Eli Fletcher: Mark of the King: Book 1

Miss O rubs the bridge of her nose; I must be giving her a headache. Regardless, I think I’m about to finally learn something about my past. Miss O then looks up at the clock above her door and then her eyes set on me.

“I’m sorry Jefferey, but you and Fiona are going to have to go to the preschool room now; Mrs. Katz needs help with the younger children and I have some phone calls to make,” she says, pulling a complete 180 on me.

“What? No! You were going to tell me something! You can’t just change your mind!” I protest; my voice growing louder and louder.

“Jefferey, sit down!” Miss O commands; I look down, completely unaware that I’m now standing, leaning over her desk.

I do as she says, though my heart is still pounding and adrenaline is coursing through my body. Fiona grabs my forearm gently and I begin to relax. I look over at her and she strokes my arm with her thumb.

“I’m sorry,” I apologize to Miss O. “I was just hoping for some answers,” I say and then turn to leave.

“I’m sorry, too, Jefferey. We’ll be able to talk about this later, though, just not today.”

“Can I ask why?”

“I’m sorry, Jefferey, I can’t tell you that either.”

I sigh and then nod. “Fine,” I say and then head for the door.

I’m halfway down the hall before Fiona catches up with me. “Eli, wait,” she says.

“Please don’t call me that; if Miss O can’t tell me anything about me, then I don’t want to go by that name.”

“Okay,” she says timidly. “I’m sorry.”

I turn back towards the preschool room. “No, I’m sorry. You’re just trying to be nice to me and I snap at you; and for the second time, too.”

Fiona smiles at me. “It’s okay; I’m just glad to have a new friend.”

I grin as well. “Me too.”

“Didn’t you have any friends at the other homes?” she asks me.

I shake my head and then catch myself. “Just one; a homeless guy named Joshua; he gave me my hat,” I tell her, pointing at the White Sox cap on my head.

“How did you make friends with a homeless guy?” she laughs.

“He lived in the alleyway behind the group home I was living in; he scared me the first time I tried to run away. He talked to me and convinced me to stay, and then he picked the lock and let me back into the building.”

“Wow; where were you going to go?”

I shrug as I open the preschool room door. “I have no idea.”

Just like yesterday, the room is complete pandemonium. Toys are scattered everywhere; some children are chasing each other with paintbrushes while others are fighting and screaming over who had what toy. But, it’s the quiet one in the corner I notice most. She’s sitting at a round table with a tea set in the middle and stuffed animals and dolls sitting in the surrounding chairs.

I shout out louder than the screaming children again to get their attention and when I do, I instruct them to find a chair and sit down. Once they’re all seated, I speak quietly so they’re forced to listen.

“Okay, now that I have your attention, let’s start cleaning up. Whatever toys you’re not playing with need to be put away; the paints are getting cleaned up and put away, too; they’re not meant for playing tag,” I instruct with a sour but grateful look from Mrs. Katz.

She steps up to me as the children begin cleaning up their mess and pats my shoulder. “Thanks again, Jefferey,” she says. “I may not like the shouting you use, but it certainly has an effect. If you two don’t mind supervising for a few minutes, I have something to take care of in my office.”

I nod at her and then she leaves the room. My attention returns to the sad, quiet girl in the corner about to give up on her tea party. I cross the room, redirecting some kids back to cleaning up along the way, and then pick up a pink, stuffed bear, placing it in my lap as I sit in the tiny chair across from the little girl. I’d have assumed she was Fiona’s sister if it weren’t for her clear, hazel eyes and honey-brown hair; but she has the same small, round face and dusting of freckles on her cheeks Fiona has.

“Hi,” I say to her as she stares up at me nervously. “You don’t have to be scared, you’re not in trouble,” I tell her. She still doesn’t respond so I continue with, “Can I join you for tea?”

Her eyes widen suddenly and a smile spreads across her face. “Do you like sugar?” she asks and I nod.

“Who doesn’t?” I reply.

The little girl giggles and then places two imaginary scoops of sugar into my tiny teacup.

“What’s your name?” I ask her.

“Abigail,” she answers, pouring more tea into her cup.

“Well, I’m Jefferey; it’s nice to meet you.”

