What Readers Are Saying About

Locker Shock

"An almost painfully realistic rendering of the difficulties faced by young people hovering between childhood and adulthood. The language rings eerily true…A heart-warming tale from the painful path to maturity."

Four stars—Scribe's World

"...the story works well because it is about relationships, and the relationships are carefully and insightfully constructed. It's a solid tale about an all-too-current topic."

—Georgess McHargue eBooks for Kids

"...a valuable story. The characterization is superb of today's teenagers."

Michelle Poulson-vick for Sharpwriter.com

"A beneficial story for today's teens and their families and friends. It is a superb short novel."

—Reviewed by Jennifer LB Leese,

ASTORYWEAVER'S Book Reviews

Locker Shock

By

Pamela Ripling

Prologue

A tiny glitter of sparks sprayed the pavement as Benjamin Mitchell dragged the heel of his skate along the sidewalk. The accompanying noise, an unpleasant grinding, confirmed to Ben that the hard rubber brake had finally worn completely away. It was while squatting to inspect the skate that he heard the chilling and unbelievable sound of gunfire.

He didn't usually skate alone and almost never after sunset, especially at Simmons Park. But tryouts for the league roller hockey team were only two days away. The park had a large parking lot, just perfect for practicing speed skating and turning. It had gotten late quickly.

At the popping sound in the distance, Ben squatted lower and quickly turned his head, squinting in the dusky light. The park was almost a quarter mile in length, with a pool and clubhouse at the end opposite the lot where Ben now crouched. It was along the side of the clubhouse building that Ben spied a person running before disappearing behind it.

For fifteen minutes he remained motionless. Pulse racing, eyes wide and darting back and forth, watching for movement. He needed to swallow and to wipe the sweat from his forehead, but Ben was afraid to move a muscle until he was certain the gunfire had stopped.

Finally, his knees aching and his lungs begging for a deep breath, Ben sank to a sitting position and sighed heavily. It took filling his lungs several times to regulate his breathing and heartbeat. It was nearly dark now and after casting one more cautious look toward the clubhouse, Ben got shakily to his feet and skated in the opposite direction. It would take him an extra ten minutes to get home, but he wasn't about to skate past the clubhouse now.

One

A Combination of Friends

Benjamin didn't see the painted steel pole until the second before his forehead made contact with it. What he did see, just moments before the collision, was the bright red 'D' marked at the top of the History test in his right hand. It was foreign; it was painful. It was scary looking, shameful and miserable. Just as bad were the red X's scattered throughout his answers, exposing to the world that Benjamin Mitchell didn't have a clue about the division of the church's powers during fifteenth century Rome.

"Augh!" He didn't actually see stars spinning around his head, but the pain did cause him to close his brown eyes briefly and curse himself. Quickly glancing around to make sure no one had witnessed his blunder, he transferred his backpack to his other shoulder and ran a hand through his thick, sandy brown hair. The Science building steps were deserted. Ben stumbled on to his locker, which was, happily, only around the corner.

Luck was not to be his today, however. The overly sweet smile on Frasier Hamilton's face as he leaned casually against the wall of gray steel lockers told Ben he had seen it all.

"Coordination plus, man. You never noticed that post there before, right?" Frasier's hazel eyes grinned in mischief, his freckled nose wrinkling up and down like a pig's snout.

"Lay off, man. I screwed up. Big deal." Ben scowled, stuffing the History exam into a pocket of his backpack before spinning his combination lock right, then left, then back right again.

"Hey, you wanna hang out with me and Val after school? We thought we'd ride over to the Mall. I heard they got a new game in the arcade." Frasier danced around Ben impatiently, his shaggy, dark brown hair bouncing as he pretended to spar.

Ben lifted the locker handle and pulled the door toward him, only to have it slammed shut again by Frasier in a split second jump shot.

"HEY! Why'd ya do that? Dude, I'm already late for math. You almost killed my hand!" Ben threw a mock punch at Frasier, who in return faked a blow to Ben's chin. The feigned fight was over quickly, and Ben glanced nervously at his watch while rummaging through his backpack for a textbook.

"Isn't there someplace you gotta be, Fraze? Like class?" Ben's frown smoothed into relief as his fingers slid over the brown paper book cover of his algebra book in the backpack. "Great. I guess I didn't need to get in there after all." He rapped the locker door lightly with his knuckles for good measure, turned to begin his daily jog out to the mathematics building across campus. "See ya."

