A Boy Named Alice

Chapter One

This novel is dedicated to my mom. I love you and I miss you.

Summer vacation started in five days. I was moving in six. Life drifted from these walls in too many ways. The small treasures dad had kept here, first packed away when he went into the ground, were now joined by everything else. It all sat in tidy boxes, neatly label and sealed shut, ready to be taken away when the moving truck arrived on Friday. My favorite picture, one of just dad and me, no longer greeted me as I walked down the hall.

"Morning, Alice." Mom smiled when I entered the kitchen.

"Do you have everything you need?" Wisp of blonde hair escaped her braid. Old flannel and jeans replaced her usual pantsuit. Her beloved smart phone sat silent on the counter.

I cringed. My parents may have thought it was cool to name me after their favorite rock singer, but I thought it was girlish and awkward. People looked at me weirdly every time they heard it.

"Yeah."

Sheryl, hair as pink as her lipstick, pressed a kiss to Mom's cheek as she passed behind her.

"Honey, ease up a little. It's not like he's got homework." She set a paper plate almost overflowing with eggs and toast on the island as I clambered up the stool.

"He can't slack off, Sheryl. School isn't over yet."

"Lauren, even the teachers are slacking off right now." Sheryl grinned, leaning on the island, secrets and mischief promised in her eyes. "You excited for summer?"

I shrugged and faked a smile, prodding the mass of scrambled brains pretending to be eggs.

"Sure."

I pushed the gooey mess around the soggy paper, and doodled in the trails left behind. Mom clanked the last real plate into a box, and sealed the top with clear tape. She scribbled Kitchen on all four sides and Sheryl added it to the stack against the wall. Mom set up another box and began filling it with glasses, black newspaper ink smeared along her fingers.

"I'm not hungry." I pushed the plate away and slid off the stool. "Can I leave now?"

Mom sighed and snatched up my lunchbox.

"Here, let me put this in your backpack."

"No, that's okay. I can carry it."

"Not today, please."

She grabbed the backpack and unzipped the top. A heavy pause, the thud of the lunchbox, and the comic book slapped down onto the counter.

"You can't take those with you."

The rotten faces of zombies chewing on the living clashed with the ceramic owl cookie jar, a look of permanent surprise painted on its face.

"I don't see why not," I said, fiddling with the strings on my jacket.

"I've told you these things are too graphic, and it's against school policy."

"Sorry, AJ, Mom's spoken." Sheryl shrugged and swiped the comic off the counter.

My shoulders sagged. Mom picked up the lunchbox and tucked it into my backpack, closing the zipper. She leaned forward and kissed my forehead. She smelled like newspaper and cardboard boxes.

"Have a good day, sweetheart."

I wrinkled my nose and wiped my forehead clean. "Mom, did you have to?"

She shook her head and laughed. "Go before you're late."

"Come here." Sheryl gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek.