Dave Casler
PO Box 98
Ridgway, Colorado 81432
Young Adult Novels by Dave Casler...
I've been told by publisher after publisher that there's no market for Young Adult novels. I think they're wrong! So I'm putting my novels on-line for you. Forget the publisher! Read to your heart's content--it's free! And, I'd like to hear from you, too! Contact Page.
You're reading About Phillip. Be sure to check out About Dan here.
Phillip is a computer nerd who suddenly discovers a liking for track. Everything would be fine except for his father.
About Series Home
About the About Series
Index to All Chapters
Here are all the chapters, disguised as asterisks. Hover your mouse over an asterisk to see the title of the chapter. Click on the asterisk to go straight to that chapter.
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
(About Phillip Home) (Last) (Next)
Out of Control
Lance and Phillip walked home; they lived less than a quarter mile away. Phillip was numb and disbelieving. Lance was as silent as cold steel.
They mounted the steps; Lance opened the door. They went into the dining room. "Clean up and we’ll take mom’s car to meet the others at the hospital. You’ve got blood on your shirt."
"Yes, sir." Phillip hung his head and headed for the stairs.
"Martins’ blood," added Lance.
Phillip stopped in front of the table with the family pictures. He turned to face his father. "Yes, Dad, I know it’s Martin’s blood."
Lance planted himself facing Phillip. "It could have been your mother’s blood, too." His voice was barely controlled.
"Dad, I feel bad enough already."
"I surveyed the accident scene while you were crying to the cop. I saw the skid marks. The other car veered slightly left. If it had gone straight, it would’ve slammed into your mother."
"I wasn’t crying."
"I remind you that your mother is my wife."
"Dad, I know that. Can we get cleaned up and go…"
"Why didn’t you pay attention?" demanded Lance.
"Everyone was yelling at me. I didn’t see the other car."
"That’s no excuse. The driver is responsible for controlling…"
"How am I supposed to do that with everyone yelling at me?"
"If you’d stop whining every time I try to teach you to drive…"
"I’M NOT WHINING! AND I’M NEVER GOING DRIVING WITH YOU IN THE CAR AGAIN!"
"You are an ungrateful, spoiled brat! I’ve given you every opportunity and now Martin’s injured and who knows what happened to Margo…"
"IT’S YOUR FAULT! YOU WERE SCREAMING IN MY EAR! HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO…"
Lance grabbed Phillip by the front of his shirt and slammed him against the dining room wall. Flailing backwards, Phillip knocked a picture off the table; shards of glass flew across the dining room floor. Lance and Phillip were nose to nose. Lance tightened his hold on Phillip’s shirt. Instinctively, Phillip pushed on Lance’s chest.
Lance spoke with cold fury. "You filthy piece of excrement. If there is anything, I repeat, anything wrong with Margo…"
"THEN YOU DID IT!" shouted a terrified Phillip. "YOU’RE THE ONE THAT MADE ME DRIVE. I DIDN’T WANT TO HAVE ANTHING TO …"
Lance reared back and lurched forward to slam his open hand across Phillip’s face. On his way down, Phillip’s foot slammed through the picture frame on the floor, grinding glass shards into the photograph. He fell into a cowering fetal heap; he covered his face with his hands and sobbed.
Lance stopped, his fury spent. He stood over Phillip for nearly a minute, watching his son sob and mutter "don’t hit me" again and again.
Lance sank into a chair. Phillip’s sobs were less frequent now. After three minutes Lance spoke dully. "Son, get yourself cleaned up. We’ve got to go."
Phillip uncovered his face, warily eyeing Lance. With one final sob he sat up. "Where are my glasses?" he asked.
"Over by the front door."
"There’s glass everywhere."
Lance spoke absentmindedly. "I’ll clean it up, son. Go upstairs, change clothes and get cleaned up."
Phillip didn’t say anything. He awkwardly got to his feet, retrieved his glasses and disappeared up the stairs.