Candus: Pathway of Light

By Phoenix Z

Candus' story: Life reminds me of a rollercoaster. When I have reached the highest thrill, it drops me faster than I can handle. I have good things going for me, but my overly-large family wants to rob me of my opportunities by making me a slave to the household. My goals are fingertips away, and I could achieve them if my family would get out of the way.

The Pathway of Light Series follows four youth through the struggles of everyday life. These teens interact with each other in all four stories, but they have a powerful tale of their own. Each teen will come to a crossroads where they have to pick a path. Will they choose the path that will lead to pain, or will they follow the path that leads to growth?
The author works in youth and adult corrections and has seen the destruction a seemingly harmless decision can make. Often, a life-altering choice can have massive consequences.  As dreams shatter, the offender would give anything to change their past to make a better decision.
This unique series allows the reader to watch the devastation that comes when the protagonist picks the path with darkness. The reader will also experience the main character taking a different, more hopeful direction, the pathway of light.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Phoenix Z Publishing
• Release date: May 9, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224746514

Book preview

Chapter 1-Have To Be The Best

Scarlet snarls at me . She must have forgotten all the Best-Friend necklaces she had given me, devoting herself to our friendship. We had joined  For the Love of Skating  at age three. I remember us wearing chunky trainer skates, bright elbow pads, and bulky protective gear. Dang, we were pretty cute then, even Scarlet. At that time, we skated for fun, nothing serious. We became fast friends and had many sleepovers, playing together often as our mothers took turns carpooling us to classes. We were the best of friends.

I hate you, Scarlet mouths to me through pimped up lips. She believes in her superiority, and we are all below her. Her hot pink racing outfit tightly fits her curves. Her mother never spared a dime when it came to Scarlet's skating. I turn and study the judges. They appear stiff. Why won't it start already?

I stand behind the start line, my hands sweating, which I find uncouth as I wipe them on my yoga pants. My nerves tighten up, muscles pulsating. The race belongs to me. I need to win, having practiced faithfully for this moment. I scan my competition. They all hold faster times than me, but I devote more to practicing than they do, which I count on paying off for my winning moment. The other girls shuffle, waiting for the bell to sound. I had started as friends with many of them, but the competition has forced a wedge between us.

We are now enemies.

The bell rings. I give the push, and my skates shoot me into the race. Regulating my body, I carefully make quick, sharp strides. As my pace increases, so does my glide. My thighs burn as I push. Eight of us soar on the rink, all fighting for optimal position. I need to make my attack so I can win this thing. I throw my force and make my breakaway, passing four skaters. There are still three ahead of me. I intend to make another blast of energy and overtake them. Most importantly, I will pass Scarlet, who holds the front. As we complete our last lap, my wheel flies off before I can assess what is happening, and I plant my face into the solid ground.

Ouch! The pain.

The momentum continues to slide me into Jessica, which throws her into Janis, who crashes into Scarlet. I have unintendedly wiped out my competitors. The last four skaters fly around us as we lay in a defeated mess.

The bell rings, the one that should have rung for my win, and the crowd cheers. The race has ended. I want to hide my face forever. Hours and hours of practice flushed down the drain over my stupid wheel. I had oiled my bearings the night before, and I must not have tightened the nut as I should have. I close my eyes to hold in the tears. I am not a crier, especially not here.

Thanks a lot, Jessica spits as she skates past me. Her ugly expression could kill a lion. I keep my head down. At least by losing, I keep her from winning. Jessica had also been a close friend once upon a time. Janis skates the other way. My ankle throbs where I landed on it. As I attempt to stand, Scarlet skates into my side and lodges an elbow between my ribs.

How dare you take my win. Since you can't win on your own, you have to sabotage us. You do not belong in this league. She kicks her front wheel into my hip. More suffering! If the audience's eyes weren't on me, I would attack back.

Over the last few weeks, the inline skating competition had been fierce. We had already done three timed trials, two sprints, four criteria races, and a distance race. I had not medaled in any of them. In nine months, we will start our quad freestyle tests. It is time to switch my training. I might not have speed, but I have turns and style.

Our races aren't national. We're merely a group of local skaters who like having a good time. I am not old enough to join the Roller Skating Association Internationals (RSA). I will be fifteen in December, and then I will pass the freestyle tests and join.

I undo my skates on the rink and limp off, with head bowed in shame. I have failed my last chance at a medal this season. If I had not fallen, I would have had it. My skate failed, not me. Oh well, inline speed skating is not my specialty anyway. I excel at jumps and toe work.

