other students in the class. It was like Josh had to make a scene, even if he didn’t entirely want to.

Shut up, Josh, Marshall said, looking at the ground. He wore a pair of black basketball shorts with a white stripe running down each side. A tattered plain gray T-shirt covered his torso. The holes revealed his rich, medium-brown skin on his stomach and shoulders. A pair of old sneakers covered his feet, but they looked more like dirty old rags.

You shut up, Marshall, Josh fired back. "Dude, you look and smell like a damn hobo."

Marshall looked down at a stain on his shirt and frowned. You’re just arrogant. The other students said nothing, just watched. Mr. Anderson took no notice either and simply began to search through some papers on his desk.

Josh turned his head and squinted his eyes. Huh?

Nothing, Marshall replied.

You know, Marshall, Josh started. Marshall just couldn’t wait to hear what more the idiot had to say. Why don’t you just go back to Lakewater? You’ll fit in better. Marshall looked away and said nothing while Josh, his friends, and other kids laughed. Some of them ignored what was going on, including Mr. Anderson.

Marshall wanted nothing more than to get out, away from that school, to be off in some distant place playing video games or writing poems. Reality hurt. He didn’t belong there. They treated him like he accidentally wore a goofy costume to a funeral. Despite his ignorant nature, Josh was right. Maybe those words and ideas weren’t even his to begin with, but it sure seemed like he agreed with them. It was undeniable either way. Marshall would fit in better at Lakewater.

He started high school at Lakewater High, but had transferred after the first month because his grandma claimed he would have more opportunities. Getting transferred was the easy part because he had the highest possible GPA in middle school. The school he got transferred to, Montery High School, was a public school, but it was in the richest part of Moseley, Florida, and well-funded.

At the time, it seemed like a good choice, but it came at the cost of having to leave his friends behind. It wasn’t an easy choice, but Marshall decided to follow his grandma’s advice. It wasn’t too bad during the first half of the first year, but as life happened, it got worse. His grades slipped and his confidence crumbled. Marshall felt comfortable around his old friends. They all had similar upbringings, but the kids at Montery had no idea what Marshall’s life was like. He was an outsider and they all saw that.

Finally, Mr. Anderson stepped to the front of the class with a paper in his hand. He wore the usual old man teacher attire. His calm but dull voice droned about the plan for the day. We will be working on trinomials as well as some review from the last chapter in the packet. What you don’t finish is homework, he said. Oh, and Marshall, he handed him the paper, this is for you. It’s the extra homework you earned.

Now that class had started, Marshall didn’t have to worry about Josh, but he still had to sit through the class and do the work. To him, math was easy and straightforward, but monotonous. The lack of sleep and absence of interest in the math work made Marshall tired. He was unaware he dozed off until a loud ring filled the air. Thoughts and memories had merged together as he left consciousness behind. The nap was nice, but now there was a strangling noise disturbing it.

Ignoring it at first, Marshall kept his eyes shut. Every instinct told him to remain where he was, but he knew he had to get up. He jumped up and looked around the room as he came back to the gloomy school setting. The room was empty except for Mr. Anderson who sat at his desk and shook his head in disapproval. Other students strolled into the classroom talking to each other and being noisy. They eyed Marshall as he shoved his papers in his crusty old backpack. He walked towards the door and fought through the incoming students to leave the room. Eventually, he got out.

The school buzzed with students and chaos. They streamed through the walkways and clustered in groups, the polar opposite of how it looked earlier that morning. After walking down alongside the math building, Marshall soon found himself in the midst of all the activity. His vision filled with so many faces, most of which he didn’t know. Just like every other day, passing period made him anxious and unsettled. The students talked with excitement as they met up with their friends. Some stood in one place and talked while others hurried past each other to get to their next classes.

Marshall walked towards the massive two-story building across the clearing. That large building, the Main Hall, contained the English, social science, art, and foreign language classrooms. Several concrete plant boxes divided the middle of the clearing. Students often sat on metal benches surrounding the boxes to hang out or have a quick snack.

Marshall walked across the clearing, not exactly paying attention to where he was going. He followed the route every day, though he soon wished he had paid more attention. The plant box that he approached usually had a different group of people, but today, Josh and his friends were there.

Hey, Trevor. Look, it’s Marshall, Josh said as Marshall approached. He tried to ignore Josh and wished he was somewhere else.

Just keep walking, he told himself.

