Evan is a survivor. Foster care, bullying, an abusive parent…Evan’s faced it all. But choosing between his autistic sister and his life’s passion is Evan’s biggest challenge ever.

I Am Evan: Juvenile Fiction

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BLURB: I Am Evan

Evan is a survivor. Foster care, bullying, an abusive parent…Evan has faced it all. Only two things keep him sane: the love of his younger, autistic sister, and playing piano. At home, his sister makes living with an abusive mother tolerable. At school, he finds solace playing piano in secret, stolen moments. But when the abuse escalates, the foster care system intervenes and the worst thing Evan can think of happens: he and his sister are separated and the only path to being reunited involves major sacrifices. Evan faces his biggest challenge ever when he’s forced to choose between his sister and his life’s passion.

EXCERPT: I Am Evan

The bell finally rings for lunch. I join the stampede out of the room. I’m wary of staying in the cafeteria though, in case Chad is on the prowl looking for me. My plan is to grab whatever I can take with me off the lunch line and go find a quiet place to eat. I need to think all this through. My self-preservation mode kicks in. If Mother finds out, I need to have a plan. The line is long but moving quickly. I keep glancing around. Like I told Robert in the first place, I don’t want any trouble. I don’t know if it’s my imagination or not, but it feels like people are staring at me. I avoid all eye contact.

I grab a burger, an orange, and a couple of milks and go out the side door leading to the courtyard. I’m happy to find it isn’t raining. There are kids eating lunch in the cloudy gloom of an Oregon November, and I feel like this place isn’t private enough. I want to be alone. Totally alone. I follow the path that leads around the corner to the back of the school. There’s a fence separating it from a residential area. Kids sometimes play wall ball back here. But right now, there’s no one in sight. Probably because it’s cold and wet from the earlier rain. Even that doesn’t deter me. All it means is I’m not in any danger of having unwanted company.

I sit down on a small dry spot under a short awning and lean back against the wall. I pull the hamburger from the paper wrapper and eat it in three bites. I don’t want to think about the bathroom scene. I don’t even want to think about how Geneva may have liked her present, although I still wish I could have seen the look on her face when she opened it. What is really filling my head is the offer the Ms. Vanderheyden made me this morning. Although I’ve managed to continue to play, and to learn new songs, there are questions I have. Will she teach me to sight read? How do I get better at joining hands? Can I learn a few jazz songs?

I’m jarred from my thoughts when something hits me in the forehead. I look up and see kids coming toward me. A lot of them. It’s as if half the cafeteria is closing in on me. On the ground is someone’s half eaten apple, which is what hit me in the forehead. Kids begin shouting at me, flinging words like “killer,” “attempted murder,” and “dead meat” at me. I’m pelted by more food, which hits me harder than the apple did. Someone’s piece of pizza smears my jacket with tomato sauce. A hamburger, which separates in midair, pelts me accordingly with all its different components. I wipe mayonnaise off my cheek. Something sharp clips my eye, and my hand reflexively covers my face. I see a pencil on the ground. There’s no real damage, but who knows what else they might throw. A soda bottle comes to mind.

I’m trapped by the mob screaming slurs at me. I try to get up but someone pushes me down. All at once the kids start spitting on me. I feel wet, slimy loogies dripping down my face. My jacket is a mess of cafeteria food. As hard as I try to pretend this isn’t happening to me, that I’m not there, I can’t. I’m frozen. Time has stopped around me, and I feel my eyes and throat burn. It doesn’t matter that I’ve done nothing. The universe needs someone to blame. Everything happens as if in slow motion, as if it’s nothing but a dream. I wish it was a dream. Because at least I’d have hope that one day I would wake up.

I feel a blow to my leg. The girl in front of me is kicking and spitting on me at the same time. The saliva on her lips shines. It makes the snarl on her face look strange and evil. She pulls something out of her pocket and throws it at me. The shouting stops and is suddenly replaced by laughter. Everyone is pointing, hooting and howling hysterically at me. I realize she’s thrown a handful of tampons, all pulled from their containers, strings and white cotton stuck to the mess on the front of me. Mortified doesn’t begin to describe how I feel. I’m a turtle, who can do no more than pull itself inside of its shell. I’m immobile. I don’t even have the power to get up and run away. I’m nobody, nothing, the complete mathematical value of zero. If I died, no one would care.

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