The Legacy of Kilkenny by Devyn Dawson
The Legacy of Kilkenny
a novel
By Devyn Dawson
Published by Devyn Dawson
Copyright 2011 Devyn Dawson
Second edition May 2013
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
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Cover design by Eden Crane Designs
Editing - Amber Woods Clark
For Paris & Hunter
You taught me how to love unconditionally ~
Forever and Always
Chapter 1.
ABEL
Rolling over in bed, I pull the pillow over my head trying unsuccessfully to muffle out the alarm. Sailing across the room to bang my hand on my alarm clock until it is silenced, nice way to start my day. Not any day, my first day of my junior year. If things work out right, I’ll have enough money saved up to buy a car by the end of this semester. Until I have a car, I have to ride with my mom. Lame right? It’s six in the morning, usually I’d be dragging ass since I didn’t fall asleep until four, but the first day jitters have me amped awake.
Last night I was almost asleep, and then I heard the neighbors’ dogs barking, which kept me up. Not to mention, before that happened I saw the crazy lady across the street sneaking to water her lawn. It has been another dry summer in Oklahoma; a water rationing ordinance is in place. If anyone is caught watering their lawn, they are slapped with a hundred dollar fine. It is beyond me how she isn’t caught, being she is the only one with green grass on our street. Why risk a ticket for green grass? I never saw what caused the dogs to bark, but I was amazed that no one bothered shushing them. No lights. No yelling. Nothing.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! I love the wonderful sounds of the broom stick banging on the ceiling, which happens to be the floor to my room. It is one of my mom’s wonderful ideas to make sure I am awake, it sounds like a sonic boom going off under the bed. “I’m up!” I yell down to her as I bang my baseball bat on the floor. BOOM! “Mom, I’m up!” Scrambling across the room to yell out from my bedroom door, I stub my big toe on my hand weight I forgot to put away. “Shit,” I grumble under my breath.
As I do every morning, I send a text to my sister Allie, telling her to get up. I know for a fact she sleeps with the phone by her head so she can see status updates as they come across the phone. We’re both insomniacs, so mornings always come too soon. I’ve been her personal alarm clock for the last year when our mom suggested I start calling her to wake her up. So, she gets to go away and I’m still responsible to make sure she is responsible. She starts her second year at college, and I’m stuck here to entertain the parents.
The silence after she moved out was deafening. In the beginning, I would get up and walk around my room trying to make my mind shut up and let me sleep. I would hear the mumbling of my mom and dad talking, or whatever it is parents do behind closed doors when they think their kids are sleeping. I miss having Allie just a wall away, now there’s no one tapping on the wall checking if I’m awake. I don’t miss her dramatic attitude, but I do miss her driving me to school. For someone who is 5’3” and weighs next to nothing, she has enough attitude to put Chelsea Handler to shame.
The kitchen still smells of fresh paint and sawdust from the recent renovation. I’ve logged hours and hours of being in home improvement stores, staring at colors of paint. Yellow apparently isn’t just yellow anymore, it is sweet buttery cream, not to be confused with buttery cream. I think it took my mom about a month to pick a color, just the other night I heard her talking about changing it. Argh. My usual backpack parking place is on the counter by the barstools…. not anymore. I might scratch the granite and I’ll be reminded how long it took her and dad to save up to have a nice kitchen. I drop my stuff by the back door for our frantic escape to get to school on time.
At breakfast, I watch mom pour herself a cup of coffee as her big mop of black curly hair flops from side to side. Sometimes it is hard to discern between freshly fixed up hair or morning bed-head. I know better than to ask. Mom is just mom, sort of on the weird side but strangely likeable. She isn’t overly fond of her given name of Natalie, she prefers to go by Nat. She is telling me something about the cost of eggs and how it only cost her five dollars to fill up her tank when she was in high school, blah blah blah. Another morning of her non-stop chatter, a good sign she had too much caffeine.
“Is dad working tonight?” I ask as I reach around her to grab a Pop Tart and napkin.
“Abel, have you ever known your dad to miss a day of work?” Mom says as she dabs at the coffee she dribbled on the table.
“I dunno, maybe. Hey, I’ve got a FBLA meeting after school; I’m catching a ride home with Shane so you don’t need to bother with carpool today. Okay?”
“If it gets me out of dodging crazed high school drivers, I’m good with it, just make sure you’re home by six.”
“We probably should go, don’t want to be late on my first day and all.” I shove another Pop Tart in my backpack as we both head to the car.
The car pool lane is moving so slow, move already! I can’t wait until I get a car; riding with my mom is so lame.
“Don’t forget to call me when you get home, I’ll have my cell on me. Oh, in case I’m not home there are some enchilada’s in the freezer, just heat them up in the microwave.” Mom reached in her purse handing me a fifty. “That is lunch money, so be sure to give it to the cafeteria lady.”
“It’s all good. Bye mom, I’ll see you later.” I hurried up out of the car before she started getting emotional like every year on my first day of school.
I look up at the picture perfect school. The architect must have modeled it after a story book, with its pitched roof, canopy covered walkway and crimson red bricks. Water rationing doesn’t pertain to schools, they want them to look pretty and inviting so the kids are proud of their school. I learned all that from my mom’s unquenchable thirst of news. The Daily Pied (pronounced pee’d) is her source of news that would never make it to the paper if it were one of the big hitters like The Oklahoman.
Catching up to Shane we fist bumped and strolled in as if we own the place.
“You going to the meeting after school?” Shane asks.
“Yeah, is it still cool if I get a ride fr
“No problem. I gotta go, see you at lunch.”
Second hour I’m sitting in English Comp III thinking about how this room didn’t make it when they were going for kids being proud of school. The prison cell gray cinder block walls have two windows that look out over the dumpsters. I see the secretary sneak out and huddle behind one of the dumpsters having a smoke, totally breaking the no tolerance rule. I turn my attention back to class when I notice everyone is whispering like a swarm of bees. Gossip. It is impossible not to turn my head and see what everyone is talking about.
Julie Tidsdale, the one girl who drove most everyone crazy, is sitting directly in front of me. Julie is the queen of girls at school, and you can almost see her back arch and her fangs come out as she notices the girl who walks in. Mrs. Horn comes over and introduces the class to Prudence Phelan.
“Please call me Pru,” she says with confidence. She pulls on the hem of her navy-blue shirt and smoothes it down.
Her red hair and grey eyes give her an alluring look. I knew at that moment what my dad meant when he said a girl who has everything you could ever dream of was trouble… and trouble just walked into my English Comp III class.
My next class is US History, my least favorite subject. The teacher is new to the school and looks just like Jack Black. Actually, he looks so much like him I practically died waiting for him to talk. Sadly, he isn’t J.B., I think to myself. After a few minutes of him talking in his monotone voice, I start to fall asleep.