Dang, dude. You’re right. He really does look like a homeless person. Trevor talked as if it was his first time seeing Marshall. Trevor Jones was Josh’s best friend and also played basketball, but for the JV team. They were both jerks, but Trevor was far worse. He wore more expensive clothing and was haughtier. Unlike Josh, Trevor had some intelligence and understood the weight of every word he said. Trevor boasted some of the highest-end Nike basketball shoes, a fancy belt, and a silver Rolex on his wrist. Most high schoolers didn’t wear a watch at all, let alone a Rolex. A gold curb chain with a dice pendant hung around his neck, while a pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses sat on his face and hid his eyes. Marshall hated everything about him, but he hated him most for being so proud of the expensive clothes his parents bought for him.

Trevor stood on one side of Josh, while Josh’s girlfriend Allison stood on the other. There were a few other kids in their clique as well. I’m not surprised, though, Trevor said.

Yeah, and this idiot was late to class again, and he fell asleep, Josh said.

He was probably just tired from digging in the trash or something. Marshall hurried past them, but Trevor stood up and grabbed his arm. Where you going, trash?

The Main Hall, he said as he pulled away from Trevor’s grip. They all laughed at him. Is it tough sleeping on the streets?

No. I mean, Marshall had chosen the wrong words. They all cracked up. Shut up. I’m not homeless. You’re stupid for thinking that.

Not really. I mean look at you. You could at least fix your hair and get rid of those bags under your eyes. Trevor formed a heartless grin.

Marshall hardened his face, wanting to punch Trevor and tell all of them how stupid they were. It’s not worth it, he thought. I’m not homeless.

That would be a surprise. You sure look like a hobo, Trevor said. They all sniggered even more. Marshall started to walk away, but Josh stuck his foot out, causing Marshall to stumble forward onto the concrete. He put his hands out and hit the ground hard. After pushing himself off the ground, he glanced back at them with his eyes narrowed in anger. Hate was all he had for them. Without saying another word, he left.

The Main Hall consisted of two wide hallways forming a T-shape in the building. Carpet covered the floor and pictures painted by art students hung on the walls. Students scurried through the building and teachers stood outside their classrooms, welcoming students in. Marshall had two classes in the Main Hall. First, he had Spanish, which was usually boring. That day they spent the period working on translating words like cosa and supermercado to English and vice versa.

After the class ended, Marshall put on his backpack and left the room, walking directly across the hallway into another classroom. The end of a period always gave Marshall a small burst of relief as it meant being one period closer to the end of the day.

The short side of Mrs. Smith’s desk pressed up against the wall near the door. In that classroom, several goofy posters about bully prevention and proper grammar usage hung from the walls. A few stuffed animals perched on top of a tall file cabinet in the back corner.

Marshall, Mrs. Smith said as he walked in.

Yeah? he asked. Mrs. Smith lowered her glasses on her face and looked up at Marshall. She was a plump middle-aged White woman.

Her voice boomed in an unruly way. Did you finish that essay that was due last week?

No, Marshall replied.

No? Mrs. Smith said, pulling her head back in surprise. Why not?

I don’t know, he said. That was a lie. He knew exactly why, but he didn’t want to tell her. How could he?

Well, that’s an F on that essay then. Unless you get it to me by Friday.

Friday? he asked.

Yes, Friday. You got most of the week to finish. Get it done.

Alright, thanks. He took a seat at one of the desks. Only two other students sat in the room, but over the next minute, more students entered, including Valery Thompson.

He thought she looked beautiful. The slight curl of her hair and her strawberry-colored lips attracted Marshall’s eyes. Her outfit consisted of a blue skirt and a black shirt that read, Montery High School Girls Tennis. She sat down in her seat and pulled out her phone. Marshall glanced down every so often to make sure no one noticed him staring. It would be embarrassing if he got caught eying such a pretty girl.

Valery, Mrs. Smith called out. Valery turned around and her eyes met Marshall’s. He jolted his head to the right and looked out the large windows. Dummy! Valery smirked a little then looked away.

What, Mrs. Smith? Valery said.

Come get your essay. It’s graded. Nice work, Mrs. Smith said. Valery walked over to Mrs. Smith’s desk and grabbed her paper. On the way back to her own seat, she stopped by Marshall. The smell of sweet perfume floated around her. Nervous, Marshall tensed up and his hands began to sweat.

Valery frowned in disgust. I saw you staring at me.

Oh, uh. He fumbled with his words. I was just staring into space. Not really at you, he explained.

Oh, yeah? she replied.

Yeah, I’m just tired, he said, combing his fingers through his messy hair. It wasn’t exactly a lie.

So, are you gonna ask for my phone number or something? She tried to hide a decisive look behind her eyes.

Huh? I don’t have a phone.

