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Lost and Found: Award-Winning Authors Sharing Real-Life Experiences Through Fiction - Hardcover

 
9780312870485: Lost and Found: Award-Winning Authors Sharing Real-Life Experiences Through Fiction
Hardcover
ISBN 10: 0312870485 ISBN 13: 9780312870485
Verlag: Forge, 2000

Inhaltsangabe

From the silent horror of an image-obsessed teenager starving herself to perfection to the hilarious humilations of a freshman forced to endure fencing class, each of these stories is a very personal and creative response to a simple question: Where do writers get their ideas?

The answer? Anywhere and everywhere.

Each story was specially commissioned for this collection, and included an introductory essay by the author explaining the story's origins in the author's life--and its significance.

Contributors include: Jerry Spinelli, Betsty Byars, Paul Zindel, Jon Scieszka, T.A. Barron, Tamora Pearce, Mary Ann McGuigan, Lois Metzger, Mel Glenn, Joyce Hansen, Rich Wallace, Joan Abelove and Eleanora E. Tate.

Die Inhaltsangabe kann sich auf eine andere Ausgabe dieses Titels beziehen.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Lost and Found

By M. Jerry Weiss and Helen S. Weirs

Forge Books

ISBN: 9780312870485
LOST AND FOUND
Duel identities
David Lubar
My files are filled with short stories inspired by small experiences and observations. The slightest oddness can strike a spark that sends me rushing to the word processor (unless there's something good on TV at the time). Usually, I take that oddness and create a fantasy or horror tale. But when I sat down to write a story for this collection, something interesting happened. I intended to play by the rules and start with one small experience. But as I dug into the murky depths of my high school memories, lifting chunks of experience the way the police raise abandoned cars from a river, two long-lost incidents broke the surface. Between them lay a season of other memories.
So, excuse me for going overboard, but this story contains more personal experiences than anything I've ever written. Sadly, the opening incident is true. Amazingly, so is the final incident. At least, most of it. As for the portion in the middle, much of it is based on experience. But I didn't hesitate to change the things that needed to be changed. Fiction isn't about telling what happened. It's about telling what is true. Enjoy.
I committed my first act of self-destruction less than five minutes into third period. We were sitting in the bleachers while Mr. Cadutto spelled out the basic facts of gym class to us brand spanking new freshmen. After explaining how many points we got for taking a shower and how many points we lost for forgetting our gym clothes, Mr. Cadutto said, "Okay. We're gonna pick fourteam leaders. You'll help set things up, so you won't get to do no calisthenics."
Whoa. That caught my attention. Miss calisthenics. My heart leaped at the opportunity to avoid having my heart leap. I joined the hand wavers, though I noticed that none of my fellow overachievers from first period honors English had entered this particular lottery. I'd already figured out that honor was an odd word around here. From the varsity jackets of the crowds in the hallway to the huge trophy case that faced the main entrance, it was obvious that honor was paid more to the body than the mind at Kennedy High.
Mr. Cadutto scanned us like a rancher at a beef auction. "You can't be no leader unless you go out for at least two sports."
Half the hands dropped. Mine remained airborne. Despite an inherited lack of bulk or speed or power, I did have two sports in my extracurricular plans. One just for the heck of it, but the other because it had entered my dreams in the hazy days of childhood, and remained there ever since.
Mr. Cadutto pointed to Bruno Haskins, up at the top of the bleachers, "Football and wrestling, right, Haskins?" he growled.
"Right, Coach."
Mr. Cadutto waved Bruno down. I sensed a rigged election. The gym teacher obviously already knew the star athletes in our class.
Bruno jogged to the bottom of the bleachers, making each row bounce under his weight. Mr. Cadutto selected Kyle Barrister next, and then Mookie Lahasca, two other champion jocks. Three down, one to go. He scanned us again, then frowned. I guess the jock gene pool had dried up too fast. He stared right at me. His brow creased with a puzzled expression.
