The Unwanted Winter - Volume One of the Saga of the Twelves (11 page)

“
Ok, enough about that
bonehead. Do you want to get something to eat?”

Immediately, Derek smiled,
chuckling quietly, because Hyun was always hungry, and even though
her body didn’t show it. She could out eat a cow and she wasn’t shy
about it! No, she wasn’t in the least.

“
Yeah, sure, where?” he
asked already guessing the answer, hiding his grin behind his the
back of his hand.

“
How
about that
Panda Express
we pass on the way home?” she
propositioned.

“
Sounds like a
plan.”

Still, though, Kimberly
deserved better,
was the thought when
something brushed passed his leg – something furry and warm. It was
a delicate brushing against the inner portion of his right ankle.
His stride faltered and he glanced toward his feet to see a dark
gray cat scurry through his legs and streak toward the bushes
marking the front of Yosemite Park.

“
What the -,” he
began.

Hyun yelped, a
high-pitched squeal, as another cat – a fat tabby rushed past her,
following the first.

He heard it then, a
pitiful, low-level whining. Not from the two cats, but from at
least a score. He and Hyun stopped, moving to either edge of the
sidewalk as at least two dozen felines raced passed them, tails
tucked between their legs, noses to the ground. All of them headed
to the safety of the bushes just across La Roda Avenue, the small,
dead-end street separating the high school from the
park.

“
What’s going on?” asked
Hyun, still on her tip-toes.

“
I have no idea,” answered
Derek just as flummoxed.

“
They looked absolutely
panic-stricken.”

