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- Light Traveler Adventure Series -
My Body Fell Off!
Chapter 1
- Utah -

My Body Fell Off! -- Previous Chapter

My Body Fell Off! -- Next Chapter

The big day finally arrived! I was in High School! Tenth Grade!

The only problem was, I wasn’t in California, where I was supposed to be. I was in Payson, Utah, of all places. Like . . . Siberia!
"Just one month earlier, my dad had popped the surprise of the century on us at the dinner table. “Guess what, everybody!” he had announced with a big cheesy grin. “We’re moving to Utah!”
Just like that. Clean out of the blue. No warning at all.
I couldn’t believe my ears. “This is a joke, right, Dad?” I choked out with a forced laugh. I knew it wasn’t.
“Nope. No joke. We’re moving to Utah.”
I leaped to my feet. “But Dad, school starts in a month. I’ve been waiting all my life for high school, and now we’re moving to . . . to . . . to Utah?” It was like bitter poison dripping off my tongue. “Why?” I asked in a pleading tone.
“Because I’ve been promoted,” he announced proudly, “and I’ve been given a special assignment to open up our new office in Utah Valley and help get things going over there.”
How could they do that to me? Just when life was really getting fun. I was only five weeks away from turning sixteen. Five weeks from finally reaching our family’s officially sanctioned dating age. Five weeks—thirty-five days—until I would finally start dating all those gorgeous California girls—dances, beach parties, concerts!
In Utah, the girls will all be . . . farmers! I thought. HOW DISGUSTING!
Not to mention that I was right smack dab in the middle of Driver’s Ed. Only one measly month away from becoming a licensed driver.
In Utah, they probably all drive around on tractors or something!
The very next day, Dad had flown right out and found us a house. A huge two-story monstrosity out in the middle of nowhere. Nothing but farms as far as the eye could see. Dad said he had endured the crowded neighborhoods long enough, and he went out of his way to find something rural. Our closest neighbor was about two hundred yards away. We didn’t really even live in Payson. We were three miles from town, on the West Mountain road.
The only good thing about the move was that I finally got my own bedroom. I had been sharing with my obnoxious little brother, Darin “the dweeb,” since the beginning of time. In our new house, even the two little brats, Charlene and Cynthia, had their own rooms.
Of course, not having Chris around anymore helped. My older brother was definitely what you would call the black sheep of our family. (Mom would have grounded me for a week, though, if she ever heard me say that.)
“We need to pour out our love for him,” she would tell us. “He’ll turn around someday.”
“He’s a good spirit deep down inside,” Dad would add. “He just needs some time.”
Well, if there was a good spirit in there, it was waaaaay too deep for me to find it. Chris had been in more trouble than anybody I knew. It was a wonder he hadn’t already been given life in prison.
Now, that’s a pleasant thought.
Anyway, Chris had laid it on the line with my folks and refused to leave California. So, we left him.

