WESTWARD EDEN By:Juaquin Batista

WESTWARD EDEN

A Novel by

Joaquin Batista

Copyright © 2003 Joaquin Batista

ISBN 1-59113-316-5

Published by Armando Gomez    

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

Booklocker.com, Inc.

2003

Part Four

Mission of Mercy II

Adán shot up from his desk. “Aw shit. I knew it!”

“A girl?” Maxey and Kenny chorused.

Maxey’s grin spread wider, menacing. “What’s she promised you, Marty? A big wet kiss?”

“No. I already got that.”

“She promised—more?” Maxey was the worldly one among us. “Way to go, Marty! You finally woke up—and smelled the panties.”

“Maxey! —How crude!” Kenny shouted. “If Marty invited her, you can rest assured it was for a noble cause!”

“All right, Marty, let’s have the rest of it. Spill it—what’s her name?” Maxey was getting annoyed.

“Emily Spinoza.” A quizzical look was tossed around like a hot potato.

“I don’t know that name,” Maxey said. “Either she’s a rich girl or one that lives down on Ross Road.

Kenny got curious. “Why there?”

“Lotta girls out there don’t use their real names—mostly handles—you know, nicknames.” Maxey turned to me. “Go on, describe her.”

I did, down to the minutest detail.

“Only one girl comes to mind—but trust me, you’re the last kid in the world she’d ever kiss!” He gave me a sharp look.

“Oh, Marty—we’re in the middle of a mystery!” Kenny said, brimming with excitement.

“Still, the girl you described wouldn’t wear a dress. She’s a tomboy. She’s been snowin’ you. But there’s more, right?” Maxey persisted.

I told him of Emily’s intentions.

Kenny gasped. Adán’s gaze pierced me. Maxey stared, too, and rose from his seat, his hand gripping the desk. For a moment, hard emotions swirled in him. We stared at each other like tomcats. Then he exhaled.

“Have you totally flipped? You want the cops to push their way up your—our butts? If her old man gets wind of this, we’ll all be in deep shit! I don’t know about you, Marty—but the lights under a line-up are way too hot!”

“That’s okay, Maxey. You don’t have to come along.” He got the message. He knew by the look on my face, I had made up my mind. Then I turned to the others. “So, are you with me?”

“A Mission of Mercy for Emily Spinoza —who could resist the challenge? Yeah, Marty!” Kenny said gleefully.

Adán wasn’t as excited as Kenny, but agreed to come along too. “Like I said, it’s been boring, hasn’t it?”

“Okay, okay! Let’s get organized here. First, we use our scout shirts to get past the town—I’ll get Emily one tomorrow.”

“Scout’s shirt?” Kenny voiced. “What’s scouting have to do with Emily’s mission?

“Because, Kenny,” I explained, “Maxey says Emily’s a tomboy. If she just wore hiking clothes, she’d be easily recognized and wouldn’t get to see her mom. But disguised as a Boy Scout with sunglasses and a hat for her hair, who’ll know the difference?”

“Perfect!” Adán jumped in. “The disguise should fool anyone. We can march right through the middle of town and no one will be the wiser!”

“Like I said, we’ll all wear our scout shirts and neckerchiefs. Plus jeans and any kind of hat we want. At least we won’t have to dress completely like scouts—just enough to fool the town folks. Besides, by eleven a.m., most of the people are either at Memorial Beach or out picking apples.”

“Marty—how brilliant! Heroism becomes you!” Kenny said.

“Okay,” I said, “We’ll get supplies at Spooner’s and …”

Maxey sat quietly, still not impressed.

When the three of us walked out of the multi-purpose room and into the hallway around the corner, Maxey lagged behind.

I stopped quickly, motioning the guys to wait. I counted on Maxey’s bravado to push him into our adventure. He wasn’t the type to be left out—even if we chose to jump off a cliff. And who would buddy up to him if we were gone? No other kid in this town liked him. We were it! Then the echo of his hollering reached us. “Wait—you lunkheads! Someone’s got to show you guys how to shuffle them leg irons we’ll be wearing while we’re building the new Highway 101 North!”

As soon as he spun around the corner into hallway, Maxey slammed into Kenny, bounced off him like a ball, sending him sprawling on the floor.

Both Adán and I reached down to help him up. “Hey rubes, did anyone get the license plate of that kid?” Maxey babbled.

Kenny remained standing with his hands folded behind him. He tilted his tousled head to one side and snickered, “Like you said, Maxey, you’re real cute when you’re rattled!”

WESTWARD EDEN By: Juaquin Batista

Arts & Entertainment

Presents

WESTWARD EDEN

Novel by

Joaquin Batista

Copyright © 2003 Joaquin Batista

ISBN 1-59113-316-5

Published by Armando Gomez    

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

Booklocker.com, Inc.

2003

Part Three

Bobby Sox & Lace II

All of this was too fantastic. Too sudden.

“Emily… maybe all this isn’t as bad as you think it is.”

“No? You tell me what I’m supposed to think about this!” Then she took off her sweater and I was shocked by the bruises—a bunch of them—like tattoos along both her arms.  She lifted her blouse to show me more bruises on her waist. “Still say I’m snowin’ you?”

“No. But they’re the proof you need for the police.”

“Thought about that. They’d take me away from Dad—for a while; then I find myself in a children’s home. He’d swear to be good and not to hit me anymore, and then I’d be sent back to him.”