"Hey, Senõr, what about the Mall?" Frasier called after him.

"Can't do it today. I'm going to hockey practice with Zach. Catcha later!" Ben called back over his shoulder as he darted between and around sauntering students, making his way across the grassy quad area and past the gym. Here he slowed down, remembering that Mr. Beeman might be patrolling the halls and didn't tolerate running students too well.

He was almost to the structure housing the school's mathematicians when he spotted a tall, lean boy with curly black hair hurrying toward him. Dimitri was panting when he reached for Ben's forearm to slow him.

"Hey, Jamin'-Ben, wha'sup?"

"Whatsup is–I'm late, that's whatsup. Whatsup with you?" Ben kept walking as his friend fell into step beside him.

"I'm hurtin', man. My mom lost my lit book, and I've gotta have it next period or I'm dead."

Ben stopped walking. Through the open classroom door ahead he saw Mrs. Freed walking to her dictatorial podium. He had about 45 seconds.

"Lit? 'Mitri, c'mon. Your mom lost it?"

"Yeah. Well, it's a long story, man. She's studying too, and she just wanted to read some English stuff, you know, she's goin' for her citizenship. She probably left it at work. Anyway, I need a book. You got yours?"

Dimitri jabbed at Ben's backpack with an outstretched finger, questioning hope in his dark eyes.

"Nope. Just math. Jeez, I was just at my locker, too. It's in there, I'm sure. Can't you borrow one from someone else?"

"Maybe, but I just don't want to gamble on it. It's an open book test, and without a book…ha! That's a good one." Dimitri paused, weighing his question carefully before continuing. "Could I maybe get it out of your locker?"

"Well…" Ben hesitated. It had been drilled into him that sharing your combination was the first cardinal sin of junior high school. He'd lasted a year and a half without anyone knowing his. Well, maybe someone else could know it; it was always possible.

With the end of eighth grade approaching, it seemed safe enough to give Dimitri access to his locker. Gazing up at his friend, Ben searched Dimitri's eyes for the sincerity he knew he'd see.

"Okay, man, but don't give the combination to anybody, okay?"

Relief washed across Dimitri's face. "I owe you, man. I seriously owe you."

"39, 29, 7. You know my locker, right?"

"Sure. The one with the hockey sticker."

Dimitri was still grinning as he jogged away, long legs carrying him swiftly toward the Science building. Ben stared after him, sighed, then turned to fight the battles of exponents and equations.

"Hey, 'Mitri! Meter Man! Get your mom to make me one of those someday!"

"It's called a gyro, Fraze. Can you say,'YEE-ROW'?" Dimitri mimicked in a slow imitation reminiscent of Mr. Rogers' patient, preschool drawl.

"I thought it was 'GEAR-O'! Shows how much I know about Geek food," Frasier retorted, carefully peeling apart the bread on his tuna fish sandwich and picking out small bits of celery. "Meanwhile, my mom's tryin' to kill me again," he muttered.

"You forget how to talk, Jamin' Ben?" Dimitri nudged Ben's knee with the toe of his sized eleven Nike as he sprawled on the lawn at lunchtime.

Sitting cross-legged, his lunch nearly untouched in his lap, Ben stared into the distance as his friends talked about everything and nothing during the afternoon break. He still couldn't believe the grade on his History test.

It wasn't like he would be punished. He was much harder on himself about his grades than his parents were. But it was embarrassing. He'd fallen from a B+ at the first quarter to a C- in the third, and he'd have to work very hard to recover the better grade. The thing was, he really studied for that test.

"Aw, he's just dreaming about hockey and being with Zach." Frasier pulled up a dandelion and tossed it onto Ben's head.

"Shut up!" Ben hurriedly brushed the weed from his hair, glaring at Frasier. "I was not." Turning his attention to Dimitri, he shook his head. "Why do we even put up with him? Don't you ever get tired of his insults?"

Dimitri laughed. "You mean because he calls me Geek instead of Greek? I just figure he's jealous because he's so…" He searched for a word, staring at Frasier as if he expected to see an explanation for his arrogance. "So…freckled! Yeah, that's it."

Now it was Ben's turn to laugh, the bad test score temporarily forgotten. Frasier made his pig face again, and all seemed right with the world.

