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Hard Case
Hard Case
Hard Case
Ebook37 pages28 minutes

Hard Case

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In this high interest novel for middle grade readers, Baeden finds himself in trouble after he gets an unexpected gift for his thirteenth birthday: an all-too-real-looking toy gun.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateFeb 14, 2018
ISBN9781386216827
Hard Case

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    Book preview

    Hard Case - Carla Moretti

    Chapter One

    I head into the kitchen rubbing my eyes and fake yawning. I've been awake for an hour already. But I don't want anyone to know I woke up early.

    I don't want Corey to know.

    I can just see him poking fun at me if he guesses I'm excited about my birthday like a little kid.

    Mom's already up and gone to work. She's left an envelope at my place at the table. She even drew little balloons on it, and wrote Happy 13th!

    There's probably not a lot of money in it. We don't have much to spare, not now anyway.

    Her job at the clinic in Burnt Bay is enough to live on, but there was no back to school shopping spree in St. John’s for me this year.

    Not that I care. I'm not all that interested in clothes. As far as I'm concerned, I can wear the same stuff this year that I wore last year in grade eight.

    Unless I have a growth spurt, I suppose. I've almost given up hope of that happening, though. I think I'm doomed to be short and stocky, like Dad.

    I stuff the card in my backpack. I'll open it later, when I'm alone.

    Corey's at the kitchen table, skinny legs stretched out, taking up too much room. He's staring down at his phone, as always. There’s a cigarette in his hand already, at this hour. Hey, Baeden. Happy birthday, he says. I try to ignore him. So you're, what? Fourteen now?

    If I don't answer chances are he'll tell Mom, and she'll be upset. In a way it's her own fault she gets sad about all of this, disappointed that I’m not trying, as she always says. It’s not like she can expect me to get along with him anymore.

    But still, there's no point in making things worse than they are.

    No, I say, grabbing breakfast. Thirteen.

    Today's menu: cold pop tarts, which I'll eat walking to the bus stop. Same as yesterday's menu.

    And it’s Friday, Corey says, and smiles at me. Friday the Thirteenth. Pretty cool. Why is he so frigging chatty today?

    But Corey's on his feet, following me to the front door for some reason. I lean my backpack against the wall and shove my sneakers on.

    "I've got something

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