Save Me, Page 4

CHAPTER FOUR

  Mr. James

  Martin wakes to the sound of his mother's calls. He can hear her downstairs getting breakfast ready. She never makes breakfast in the morning, not even on weekends.

  “Get up, get dressed, and get down here, Martin!” she calls. Martin looks at the clock: 6:51. It’s the time he usually gets up in the morning. Martin gets out of bed, still in his clothes from the day before, and gets ready.

  Breakfast is cut short when Martin tells his mother he isn't packed yet. His father leaves for work while his mother cleans up the kitchen. Martin goes upstairs to pack his clothes. When he gets to his room he frowns at the clutter. After his shower he’d tossed his dirty clothes on the floor. While searching for something to wear, Martin threw items on the bed or on the floor that didn’t meet his criteria. Since this has been his routine for a few weeks, he really doesn't know what’s clean and what’s dirty.

  Martin begins cleaning his room before he starts packing. He turns up the volume on his iPod, scrolls to his favorite playlist, and gets to work. He judges how clean his clothes are by how they smell. He picks up several books from the floor, throws away old papers and gum wrappers, and puts all his shoes in his closet. When he finishes clearing the floor, he brings the vacuum into his room.

  Martin looks at his room, admiring the now clean floors and neatly made bed.

  Martin's mother walks upstairs to his room.

  “Martin, what’s taking you so…?” his mother trails off as she sees the clean floor and bed.

  “Wow, I’m impressed.” she smiles at him.

  “I made a mess, I cleaned it up,” Martin smirks. “Come on, mom, don’t make me go.”

  Her smile falters. “Martin, you’re still going…”

  Martin groans. “Come on! I made a mistake; it’s not like you’ve never made a mistake before!”

  “Martin that’s not the point,” his mother sighs. “What you did was wrong, and dangerous.”

  “You’re making this out to be completely my fault!” Martin cries. “I wasn’t the only one throwing punches!”

  “But you were the first,” his mother replies. “If you were anyone else, you’d be expelled, or worse. Your father and I do our best to protect you, Martin, but you’ve got to take responsibility for your actions.”

  “Look, I said I was sorry,” Martin sighs.

  “Are you, really?” his mother looks at him.

  “Yes, really,” Martin answers.

  “Then you won’t mind apologizing to Johnny Reese?” his mother challenges.

  Martin’s eyes grow wide in apprehension. “I’m not apologizing to him! Do you have any idea how humiliating that would be?”

  “Alright, off to Mr. James we go,” his mother nods.

  •••

  Martin walks downstairs with a small suitcase in his hand. Dragging his feet, he follows his mom out the front door and into the car. They drive out to Mr. James' house in silence. Martin sits on the passenger side, brooding, as his mother silently prays.

  When they arrive, Mr. James is waiting for them on his front porch. Martin grimaces and gets out of his mother's car. Mr. James greets Martin's mother.

  “Good morning, Mrs. West.” Martin's mother replies in kind.

  Mr. James turns to Martin. “Hello, Martin. That's a pretty nasty bruise on your cheek.”

  Martin rolls his eyes and makes a face. His mother gives him a threatening look, and Martin walks up to the porch to shake Mr. James' hand, muttering a greeting.

  Mr. James smiles at him, belying his tough exterior.  Mr. James is a big man with dark skin and seriously toned muscles. His smile is as big as he is, though Martin finds it more annoying than inviting. He walks with Mr. James into the house, his mother close behind.

  “Mr. West and I just want to say thank you again for agreeing to watch Martin on such short notice,” she gushes. “Mr. West and I both work and Martin can be a handful. We couldn’t let just anyone watch him.”

  Martin rolls his eyes again.

  “Well, it's no trouble at all,” Mr. James replies. Martin makes gagging gestures as the conversation lingers twenty minutes longer. His mother leaves after a short goodbye, and Mr. James shows Martin to his room.

  After dropping his suitcase in his room, he follows Mr. James on a tour of the house. It isn't much. There are two bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen, and a small room Mr. James uses as an office. The last stop is the garage, where Martin happily finds a weight set.

  Mr. James has several religious paintings and pictures of people who look like family and friends. Gaps of awkward silence are quickly filled with Mr. James’ explanation of this and that, and Martin sighs with relief when he’s finally allowed to his room to unpack.

