I Was a Teenage Dimestore Novel Ch. 1

Chapter 1: "It was the Dog's Fault, Honest"

Ned was Red again. His parents taught him to be nice person, to keep his calm and not show anger. Unfortunately, they never taught him how to deal with it.

So he bottled it up inside and stored it in his liver, where it simmered and bubbled. Then, every six months like clockwork, he would explode and let it all out at once.

Usually he did this at school with a tetherball that he pretended was someone's head. He broke so many tetherball chords that the P.E. teacher kept a "Ned fund" on his desk for extra supplies. Ned's teachers and the principal all contributed to it because they believed that it was good cheap therapy. They cared for him, but were afraid of overstepping their bounds.

Unfortunately, The biggest bully in school, Norriss, had it in for Ned, and loved to pick on him. He and his gang of thugs laughed when Ned turned red. They laughed when he tried to retrieve his backpack from them. And they loved it best when he tried to fight back, missing them with ineffectual punches and off-balance kicks.

Ned's neighbor, Debbie Starr, was in her backyard preparing dinner when she heard the bullies tease Ned one evening. Debbie was furious at the bullies for making Ned turn red. She grabbed a broom and ran to the front of the house, swinging it over her head. Her dog, Bob, ran after her, his tongue lolling.

The bullies laughed at first at the ludicrous sight of a grown woman in her ragtag dressing gown swinging a broom, but when one of them went flying, the rest of them ran away as fast as they could.

Ned gaped at her in surprise, and turned an even deeper shade of blood red. He never saw this side of the normally calm, contained and well-coiffed librarian.

Debbie reached out to help Ned up, but he scrambled out of reach, burying his face in the side of Bob's shaggy happy stomach.

"Are you all right?" she asked softly as she knelt down to look at his face.

Ned Jumped up a raced to his house, stopping at the door to mutter a quick "Fine, thank you," before disappearing inside.

Bob barked happily as Debbie slowly stood up.

"No Bob, Ned doesn't want to play right now," she said, "Let's go out for dinner."

With that, they turned around and returned to the back of the house.

As a librarian, Debbie loved books, all kinds of books. Books about nature, books about space; books about famous people, books about plain folk; books about what was, books about what might have been. Short tales, tall tales. Science Fiction, fantastic facts. Debbie loved them all.

But she did love some books more than others. A lot more.

The books that Debbie loved more than any others were books written or illustrated by people that she knew. It was fun to read a book and know that she bought groceries from that person, or went to the same Bank as the author.

Sometimes the authors she knew wrote about real life, and Debbie recognized people and places in the book. Other friends wrote fantastic stories that were as far away from real life as one could imagine.

Science fiction Mike, her accountant, wrote a book featuring "Mighty Michael de Monde", president of the intergalatic senate and absolute ruler of the three largest Jovian moons in the sol system.

Debbie's mechanic, Paulina, was "Pegleg Petrouchka, former ballerina for the last czar," now a feared and fearless rum smuggler in prohibition-era America.

Debbie herself kept a diary that held everything from what she ate to her views on Plato's Republic to conversations between herself, Homer, Sappho and Lao Tzu. Sometimes it seemed that she was actually speaking to Homer in person, which she was, because her thoughts and dreams were as real to her as the physical world she lived in and the library she worked at.

Every year at Christmas time, Debbie gave her friends gifts to help them create. Her friends that liked to write got paper or pens or ink; the artists got brushes, paper, paints, brushes, paper, paints, crayons or pencils; the photographers got film, the musicians cassettes, the sculptors, clay.

Christmas had come and gone, but Debbie knew that Ned needed to let his emotions out, and she knew what worked best for her when she was feeling sad or alone or angry.

So she called Ned's house and invited him over to her garden for some lemonade.

Ned was embarrassed that Debbie had seen him being teased, but he accepted her invitation because he liked and admired her, and he did not want to go on looking like a bruised and boiled beet.

So while Ned played with Bob in the yard, Debbie made lemonade and searched through her Christmas toy chest for exactly the right gift, a book, of course!

Debbie brought the lemonade out and sat down across the table from Ned.

They sat in silence for awhile, enjoying the lemonade and the setting summer sun.

"Some people hurt others because it makes them feel better," Debbie said.

"Yeah, I know," mumbled Ned.

"And they often pick on people that don't fight back, or who are quiet."

When Ned said nothing, Debbie paused, took a sip of lemonade, then went on.

"Some people get teased and hurt but don't fight back... And for different reasons. They usually aren't afraid of the bully, something else stops them."

"You got that right," muttered Ned under his breath. Debbie pretended she didn't hear.

"They may know that it is not good to fight but they may not know that it is not good to bottle their emotions and just take it."

"Then what in the world are they supposed to do," interjected a very frustrated Ned, "Sorry."

"It's all right," said Debbie, then she paused.

"What I do when I get so mad I want to hit someone," Ned looked at her with surprise as she continued, "is take a walk, I go somewhere by myself, and try to think about things I love..."

"But when I am really mad, so mad that I see red and can't think, I write my feelings out in a book. I write until I have solved my problem. or when my anger is gone. All that I write is private, and most of it is hot air, but that's what you get when you let off steam,"

Debbie grinned sheepishly, "Sorry for the corny jokes."

Before Ned could say anything, Debbie placed the empty diary in his hands. Ned's face twisted in a mixture of embarrassment, anger and relief.

"You shouldn't have Debbie," Ned cried as he started to turn red.

"Just think of it as an early Christmas present," Debbie replied.

They sat there side by side, listening to the birds, not saying a word, but enjoying each other's company, nonetheless. After what seemed an eternity, Ned reached over and squeezed Debbie's hand.

"Thank you," he mumbled as he let go and quickly got up.

Debbie turned and called out a cheerful "You're Welcome!" to Ned's back as he rushed through her house and out the front door.

Ned ran upstairs to his room and stuck the diary into his drawer.

He didn't look at it again for a week. Instead of going to the library or seeing Bob, he stayed late at school to do his homework or hit a tennis ball against a brick wall when no one was around. Because he stayed so late at school, the bullies were long gone by the time he walked home.

But every day he got more and more lonely.

Bob was lonely too. He would stick his wet nose through a hole in the fence between Ned and Debbie's yard and sniff and snuffle loudly. When he heard or smelled Ned coming home, he jumped up and wagged his tail furiously. But Ned ignored him and went to his room. Bob howled mournfully and crept back to Debbie's back porch for a more friendly body. This happened for four straight days.

But on Friday, something changed. On Friday, Ned was walking home late from school when he saw Norriss and his gang hanging out at the corner of his block. Before they could see him, Ned quickly turned and ran down the block before his as fast as he could.

At the same time, Debbie, who was home early for the weekend, was taking Bob for a walk. Bob heard the familiar sounds of Ned's running feet around the corner, leapt forward and started running fast as he could, pulling his leash out of Debbie's hands.

"Wait," Debbie cried, but it was too late...