“Hi, Jeffy, it’s nice-ah-meet you, too,” she says, raising her teacup to me. I tap mine against hers and then we both take a sip.

I look over my shoulder to see if Fiona would like to join us, but I find her helping the other children clean up the warzone of toys and paintbrushes. She catches me watching her and flashes me a wink and a smile, which makes me blush, so I return to my tea with Abigail.

“So, Abigail, what kind of tea is this?”

“Tea party tea!” she says in a sort of sassy way and I laugh.

“Oh, well, Abigail, it’s delicious,” I tell her.

“Thank you,” she says, dipping her head very properly and then says, “You can call me Abby.”

“And that’s exactly what I’ll call you,” I say, and then raise my cup to her again. She taps hers against mine and we continue with our tea party until Mrs. Katz returns to announce that it’s lunchtime.

________________

A week later I’ve found myself in a new routine with my new life at this group home. I get up and have breakfast, usually with either Miss O or Fiona, sometimes Abby if the younger kids are awake (or dropped off if they’re part of the private school) early enough; and then I have my core education classes with Miss O for a couple hours until the younger kids are done with their naps, at which time I have a tea party with Abby; then after lunch, the younger kids go outside and play while Mrs. Katz and some college volunteers supervise and the rest of us return to class before we have our own time on the playground; after that is dinner and then story time with the preschool and kindergarten kids before we help them to bed (or the private school kids parents pick them up); Tuesdays and Thursdays we have P.E. Thursday is kickball, and today is the first time I’m playing the game.

“Today is kickball day!” Mr. Reese, our tough, athletic P.E. teacher announces, holding up a bright red ball about the size of a soccer ball. “Today’s captains are!” he says and then prowls up and down our perfectly straight line of us who are seven years old and up. “Billy!” he calls out, pointing him out from the line. With a smirk he stands where Mr. Reese points and waits until Mr. Reese picks the second team captain. He stops in front of me with his hands behind his back as if he’s a drill sergeant rather than a P.E. teacher.

“Have you ever played kickball before?” he asks me.

I shake my head.

“Ever played baseball?” he continues.

I shake my head again.

“Ever watched it?”

I nod this time.

“Well, it’s just like that, except you kick this ball instead, understand?”

I nod quickly.

“How do you feel about being captain?”

I look up and down the line and shrug. “I haven’t been here very long, so I don’t know everybody.”

Mr. Reese nods. “Well, this will be the perfect time to get to know everybody’s names,” he says and then jerks his thumb toward Billy.

“Now!” Mr. Reese barks as he stands in front of me and Billy, facing the others. “You know the rules. If it flies in the air and it is caught, you are out! If you are pegged by someone from the other team, you are out! If the ball is thrown to a base before you get there, you are out! However, if that runner isn’t forced to that base, they must either be pegged or tagged with the ball to be out! No pegging people in the head, I’m talking to you, Billy and Marco,” he adds, pointing at each of them. “Captains, I will toss a coin to see who picks first…”

A few minutes later, the teams are picked and everything feels a little imbalanced. Billy has both of his friends and Fiona on his team; Billy had picked her first to take away the only person I knew right off. From there, I tried to pick kids eager to play, but the most eager somehow turned out to be the smaller kids. So, here I am with a team of mostly seven and eight year olds while Billy’s team is stacked with the kids nine-years-old and up.

Since Billy picked first, my team got to kick first. I put myself as first one to kick and tried to put everybody else in a good kicking order. But since I’ve never seen anyone play before, I don’t know how good they are. Despite being at an obvious disadvantage, I put my best face forward and encourage my team to play their best.

When I take my turn as our first kicker, Mr. Reese rolls the ball to me and I kick the ball far beyond Billy’s team. I run the bases before they can even get the ball back to Mr. Reese. The rest of my team is excited about scoring a point right away, so our next kicker, I can’t remember his name, goes up with complete confidence. He tries to kick the ball like I did, but it pops up to Billy at second base and he catches it, giving us our first out.

“Okay,” I say to our next kicker, “don’t kick it as high as, um,”

“Steven.”