We were supposed to ride a bus to school, but we didn’t know when or where, so Mom drove us the first day. I was dropped off first, since the high school started earlier. Darin and the girls looked like they were about to face a firing squad when they drove off.
As I walked in the front doors, I heard someone call my name.
“Hey, Bart. That IS your name, right? Bart?”
I nodded. I recognized him from our first church meeting on Sunday, and he reminded me that his name was Paul Bishop.
“So, what do you think of Utah so far?” he asked.
“Well, I expected everybody to be wearing cowboy hats and boots and stuff. I guess I wasn’t very well informed,” I answered.
Paul laughed. “Well, don’t worry. There are plenty of them around. So, where’s your first class?”
I told him I hadn’t picked up my schedule yet. Mom had come in the day before and got me registered, so I was still in the dark. He guided me to the office and waited while I got my papers and locker assignment. I couldn’t make any sense of the schedule and finally lowered my pride enough to ask him for help.
“Yeah, it’s kind of confusing,” he said. “It’s like college. My sister Diane was a junior last year, so we’re pretty used to it now.” He explained that a “module” was a forty-minute block of time, like from eight to eight-forty. There was a ten-minute break after each module. Most classes were one module, five days a week, like a regular period. Others were only on Monday, Wednesday and Friday, or on Tuesday and Thursday.
“Then there’s one module of study time each day,” he continued. “There are a bunch of study halls where you can go, like the library or the cafeteria. But you can’t just wander the halls. Hey, look,” he said, reading my schedule. “We have study hall at the same time.”
By that time we had arrived at Paul’s locker, and he busied himself working the lock and stashing his things.
“Where’s your locker?” he asked.
I looked at the papers. “Umm . . . two thirty-three. Where’s that?”
“Right down this same hall, I think.”
Paul seemed like an all right guy, and I was relieved that I didn’t have to find everything on my own. We found my locker at the end of the hall—the very last locker in the farthest corner of the school.
“Hey, at least you don’t have to bump shoulders with anyone on the left,” he said, trying to cheer me up.
The lock was stubborn, and when I finally got the door opened I accidentally backed into someone on my right. I turned to find myself looking down into the clearest, crystal blue eyes I had ever seen in my life. I stepped back a foot and stood there speechless, staring shamelessly.
This gorgeous creature is definitely NOT a farm girl, I thought.
Her face was so perfect, she looked like she could easily have been a model for Seventeen magazine. She had incredibly long, wavy blond hair that went clear down to her waist—what little waist there was. She could have been straight off a California beach . . . except without a suntan.
“Aren’t you even going to say ‘excuse me’?” she asked, pretending to be upset. Her voice was soft and sensuous.
“Uh . . . oh . . . excuse me,” I stammered, clearing my throat.
She smiled and winked.
I just about died. My adrenaline went to red alert status. What a stupid first impression THAT was, I thought. I turned back to face Paul, totally embarrassed. He raised his eyebrows at me a couple of times and made a little hourglass gesture with his hands.
Paul told me later that her name was Tiffany Short, and that she was a junior varsity cheerleader.
“Her friends call her Tiff—or Shorty. But I wouldn’t, if I were you. Definitely one hot babe. You don’t stand a chance with her, though. She’s Tom Zeller’s girlfriend. He’s our quarterback—the big number fourteen. You better keep your distance.”
The rest of the day was a pretty typical first day of school. It turned out that Paul and I had two classes together; English and history. My homeroom class was geometry. The rest of my classes included tech crew, P.E., and biology. The tech crew was in charge of the auditorium for all assemblies and productions, and the class was two hours long, on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
On Friday, I had my first run-in with the rednecks. I had inadvertently stepped in front of them in the hall as I left my locker. There were four of them, all decked out in hats and boots and big shiny belt buckles. I half expected to see spurs and six-shooters.
One of them stuck his thumbs in his belt and said, “Well, lookie here. We got ourselves a new little runt in the pen. What do we do with runts, boys?”
The other three cowboys laughed and mumbled some things I didn’t catch.
The big shot took a step forward and poked me hard in the chest with his finger. His eyes narrowed. “You even know what a runt is, kid?” Before I could begin to answer, he enlightened me. “Runts are little itty bitty squealy pigs that never grow up. All the rest get big and fat, but the runts just stay little.” He paused, tipping his head back and raising his hat. “You know what happens to the runts?” he asked.
“No. What?” I knew it couldn’t be anything good, whatever it was.
“The big pigs kill ’em!” he roared, stomping the floor with the heel of his boot. “They tromp ’em to death!” They all laughed and slapped each other on their backs and shoulders. “That’s what we’re going to do to you, runt, if you ever get in our way again. You can just think of us as the Big Pigs. Got it?”
“Yeah, I got it,” I muttered.
With that, he shoved me against the lockers and out of the way. Then they paraded on down the hall in their exaggerated bow-legged strut.
“Big Pigs is right,” I said under my breath.
On the way home, on the bus, I told Paul about my run-in.
He explained, “There are three kinds of guys in this school: the jocks, the rednecks, and the rest of us. This is the FFA capital of Utah. That’s Future Farmers of America,” he said sarcastically. “They have more sheep shearing classes here than they have reading, writing, and arithmetic all put together.” We both laughed.
I sat quietly for a minute or two, watching the cornfields through the window.
“So, why did they pick me, out of hundreds of sophomores?” I wondered out loud.
“Hey, we only have one high school and one junior high in this town,” Paul answered. “These are the same guys that have been harassing us since kindergarten. They just get meaner as they get older. You’re a new face. You stick out like a sore thumb—ripe for the pickins.”
I told myself that I would need to remember that in the future. I was an invader.
“Nothing personal, Bart,” Paul said.
“Yeah, I know.”
“Don’t ever underestimate those guys, though,” he warned. “Last year they beat up a long-haired hippy-looking guy that moved in from Illinois. Sent him to the hospital all broken to pieces.”
The rest of the ride home passed in silence.
So, this is Utah, I thought. Cowboy heaven.

My Body Fell Off! -- Previous Chapter

My Body Fell Off! -- Next Chapter

Read the backliner for My Body Fell Off!