“Maybe your father will learn from his mistakes…”

“It’s me who’s gonna learn from my mistake! He said if I ever finked on him, he’d finish me off.” Emily tilted her head to one side and made a sound like bones breaking.

“Think about it, Marty. I’ll make sure before I croak, the marker on my stone will read, ‘Thanks for nothing, Marty Montmajour.’ ”

Stunned speechless, I wondered if it might happen—and would it be my fault? Emily pulped to death? No!

“Why me, Emily? There must be others who would be more helpful…”

“Because you’re honest and true. And you’ve been in the Boy Scouts. You know your way around. And also, I heard Marty Montmajour’s word is gold. That’s what I heard. Is it true or just a pack of lies?”

I was flattened against the wall—and flattered. Emily saw me as heroic.

Maybe it’s time to live out my destiny and commit myself to this mission of mercy: The Rescue of Emily Spinoza!

“And,” she continued, “we’ve got to go back country or Dad will find us before we get there.”

“All right, Emily. I’ll do it. I’ll round up some of the guys and make it like a weekend excursion. But it has got to be my way.”

“Oh, Marty—you’re wonderful!” She leaned across the table and kissed me on the lips. Wow!

Mission of Mercy

The next day I went to the multi-purpose room to meet up with the guys. In the summer we gifted kids had access to any room in the school. They sat at a large table, going over their final assignments for the summer. My plan to break the news about Emily would be a bomb exploding our previous getaway plans, an overnight camp-out at the McMillan’s outer meadow.

Adán Gonzales sat next to me. He was a great kid. And the most unusual. Too bad most of the kids—except in the gifted class—thought he was the spookiest, most dangerous kid in town. His black hair and cinnamon skin highlighted distinct Mayan features. During Social Studies classes, kids learned how artistic—and magical—the ancient Mayans were. However, the stories of enchantment and spells of the Meso-American people didn’t help Adán’s reputation as the dreaded Gnome Eye. Adán, you see, could make his eyes glow.

According to the doctors, his condition was caused by an odd combination of adrenaline and an unusual retina arrangement—it made his eyes glow like a cat’s eye during the day.

But that didn’t explain why kids were able to “feel” the full impact of his gaze—especially at night. I should have asked him to volunteer for a science experiment, but who would have wanted to be the guinea pig? The only friends he had were in this class!

Maxey Ozuna was a combination of James Dean and Jimmy Cagney. A tougher kid you’ll never meet. He could scowl like no other. Where he lived, he had to look mean. The smallest of the four of us, he stood up against the toughest punks in Graton with his infamous grimace and wiry strength. Luckily our school principal discovered Maxey had a aptitude for mathematics and persuaded his dad to enter him in the gifted class. His father was a whole lot tougher than any punk Maxey was likely to come up against.

Then there was Kenny, Kenny Oseguera, our literary genius. Although he was the biggest and strongest of us, we had to look after him as if he was a baby brother. His mother boasted of their Castilian heritage full of noble knights and proud conquistadors, but Kenny took all this in stride. He wasn’t conceited about it. In fact, vanity never entered his mind.

It was time to drop the bomb—that is, during the next break period.

The dreaded moment came. Adán, Maxey, and Kenny had finished their snacks. We were all in the multi-purpose room, discussing our weekend camping trip to celebrate the end of the summer extension course.

“Uh, guys, there’s been a slight change of plans for the weekend. I invited another kid to come along with us.”

“Someone else?”  Maxey shot plaintively. “This is kinda sudden. What’s the lowdown, Marty? Getting paid? Your face in the Sebastopol Times for a good deed? Daddy twisting your arm? No—wait, it’s a science experiment, right?” Maxey was pissed; he doesn’t like surprises.

I felt a little embarrassed—it wasn’t anything related to Maxey’s suggestions. I wished it was.

Kenny noticed I was in trouble. “Hey Marty, you have my full support! Is it anyone we know?”

Adán propped his feet on the desk. “I got this funny feeling it’s gonna cost. Big time.” His eyes seemed to brighten—and it wasn’t the warm and fuzzy kind of brightness. It was the kind that blazoned “Danger, Will Robinson! Danger!” But he went along with Kenny. “Our last camp-out was boring.”

“See?” Kenny leaped from his desk and went behind me, patting my shoulder. “Adán agrees! Whoever he is—he’s welcome! I’m right behind you on this!” he beamed at me.

“You’d better watch out, Marty,” Maxey snickered. “Kenny’s bubbling over again. He might lose control of himself where he’s at, heh-heh.”

Both Adán and Maxey giggled.

“What is it, Maxey? Are you teasing me again?” Kenny leaned on Maxey’s desk. His weight strained the desk. Maxey wasn’t impressed. “Maxey, if you’re teasing me—stop it!”

“Kenny, did anyone tell you you’re real cute when you’re rattled?” Maxey shot back. This time the giggling was louder.

Kenny lost his voice and dropped his head. He was defeated.

Poor Kenny, he could never take on an aggressive posture. It wasn’t in his nature.

Maxey’s smile vanished to be replaced by his sourpuss grin. “Well, Marty? Who’s the Birthday Boy?”

“Guess what, guys? It isn’t a boy.” I answered.

Adán shot up from his desk. “Aw shit. I knew