Lane (Made From Stone Book 1)

By: T. Saint John


"Yes, sir," she says and walks back into the classroom and I call Lewis out to get his side.

"What's your side?" I ask.

"It was a joke. We didn't hurt her."

"You didn't hurt her? You put glue in someone's hair. Yes, it may wash out or can be cut out but you humiliated a classmate. Grab your bags and go see the principal. If I hear anything like this again you won't be playing next year," I say and Lewis huffs but reluctantly grabs his bags and leaves the classroom. Lewis is smart; he’s in all AP classes. Hell, he’s a sophomore doing a senior workload, which is why it’s so surprising to me that he’s the ringleader.

Once I walk back inside I see Mallory kneeling in front of Olivia and offering comfort while the rest of the girls are either glaring daggers or snickering at them. Venom in their veins, I’m reassured.

••••••••••••••••

The next day I have a letter on my desk from Mallory. Once I've assigned the chapters to be read today, I open the letter. What the hell? I take one glance at it and realize she hasn’t done what I’ve asked of her.

Mr. Stone,

I know I’m not doing what was requested of me, but I couldn’t think of anything I would do differently. I will always defend my friends or people who’ve been wronged. I’m sorry this letter may disappoint you. It isn’t my intention but it’s all I’ve got.

Mallory Carter

I sit here dumbfounded at her complete disregard to her punishment. I couldn't help but wish that the old school system of spanking as punishment hadn't been ruled out. That way I could bend her over my knee and let that tiny little cheerleading skirt rise up as I turned her bare ass red to teach her a lesson. What the fuck, Lane?

I decide it's best to leave it alone; Mallory pushes buttons in me that I didn't know I had.





Chapter 4


Mallory


“Merry Christmas, Amy!” I say, placing the small gift, wrapped in the construction paper that I took from art class, gently in her lap.

She smiles and stands up quickly, passing me my present as she says, “Merry Christmas, Mallory!”

After unwrapping our gifts, we start laughing when we see what we bought. We must have been to the same sale at the discount mall; we got each other the same scarf only in different colors.

“I knew I should’ve gotten you the movie, Annie!” Amy jokes. My parents always called me Annie and I hated it. Yes, I have red hair but I hated the nickname, although it almost seems fitting now. The little orphan Annie, I think sadly to myself.

Our laughter dies down when we hear fighting coming from the room next to ours. This place doesn’t attract the best characters, so we’re always on alert, and rightly so. It’s such a far cry from where we were two years ago. We had had it all. Parents who loved us and a beautiful home in a nice subdivision. You never think it will happen to you and then you’re driving home, listening to the sound of Fourth of July fireworks in the distance and your car is the one that gets hit by the drunk driver.

Our Suburban was struck from behind and pushed into the tractor-trailer in front of us. I can still remember the feeling of my head whipping back and forth as the impact switched from back to front. I didn’t have time to think about what was happening but my mother’s ear-splitting scream followed by the sound of our family car being crushed like a soda can, brought me back to reality.

I remember the questions the paramedics asked me, “Are you hurt?” Not physically. “Do you know who you are?” Yes and no, how could I know who I was anymore? “What’s your birthday?” Does it matter? “Can you tell me what happened?” Every second, although I wish I couldn’t. I almost wished I would’ve been hurt or killed so that I didn’t have to know what happened to my family. Waking up to it would’ve broken my heart, but at least in that instance I could’ve imagined my father went peacefully.

“Lucky” the paramedics called us because we had only suffered minor injuries, but Amy and I felt cursed. We stood on the side of the road watching as our parents were pulled from the wreckage. I tried to convince myself this was all a bad dream and I was going to wake up any moment now, but I never have. It was almost like I was watching a movie scene and this was happening to someone else, anyone else, it couldn’t be happening to us.

The moment I saw the paramedics working on Mom, the slow- moving dream turned into a fast-paced, living nightmare. Our mother suffered internal injuries; a shattered knee and pelvis, a broken collarbone and her front teeth were knocked out. She was still in a coma when we buried our father. I hope we did what he would’ve wanted. We worried about what he would want to wear or what flowers he would’ve picked. Amy and I had no idea what we were doing; we were only children at the time. Our father’s sister, Aunt Marnie, was our closest living relative but my mother never got along with her so she wasn’t of any help.

When our mother finally woke up and came home, she was lost without our father. I know she wanted to be there for us, but she just couldn’t get out of bed and face reality.