Lost Game Notes (Novel)

Chapter 1: Dead Inside

"Alexander Brooke! You are on your way to detention, young man," Mrs. Blyton's voice rang clear in the quiet classroom.

All eyes were on Alex, who lifted his head off his arms as though bricks were stacked on his neck. He blinked his pale, blue eyes several times to wash away the gritty feeling, gazing around him like he had forgotten where he was.

Students waited with silent anticipation. It would be ironic if the lawyer's son got in trouble, for good, this time. Alex's eyes fell on Mrs. Blyton, the maths teacher. Her blood red lips were twisted into a disapproving scowl, her hands on her hips, a defensive stance.

"What did you say?"Alex said, straightening in his chair. A sense of guilt pricked at his conscience. Not because he had fallen asleep again, but why.

Mrs. Blyton eyes screwed to slits, and she gave Alex that hawkish gaze she was known for. She spoke grimly, slowly. "So If I hadn't noticed you sleeping now, you would have slept through the whole class."

It was a statement, not a question.

Alex stifled a yawn. He had spent the evening arguing with his father. Just the mere thought brought anger bubbling up like bile. "What did I miss?" He grumbled.

"Half the class," Mrs. Blyton said in a taut voice, tapping her ruler on her desk without rhythm. Her eyes brows arched, but the skin on her forehead as tight as a stretched elastic band.

Alex kept from looking straight at her. Apart from his younger sister, Dawn, he couldn't seem to look at a female without thinking why one ever married a specimen like his father. Looking at his father's face, on the other hand, only stirred anger.

"I trust my students to rest at least eight hours, so this—" Mrs. Blyton flapped her hand at Alex"—doesn't happen in class. Do you care to explain yourself?"

"What I do out of your class is none of your business," Alex snapped, his adept sharp tongue coming into play.

"If it concerns student-well being in class, it does," Mrs. Blyton replied in a level tone, staring at Alex over her half-crescent glasses. Her eyebrows reached upwards further, until they seemed to disappear in her receding hairline.

"I can explain," a voice boomed from the back of the classroom, startling everyone like he always did when he said something like "I need an eraser".

Alex twisted in his seat to glare missiles at Jude, (his sworn rival), who was slouched in his chair and grinning cattishly. Dawn, Alex's younger sister, would say with a furrow on her brow, "Uh oh, looks like he's got the cheese, Lexy."

"Jude, go ahead," Mrs. Blyton nodded, a corner of her mouth twitching.

A memory pricked at Alex's foggy brain. He had recognized someone at Cosmos last night, wasn't it? Someone with a deep voice. Jude. He fought the urge to curse, curling his fists into the pockets of his hoodie instead. He had narrowly escaped getting himself into big trouble too many times than he cared to admit‒and the last time he punched the mayor's son, he was nearly sent to jail. It was a good thing Lawrence had been there to straighten things out...

That was one out of the zero times Alex was grateful for his father. He doubted he would be grateful once Lawrence found out he had been drinking, even if it had only some mild alcohol, the only way to get an ounce of his pride back after that broiling fight.

"He was..." Jude began to say, and then smirked. "Why, I don't believe I should tattle-tale."

Alex jerked his head up. Was Jude refusing to get him in trouble? That couldn't be right.

Mrs. Blyton tapped the ruler she always seemed to be holding against the side of her glasses, scowling. "If neither of you will tell me, then the class will continue, without any more interruptions."
It was easy to read the disappointment printed on her high forehead.

She paused a moment, then her eyes lit up. "I'll give you one last chance to prove me wrong, Alex. Come on up to the board and complete this formula." She smiled broadly, and her skin stretched around the plastic in her face. If she was trying to make it look fake, it worked, with or without effort.

A brick popped out of Alex's tough wall, and then another. He was sure everyone knew he was the worst at maths, maybe even in the entire school. He simply couldn't subtract 3 from 23 and end up with 20. No, it would be thirteen. Even that was confusing.

Alex eased himself out of his chair and trudged to the board. Yet again the students quieted in anticipation, like they were waiting for the best—or worst—part in a movie. The part where Alex embarrassed himself to death.

Alex grabbed the marker from Mrs. Blyton and squinted at the board. The space and size of Mrs. Blyton's compact scrawl was like rationed tea back in World War Two. As soon as the marker hit the board, Alex knew he had gone wrong.

The class roaring with laughter and Mrs. Blyton's tutting told him what he already knew.

"Get out of my class," Mrs. Blyton ordered, her voice taut. "Take your books and sit by the door for the remainder of the class. Write down the times tables from number one."

Alex's jaw went slack, and he stared at the teacher past overgrown bangs. But instead of the beast he had come to know as anger rear its ugly head and breathe fire, he felt nothing. He felt dead.

"Exactly," Mrs. Blyton drawled, sounding smug.

"I'm not a stupid two year old," Alex hissed, earning a smack across his bicep from Mrs Blyton's trusty ruler.

"If that is so," she began, "then your maths ability is very much underage."

Tired of the jabs, Alex grabbed his books and stormed to the door, taking moment to glare at a wide-eyed student brave enough to give him a sympathetic smile. Her name was something like Erin, and she was always trying to be nice.

Deep laughter rang out from behind the class.

"And Alex, give this to your father," Mrs. Blyton's said, holding out a piece of paper between two talon-like fingernails.

Alex snatched it, pushed open the door and let it swing shut with a thud, and sank down beside it. He thought of going home, but that would mean Mrs. Blyton paying a visit and whining to Lawrence, and Alex being grounded for months.

Happened before.

Alex unfolded open the paper, squinting to read the compact block letters:

Mr. Brooke, I do not wish to waste your time, but it has come to my notice that your son's behavior, during classes, is quite unacceptable. His choice of words are not uplifting. I believe you will talk to your son, and this problem will be no more.

Alex huffed, chucking the paper into his backpack. The entire world was determined to joint forces and work against him.

That troubled him. He wiped his sweaty palms on the thighs of his jeans and cracked open his exercise book. For some reason, he thought of Sklyer Anton, his ex-best friend, the practical, logical one who was smart enough to be graduated a class higher. He would say, "You wouldn't be in this situation of to had asked for help."

Like some many other times in the past few months, Alex dismissed the thought, willed himself to calm down, and scribbled at the top of the page: 1x1=0.

Author's Note: Yay! This is officially my first ever published draft on Wattpad! I hope y'all enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Also, I had this story thoroughly planned out and living in my mind before I began writing, so a few things might have not reached the keyboard. If you spot any inconsistencies, please comment and let me know! And if you enjoyed this chapter, please consider voting or commenting or whatever it is you'd do if you enjoy a story :)