I wait by the front doors for my family. I haven't seen them in the stand. Awkwardly I wait, fighting the extreme disappointment I have for myself. Sadly, no one shows up as the stadium empties. Disappointment overwhelms me. My mom has only come to two other of my races, while my dad has attended none of them. Why didn't they come? They both had promised.

The empty building sends shivers down my spine. I expect to see a man in a mask charge at me. What will I do?

I take out my cell phone and call my mom. -Nothing. I call my dad.

Hey, princess, he says. I hate when he calls me that. I am fourteen and am beyond too old for a baby term of endearment.

Why aren't you here, I snarl? Some of the lights behind me shut off. A perfect time for a murderer to take me out. No one is around to see. You promised.

I am sorry, My dad says apologetically. I am at a member's house right now. His family is in crisis.

I lost the race. I am in crisis.

I am Mormon, and my dad has been the bishop of our church for the last two years. Life changed over those two years. I see my dad less and less and have begun to despise him for it.

Always about them, never about me, I say.

Princess, please, no. It is not like that at all. You are my world. You are the most important.

Bang. Shrump. Bang. A loud thump and crash come from under the seats in the far corner. Chills erupt over my arms.

I don't know what that sound was, but I don't want to find out. I should be braver than this, but I am not.

I think Dad is still talking. He can spin words, but they lack meaning. Actions show love, not words.

I hang the phone up. He would not leave his precious member to come to pick me up, nor do I want him to. He has missed my race, and I want to owe him nothing.

I call Eric, the neighbor boy across the street. He is eighteen, way older than me. He usually gives me rides if I need them.

No one answers.

In anger, I slam my hand against a window.

Real mature, Scarlet huffs.

Where did she come from? I spin around and see Scarlet and her mom walking my way. Dang. They weren't supposed to see that. At least I am not alone. The murderer will have to wait until they leave. I stare out the windows without looking back.

Bang. Shrump. Bang. There's that noise again, sending my nerves on edge. So far, I don't have a ride home, and as much as I detest Scarlet, her presence keeps me safe.

Hey, Candus, Scarlet's mom, Lula says. Lula is beautiful and youthful, almost looking more like a sister to Scarlet. She could win an old person's pageant. Mom and daughter have full, wavy blond hair and perfect complexions. Unlike me, my face pocked with acne. I had applied ample foundation before the race, but indeed the sweat has destroyed it. Do you need a ride home?

Mother! Scarlet squeals like a pig.

Why would I want a ride with Scarlet? I look outside to a dark and cold parking lot. More lights behind me shut off, casting eerie shadows around the arena. What will I do?

Scarlet! Her mother says warningly. Maybe I would have fun with it. I'll take the ride to spite Scarlet.

Sure. Thanks. I sneer at Scarlet, who now bites her rounded lip. That's right, queenie, I win this one.

As I climb into the front seat of the Mustang, it almost feels like old times. How many places had I gone with Scarlet and Lula? Nostalgia smacks my heart. Too bad our relationship ended poorly. We had been such besties. The seat I sit on has the mustang symbol on it. My thighs squeak as they push against the leather. A pair of fuzzy dice hang from the rearview mirror. Those are so 80's.

"Sure, make your own daughter sit in the back. Don't forget, MOTHER, that because of Candus, I lost the race." Scarlet knees the back of my seat.

Scarlet!

Well, it is. You pump all your money into my training, and now you give the very person who took it from me a ride.

I quickly glance at Scarlet in the backseat. She has a big purple bruise on her cheek from the fall. Good, it pleases me. She needs a dose of humility.

So, how is your jewelry business, Lula? I ask. I smile at her like I am Mrs. America, cheesy and fake.

Lula's eyes sparkle. Vanity defines her. It's going great. I am about ready to launch a new line this spring.

Oh, I would love to see it, I lie.

Scarlet moans in the back. Oh, please. Her knee shoves into the back of my seat again.

I smile. I might not have won a trophy, but at least I have managed to ruin Scarlet's night.

Warm air greets me, a lovely relief to the cold night air. I close the front door behind me and look around our drab entryway. Lula peels out of our driveway, and I hear the Mustang zoom away. Scarlet probably will inherit the Mustang when she turns sixteen. Lucky. As I settle in, no one welcomes me home. What a surprise! Lula supports everything Scarlet does. My family ignores me. I drop my skates on the tile. My mom hates when I do not put them away, but why should I care? She obviously does not care about me. The smell of noodles lingers in the air. Great! Noodles again! I can't eat any more noodles. I think we eat them five days a week.

I stomp into the kitchen, wanting my presence to be known. Samantha, my five-year-old sister, runs by and plows her body into mine. Her elbow pushes into my rib cage, exasperating the pain already in it.

Hey, say you're sorry, I scream. You should be more careful. Out of all the siblings, Samantha looks the most like me. We have blond hair. Mine is shoulder length, while hers goes to her hips. We are lucky to have hair that brushes out smoothly and stays that way. Everyone says Samantha is my twin. She does have stunning eyes, but I think she seems a little dorky. I hope I wasn't that awkward when I was her age.

Samantha glowers back at me and sticks her tongue out.

You brat, say you're sorry. I push my body into hers.

Hey, now don't you talk to your sister like that. Of course, my mom takes Samantha's side. She would never take mine.

My mom sits at the table with Erica playing playdough. Kendra, the newborn, lays in the bassinet at my mom's reach. No hello, welcome home. No, hey, was this your last race? I am sorry I missed it. -Nothing.

The noise of children permeates the air. Let's not forget the fighting in the background. There is always fighting in our house. My mom and dad would like us to have more unity, more kind feelings for each other, but that is impossible with the siblings I am stuck with. I surmise the real problem attributes to our mass size. What were my parents thinking?

She shoved her elbow into my side. I do not have to take that, I snap.

It doesn't matter what she did. You don't have the right to call her names.

Your right. It never matters what they do. I'm the only one who ever gets in trouble.

My mom lets out a long sigh. Do we have to start fighting the moment you get home?

Give me, Erica says as she grabs a ball of blue playdough out of my mom's hand. Erica is eight and has ruined my life. She is highly autistic, which for me means our world evolves around her. Everything always centers on Erica. We don't want to work Erica up. We need to be calm for Erica. We can't go there because Erica will be hard to control. Erica. Erica. Erica.

If I ripped playdough out of my mom's hand, she would scold me, but my mom never disciplines her precious Erica.

Mismatched chairs circle the table. My home embarrasses me. When I go to my friend Sarah's house, everything is designer and perfect. We live like our things are bought at the thrift store or rescued from a great, great grandma's basement.

So, you miss my race to stay home and play playdough, I smartly say as I go to the pan on the stove. Marinara sauce dries against the backsplash and all over the stove.

My mom's head pops up. Oh, no. Don't tell me your race was tonight?

Yes, it was, but you know this because I have been reminding you about it for a week, plus, as I said goodbye to you this morning, I again told you about it. You promised not only would you be there, but you guaranteed you would have Dad there as well. I stare into an empty pan. No one saved me dinner. Why would they?

Oh, honey, My mom says as she stands up.

Sit, Mommy, Erica whines, grabbing my mom's hand.

Are there no noodles left? I ask—my stomach growls. I did not want noodles, but since no one even thought to leave me any, I want them.

I don't know. Check the pan.

What does she think I am doing?

Kendra babbles. It's rare to hear her happy. She is the most unpleasant of creatures, always crying.

My mom comes over and puts her arms around me. Honey, I am so sorry I missed your race. I know this was a big deal to you. I am sorry, I just got so busy today. I had a field trip with my kids today (My mom teaches Happyschool). That about did me in. Then, I got called to school to bring Erica a change of outfit. After school, I had Alicia's dance to take her to, then Dawn's karate. Today was just so slammed. I am sorry. That is not an excuse for missing it, but I did. I am sorry.

Kendra cries. Erica bends over and puts a piece of playdough in the baby's mouth.

My mom runs to Kendra while scolding Erica. Erica, what are you thinking? You can't give the baby playdough. You will kill her.

My mom fishes the playdough out of Kendra's mouth with Kendra screaming. She turns to Erica and swats her hand. "Don't you ever, ever, ever do anything like that again. I am the only one who can feed the baby, is that clear?

At least she is somewhat punishing Erica. It does not matter. Erica never learns.

Erica sneaks her chunky little fingers over to Kendra's thigh and pinches it. Kendra lets out an ear-piercing shrill.

ERICA! My mom screams.

Erica grabs a handful of playdough and runs downstairs. Erica, get back here this minute, My mom hollers. She flings Kendra over her shoulder and pats her back while she sings to her. It's okay. It's okay. Mama loves her baby.

Kendra has a bright pink mark on her thigh where Erica had pinched it. My mom rubs at it, then sits down, still holding the baby. Tears form in my mom's eyes, and her voice becomes heavy. I can't do it. How can I get anything done when I can't even leave the baby alone with Erica for even a second?

So, I guess I don't eat dinner tonight?