Read the backliner for Silver Hawk's Revenge

Read the backliner for Missing Children

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	*- Light Traveler Adventure Series -* *My Body Fell Off!* Chapter 1 - Utah -

My Body Fell Off! -- Previous Chapter
My Body Fell Off! -- Next Chapter


The big day finally arrived! I was in High School! Tenth Grade! The only problem was, I wasn’t in California, where I was supposed to be. I was in Payson, Utah, of all places. Like . . . Siberia! "Just one month earlier, my dad had popped the surprise of the century on us at the dinner table. “Guess what, everybody!” he had announced with a big cheesy grin. “We’re moving to Utah!” Just like that. Clean out of the blue. No warning at all. I couldn’t believe my ears. “This is a joke, right, Dad?” I choked out with a forced laugh. I knew it wasn’t. “Nope. No joke. We’re moving to Utah.” I leaped to my feet. “But Dad, school starts in a month. I’ve been waiting all my life for high school, and now we’re moving to . . . to . . . to Utah?” It was like bitter poison dripping off my tongue. “Why?” I asked in a pleading tone. “Because I’ve been promoted,” he announced proudly, “and I’ve been given a special assignment to open up our new office in Utah Valley and help get things going over there.” How could they do that to me? Just when life was really getting fun. I was only five weeks away from turning sixteen. Five weeks from finally reaching our family’s officially sanctioned dating age. Five weeks—thirty-five days—until I would finally start dating all those gorgeous California girls—dances, beach parties, concerts! In Utah, the girls will all be . . . farmers! I thought. HOW DISGUSTING! Not to mention that I was right smack dab in the middle of Driver’s Ed. Only one measly month away from becoming a licensed driver. In Utah, they probably all drive around on tractors or something! The very next day, Dad had flown right out and found us a house. A huge two-story monstrosity out in the middle of nowhere. Nothing but farms as far as the eye could see. Dad said he had endured the crowded neighborhoods long enough, and he went out of his way to find something rural. Our closest neighbor was about two hundred yards away. We didn’t really even live in Payson. We were three miles from town, on the West Mountain road. The only good thing about the move was that I finally got my own bedroom. I had been sharing with my obnoxious little brother, Darin “the dweeb,” since the beginning of time. In our new house, even the two little brats, Charlene and Cynthia, had their own rooms. Of course, not having Chris around anymore helped. My older brother was definitely what you would call the black sheep of our family. (Mom would have grounded me for a week, though, if she ever heard me say that.) “We need to pour out our love for him,” she would tell us. “He’ll turn around someday.” “He’s a good spirit deep down inside,” Dad would add. “He just needs some time.” Well, if there was a good spirit in there, it was waaaaay too deep for me to find it. Chris had been in more trouble than anybody I knew. It was a wonder he hadn’t already been given life in prison. Now, that’s a pleasant thought. Anyway, Chris had laid it on the line with my folks and refused to leave California. So, we left him. We were supposed to ride a bus to school, but we didn’t know when or where, so Mom drove us the first day. I was dropped off first, since the high school started earlier. Darin and the girls looked like they were about to face a firing squad when they drove off. As I walked in the front doors, I heard someone call my name. “Hey, Bart. That IS your name, right? Bart?” I nodded. I recognized him from our first church meeting on Sunday, and he reminded me that his name was Paul Bishop. “So, what do you think of Utah so far?” he asked. “Well, I expected everybody to be wearing cowboy hats and boots and stuff. I guess I wasn’t very well informed,” I answered. Paul laughed. “Well, don’t worry. There are plenty of them around. So, where’s your first class?” I told him I hadn’t picked up my schedule yet. Mom had come in the day before and got me registered, so I was still in the dark. He guided me to the office and waited while I got my papers and locker assignment. I couldn’t make any sense of the schedule and finally lowered my pride enough to ask him for help. “Yeah, it’s kind of confusing,” he said. “It’s like college. My sister Diane was a junior last year, so we’re pretty used to it now.” He explained that a “module” was a forty-minute block of time, like from eight to eight-forty. There was a ten-minute break after each module. Most classes were one module, five days a week, like a regular period. Others were only on Monday, Wednesday and Friday, or on Tuesday and Thursday. “Then there’s one module of study time each day,” he continued. “There are a bunch of study halls where you can go, like the library or the cafeteria. But you can’t just wander the halls. Hey, look,” he said, reading my schedule. “We have study hall at the same time.” By that time we had arrived at Paul’s locker, and he busied himself working the lock and stashing his