“
Yeah, but what had made
them like that?”

~~~~~~~~<<<<<<{ ☼
}>>>>>>~~~~~~~~

Holiday Planning

Thursday, November
18
^th
,
5:20 pm…

A heavy metallic
clang!
resounded
throughout the huge three-car garage. Once again, the towering form
of Joaquin Barrientos, from his “spotter’s” position, helped his
friend Jason Fong place the weight he was bench-pressing back onto
the cupped supports of the barbell stand. He made sure all was safe
before he moved out of the way, so the smaller boy could sit
up.

“
Nice set, bro, you ever
do ten reps at one-fifteen before?” asked Joaquin as he moved
around the weight bench, handing the other boy a small towel, a
serious look on his face, curiosity in his eyes.

Jason sat on the bench
breathing hugely for a time, his elbows on his knees, his body
hunched as he recovered from the exertion.

Joaquin waited for his
friend to catch his breath. He was more than a little excited at
the other’s performance, because it meant, little J. Fong was
actually getting strong.

They’d been friends since
grammar school. Even way back then, Jason had been one of the
smallest boys in the class. Now, not much had changed. He stood a
somewhat diminutive five-foot-six, little for a sixteen-year-old.
He weighed no more than a buck twenty-five. But, to Joaquin, after
seeing this physical display this evening, that’s where the idea
Jason was weak fell apart. The Asian teen was exhibiting some sort
of compact strength, one conveying endurance and toughness, rather
than bulk, defined by huge muscles. Though the change itself was
only weeks old.

Joaquin knew his friend
had always been healthy and fit. Jason was a long-time purveyor of
a specialized form of martial arts. But, he had never displayed
such brute strength, over a long period, similar to what he’d just
accomplished.

Joaquin watched his
friends’ chest continue to expand and contract, though his
breathing was slowing down. He kept his eyes gaze on his friends’
straight, coarse black hair, cut in flat-top fashion. Although, it
was longer than the military version of the same hair-do, still it
was jelled and spiked to rigid perfection.

Jason had the prominent
cheekbones, complimenting the typically broad Asian face. His skin
tanned and smooth, a genealogical trait, pointing to family roots
sprouting from the interior of China, rather than its’
coast.

He looked up at Joaquin,
his eyes dark with fatigue and smiled, absently wiping his face
with the bottom of his old, faded t-shirt, sleeves shorn off. He
completely ignored the towel Joaquin had given him for some reason.
“Naw man, I’ve never been able to do that before,” he sputtered
between gasps for air.

Joaquin crossed his arms
about his large chest, wondering where this newfound wellspring of
vigor had come from, especially since Jason wasn’t a big believer
in lifting weights to begin with. All of this was very unlike
him.

Joaquin, in contrast to
the boy sitting before him, towered over six feet, two inches tall
and topped the scales at more than two hundred and ten pounds. An
avid wrestler, he’d won more ribbons and medals than he could keep
track of. The body and muscle in his genes combined with the
physical regiment he and his many coaches had put him through over
the years, had turned him into a beast on the mat. Something he was
proud of, but not overly obsessed. Joaquin didn’t want to destroy
his opponents in order to feel good or build confidence. He wasn’t
that sort of competitor. He did enough to win and that was alright
with him.

What did make him feel
good was a nice long laugh and a nice pat on someone else’s back.
He was good-natured with calm approach to life. One could say he
was unique being as young as he was. He was Iberian by heritage.
His was the classic Spanish face and complexion – dark brown,
unkempt hair with more whiskers and scruff than a boy his age would
possess being born in the United States. He had
uncharacteristically blue eyes, and skin burnished instead of the
typical pale sort of his race. He wore navy blue shorts and a gray
t-shirt, the
Dodgers
classic script etched across the front, and the pair of
low-top
New Balance
running shoes he always donned when he worked out.

“
Dude, that’s some serious
lifting,” concluded Joaquin, “You almost lifted your own body
weight ten times. Most guys can only do such a thing once or twice,
because it is usually close to their max weight.” He paused to
scratch at his wild mane. “I wonder what you could lift, if you
worked out with me on a more regular basis.”

“
I don’t know much about
weights, dude. What do you think?” answered Jason, doubtfully, but
curious nonetheless.

Joaquin thought for a
moment, glancing around Jason’s garage, which was huge and
immaculate. It was more of a storage room than a place where they
parked the family car. Jason’s father was a real stickler for
cleanliness.

“
You could probably max
out pretty damn close to one-eighty. Maybe even more, if you began
a serious weight lifting routine.” Joaquin walked to the side of
the weight bench and began to pull the various plates from the
large international, two-handed bar Jason owned, but didn’t use
that much.

Typically, it was Joaquin
who came over to use it, preferring privacy, while Jason watched.
Lifting at the Weight Room at school was uncomfortable. It was
always so loud and unruly, he couldn’t concentrate, focus his mind
as he went through his rigorous regimen. He needed a degree of
silence in order to maintain the mental sharpness it took to push
him to the next level. He needed this consistently. The Weight Room
couldn’t provide this for him. Not to mention the fact, it smelled
like decayed gym socks and the equipment itself was nearly fifty
years old, didn’t help either. Joaquin would rather work out with
the latest Olympic-sanctioned gear Jason owned – by far.

“
Really, that much you
think?” Jason sounded astonished.

“
Yeah, man, I don’t see
why not. I mean, you busted through the set without much help. I
didn’t even get a chance to yell at you to push harder,” he replied
as he stacked the weights according to size, against the wall
nearest to where they had been working out for over an
hour.

“
Wow,” was all Jason
said.

Joaquin finished and then
lifted the forty-five pound bar from the barbell stand and laid it
parallel to the same wall, on the ground, directly before the
weights.

Jason stood and began
pin-wheeling his arms to shake the ache from them and get the blood
circulating properly.

“
Where do you think it
came from?” asked Joaquin after a time.

“
Where what came
from?”

“
All this energy, this
itch to want to lift and stuff,” retorted Joaquin, grabbing the
second towel they had between them. He began to wipe the sweat and
grit from his head, neck and shoulders.

Jason seemed to consider
this for a time. His head tilted to the side, his slanted eyes
squinting with the mental effort. “I don’t know actually. Lately,
I’ve been waking up wanting to do more than just sit still or go
through the motions of my day. It’s like I have something bottled
up inside of me that’s going to explode out of me if I don’t do
something about it. Exercising seems to quench it for a while, but,
after more down time, it kinda… well, it just creeps back into me
and I
have
to do
something else.” He tried to explain. His look at Joaquin was
plaintive.

“
How long does it take to
build back up?” he asked not sure why.

“
I don’t know about a day
I guess.” Jason stretched his back and twisted at the waist a few
times.

Joaquin’s gaze hardened
suddenly, as if a new thought had dawned on him. “You taking
‘roids, dude?” his tone was deadly serious.

Jason laughed and spoke at
the same time, the sound coming out was more like the loud squawk
of a goose, than anything uttered by a human being. “What?!?” he
exclaimed. “Are you crazy? Do you know how fast they’d throw me out
of competition if they tested me and found out I was
‘roided-up?”

Not to mention how much
your dick would shrivel up if you
do
use them
, Joaquin thought silently. “I don’t know, depends on how
good your chemist is, I assume,” replied Joaquin aloud, his tone
deadpan.

“
Dude,
seriously, do you think I’d
ever
take steroids?” Jason eyes were quickly becoming
accusatory.

Joaquin backed up a step
and held up both hands in surrender. “Hey, man, I’m your best
friend. It’s my job to ask.”

“
Jerk-off,” mumbled
Jason.

“
Not right now. I’m tired,
but thanks for the offer.”

They both laughed. They
continued to wipe themselves down and straighten up the garage. It
was about five minutes later when Joaquin remembered something he
wanted to talk about with Jason.
Freakin’
Thanksgiving!

“
Hey, dude, I know what I
was going to ask you before I got all side tracked with your
steroid use and shit,” he prompted.

“
What’s that?” asked
Jason, flipping-off Joaquin at the same time.

“
You said your dad wanted
to know about Thanksgiving or something along those lines,
right?”

Jason snapped his fingers,
a gesture he always did when someone brought up a topic he wanted
to discuss. “Yeah, yeah, my dad wanted to know if it would be okay
if I spent Wednesday of next week, Thanksgiving, and the remainder
of the weekend with you and your family. He’s going out of town for
that network expansion thingy I was telling you about.”

“
Wow,
over the Thanksgiving weekend, what a brutal schedule,” commented
Joaquin, more hung up on the timing of Jason’s father’s absence
than the question itself. He couldn’t imagine he would
ever
choose to work over
being with his family on such an important day as Thanksgiving. It
seemed unnatural. But, he wasn’t Jason’s father
either.

“
Yeah, dude, but they’re
willing to pay him five times his usual salary to go at that time,
because the entire division is gone for the holiday. He and his
team will have like crazy access and can get a ton of shit done in
like half the time,” he countered with a sly smile Joaquin
recognized immediately.