  Martin rushes upstairs to put his stuff away in the spare bedroom that will be his for the next five days. Martin overheard Mr. James tell his mother that he had previously used this room for storage, but recently cleared everything out and put a bed and dresser in. A single object hangs on the wall. It’s a painting of Jesus; his face is glowing and he has nail prints in his hands.

  Jesus is in a standing position, wearing a white robe and golden sash, with his arms outstretched. There is a Scripture on the painting that Martin doesn't bother to read. He scowls in aggravation, grabs the picture and places it in the bottom drawer of the dresser.

  Martin sits on the bed with his head propped on his palms. The bed is surprisingly comfortable, but Martin is in no mood to be comforted. He pulls out his cell phone and texts Max.

  Martin: I hate this place. Johnny is dead when I see him again.

  Martin waits a few minutes for Max to respond. Martin knows he’s in class, or sleeping. Finally, his cell phone chirps.

  Max: call u n 5 mn.

  Martin taps his foot on the floor until he hears Max’s ringtone.

  “What took you so long?” Martin asks.

  “Sorry, had to get around Miggy. She was checking everyone for hall passes. What’s up?”

  “I’ve been here less than an hour and I’m already going crazy, that’s what’s up,” Martin groans. “My parents took my iPod and my DSi, I’m surprised they didn’t take my phone. This guy has no computer in here, no TV, no stereo, I mean, what am I supposed to do here?”

  “Beats me,” Max snorts. “Hey, you know Johnny Reese is at school today?”

  “What?” Martin exclaims. “He wasn’t suspended?”

  “Nope,” Max answers. “He looks like crap, but he’s here.”

  “I don’t believe this!” Martin scowls. “I get four days of suspension and he gets to go right back to school?”

  “Yeah. There was a quiz in Chem this morning, too,” Max adds.

  Martin groans. While on suspension, most students aren’t allowed to make up tests. “Agh! I can’t fail Chemistry. They’ll kick me off the team.”

  “Ah, they’d never do that,” Max chuckles. “Kick you off the team, that is. You might fail Chemistry though.”

  Martin scowls, “Why is this happening to me? Johnny Reese is a nobody, a loser. I mean, he’s practically invisible. How could he get me into so much trouble?”

  “I don’t know,” Max yawns.

  “And where were you at lunch yesterday?” Martin asks. “You’re supposed to have my back, Shaw.”

  “I was with Shelly, sorry,” Max replies. Shelly is Max’s girlfriend. “By the looks of Johnny’s face, I doubt you needed my help anyway.”

  Martin clenches his fists in frustration. “It wasn’t nearly enough.”  

  “Let me know what you wanna do,” Max laughs. “Anyway, I’d better go before Miggy the Munchkin catches me. Later.”

  Martin flips his phone closed and kicks the bed.

  He hates this place. He hates Mr. James. He hates his parents for leaving him here. And he hates Johnny for being the reason he’s here. Martin grabs his suitcase and walks over to the bedroom dresser. He stuffs his clothes in the top drawer and closes it with a loud bang.


  Johnny, Martin draws a mental target around his name. Johnny is the one responsible for this whole mess. He’s probably laughing about it with his dorky friends, if he has any. Martin slams his fist into the dresser. The pain doesn't register at first, but when he sees his knuckles bleeding his hand immediately begins to sting.

  The pain serves as a catalyst to his fury. The more he thinks about the pain, his situation, and Johnny, the more heated he becomes.

  The throbbing increases and Martin swears, cradling his hand in his arm. He’s still sore from fighting Johnny, and he can literally see his knuckles pulsing.

  Martin studies his hand, taking deep breaths to keep from crying. He never cries, and the possibility that he might irritates him further. He shakes his head defiantly. He’s channeling his anger the wrong way. He looks over the old, hand-carved oak dresser. He can't even locate where he’s hit it. The bedroom door opens, interrupting Martin's thoughts.

  “Martin?” Mr. James steps into the room.

  Can't you knock? Martin frowns. “Yeah?”

  “I heard a noise.” Mr. James scans the room; his eyes stop at the bare wall above the bed. “What happened?”

  “Ah, the picture fell,” Martin lies. “I tried to put it back up there, but it won't stay.”

  “So where is it now?” he asks.

  “Oh! Uh...” Martin opens the bottom drawer. “I wasn't sure where to put it, so I just stuck it in here.” Martin can tell that Mr. James isn't buying it, and he folds his arms, ready for anything Mr. James may say. 

