Storymania - Uh Oh! by Jackson

Uh Oh!
Jackson

What do you think its like not knowing anyone, coming to a different state, and leaving all of your friends. Its hard, I mean really, really hard. I have moved from Boise, Idaho. I went to Riverglen Junior High. Many of my friends in Idaho are different but cool, in a way. I am going to have a hard time making friends, and learning about the neighborhood at my new house in Park City.
My mom, she was driving the car at the time. We were listening to music. She was ranting on and on about politics. Even though I didn’t understand politics at all I was listening to let my mom relax and forget about what we just let behind. My dad was behind us in the big orange and white U-Haul.
After five and a half hours of driving, we were finally in the city. My mom was talking about all the recipes her best friend had taught her, like mud pie and custard. she missed her best friend.
We were defiantly moving into the unknown.

I was thirteen then, now I’m fourteen going on fifteen. I have been at my new school for a week. I still don’t know a soul in this prison. I have never been the talkative social type. Everyday I get my routine: My alarm goes off at six thirty, I wake up at six forty, then I take my ever so precious shower, dry my hair off, get dressed, eat breakfast, brush my teeth, head to school, dread for lunch, eat lunch, wait for the end of school, walk outside, find my ride, finish any homework, and sleep. I cherish my sleep, it helps me zone out and think.

I am working on making friends everyday, but when I try to speak, words just jumble out of my nervous lips. That changed last Tuesday when a kid named Mike came to the school. He had long brown hair and green eyes, he seemed to speak with an odd accent, I couldn’t quite point it out. He came from Eagle, Idaho, Mike claims he liked it there, and that he went to a school right by mine. The school he went to was our rival, the mustangs. It was nice knowing someone new and having a friend. we liked to bicker about who’s school was better when it came to football. Every class we have together, we sit side by side. He has become a good friend to me, and at the time I hoped it would stay that way.
Until that evil afternoon. The day that Mike was murdered, and I had seen the whole thing. My best, and only friend was murdered.
The day that one incident happened, Mike had been acting a little paranoid, like someone or something was after him. The second the end school bell rang, Mike started sweating. His sweat was coming out like sprinklers, his face had become sopping wet of sweat. I offered for him to walk to my house and hang out but he denied and said that he wanted me to come to his house. After about ten minutes he started to let his guard down. I was wondering what was going on, so I started to steer towards the subject of why. He effectively avoided it. Cars had been passing us and every car that came into Silver Springs, he would wonder away from the passing area.

We eventually arrived at his house. Every time I walked up to his house I was amazed at how big and green it was. The house was built in 1965 by his grandpa, at least thats what Mike says. Mike became extremely nervous, he was shaking. Right before he touched the door knob, it looked like he made a little prayer. I was curious why he would do that until he twisted the door knob. The door creaked. The door opened,a stubby, round nosed man pointed a small pistol to Mikes head. I always wonder after that, what kind of trouble do you have to get in, in eighth grade to get a bullet to your head. Th man pulled the trigger, and I watched Mike, my only friend, fall to the ground. All I could think was RUN! I ran as fast as I could. tears were blurring my vision. I was jumping fences with speed I have never experienced in my life. I felt like my heart was going to explode from all of the adrenaline rushing through my veins. “Shit! I dropped my phone!” If this guy found it, I knew he would be crazy enough to kill me and maybe even my family. I ran back to the second fence I had hopped, two elderly women were sitting in their back yard. I smiled, and picked up my phone, the killer was climbing into the yard I was in. I tried not to make eye contact with this destructive man. I couldn’t help it, he seemed to have an overwhelming power over me. I pulled away and jumped the fence. The man had blue eyes and a small brown mustache. This image had been fried into my mind... forever. He screamed under his breathe, ready to chase after me once more.
I had been the school long distance track star at Riverglen. I loved running. I remember the first time I remember winning my first track race. I had been training for weeks, sweat would drop off of my red forehead. As I crossed the finish line, I remember wondering how great of a feeling it was to rip through the red paper banner. I liked winning, it made me feel plain good.
Jumping over fences is tiring, my hands started to become raw, and my fingertips bleeding. Every time I grabbed the top of the fence to haul myself over, the bleeding wound in the middle of my hand would strip itself open just enough to make me wince in pain. After about two miles of running and six more fences to hop, I had arrived at the police department, wondering if this devilish man had given up, or was just waiting, waiting to pounce, and follow me home. I ran up to the front desk to report the incident that just occurred.
“Kid! Calm down!” The officer commanded. I didn’t realize I had been talking a million miles an hour, and obviously the officer had. “I am Riley Walker. I just moved here from Boise, Idaho. I just witnessed my best friends murder!” I described the man to him. The officer was shocked. His furry jaw dropped and his coffee stained mustache lost its pizzazz. I realized what I had just pronounced and sat in a red fuzzy waiting chair. This officer I had been speaking to was on the loudspeaker announcing that he needed several men on the streets looking for the man I just described. He got a forensics crew over to the house Mike had been shot at. I must have sat in that chair for three hours, because I fell asleep thinking about what I was going to do about Mike.
A small women, around her early twenties came out and called for me to come over, this is why I woke up. She was at my assistance to help her discover what the murderer looked like. I knew his eyes instantly, large and blue. His nose came after, it was round as a pumpkin, and he had large black man lips.
After I had finished with the description, I had gone through several other processes that I have never heard about, never. I called my parents, to make sure they knew what was going on. I explained the whole thing to them. My mother began to cry over this phone call. I already didn’t know what to do with this.

I didn’t sleep for a week after my best friends death. Every day at school I wonder if Mike is sitting at our lunch table, then realizing that he won’t. I hated this.

This man that murdered my best friend has been hanging around town for a couple weeks. Everywhere I go I am hiding, running, and whispering. I have seen this killer around all the areas that teens go. I don’t get it how the police haven’t caught him, he has just been hanging around. I am waiting inside my home everyday and it’s torture. The police have no leads.

After about three weeks I finally decided that I would look into what was going on with Mike before his death. I didn’t understand what a fourteen year old could do to be shot over. It didn’t make sense.

“Hello Mrs. Schmidt.” I said, trying to sound as friendly as possible without mentioning Mike.
“Hello,” Mrs. Schmidt started to tear up, thinking of her son, I could tell I reminded her of Mike, “I am assuming you are here to pick up some of your stuff?”
Mrs. Schmidt was a tall woman and she liked the color pink, a lot.
“Yes mam’,” I never left anything in his house, I just wanted to know what kind of trouble he had to be in.
I walked up to his room and started sorting through his stuff, acting like I was looking for something of mine. A small pile of magazines fell off of his dresser shelf. A skiing magazine held a large amount of cash, and a note reading to meet a Mr. Sheldon on a corner behind main gas station in Heber at five o’clock on 2/13/010. I didn’t understand. I first wondered if he was into drugs and didn’t tell me, but I knew it didn’t make sense that he would do that. Every time the subject of drugs came up anywhere, he would sigh and meaningly say “Why ruin your life for a puff of smoke or a sniff of high?” I knew he would never be in trouble with drugs. I took the note and kept looking around. I opened his first drawer and found a journal. I kept it in a pocket and walked out of the room, grabbing one of Mikes jackets. I walked out and said explained how sorry I was about Mike and walked out their pink front door.

When I arrived home, I sat down and went straight to the page with the date 2/13/10 on it. It had been completely ripped out. I decided to tell the police what I had discovered, and let them handle it. This is the only lead the police have.