Valery laughed and a sneaky leer grew on her face. You don’t even have one of those sucky Androids? I thought even a broke boy like you could afford one of those. I guess not. Marshall listened, bored of hearing yet another person look down on him. It’s alright, she said in a snobby tone. Nobody wants you to have their number, especially not me. You smell, or look like you smell, and you’re lame and a weirdo. I’m so out of your league, she said.

Marshall didn’t respond and tried to hide his hurt feelings. She no longer looked pretty. Her decisive smile and judging eyes made her fake and inhumane. Valery was ugly.

Just keep your eyes somewhere else. Alright, weirdo? she said. She flipped her hair over her shoulders and walked to her seat.

Marshall’s thoughts about her changed. Her mannerisms were gross. She was as ugly on the inside as Marshall was on the outside. She needed to be proved wrong. He wanted to make her regret what she had said. Valery’s words made her just like Josh and Trevor. They were all just a bunch of arrogant rich kids. Wishing he could prove himself, Marshall let out a long sigh. The idea seemed as unreal as buying a Tesla. He was insignificant, but he didn’t want to be. He wanted the exact opposite.

The bell rang and class started.

Mrs. Smith spent the class discussing a few chapters from a novel called The Man of Rome. Marshall couldn’t pay attention. He was lost in his own thoughts.

Marshall’s gaze gravitated toward Valery again, but that time with a scornful look. He didn’t want to be her friend or Trevor Jones’s or anyone else’s. Those rich kids who didn’t work for anything had no right or place to look down on him. Marshall didn’t think there was anything wrong with being rich, but the egotism that came with it made him sick.

The bell rang and third period ended. Without hesitation, Marshall left the classroom. He put his backpack on and rushed out. He walked down the hall and exited through the West door. Two other buildings stood in front of him. The one to his right, the library, towered slightly taller than the one to the left. He turned and walked between the Main Hall and the library before entering another door in the Main Hall that opened up into a classroom. The room was clean and tidy with historic newspaper articles and photographs of important people and places and nature lining the walls. In the back corner, near the teacher’s desk, hung a small, blue and white flag with a panther emblem on it that read Montery High School.

Marshall surveyed around the room. Where is he?

Instead of going directly into fourth period, the school had a break that lasted ten minutes. Marshall usually spent that time in the classroom he was in. Somewhat frustrated, he continued to look around the room. He wanted to find his friend Lucas.

Lucas was his only friend. While Marshall was eating by himself at lunch one day the week after winter break the previous school year, Lucas strolled up to him. Hey, I’m Lucas. Lucas Porter, he said. Marshall was surprised. No one ever talked to him, especially during lunch.

Hi, he said. He didn’t know what to say.

What’s your name? Lucas asked.

Marshall Álvarez, he said, confused. Lucas sat down next to him at the lunch table. Other kids sat there, but they were all at least five spots away. Why are you talking to me? Marshall asked in a hostile tone.

To be honest, I’m not sure. I guess it’s because I decided I don’t like my friends anymore. Plus, you looked lonely.

Well, I’m not. I just don’t like anyone here.

Lucas chuckled. That’s understandable. Some of these kids are just too stuck up. That statement surprised Marshall, but he couldn’t have agreed more. It made him interested in Lucas. Maybe Marshall wasn’t the only one who felt that way. Lucas’s clothes were fresh and he didn’t appear to be poor like Marshall. Marshall understood his words, but not why he said them.

I don’t live around here, he said.

That’s alright, Lucas said. People around here are mostly just snobby rich people.

Don’t you live around here? There had to be some reason Lucas didn’t think like the rest, and he wanted to know.

I do, but not always.

As they hung out more and became friends, Lucas told Marshall about how he grew up in Riverside, California. He had two loving parents, but his mom died from breast cancer when he was five and his dad died in a car accident caused by a drunk driver when he was twelve. Lucas was alone and in a foster care system by the time he was in seventh grade. He was going to live with his aunt and uncle, but it was determined that they weren’t suitable to raise him. Lucas was truly alone. Then, he got adopted in eighth grade by a rich family and moved to Florida.

Lucas’s parents were nice to Marshall when he came over. They never judged him because he came from a poorer neighborhood. Their welcoming nature made them like his second family.

One day, he was at Lucas’s house playing video games. Just before Marshall left his house that day, he asked Lucas a question that made him determine he could trust Lucas with his life. This is kind of random and kind of weird, but why did you talk to me that day at lunch when I was alone? I mean, I know you said it was because you didn’t like your other friends, but you could’ve talked to anyone else.

Lucas smiled. "Because once I was in a place similar to you, but a family decided to give me new hope. I guess I felt it was only right I did the same for you. I’m glad I did because you have been a great friend