  Mr. James narrows his eyes and focuses on Martin's hand. Martin wonders if he will call him out on his lie, but Mr. James instead takes the picture from the drawer and replaces it on the wall.

  “The trick is to press it in as you hook it,” he tells Martin. Martin stands, apprehensive, and wonders when Mr. James will confront him about lying. After perfecting the alignment of the picture Mr. James walks back downstairs, calling behind him, “Come downstairs and we'll put something on those knuckles.”

  Martin walks reluctantly down the stairs. He takes a seat in the living room, watching Mr. James as he gathers rubbing alcohol and cotton swabs. Mr. James motions for him to come in the dining room and have a seat at the table.

  His wooden chairs are hard, Martin thinks to himself.

  Mr. James wastes no time in applying the first aid. He mercilessly swabs Martin's knuckles with a cotton ball full of alcohol, and Martin swears before he can catch himself.

  Mr. James stops momentarily, his eyes communicating a warning. Martin gets the message, but proceeds to curse in his mind. He can feel his temper rising and, once again, his thoughts circle back to Johnny.

  Martin imagines his next encounter with Johnny. He’ll beat him so badly, Johnny will beg him to stop before it’s over. The thought appeals to Martin, and he smiles.

  Shortly afterward he winces. Mr. James is the worst nurse he's ever encountered.

  “You know, Martin, I was a lot like you when I was younger.”

  Oh great! Here it comes, Martin thinks.

  “I had a temper and it cost me a lot.”

  Martin tunes him out and begins replaying his revenge in his mind. Johnny messed with the wrong guy. Martin considers how much satisfaction Johnny's bloodied face will give him. He is going to make him sorry. Martin looks at Mr. James' mouth.

  Yup, he's still talking, Martin thinks. Man that dude can talk. I don't know how much more of this I can take...

  “And I almost killed him.” Martin hears Mr. James, but barely catches what he says. The words have jumbled so badly in his mind that they no longer make any sense.

  Out of boredom and a little curiosity, Martin asks him to repeat himself.

  “My best friend. I almost killed him,” Mr. James repeats.

  Martin can’t believe his ears. Mr. James is either lying, or Martin still hasn't heard right.

  “You did what?” he asks again.

  Mr. James stops working on Martin's hand and sighs. “I never shared this with the youth group, but yes, I almost killed him.”

  Martin tries to reason out his meaning. “You mean, like, you almost accidentally killed him? Like...maybe he jumped out in front of your car?”

  “No I mean I went to his house with a gun, fully intending to kill him.”

  Martin sits, stunned. Now he wishes that he had been paying attention. “But why?” he asks.

  Mr. James chuckles and repeats the story.

  “I fell in love with a girl named Theresa. She liked me well enough, but she was absolutely crazy about my best friend Rick. I pretended not to notice, and pursued her anyway. I thought maybe I could convince that I was a better choice. But I couldn’t change her mind.”

  “Rick knew I liked her, but he wasn't interested, and he told me so. He told Theresa too, which broke her heart. I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to win her, but she told me being around me reminded her of Rick. Her heart was broken and she’d never give me a chance. I thought Rick had ruined my one shot at love, so I got my dad's gun, went over to his house, told him he didn’t deserve Theresa, and shot him.”

  This new piece of information takes a few minutes for Martin to process.

  “You actually shot him?” Martin asks. “Do my parents know about this?”

  “Yes. To both.”

  “But you shot him in the knee or something, right?” Martin asks.

  “In the chest, Martin,” Mr. James answers with a slight frown.

  Martin sits back, bemused. “Why would you shoot your best friend over some girl?” Martin asks. “And why aren’t you in jail now?”

  Mr. James shakes his head. “In a word, I was jealous. And not just about Theresa. That was just the tip of the iceberg. You see, I grew up poor. My family always struggled, and nothing ever came easy for me. I wanted to go to a local university on a basketball scholarship, but my grades weren't good enough, so I didn’t qualify.”

  “I was accepted to the university, but I couldn’t afford to go. Rick, unlike me, grew up wealthy and his life seemed so easy. He applied to the same university and they gave him a full four year basketball scholarship. I was furious when I found out, but I told myself it wasn’t because I was jealous. It just wasn’t fair. I was struggling and couldn’t afford college, and he got a scholarship he didn’t even need.”

  “I was a better player, but he had the grades, and I hated him for that. So he had my school, my scholarship, and Theresa’s heart. He was living my life, and I was jealous. He had everything I wanted, and you know what? He turned it all down. He turned down the scholarship, went to another school and rejected Theresa. What's ironic is that he did it all to make me happy.”