There are dishes piled upon dishes in the sink. Meanwhile, a rotten smell permeates my nose, and the floor sticks under my feet. Why is my mom so lazy? She is home all day. She should clean more.

My mom looks up at me. Kendra still wails in her arms. Look. If the noodles are gone, make some! she blusters.

Don't yell at me, I quarrel back.

Candus, can't you see I have a lot going on right now? You are a big girl. If you are hungry, make some food.

"Sure, you make dinner for everyone else, but I have to make my own. Whatever!" I bite my nails, and a sour flavor slips out from under them.

Eww.

Ugh! My mom roars out. Even though Kendra still howels, my mom puts her in the bassinet. With her arms free, my mom lays her head in them and sobs.

Milk cascades over my cereal. I take a bite, and it crunches in my mouth. Yummy. -cereal for breakfast again.

My mom pops her head up and wipes away the tears. Life is not always about you.

You are absolutely right about that. In fact, it is never about me. I am the least important member of this family. It's always about all your other brats.

Go to your room! My mom screams, her face turning dark red.

Already on my way!

The food stays here.

I ignore her.

With all my effort, I slam the door as loud as I can. The room shakes. My mom is too busy with the baby to take my food from me.

I am livid and breathe fast. I pump my right fist open and closed. Quickly, I consume the cereal so fast it feels like a brick in my stomach. I let out a loud belch. Good thing I am alone. My mom does not even care she missed my race. She did not even ask me if I won.

I take the ceramic bowl and chuck it at the wall. It shatters as milk sprays everything. A dent concaves the wall where it hit. I realize I dinged up my trophy wall, but the thing sadder than the mark is that there are no trophies on the wall. 

Chapter 2-The Master Plan

Icross my ankles together and almost trip. My heart races as I straighten my legs. Glad I did not fall. I need to master the Choctaw. I plant my skates again, turning inward on the curve and crossing my ankles in front again. This time I nail it! I release then come in from a forward outside edge and end on a backward edge, making a counter turn.

Yes!

Next, I want to work on the Mohawk. This involves a change of foot, but not a change of edge.

I would like to see Scarlet do what I did. She might be fast with inline races, but she cannot do footwork near as well as I can. No one in our league can. I am the master, and even though I have never brought home a medal, this will be my year. I have nine months to improve my footwork, and then I will be the pro. The trophy is already mine!

My alarm goes off. I skate with Bluetooth headphones in and have run out of time for practicing. I cannot believe an hour has already passed. Time cruises when I train. I sit on the cement and remove my skates. My finger runs along the rough wheel. I wish I had a second pair of inline and quad skates. I would have won the race if I had smooth wheels. You are supposed to have separate skates for the smooth floors of an indoor rink versus ones used outside or on cement. Scarlet has two pairs of each; indoor and outdoor skates.

I haven't even shut the lights out yet, and the basement feels creepy.

Sometimes I get scared down here, but then turn my music up and forget my fears. As I leave, the foreboding sense of fear seems always to return. I usually run home before anything bad can happen to me.

I rise every morning at 4:45 am to skate. I despise waking early. I prefer to gain an extra hour of sleep every morning, but I must practice. I would skate after school, but my mom makes me babysit or do some bull crap job for her more often than not. She is home all day, why can't she clean the house?

I do not have anywhere to practice at home, but thankfully, the Pows' across the street allow me to skate in their unfinished basement. They gave me a key, and I let myself in. At first, it felt awkward going over, but they do not wake up until 6:30 am, and I am home by then. We have an agreement. I teach their two kids piano in exchange for practicing skating in their basement.

I started piano at age three, my golden age of lessons. I have been playing for eleven years. I am unique, possessing great skill on the keyboard. My mom still makes me take lessons after school on Wednesdays, which is a waste of time and money. I am proficient. Mrs. Anderson, my teacher, is getting old, and I do not think she can fully hear anyways. I am fine without her.

Now I have stopped moving, my sweat cools down, and I feel chilled in the cold basement. They never heat it down here. At least the room is large with ample space for performing, and I tend to warm up within five minutes of starting.

I rub my hand along the rough edge of the wheel. I need a job so I can buy new wheels. -Actually, new skates. Indoor and outdoor, along with a skating outfit to compete in, one with sequins and jewels, way better than Scarlet's.

But no one gives fourteen-year-olds jobs.

My boyfriend is sick today, Sarah says. Her highschool boyfriend picks us up for lunch every day—that way, we aren't stuck eating in the cafeteria like a loser. Today we are going to be losers.

Dang him. I was really craving Subway. I shove my books in my locker as a shoulder smacks my face. The narrow hall makes it so we frequently bump into other kids.