"You," he barked, pointing one large sausage of a finger in my direction. He ran his eyes over my imposing seventy-eight-pound frame. "Wrestling?"
No way. There was zero appeal in the thought of having my body tied in knots like a rawhide dog chew. I shook my head.
"Track?" he asked, with a touch of disdain.
Another shake.
"Swimming?"
Nope.
"So what's your two sports?"
I uttered three innocent words. "Fencing and tennis."
There was dead silence for about nine-millionths of a second. Then the dam burst. Laughter splashed over me like acid rain, spewing from the mouth of every classmate, followed by waves of comments.
"Wow, tough guy!"
"Freakin' retard ..."
"You forgot ballet."
"Jerk ..."
Bruno cackled so hard he started choking. "Fencing," he sputtered between coughs.
"Coach said sports," Mookie shouted up at me, "not farts."
I knew exactly how the Wicked Witch of the West felt as she melted into a puddle of green ooze.
Mr. Cadutto, who should have been the adult in all of this, snorted like an ox that had just heard a really great joke. After he'd had a good chuckle, I guess he realized he should respond to my request. He regarded me with the sort of combined pity and loathing generally reserved for humans who've somehow managed to cover themselves with their own dung. He opened his mouth. Then he closed it. Then he opened it again. Finally, he shook his head and scanned the bleachers for other options.
My classmates continued to share their thoughts with me.
"Cool sports, Tarbell."
"Hey, if you add hopscotch, you can be a three-letter man."
"You scared to play a real sport?"
"Maybe he's afraid he'll break a nail."
"What a dork."
Apparently, there's a hierarchy of respect among sports. I should have known. I should have kept my mouth shut. I'm such an idiot.
After the fourth leader was selected, our new captains chose teams for volleyball. I was picked dead last. That had never happened in junior high. Even Hippo Schwartz got called before me. So did Billy Esterbridge, who by my estimate had failed in eight thousand consecutive attempts to serve the ball over the net. At least my humiliation had allowed others to climb briefly out of the muck engulfing the lowest of the low.
As the game started, I realized the full extent of my mistake.
"Fencing sucks," one of my teammates said as I walked past him.
"En garde," another said, jabbing me in the back with a finger.
Everyone who got within range took a poke. By the end of the period, I felt like an acupuncture practice dummy.
"Well, you're screwed," Danny Horvath said to me as we trudged into the locker room.
I could always count on Danny for moral support. That's what best friends are for. But he was right. For the next four years, or the rest of my life--whichever came first--I'd be known as the fencing dork. After a quick shower--far be it from me to miss a chance to improve my grade--I got dressed and slunk off through the locker room door.
"Fencing?" The mocking squawk echoed in the corridor.
Oh, no. I knew that voice. I kept walking.
"Fencing?" Louder this time.
"Ouch!" I spun around as I felt a sharp poke in the back. Trent Muldoon--he of the single eyebrow and single-celled brain--sneered at me.
"Yeah, fencing," I said. "It's a sport."
"For girls." Trent knocked my books from my hand, then sprinted down the hallway.
I thought about racing after him, leaping on his back, dragging him to the ground, and pounding him into a mass of quivering jelly. It might, just barely, have been possible. We were close to the same height. On the other hand, he was a wrestler--which meant he knew a lot more about fighting than I did.
Freshman survival rule #1: Never take someone on at his own game. But adrenaline can do wonders. Mothers have lifted cars off of trapped infants. Men have chewed their way out of steel cages. Teenage boys have eaten liver and onions. Well, maybe nothing that extreme. Still, with enough adrenaline behind my attack, I figured I could...

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Verlag
Forge
Erscheinungsdatum
2000
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
0312870485
ISBN 13 
9780312870485
Einband
Gebundene Ausgabe
Anzahl der Seiten
223
Herausgeber
Weiss M. Jerry, Weiss Helen S.
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Verantwortliche Person
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