"You goin' to Ben's party on Saturday?" Dimitri asked.

"If I have to," Frasier responded. Despite the sarcasm in his voice, his expression was enthusiastic.

"You'd better," Ben demanded with a grin.

Frasier pretended to take offense. "What's the big deal about turning fourteen? I'm not gonna have a party this year."

"Good," both Ben and Dimitri chimed together, laughing.

"So how come Zach never eats with us anymore?" Dimitri asked, breaking into a navel orange pulled from his brown bag.

"Because we aren't good enough to eat with his highness." Frasier smirked and watched from lowered eyes for Ben's reaction.

"He spends most of his lunch hours hitting balls. It's important for him to make the team." Ben directed his response to Dimitri, choosing to ignore Frasier's comment.

Dimitri nodded. "I guess I would too, if I was as good as he is. And he plays hockey too. Wow."

"And basketball and soccer and tennis, oh, and, let's not forget swim team and track…" Frasier contributed, in a high, sing-songy voice.

Ben fell silent. He wasn't in the mood to participate in Frasier's sport. Falling back on the grass, he folded his arms behind his head and squinted up at the nearly cloudless May sky. He wished he was sitting with Zach; Zach would understand how he felt about the test. Zach would tell him not to worry.

In the five years that they'd been friends, Ben and Zach had been sometimes very close and sometimes not; their interests were different. And since Zach was almost a year older than Ben, the age difference occasionally gave him an air of importance that grated on Ben. Yet there remained an unshakable friendship that readily surfaced when either boy needed help.

It wasn't just sports that kept Zach away these days, either. Besides the heavy practice schedule and his intolerance of Frasier Hamilton's irritating personality, Zach had a new friend taking up some of his time. It was a sore spot with Ben, one that he preferred to forget.

Perhaps he could talk to Zach after practice tonight. It wasn't doing him any good to worry about the test now.

"Hey. Thanks for loaning me the book. Spinster Spencer woulda rained all over me for not havin' it. I put it back already." Dimitri crunched up his lunch trash and tossed it into a barrel twenty feet away. "Two!"

Dimitri gathered his backpack and got to his feet. Ben propped himself up on his elbows and squinted up at him.

"No problemo. You coming to hockey practice tonight?"

"Nope. Can't. Mom's workin', so I gotta stay with Cassie. A-gain." Dimitri rolled his eyes in mock despair, then grinned. "I guess I shouldn't complain. Things could be worse."

"Yeah, you could be in the Big House like your brother."

Dimitri's easy smile faded quickly at Frasier's blunt remark. Ben turned to glare at his insensitive friend, whose reddened face surprisingly showed regret.

"Well. Gotta run." Dimitri nodded at Ben, glanced briefly at Frasier before walking away.

"Fraze, you're a dork, you know that, man? You've really got foot-in-mouth disease."

Frasier threw his head back to shake the hair from his eyes. "Well it's the truth, ain't it? Everyone in this school knows it. Everyone knows Artemis Pappas was sent up for grand theft."

"He didn't steal that car." Now Ben got to his feet, brushing flecks of cut grass from his jeans. Frowning, he picked up his pack. "Why does everyone have to be so distrusting? Artie was framed."

The two boys remained silent, each studying the other's face. Ben hated the discomfort of being at odds with Frasier. He knew Frasier was just being a jerk, because that was just what Frasier did; he didn't really think Artemis was guilty. Frasier just liked being contrary and getting people to argue. Ben's chest rose with a heavy sigh.

"So, uh, you still goin' to the Mall?" Ben ventured, kicking a small rock toward the trash can where it resounded with a decided clank.

"I dunno. Val's not sure she wants to go, now. I think she wanted us all to go." Frasier looked down to where his fingers were busy pulling up blades of grass by their roots. "I guess I'll just hang."

"Call you later," Ben offered, walking backward, leaving Frasier sitting on the grassy knoll.

"If you want." Frasier murmured, not looking up.

With a shrug, Ben turned and ambled toward fifth period and French class. Without focusing on any one problem, his mind felt a vague uneasiness. He sighed again, feeling like he could not get quite enough air into his lungs.

"I wish I could just go home," he murmured to himself as he walked unhurriedly across campus. Maybe he would skip practice after all. He wouldn't be any good today, anyway.

Just as he had almost decided to bail out, a strong arm grabbed him tightly around the neck from behind.