Tigers In Us

Blayze is pathetic when it comes to sports. At his school sports matter, not grades. This was never a problem until he is saved, from a routine fight. Then it's a problem.

0Likes
0Comments
690Views
AA

6. chapter 6

“So I heard you like paint,” said Mom one morning when I sat at the table.

“Yes, I exp sully like the sea, could we go there someday,” I said too keep it convincing.

“No not the ocean,” said Mom.

Shi** now I actually had her believing the lie.  “Shoot,” I complained.

“I did get you some watercolors though,” said Mom putting a bag on the table.

Ok now this was exciting.  I opened the bag.  There were five tubes of paint, the primary colors, white and black.  I grinned when I found a entire brush set.  My eyes didn't leave the stuff, nor could my face muscles relax.

“Like it?” asked Mom.

“Thank you!” I exclaimed jumping up and hugging Mom.

“Ok,” said Mom with laughter in her voice.

“So how is Dad at the office,” I asked to keep the good mood up.

Mom’s face fell.

My oatmeal turned to dust in my mouth.  “What?” I prompted.

“Dad lost his job,” she said.

That explained why we never moved, this had been our temporary house.

“It’s ok Blazer, we have what is in the bank,” said Mom, “and besides he has an interview today”.

“Hope he get’s it,” I said getting up.

 

When I got to class and the main event: something wet him me in the back.  Spit ball.  I wanted the lecher to end as much as the people behind me but spit balls where one of the worst ways to do it.  Another wad of paper hit the black girl next to me.

She looked at me.

“Came from behind,” I said then quickly added, “I got it too”.

“And this is what?” she asked sassily.

“Well it would be a spitball,” I said casually.

The lady stood up and yelled, “Who ever threw this stupid ball at me will be ever sorry and will stand, NOW”!

Curso broke out as everyone started blaming each other.  Spit balls are a terrible way to end a leacher.  

A paper airplane landed on my desk at one point.  I unfolded it and found a note, the same handwriting.

Kimball is dead if you keep it up

 

What!!!!  Panic flooded me.  How could this happen?  I would be a selfish jerk to keep going to paint/other.  I owed her an explanation.

At lunch I ran up to her table without a thought.  

“Kimball,” I exclaimed.

Her friends looked up.  She held a folded note with the same paper as mine.  

Pure.  Dread.  

We exchanged the notes wordlessly.  Her’s said this;

 

Stop helping him now!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

I handed the note back to her.

 

Join MovellasFind out what all the buzz is about. Join now to start sharing your creativity and passion
Loading ...