The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.
The Boaz Schoolteacher, written in 2018, is my fifth novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.
Book Blurb
In the summer of 2017, Katie Sims and her daughter Cullie, moved from New York City to Katie’s hometown of Boaz, Alabama for her to teach English and for Cullie to attend Boaz High School . Fifteen years earlier, during the Christmas holidays, five men from prominent local families sexually assaulted Katie. Nine months later, Katie’s only daughter was born.
Almost from the beginning of the new school year, as Katie and fellow-teacher Cindy Barker shared English, Literature, and Creative Writing duties for more than 300 students, they became lifelong friends.
For weeks, Katie and Cindy endured the almost constant sexual harassment at the hands of the assistant principal. In mid-October, after Cindy suffered an attack similar to Katie’s from fifteen years earlier, the two teachers designed a unique method to teach the six predators a lesson they would never forget. Katie and Cindy dubbed their plan, Six Red Apples.
Read this mystery-thriller to experience the dilemma the two teachers created for themselves, and to learn the true meaning of real justice. And, eternal friendship.
Chapter 13
The idea had come early Monday morning as I was drafting a scene in Real Justice. Stella Gibson (a place-holder name I had temporarily borrowed from The Fall, a British-Irish crime drama television series filmed and set in Northern Ireland) my protagonist, was the new editor of the Times-Courier newspaper in Ellijay, Georgia (in a prior scene I had described her as simply ‘a secretary.’ Oh, the fluidity of fiction writing). Stella, my Stella, made The Fall’s Stella look like the grandmother in A Good Man is Hard to Find. I, as her creator, wasn’t the only one who had taken notice of the stunningly beautiful Stella Gibson. The five most influential leaders of Ellijay, Georgia also were noticing and commenting on the Chicago transplant. Why did it always have to be five? This is what had triggered my idea.
I was at the beginning of writing another book. It seemed I simply couldn’t get away from my own life experiences, especially the barbaric attack I had endured. My first book, Out of the Darkness, had its roots in what had happened to Darla, but it had, unknowingly to me at the time, foreshadowed my own traumatic experience during the 2002 Christmas holidays. Out of the Darkness II or Real Justice, whatever I ultimately decided to call it, seemed deeply rooted in not only the gang-rape I had suffered, but what followed. I didn’t know what was coming. Just like my Stella didn’t. Just like real people in real life don’t. This was only part of my new idea.
A most exciting component was to cross-pollinate the thought into my teaching. I had been struggling over what type of writing project I would assign to my Creative Writing class. For nearly twenty years I had guided my students in two major projects for the school year. I had guided them, a semester at a time, to create a publishable-quality short story. Now, as the thought of what Stella might have to do—I already knew her life in Ellijay would not be enjoyable to put it mildly—to serve real justice on five prominent men in her community, I felt compelled to involve my students. Why couldn’t they help write a novel instead of a short story? Why not let this assignment be an all-year project? I would have about 150 co-authors. Better put, each student’s novel, Real Justice I could call it now, would no doubt be unique.
As I left the basement I liked my idea, but it was a little premature to announce to my classes. I had to further analyze the pros and cons. A discussion with Cindy would be a good place to start.
I didn’t see Cindy until lunch. We normally saw each other for at least ten minutes during our separate planning periods. She said she had been summoned to Assistant Principal Wilkins’ office during the break at 10:30 a.m. I could tell she was not herself. Her face was more red than usual even though she was a natural redhead, meaning she had a few freckles, each one adorable and uniquely beautiful. She also seemed a little disheveled. Something totally unlike the prim and proper Cindy.
“Where have you been? I missed you during planning. I had a world-changing idea to run by you.” I said as I unpacked my lunch box continuing to eye Cindy sitting across my desk looking at a bottle of Sprite, as though she was trying to figure out how to open the lid.
“It finally happened.” She said ignoring her Sprite and looking at herself in a little compact that appeared from nowhere.
“What are you talking about? What happened?”
