Read Online Overworld Chronicles Books 1-2: Sweet Blood of Mine & Dark Light of Mine by John Corwin - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: John Corwin
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Children's Books, Fantasy, Fantasy & Magic, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Children's eBooks, Paranormal & Urban, Science Fiction; Fantasy & Scary Stories
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posed made me want to barf.
"I can get you a friend's discount," she said.
A lump formed in my throat. I couldn't understand what I'd done to deserve a friend's discount from people I'd more or less looked down upon until a day ago. I hadn't done a thing to deserve the kindness of these people except turn myself into a social outcast. I cleared my throat, but my reply still came out a little gravelly.
"Thanks," I said. "I'll do it." I gave her my number and went to class.
After school, I went to a gym I'd passed a million times before on the way home, and inquired about personal training.
"I want someone who will really whip me into shape," I told the short skinny guy who signed me up. I hoped he wasn't a trainer. His arms looked like noodles.
He pursed his lips and looked me over. "I know just the person."
I looked around the gym and spotted several people with the blue trainer shirts on. One was a stocky black guy with arms thicker than this guy's waist. "How about him?"
"George?" He tsked. "He's booked right now. I can put you on the waiting list."
I scanned the area but the other trainers looked just as out of shape as their trainees. I wasn't about to waste money or time. I needed results. "Yeah, put me on his list, please."
"In the meantime, I'll put you with one of our best. Vic."
Vic sounded like the name of a swarthy Italian guy from New Jersey. A guy who could teach me street smarts and help me get six-pack abs all at the same time.
"Sounds good, thanks." I paid for two months up front and hoped by then I would know what I was doing and wouldn't need a trainer anymore. I couldn't afford to keep one for long anyway. The cash I'd stolen from my parents wouldn't last forever, and since neither Dad nor I worked, we had zero income.
Come to think of it, I didn't know how he was paying for the house or utilities. He'd been buying enough beer to supply a frat house, and I didn't have a clue where the money was coming from. Things looked bleak. All my ambitions could come crashing to the ground if we got kicked into the streets. Being homeless seemed like the crown jewel on my mountain of fail. I would have to do something about his issues sooner or later.
After school the next day I had my first appointment with my trainer. I put on my gym shorts, a sleeveless T-shirt to show off my chubby arms, and examined myself in the mirror before I left. I pulled up my shirt and grabbed a roll of pale jelly belly. My belly button was deep enough to store a short stack of dimes. My man boobs sagged from lack of a man bra. Vic had his work cut out for him.
I went to the gym and looked for someone fitting the profile of a low-level thug from a New Jersey mafia family before giving up and going to the trainers' desk. A redhead with ripped abs and enough freckles to form constellations on her otherwise forgettable face looked up as I approached.
"I'm looking for Vic."
"That's me," she said. "Justin?"
"Yeah," I said, trying not to voice my disappointment. I needed someone like George to get me in shape, not an aerobics queen. I hoped George's waiting list wasn't too long. "How does a girl get a name like Vic?"
"Short for Victoria." She shrugged. "You can call me either. Just don't call me Vicky. Can't stand that name."
She hopped up and motioned me to follow. After the dreaded weigh-in, she calculated my body fat percentage first with calipers and then with an electronic device I held in my hands. I think I maxed it out. Then she measured my biceps, my chest, my waist, and my legs. By the time we finished, my thirty-minute session was halfway over and I was impatient to start pumping iron.
"What's all this for?" I asked.
"We're setting a baseline," she explained. "Otherwise we can't measure progress." She looked at the numbers she'd collected and shook her head. "Besides, you won't last more than ten minutes."
"Gee, thanks."
Six minutes later I was drenched in sweat and staggering around in a haze of breathless
"I can get you a friend's discount," she said.
A lump formed in my throat. I couldn't understand what I'd done to deserve a friend's discount from people I'd more or less looked down upon until a day ago. I hadn't done a thing to deserve the kindness of these people except turn myself into a social outcast. I cleared my throat, but my reply still came out a little gravelly.
"Thanks," I said. "I'll do it." I gave her my number and went to class.
After school, I went to a gym I'd passed a million times before on the way home, and inquired about personal training.
"I want someone who will really whip me into shape," I told the short skinny guy who signed me up. I hoped he wasn't a trainer. His arms looked like noodles.
He pursed his lips and looked me over. "I know just the person."
I looked around the gym and spotted several people with the blue trainer shirts on. One was a stocky black guy with arms thicker than this guy's waist. "How about him?"
"George?" He tsked. "He's booked right now. I can put you on the waiting list."
I scanned the area but the other trainers looked just as out of shape as their trainees. I wasn't about to waste money or time. I needed results. "Yeah, put me on his list, please."
"In the meantime, I'll put you with one of our best. Vic."
Vic sounded like the name of a swarthy Italian guy from New Jersey. A guy who could teach me street smarts and help me get six-pack abs all at the same time.
"Sounds good, thanks." I paid for two months up front and hoped by then I would know what I was doing and wouldn't need a trainer anymore. I couldn't afford to keep one for long anyway. The cash I'd stolen from my parents wouldn't last forever, and since neither Dad nor I worked, we had zero income.
Come to think of it, I didn't know how he was paying for the house or utilities. He'd been buying enough beer to supply a frat house, and I didn't have a clue where the money was coming from. Things looked bleak. All my ambitions could come crashing to the ground if we got kicked into the streets. Being homeless seemed like the crown jewel on my mountain of fail. I would have to do something about his issues sooner or later.
After school the next day I had my first appointment with my trainer. I put on my gym shorts, a sleeveless T-shirt to show off my chubby arms, and examined myself in the mirror before I left. I pulled up my shirt and grabbed a roll of pale jelly belly. My belly button was deep enough to store a short stack of dimes. My man boobs sagged from lack of a man bra. Vic had his work cut out for him.
I went to the gym and looked for someone fitting the profile of a low-level thug from a New Jersey mafia family before giving up and going to the trainers' desk. A redhead with ripped abs and enough freckles to form constellations on her otherwise forgettable face looked up as I approached.
"I'm looking for Vic."
"That's me," she said. "Justin?"
"Yeah," I said, trying not to voice my disappointment. I needed someone like George to get me in shape, not an aerobics queen. I hoped George's waiting list wasn't too long. "How does a girl get a name like Vic?"
"Short for Victoria." She shrugged. "You can call me either. Just don't call me Vicky. Can't stand that name."
She hopped up and motioned me to follow. After the dreaded weigh-in, she calculated my body fat percentage first with calipers and then with an electronic device I held in my hands. I think I maxed it out. Then she measured my biceps, my chest, my waist, and my legs. By the time we finished, my thirty-minute session was halfway over and I was impatient to start pumping iron.
"What's all this for?" I asked.
"We're setting a baseline," she explained. "Otherwise we can't measure progress." She looked at the numbers she'd collected and shook her head. "Besides, you won't last more than ten minutes."
"Gee, thanks."
Six minutes later I was drenched in sweat and staggering around in a haze of breathless
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