Fen and Mara - Open Novella Contest 2019 Short List

Chapter 3

Someone bangs on his bedroom door. "Get up, Fen! You're gonna be late for school!"
With a groan Fen turns over to look at his alarm clock. He's got half an hour left to shower, have breakfast and ride to school. Good. That means he can stay in bed for another ten minutes. Unfortunately his mother doesn't grant him those ten minutes, she's already standing next to his bed to pull the blankets off him.
"Get up, vago! Spring break is over!" [vago: lazy ass, Spanish]

When Fen enters the kitchen his father and brother are already having breakfast at the kitchen table. Vic just puts the last bite of his pb&j sandwich in his mouth.
"Morning," he mumbles with his mouth full, not looking up from the tablet in front of him. With one hand he scrolls through the news feeds, stopping every now and then to read more than just a headline.
Their father does it the old fashioned way and reads the newspaper. His weapon holster is already buckled around his torso, although the holster is still vacant. Theresa Holt doesn't tolerate weapons inside the house, no matter what kind of weapon it is; Henry only gets his gun out of the safe the minute he leaves for work.

Fen takes a seat at the table with his cornflakes. His father lowers his newspaper and looks at him with a frown. "Nazreem is making some wrong decisions lately. I can only hope you use your brain the right way."

"Naz is okay, dad," Fen mumbles, hunching over his breakfast. He doesn't want to discuss his friendship with Naz, particularly because he knows his friend has changed the last couple of months.

"Hanging around with drug dealers is not okay in my book," Henry says. When Fen's eyebrows raise and come back in a frown, he gives his youngest son a scrutinizing look. "I can see you didn't know that?"

Fen shakes his head. He didn't know that, no. Maybe that Davy from last night is a drug dealer; it would certainly explain his expensive gear. Around midnight Naz had sent him a text to let him know he was home again. Him and Davy were taken to the police station, after Lion Heart had cuffed them to the grandstand in wait of the police. Naz was free to leave after a while because he is still a minor, yet Davy was in a lot of trouble for carrying a forbidden weapon. His friend is mad about Fen splitting on them; Fen understands that, though he also thinks it is Naz his own fault. If they just had left when that guard came, there wouldn't have been any trouble!

"Buenos días!" Theresa Holt walks into the kitchen with a grocery shopper filled with empty egg cartons. "Boys, I wanna leave in ten minutes, so if you want a ride, you need to get moving. Or else you can ride your bikes to school."

"What are you making, mom?" Vic asks curiously, pushing the tablet away from him.

"We're reading from the book 'I really want to eat a child', so we're making crocodiles!" the kindergarten teacher answers. She takes a green egg carton crocodile from the bag to show her oldest son. "Fen made a sample this weekend, isn't that sweet?" She ruffles his long black hair lovingly.

"Mom! My hair!" Fen ducks away from his mother's hand and cards his fingers through his hair to pull it back into his regular messed up mohawk.

Vic starts to chuckle. "Don't worry, Fen. You're still the spitting image of a skunk, just like every other day."
Fen wants to lash out at his brother, yet he reigns himself in when he sees his father's stern frown above the newspaper. He's already grounded for the whole week, it's better to lay low right now.

The two brothers are each other's counterparts. Vic is tall and big, just like their dad, with broad shoulders and hands like shovels. His hairs are a warm chestnut colour, also like his father. Fen looks more like their Spanish mother, with straight, almost black hair and dark eyes. He's tall like his brother, yet with a more lithe build. Their characters are opposites too, Fen is way more temperamental than his gentle brother. They do share their love for rugby: they play in the same team, with Vic as captain.