  “So, you got a raw deal and you shot him?” Martin shakes his head. Mr. James nods. “But that’s stupid.”

  “Like I said before,” Mr. James sighs, “I was a lot like you when I was young. I was irrational, I didn’t think things through, and as soon as things didn’t go my way, I would explode.” He adds pointedly, “Even if the situation was my own fault.”

  Martin furrows his brow and crosses his arms.

  “So what happened to your friend?” Martin asks.

  “He threw the rubber bullet at me, and after telling me how insane I was, he kicked me out of his house.”

  Martin feels like he’s missed something. “What?”

  Mr. James chuckles. “My dad had a hunting gun, and he didn’t use regular bullets. He didn’t want to kill the animals; he just wanted to stun them. So he used a low powered rifle with rubber bullets. I wasn’t thinking about that when I grabbed it. The bullets can leave a nasty bruise, but they generally aren’t lethal from a distance.”

  Martin is relieved. The idea of the youth pastor in front of him being so cold blooded, however intriguing, is unsettling.

  “Martin,” Mr. James continues, “had those bullets been real, a lot would be different now. God was looking out for me. He had a plan for my life, just like He has for yours.
Don't think the same thing can't happen to you. You lose control often enough and you'll wind up making mistakes that you can't reverse.” Mr. James looks at Martin's hand, nodding in satisfaction.

  “You're all set. Are you hungry?”

  “No, I'm gonna finish putting my stuff up.” Martin gets up quickly, eying Mr. James warily. How can he compare himself to Martin? Mr. James doesn’t know anything about him. No one does. If his parents really understood him, they wouldn’t have sent him here. His thoughts return to Johnny, and Martin begins to form a plan.

  •••

  After Martin finishes unpacking, Mr. James gives him a rundown on the rules of the house.

  “Okay, Martin. Starting tomorrow you'll be doing your school work with me between the hours of 8:00 am and 3:00 pm. Those are the basic school hours, aren't they?”

  Before Martin can answer, Mr. James continues. “I'll be teaching you a few things during that time period as well, and I expect you to pay attention. I'm sure we won't have any problems, but just 'F.Y.I.', you will face the consequences for any misbehavior.”

  “If you have any questions, feel free to ask. After 3:00 pm, you can have some leisure time, but you won’t be allowed to go out. As far as the house goes, I don’t have cable or any kind of game consoles, but I have plenty of books if you want to read them. And you’re welcome to anything in the pantry if you get hungry.”

  “Blah, blah, blah,” Martin mutters under his breath.

  Mr. James sighs. “Martin, I've known you for a while now, so you know what I expect from you. We've got a long day ahead of us. We're going to go to the church today.” Mr. James looks at his watch. “Right now would be more precise. Let's go!”

  “Go where?” asks Martin. “To church?”

  “Yes, church,” Mr. James answers. He walks to the door that leads to the garage and signals for Martin to follow. Martin walks into the garage and waits for Mr. James to unlock his car door. When they both get in, Mr. James starts his car and drives to Upside Christian Church.

  “Why do we have to come here?” Martin grumbles as they walk up the church steps.

  “I have some office work to do, and we’ve got some studies to work on,” Mr. James answers.

  “I’ve got a headache,” Martin complains. “I don’t feel like studying.”

  Mr. James unlocks the church doors and leads Martin inside, promising to give him a few Tylenol. Martin looks around the old church. The inside has stained glass windows, cushioned maroon pews, and deep burgundy carpet to match the pews. There is a balcony above the pews on the floor and staircases on either side.

  The pulpit is as large as a stage, and there is a large area behind it with three rows of seats for the choir. There are drums, an organ and microphone equipment on the left side, and a door leading to the kitchen on the right.

  Mr. James leads Martin to the kitchen and out through the back doors of the church where a second building stands; it’s used for the youth meetings. This building is smaller and has chairs instead of pews, but the layout is similar. There are two doors in the back. The one on the left is the bathroom, and the one on the right is Mr. James' office. Martin stands in the building and looks around while Mr. James goes into his office. When he returns he has a plastic cup full of water and some Tylenol in his hand.

  Martin grudgingly accepts both from Mr. James.

  “So, what are we gonna do?” asks Martin.

  Mr. James looks at his watch and replies, “We're going to have Bible study.” Martin rolls his eyes and groans.

   ”We'll start with the basics. First on the list is salvation. Second is the Walk. That should take up the whole session.”

  “Wait a second,” says Martin. “What do you mean by the Walk? I mean, you’re always using terms that don’t make any sense.”

  Mr. James answers, “The Walk is a term used to describe the daily lifestyle of a Christian. How we think, talk, and act on a daily basis should coincide with the basic principles given to us in the Word.”

  “Oh, good thing I’m not a Christian, then,” Martin smirks. “Why do you call it the ‘Word’?”

  Mr. James picks up his Bible and says, “This book right here is the written Word. If you take the letters B-I-B-L-E they are abbreviations for the purpose of the Book.”

  “Well, what do they stand for?”

  Mr. James answers with a smile, “Basic Instructions Before Leaving Earth.”

  Space Cadet, Martin thinks as he squirms in his chair. His original suspicions are definitely substantial. Mr. James is insane, and Martin’s regard for him dwindles every time the man speaks. Nevertheless, he is curious about where all of this is heading.

  Martin asks in a condescending voice, “If I leave Earth, where will I go?”

  Mr. James leans back in his chair and replies, “Depending on the condition of your soul, you'll either go to Heaven, or to Hell. If you have received the gift of salvation, you'll have received eternal life in Heaven. If you reject the gift, you are accepting death and Hell.”

  “But I haven't been given anything,” Martin states, becoming agitated with the conversation.

  “But you have,” Mr. James smiles. “Jesus Christ is the only begotten Son of God, and He was sent by God to die for our sins. None of us can claim to be righteous without accepting that gift of salvation. Through Jesus we can fellowship with God and spend an eternity with Him in Heaven.”

  “I’m not claiming to be anything but human,” Martin scoffs. “You're the one talking about leaving Earth. Do you honestly expect me to believe that?”

  Mr. James looks at Martin and answers, “As strange as it is, it's all true. I believe it because I know it's true. The answers to life’s questions begin with the stories in this Book.”

  “I’m not asking any questions,” Martin groans. “The only question I may have is why God makes so many stupid rules. I mean, how can you call God fair? You almost killed your best friend but you're going to go to Heaven. I'm not perfect, but I've never tried to kill anyone. Why should I be sent to Hell?”

  Mr. James shakes his head. “You’re missing it, Martin. The point is that no one deserves to go to heaven. That’s why we need a savior. But if you don’t accept salvation, how can you enter heaven?”

  “I don’t care!” Martin rolls his eyes and gets up from his chair. “Why do I have to sit here and listen to this, anyway? I bet Johnny is having a good laugh right now about me.”

  “I get sent away, but him? He’s the victim, so he gets to go right back to school today. What about me? Why am I always the villain? If God is so fair, He'd give me parents who could understand me instead of ramming the Bible down my throat and making me feel like a criminal!”

  Martin kicks his chair in frustration and glares at Mr. James. He hates the man in front of him. How can he go on about the Bible and God with a past like his? And who is he to judge Martin?

  Mr. James responds, “Martin, there are some things in this life that none of us will ever understand. In the Bible, a man named Job has questions about why he goes through so much hardship. He loses his family, his possessions, and his health. In fact, the only thing he has in the end is a wife and friends who give him bad advice.”

  “But when God finally responds to his questions, Job realizes that he is asking God about things he cannot understand. God created everything, Martin. He's all powerful, he knows everything, and he is everywhere. It is God alone who has all power.”

  Martin shifts in his seat and frowns.

  “Now, I know this may be hard to accept but your parents love you and they want what’s best for you. But Martin, you have got to learn to control your spirit, and you do that by controlling your thoughts.”

  “Right now you think the world is against you, but it’s not. You think that this boy Johnny is somewhere laughing at you and your situation, and maybe that’s true, maybe it isn’t. But Martin, you can’t allow your feelings to govern your actions, and you cannot control your feelings if you
do not control your thoughts. This is how you control your spirit.”

  Mr. James continues, “Now, as far as forgiveness goes, understand this spiritual truth: none of us deserves to go to Heaven. All of us have sinned and have fallen short of the glory of God. I know perfection is a hard concept to grasp, but God is perfect. His ways are perfect. He is holy and He demands that everyone who wants a relationship with Him be holy as well.”

  “Because of our sin nature, it is impossible for us to work our way into Heaven. This is why whether or not we get into Heaven is not determined by what we do; it's all about relationship. Once you accept Christ and ask His forgiveness, you are cleansed of all your unrighteousness. Once you realize that you're no better than someone who murders or steals, you'll come to appreciate God's liberality.”

