Read a Deleted Chapter From Déjà View

Déjà View is a book, not a film, but you get the idea.

For today’s blog, I thought I’d offer a little treat for those waiting with bated breath to read my new novel (I know you guys are out there somewhere!): a chapter from the cutting room floor, so to speak. One comment I received over and over again from my beta readers was that the beginning of the novel was too slow, and I needed to get to the “good stuff” faster. In other words, they kept asking, “When are they going to get to the fireworks factory?”

That meant making cuts. I snipped several lines of dialogue and small parts of scenes elsewhere, but losing this chapter was by far the biggest cut. It hurt deleting it because I liked it a lot, but what’s the point in having beta readers if you’re not going to listen to their advice? Also, if I’m being honest with myself, this chapter doesn’t really affect the overall story, save for resolving a conflict two characters have in the previous chapter (not included here). I guess the reason I wrote this chapter in the first place is because I wanted the main characters to have one final hurrah in elementary school before graduating (the next chapter is literally titled “Graduation”), but most readers probably wouldn’t get that anyway—unless they’re reading this blog. (And judging by this site’s traffic numbers, they’re not.)

As a famous writer whose name escapes me (Stephen King?) once instructed: “Kill your darlings.” So here’s my poor, little darling, laid out bleeding on a slab:

CHAPTER TEN

FIELD DAY

Empty Capri-Sun containers and Cheetos bags littered the back lawn of Shadybrook Elementary as kids competed against each other at the annual Field Day, the final event before graduation. Half were dressed in blue, and half were dressed in gold, the school’s colors. Parents perched in faded nylon lawn chairs across from the main field where the action was. Frisbee catch, relay race, and egg toss had already been played, and it seemed the teams were tied, if anyone was keeping score.

“Derrick told me this thing is rigged,” Joe told Bobby as they sat across from each other on an A-Team beach towel. Joe’s behind was covering Mr. T, and Bobby joked earlier that it looked like he was farting in his face. That broke the tension from the fight the weekend before at Joe’s birthday party. Neither wanted to mention the Laser Tag incident again, and Joe even hinted that there probably wouldn’t be a repeat next year. After all, he loved competition but not at the expense of one of his best friends. “He says one year the Blue team wins,” Joe continued, “and then the next year, the Gold team wins, and they just switch back and forth every year.”

“How would he know?” Bobby asked. “He just joined this school last year.”

“He must’ve heard it from someone else,” Joe explained. “I think Tom Johnston. I see him keeping score every year. He normally keeps track of these things.”

Bobby sighed. “He’s wrong,” he said. “We also trade teams every year, so does that mean someone is always on the losing team?” Joe could tell Bobby was trying to approach the situation logically, but logic didn’t apply when it came to Field Day. “I mean, I was on the losing team last year.”

“So did you ever win at Field Day?” Joe asked.

Bobby scanned the horizon as he searched his memory. “Now that I think about it,” he admitted. “I don’t think so.”

“Bobby!” his coach and gym teacher snapped. “You’re up. Three-legged race with Max!” He pointed to his shorter friend several yards away and handed him a thick, corded rope.

“Aren’t you guys still fighting?” Joe asked.

“Looks like we don’t have much of a choice,” Bobby replied. Reluctantly grabbing the rope, he walked, one slow step at a time, towards Max, who looked just as unenthusiastic as him. Dragging the rope behind him with a morose disposition, Bobby resembled a hangman heading for the gallows with a noose. In a three-legged race, two people tied their legs together—one person’s right leg to the other person’s left leg—and then they raced a short distance to the finish line. Whichever couple got there first was declared the winner.

“Hey,” Bobby said as he approached Max.

“Hey,” was his reticent reply. As their competitors hurriedly tied their legs together, the two friends stood firm, staring at the grass and then each other.

“Look, let’s get this over with,” Bobby offered, “and then you can go back to ignoring me.”

Unexpectedly, Max looked ashamed. “I’m not ignoring you. I thought you were ignoring me,” he said.