things. “Where’s your locker?” he asked. I looked at the papers. “Umm . . . two thirty-three. Where’s that?” “Right down this same hall, I think.” Paul seemed like an all right guy, and I was relieved that I didn’t have to find everything on my own. We found my locker at the end of the hall—the very last locker in the farthest corner of the school. “Hey, at least you don’t have to bump shoulders with anyone on the left,” he said, trying to cheer me up. The lock was stubborn, and when I finally got the door opened I accidentally backed into someone on my right. I turned to find myself looking down into the clearest, crystal blue eyes I had ever seen in my life. I stepped back a foot and stood there speechless, staring shamelessly. This gorgeous creature is definitely NOT a farm girl, I thought. Her face was so perfect, she looked like she could easily have been a model for Seventeen magazine. She had incredibly long, wavy blond hair that went clear down to her waist—what little waist there was. She could have been straight off a California beach . . . except without a suntan. “Aren’t you even going to say ‘excuse me’?” she asked, pretending to be upset. Her voice was soft and sensuous. “Uh . . . oh . . . excuse me,” I stammered, clearing my throat. She smiled and winked. I just about died. My adrenaline went to red alert status. What a stupid first impression THAT was, I thought. I turned back to face Paul, totally embarrassed. He raised his eyebrows at me a couple of times and made a little hourglass gesture with his hands. Paul told me later that her name was Tiffany Short, and that she was a junior varsity cheerleader. “Her friends call her Tiff—or Shorty. But I wouldn’t, if I were you. Definitely one hot babe. You don’t stand a chance with her, though. She’s Tom Zeller’s girlfriend. He’s our quarterback—the big number fourteen. You better keep your distance.” The rest of the day was a pretty typical first day of school. It turned out that Paul and I had two classes together; English and history. My homeroom class was geometry. The rest of my classes included tech crew, P.E., and biology. The tech crew was in charge of the auditorium for all assemblies and productions, and the class was two hours long, on Tuesdays and Thursdays. On Friday, I had my first run-in with the rednecks. I had inadvertently stepped in front of them in the hall as I left my locker. There were four of them, all decked out in hats and boots and big shiny belt buckles. I half expected to see spurs and six-shooters. One of them stuck his thumbs in his belt and said, “Well, lookie here. We got ourselves a new little runt in the pen. What do we do with runts, boys?” The other three cowboys laughed and mumbled some things I didn’t catch. The big shot took a step forward and poked me hard in the chest with his finger. His eyes narrowed. “You even know what a runt is, kid?” Before I could begin to answer, he enlightened me. “Runts are little itty bitty squealy pigs that never grow up. All the rest get big and fat, but the runts just stay little.” He paused, tipping his head back and raising his hat. “You know what happens to the runts?” he asked. “No. What?” I knew it couldn’t be anything good, whatever it was. “The big pigs kill ’em!” he roared, stomping the floor with the heel of his boot. “They tromp ’em to death!” They all laughed and slapped each other on their backs and shoulders. “That’s what we’re going to do to you, runt, if you ever get in our way again. You can just think of us as the Big Pigs. Got it?” “Yeah, I got it,” I muttered. With that, he shoved me against the lockers and out of the way. Then they paraded on down the hall in their exaggerated bow-legged strut. “Big Pigs is right,” I said under my breath. On the way home, on the bus, I told Paul about my run-in. He explained, “There are three kinds of guys in this school: the jocks, the rednecks, and the rest of us. This is the FFA capital of Utah. That’s Future Farmers of America,” he said sarcastically. “They have more sheep shearing classes here than they have reading, writing, and arithmetic all put together.” We both laughed. I sat quietly for a minute or two, watching the cornfields through the window. “So, why did they pick me, out of hundreds of sophomores?” I wondered out loud. “Hey, we only have one high school and one junior high in this town,” Paul answered. “These are the same guys that have been harassing us since kindergarten. They just get meaner as they get older. You’re a new face. You stick out like a sore thumb—ripe for the pickins.” I told myself that I would need to remember that in the future. I was an invader. “Nothing personal, Bart,” Paul said. “Yeah, I know.” “Don’t ever underestimate those guys, though,” he warned. “Last year they beat up a long-haired hippy-looking guy that moved in from Illinois. Sent him to the hospital all broken to pieces.” The rest of the ride home passed in silence. So, this is Utah, I thought. Cowboy heaven.


My Body Fell Off! -- Previous Chapter

	My Body Fell Off! -- Next Chapter


Read the backliner for My Body Fell Off!

Read the backliner for Silver Hawk's Revenge

Read the backliner for Missing Children