  Martin closes his eyes in frustration. “This stuff doesn’t make any sense,” he says.

  “You understand more than you let on, Martin,” Mr. James replies. The phone rings in Mr. James’ office and he gets up to answer it.

  “I’ll be back in a moment.”

  Mr. James leaves Martin alone with his thoughts.

  What if Mr. James is right? Martin wonders. What if there really is a Heaven, or a Hell? And what about Johnny?

  No, he has to pay Johnny back. Whatever the cost.

  •••

  Three o'clock comes and goes, and Martin and Mr. James return to the house. Martin goes upstairs to his room, and Mr. James goes to his office. Martin is sifting through the apps on his phone, searching for games, when Mr. James’ phone rings. After the third ring, Martin assumes Mr. James is too busy to answer his phone, so he picks it up.

  “Hello? Mr. James?” It’s his mother.

  “It's me,” Martin replies flatly.

  “Oh, Martin!” she exclaims. “How are you doing, Sweetie?”

  Martin rolls his eyes. “You dumped me off at this guy's house. How do you think I’m doing?”

  His mother sighs, exasperated. “Martin, your father and I explained to you that we both think its best that you – “

  “No, you and Dad both decided that you’re tired of trying to handle me, so you dumped me off on somebody else!”

  “Martin!”

  “It's the truth!” Martin yells into the phone. “If you and Dad are so ashamed of me than just say so! I'm not a child, so, stop treating me like I can't figure things out!”

  “Martin, that's not it at all! Your father and I love you.”

  “No you don't!” Martin can feel the heat rising in his neck. “I hear the things you say about me. You think I'm no good, and I'll end up dead or in jail one day. Isn't that what you said? Isn't it?”

  “Martin, that's not what I meant,” his mother pleads for his understanding. “We worry about you, and I know I shouldn't but—”

  “That's right. I'm not worth worrying over, am I?” Martin’s words ooze with sarcasm. “What point is there in caring about someone like me, right?”

  “Martin, just listen for a minute! We love you, but sometimes you act so out of control.”

  “Where do you suppose I got that from?” Martin asks. “How many times have I watched you come home drunk after some party, or watch dad smash everything in the house when he didn’t get his way? Whenever you guys fight it’s like world war three, so if you want to blame somebody for the way I act, then blame yourself!”

  “Martin, that's enough!” Mrs. West speaks firmly. “You are my child; it is NOT the other way around. Don't you dare talk to me that way!”

  “No problem!” Martin shouts. He slams the phone into the receiver and turns around to find himself facing Mr. James. The look on his face could turn flesh into stone. Mr. James is deathly calm, a stark contrast to Martin’s heavy breathing.

  “What was that?” Mr. James asks quietly.

  Martin clenches his jaw. “That was my mother,” he replies.

  Mr. James cocks his head to one side and takes a long breath. “You were speaking to your mother… like that?” he questions.

  “She had it coming to her,” Martin frowns. He knows Mr. James will never take his side over his parents', but right now he doesn’t care.

  “Martin, I will not tolerate that kind of disrespectful behavior in this house, not even over the phone. You’re going to call your mother back and apologize to her, are we clear?” Mr. James waits for Martin's response, but Martin says nothing. “I know you heard me, Martin.”

  Something in Mr. James' voice tells Martin he had better respond. “Yeah, whatever,” he replies.

  “Excuse me?” Mr. James is obviously not satisfied with Martin's response. Martin glares at Mr. James defiantly.

  “Martin, you may think you have the right to be angry with your parents, but you don’t,” Mr. James warns. “You have no one to blame for your bad choices but yourself.”

  “My parents are hypocrites and so are you!” Martin glowers. “You don’t know anything about my family, and you don’t know anything about me!”

  Martin grabs the picture of Jesus from the wall and slams it to the floor, breaking the frame into pieces and tearing a hole in the middle of the painting. They both stare at the picture in silence.

  Martin looks up at Mr. James, apprehensive. “I didn’t mean to…” Martin’s voice trails off and he looks away.

  Mr. James looks at the picture a long time before speaking. “I think you need some time to think things over, Martin. It’s best you stay in here the rest of the night.”

  Mr. James takes the broken frame and the picture and leaves Martin’s room. Martin leans against the wall and stares at the empty space left where the picture once hung.