Jeremy Wilson and Matt Carver are about as different as two grade-nine boys can be. Jeremy has little supervision, little regard for others, and no rules. He does no homework; he creates havoc in his classes and he participates in activities that land him in trouble with the law. Matt has little confidence and few friends. He takes school seriously; he does nothing to draw attention to himself and he spends much of his time reading and expanding his interest in all things military. Jeremy is a school terrorist, a bully. Matt is his favourite target. With one fateful decision, however, Jeremy suddenly becomes the target of a much more sophisticated terrorist, a drug dealer who not only threatens him but also uses his sister to demand compliance in a serious world of drugs, blackmail, and crime. In the course of one day, a bizarre set of circumstances forces Jeremy and Matt together. They rather reluctantly join forces to expose the egocentric, vicious Tim Halliday who uses his charm, his looks, and his status as a star athlete to hide his involvement in the lucrative drug trade that has infiltrated Madison Collegiate. Through the voices of Matt and Jeremy, and that of a narrator, the author weaves the threads of threats and lies, trust and deceit, empowerment and growth, as Jeremy and Matt enlist the help of an odd assortment of fellow students in this action-filled adventure. The pace is fast, the events are often unexpected, and the suspense is palpable. Together, they make "When PUSH Comes to Shove Back" a riveting read with details and situations that ring true in the lives of young adults.
When Push Comes To Shove Back
By Janet M. IrvineAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2011 Janet M. Irvine
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4634-3278-2Chapter One
PUSH Monday 8:45 a.m.
Terrorism: the calculated use of, or threat of, violence to inculcate fear, to coerce, or to intimidate
Four boys quickly made their way down the crowded hallway, laughing and talking, just like everyone else on route to Monday morning classes. But they were on a different mission. It had to be timed right. It had to be fast and accurate. They had done it before.
They rounded the corner and moved into their final lap.... fifty lockers away from their target. Change formation.... forty lockers. Pick up speed.... thirty lockers. Check for teachers.... twenty. Get out of the way girl.... ten. One on his right, one on his left, two at his back. Aaaaaand PUSH. Slam the door. Keep moving. Don't look back. A direct hit.
They continued down the hall, high on the adrenaline of combat, trying to keep the bursts of laughter bottled up until they hit the stairwell, where they collapsed in fits of hysterics.
Inside the locker, Matt Carver waited. It was dark and he couldn't breathe. His arm hurt and his leg was turned at a weird angle. He wished he could just disappear. Instead, he kicked at the door. On the third try, it flew open. The homework assignment he had been about to hand in was ripped and scrunched up on the floor. As he crawled out of his locker, he could hear girls giggling. Someone from across the hall yelled, "Slam Dunk," and the laughter that followed told him that, as usual, there had been spectators.
His arm was scraped. He pulled his sweatshirt down over the blood oozing out. He picked his books up off the floor and retrieved what was left of his assignment. Without meeting anyone's gaze, he slammed the misshapen locker door shut, forced his lock through the opening, and went to class.
Chapter Two
GARBAGE Earlier Monday 6:00 a.m.
The Man of the House
MATT
I wake up most mornings at exactly the same time, whether I set my alarm clock or not. No one wakes me up. I like it that way. This morning is the same as all the others. The only difference is that it is Monday morning and a whole week of school is starting all over again.
My sister gets up earlier than I do so she can get to the bathroom first. I can hear her running the shower, drying her hair, brushing her teeth, doing whatever it is that she does for over an hour every morning. My mornings start with a bursting bladder while my sister puts on her makeup and pops zits.
I keep to myself at home. It's not that I don't like my family. It's just that my mom likes to believe that everything is fine all the time, that we're happy, that life is great. There's no point in spoiling that.
I think my mom misses my dad. She would say that she doesn't, but she has changed. She sleeps in until after we go to school. She watches TV all the time. She doesn't volunteer at the animal shelter anymore and I don't hear her talking with her friends on the phone the way she used to. I'll bet she doesn't spend over an hour in the bathroom like Cynthia. She doesn't get dressed up and I don't think she ever wears makeup. Maybe she just used to do that for my dad. Anyway, she looks and acts a lot older than she used to and she always looks sad. I try not to bother her.
I don't miss my dad much anymore. I sure missed him when he left. He said that he would keep in touch and that we would always do things together, but we don't. Now he has moved to another city and he has another wife and a baby. We don't fit in his new life. I will always be his son, I guess, but we're part of his past. We're the part of his past that he wants to forget. This year, he didn't even call me on my birthday.
My mom says I'm the man of the house now. In our house, that means that I get to take care of the garbage. It sucks. I have become the garbage man, my sister has become a working girl with a job to make extra money, and my mom has become ... I don't know what she has become. I sometimes think she has become a ghost. She's not really here. She lives in the house and she cooks for Cynthia and me, and we pretend to enjoy family dinners to get her almost every night, but momis somewhere else. She picks me up when I need a ride, she goes to parent-teacher interviews, and she asks how I'm doing in school, but it's like she doesn't really hear the answers. It's kind of creepy. She never gets angry, never raises her voice. She never laughs. I don't know if she cries.
I know it should be different, but I don't know how to change it. Maybe she doesn't want to change it. Or maybe she doesn't know how to change it either. Sometimes I wonder if the man of the house is supposed to be taking care of her too. But I end up just bagging the garbage.
Chapter Three
WHAM Earlier Monday 6:00 a.m.
The Accident
JEREMY
I wake up most mornings all wound up in the mess of blankets and sheets that I crawl into the night before. No one touches my room. I like it that way. This morning is no exception. The only problem is that I just crawled in a couple of hours ago.
My dad gets up early. I can hear him clattering in the kitchen, making coffee, banging cupboard doors, angry because no one cleaned up dishes and food from last night. Mom makes dinner so she expects us to clean up. Tanya and David argue about it until they have to get homework done or go out somewhere. I just stay away. No one does anything to change it. It's been going on forever. It's kind of funny though, to hear my dad so pissed off about dirty dishes every morning before he goes off to protect the public from crime.
I don't eat with my family any more. They don't miss me. They haven't once asked why I stopped coming home for dinner.
I think my parents are probably happier without me there. I know my sister is. Her disgust for me always made her look like a ferret with her mouth all scrunched up and her eyebrows pulled together. None of them liked having me at the table, but with Tanya, it was obvious.
Dad was never happy. He complained about what my mother did or didn't do every day, and eventually, he would get around to cursing everything from the government to the dog, including me. He let me know that I didn't measure up. I was a disappointment.
My parents were annoyed with me before I even said a word, like they were trying to start a fight with me or something. I was a nuisance. I didn't fit in. I didn't know about politics or sports or what was in the news. And I sure didn't want to discuss all the things I was supposed to have learned at school. Their questions were like a frigging inquisition. They would never have spoken to anyone else the sarcastic way they did to me. I stopped saying anything.
The whole thing was an invasion of my privacy. They thought they had the right to know every little thing about my life, which they didn't. There are things happening in my life that are nobody's...