“Thanks, Steven,” I say, patting the kid’s shoulder as he returns to our dugout, “don’t kick it as high as him, but try to get it over their heads. Not all of them out in the outfield, just over the ones in the infield and you’ll get on first base safely, okay?”

He nods and heads for home plate. “My name is Ricky, by the way,” the kid says before continuing on to take his turn to kick.

Mr. Reese rolls him the ball. Ricky steps forward with choppy steps, swings his foot too early and falls on his backside as the ball passes. Embarrassed, he gets up and brushes the dirt off of him as the catcher tosses the ball back to Mr. Reese. His second attempt is much more successful. He kicks the ball a little high, but not as high as Steven’s, and it lands in the grass between Billy and Fiona, whom he placed in right field. Ricky gets to first base before Billy can throw it to Allaryce.

“What’s your name?” I ask our first girl to kick.

“Jasmine,” she says in almost a whisper.

“Okay, Jasmine,” I whisper back, “do you think you can do what Ricky just did?”

Jasmine shakes her head.

“What if you tried to do it on the other side?” I ask, pointing towards the shortstop and third base area.

She shrugs.

I smile and nod at her. “Okay, just do your best,” I say and she slowly walks out to take her kick. She does what I suggested but the ball rolls right to Marco at third base. He throws the ball to Billy standing on second (Ricky’s out), who then throws it to Allaryce. She catches it as Jasmine barely runs towards her, completing a double-play.

I tell the rest of the team to try their best and just kick the ball into the grass over their heads, but they’re just not big enough to do it. Our next kicker grounds out to first. I remain positive and remind them that we still have a point and all we have to do is try and stop them from getting one and we’ll still be winning. However, the game takes a turn for the worst and Billy’s team, being so much bigger and older, kicks the ball so much farther. Mr. Reese reminds everybody of a rule that says a team can only go through their lineup once without any outs before having to go back out onto the field, and that’s exactly what happens. All of Billy’s team either gets on base or scores before we can get one of them out.

Three innings later, we finish with an embarrassing 20-3 loss to Billy’s team. I’m disappointed but looking at the rest of my team, my heart breaks for them. I need to say something to cheer them up.

“Hey, guys,” I say to get their attention and they look up at me sadly. “I know we lost and we lost pretty badly,” I tell them. “But you wanna know something?” I add, hesitating for affect. “I had the best time!” They look at me like I’m crazy. “I don’t care that we lost, we did our best and you guys helped me have fun. Now, let’s go out there and tell them they did a good job.”

“But Billy’s a jerk; he’s just gonna rub it in,” says one of the older boys on my team.

“What’s your name again, buddy?” I ask.

“Travis.”

“Travis, you’re probably right. He’s going to gloat and act like he’s cooler than anybody but you wanna know something that’ll frustrate him?”

“What?” he asks, rolling his eyes.

I grin. “Acting like you had the best time ever because you never cared if you won or lost. Because you know what? It’s just kickball! And we can always beat him next week.”

“Whatever.”

“Look, I got to watch you guys play and find out your strengths and weaknesses. I learned where each of you should be playing and we stopped them from scoring a little more each time. Next week I will know exactly where to place everyone both on the field and in the kicking lineup.”

My words don’t seem to have any effect on them; so I’m going to have to prove things to them with action. I wave for them to follow and they do so begrudgingly. I walk towards Billy’s team who happens to be lined up ready to high-five us already, an arrogant smirk on Billy’s face. I shake my head subtly and grin as I raise my hand.

“Good game, Billy,” I say enthusiastically and continue in the same tone all the way down the line. Fiona brings up the rear, grasps my hand as she winks at me, and then continues to congratulate the rest of my team behind me.

As we head back to the main building, I catch Billy glaring at me; he’d obviously hoped that destroying my team in kickball would have upset me. When I turn to Travis and the rest of my team, I find them grinning and pointing at Billy.

“Hey,” I snap at them in a hoarse whisper; Travis jumps and tries to change his laughing grin into a serious face, but only makes himself laugh more, snorting through his nose. The rest of the team does the same, trying not to laugh at Billy and I shake my head at them, allowing my own satisfied grin to spread across my face. Frustrating Billy by showing he can’t get to me was every bit as satisfying as I’d hoped.