Bobby brightened. “Why would I want to ignore one of my best friends?” he asked.

“You know,” Max continued. “For what happened at Laser Tag.”

Bobby waved his hand in an “Aw-shucks” maneuver. “It’s just a game,” he said as the other racers took their mark behind the starting line: a string tied off to two orange cones.

“Speaking of which, we better get going,” Max said as he twirled the rope around their legs. Bobby tried to help but seemed to be getting more in Max’s way. He then watched Derrick stride past him with such cocksure attitude, it looked like he was imitating his hero Billy Idol.

“Hey Blobby,” Derrick sneered. “Just imagine there’s a box of Ho-Hos at the finish line, and you’ll be sure to smoke the others away.” He then walked back to his team.

“He’s just trying to psych you out,” Max said, unconcerned. “Don’t let him get to you.”

Derrick turned once more to call out, “Don’t trip on the twerp!” Now Max was concerned.

Bobby grit his teeth. “I don’t know what Joe sees in him,” he said.

Max tried to play Devil’s advocate. “Well, he’s got a tough reputation to maintain in school,” he said as he finished tying off the rope. “I think that’s why people think he’s cool.”

“What does ‘cool’ even mean?” Bobby asked.

“Let’s go, slowpokes!” the coach on the other team ordered from the far side of the field, his hands cupping his mouth to make sure they heard his warning.

“Whatever it is, it ain’t us,” Max answered. The two limped to the starting line, being careful not to collapse on top of each other. As they were the last ones there, the teacher in charge of the game grabbed the whistle around her neck and placed it near her lips. Max leaned over to his partner to whisper, “Run, Bobby. Run like the wind.”

The whistle was blown, and as their fellow Blue teammates cheered from the sides, Bobby and Max each took two uncoordinated steps and immediately tumbled, with Bobby landing on top of Max.

“Get off, Bobby!” Max wheezed. “I can’t breathe!”

As Bobby dismounted, he asked, “Was that a weight crack?”

“No, just the truth,” Max explained as they both got up to try to make up for lost time.

“Then how could you talk?” Bobby argued.

“Hey, Bobby?” Max wondered. “Can we finish this thing and chat later?” Bobby nodded as they hobbled away as fast as their little legs could carry them, looking like a tripod sprung to life, but it was no use; the other runners had gained too much ground on them.

Suddenly, Max’s eyes lit up like fireflies in a summer evening. “Wait,” he began, “I have an idea.” After his last word, he wrapped his body around Bobby’s left side, clinging to him like a baby koala bear to his mother. Because their sizes were so different, it was the only way to balance them out. Bobby was about to protest, but as he picked up speed, he realized Max’s method was working.

As Max held on for the ride, Bobby was afraid he might break an ankle. Glancing at his class on the sidelines, who was still cheering them on, he passed couple after couple gunning for the finish line. One group tripped and fell just before reaching the end, with Bobby and Max right behind. Bobby maneuvered around the fallen boys and managed to cross the finish line just before the others behind them.

Bobby and Max cheered in victory. For emphasis, Bobby slapped Max’s hand, causing them both to topple over, with Bobby once more on top.

“You’re crushing me again!” Max complained.

“It doesn’t matter,” Bobby said, still beaming ear to ear from the day’s conquest. “We won! We—” Bobby cut himself off as he watched a slimmer pair grab their first place ribbons. “Lost,” he finished, out of breath. Somehow, in all the excitement, he failed to see the true winners cross the finish line.

At the end of the day, both teams competed in the Tug of War, always the final game of the ceremonies. Bobby, being the heaviest, placed himself at the end of the rope, acting as the anchor. But even though Bobby’s Blue team won the game, Derrick’s prediction proved true: His team won Field Day, and the Blue team lost.

MTP

P.S.: Tomorrow’s blog (yes, it’s my first back-to-back blog): The End of the Tour

P.P.S.: Déjà View is now available on Amazon and Barnes & Noble:

AmazonBarnes & Noble