“The sex pervert Wilkins assaulted me. In his office.” Cindy was fighting a losing battle. She was trying to freshen-up her face but was overcome with the tears rolling down her cheeks.
“Oh my God. Are you okay?”
“I am, but it was the most horrible thing I’ve ever endured.”
“What can I do to help? Go with you to report it to Mr. Harrison? Go with you to see the police?”
“No, I’m not doing anything.”
“Cindy, you have to. This confirms it. He is a predator. He’s been grooming me. I think that’s what it’s called. Almost since the first day of school. Nothing overt, but definitely improper words, touches, looks.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? I thought we were friends, real friends, and could tell each other anything and everything. Don’t you see what I’m doing here?” Cindy said, starting to gain control of her crying.
“I should have. I now wish I had. And, we are friends. I am so thankful for you, Steve, and your triple A’s.”
“I need to tell you how he pulled this off. I’m not talking about my blouse.” Cindy said standing up and straightening her top, tucking it deeper into her skirt band. “Since I’m not telling Harrison or the police I want someone to know what happened before time passes and my memory fads.”
“I understand and I’m listening if you want to talk.”
“At the end of Third he sent a note by one of the student volunteers for me to come to his office at the end of class. The note didn’t say anything else. Just as I walked into his office the fire bell rang. You know that.”
“I do. It was a madhouse. Our second fire-drill of the year.”
“Wilkins ignored it as everybody in the main office was rushing out. He told me to come in that it was urgent and would only take a minute. I walked in and he closed his door behind me. Locked it and looked at me from foot to head. I can’t describe his eyes, but they were like those of a shark racing to devour an injured child, thrashing about in the ocean, bleeding and helpless. I knew right then I was in trouble.” Cindy sat down, as her face turned white as snow.
“Cindy, you don’t have to do this right now. You look sick.”
“I’m okay. He then pushed me against the wall across from his desk and planted a big sloppy kiss on my lips. I tried resisting but he was way too strong. His left hand pulled up my blouse and, in an instant, was fondling my breasts. I tried to scream but he kept kissing me. I tried to knee him but the way he had me pinned I was helpless. Then, he switched hands. His left did most of the pinning and his right pulled up my skirt on my left side. He was trying to pull down my panties when two things saved me. His desk phone rang, and someone knocked on his door. One of the student volunteers said, “Mr. Wilkins, are you okay? Mr. Harrison is looking for you.”
“What happened next?” I said not wanting to be too anxious to hear.
“He said, ‘organize yourself and sit down.’ I didn’t do either. At first. He then said, ‘you better not report this, or you’ll regret it. I’ve known for over a year that you’ve been wanting me.’”
“Oh my gosh, the arrogance and evil of the man. To think, he is always playing his Christian card. On top of that, he’s the Education Director at the Church. I said, not sure why I told Cindy what she already knew.
“Do you mind if I say a prayer?”
It wasn’t a statement I expected. Something like, ‘I’m going to kill the bastard,’ or worse, whatever that would be, was much more anticipated.
“Sure, if that’s what you want.”
Cindy called for us to bow our heads. She breathed a beautiful prayer, even asking God to help her forgive Mr. Wilkins. The part I could not agree with was Cindy’s confession of all sins she had committed including someway teasing Mr. Wilkins by how she had dressed and acted. It was like Cindy was blaming herself. She also asked God to help Mr. Wilkins surrender his urges and walk the high road of decency and respect. Cindy was a beautiful example of a child of God. Certainly, she was unlike me and probably most women who, placed in similar shoes, would be sharpening their knives.
When she ended her prayer, she looked over at me and said, “let’s eat, I’m starved.”
We did not get much planning done during our remaining twenty minutes. She continued to talk about how good a friend I am, and that she was always there for me, always available to listen. Something shifted inside me, like a tectonic move. I believed her every word. I was relieved when the bell rang because I was as close to divulging, for the first time, the biggest secret of my life. I was that confident I could tell Cindy anything and she would guard it with her life. Thankfully, I resisted. Today wasn’t the day.
The Pencil Driven Life 