Power Pros Forum

Matty Cooper actually liked spending time with his dad. Most people thought he was crazy when he said that, given that his father was a heavy smoker…and a heavy drinker…and a man with nearly three dozen tattoos…but Matty actually liked hanging around him.

It was a good thing that the boy liked spending time with his father, because he kinda had to, given that his dad was often the only one of his now-divorced parents in town, what with his mom being a busy airplane pilot and all. His dad was a busy man, though, and Matty had to wake up a lot earlier than he would normally like so his dad could see him off to school on the bus—the six A.M. bus—and still have plenty of time to grab a coffee on his way to work.

This particular morning, Matty’s alarm went off at 5:05, same as always, and he started off the day by shedding his pajamas and putting on a tie-dye tank top and khaki cargo shorts. He looked in the closet and found everything he needed, clipping the fake stud earrings to his ears, fitting the silver cross necklace around his neck, and slipping his favorite Padres snapback over his shaggy blonde hair. He then darted down the hall of their beachfront apartment to wake up his seven-year-old brother Timmy, who quickly got dressed. They walked into the living room, where they always started the day off with a bowl of cereal and the morning news.

“Breaking news,” the young anchor Suzanne Hollinsworth announced. “A fatal crash has been reported on the 5 south early this morning. We don’t know many details, but it appears that there were two very young passengers in one of the vehicles involved. More to come later.”

Meanwhile, in a quiet neighborhood on the other side of town, Peter Hanifin was taking his customary, relaxing morning walk when he suddenly ran smack into a neighbor. He muttered an expletive followed by a quick “sorry”, but then he looked up.

“Wait a second, you look rather familiar,” Peter said to the man he had collided with.
“Yeah, I recognize you from somewhere. You have a kid?” the man asked.
“I have a son—Mitchell—but he’s just five,” Peter replied.
“I have a five-year-old too, name’s Jackson Robertson, although your kid may know him as Jack—“
“—Yeah, I think our kids are on the same baseball team. Mitchell plays for this coach-pitch team called the Sunflowers—“
“—Yep, you’re right. I’m David Robertson, by the way,” the man said.

They made small talk for a couple minutes before David got around to asking Peter how Mitchell was doing. “Mitchell? He’s actually pretty shaken up still, got nailed in the chin at practice last week and had to sit out the game on Saturday.” Peter then explained that he had been watching as the ball took a crazy hop off the grass and popped up and hit the boy in the chin, but that he had been kinda stunned—as had many of the other parents—and was thankful that a teammate, Robert Tomlinson, had seen and pointed out the injury to their coach. “Yeah, you never know with these kids. Tell him Jack said hi,” David said as he shook Peter’s hand and continued briskly walking in the other direction, hoping to make it home before either of his kids—Jackson had a brother, Charles, in second grade—got up.

Peter, on the other hand, didn’t have to do anything that day, as his volunteer firefighting only required him to come in on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and today was neither of those things. He circled around the block and made his way back through the front door of the house just in time to kiss his librarian wife—the Shusher was his pet name for her—goodbye. He eased his way into the bedroom, took a quick shower, and put on clean clothes. He slowly made his way down the hall and cautiously opened the door to Mitchell’s room. The sheets on the boy’s bed were rather neatly made up, as they typically were, but Mitchell was not in the room. He appeared not a moment later, though, wiping his eyes as he shuffled out of the bathroom. “Oh, hey, dad,” he said groggily as he made his way over to the bed and sat down. “You okay, son?” Peter asked. “My chin doesn’t hurt at all,” Mitchell said with a smile, “but I’m awfully tired. I think I need another hour or two of sleep, I kept having bad dreams that zombies were gonna come in and eat my face.”

Mitchell slid back under the covers, asking his dad to set the alarm for 7:30 as he made his way back into Sleepytown, USA. He woke back up on the second beep of the alarm, feeling far more energetic than he had before, and he quickly got dressed and ready to go to school. When he got there, he was greeted at the door by the very same Robert Tomlinson who had helped him out the other day. Robert opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off as Josh Barnett darted over to welcome him back. “Uh, thanks, but I was trying to talk to Robert…” Mitchell said.

[Josh]: How do you respond?

A. Apologize and walk away
B. Ask if you can join the conversation
C. Ignore him and keep talking
D. Just spawn a banana out of nowhere and punt it across the playground

B sorry I have been busy lately

You're supposed to pm him.

You're supposed to PM

Aww I wanted to see how AgentP would have dealt with having to spawn a banana out of nowhere

Sorry I forgot.

“Oh, sorry. Can I, uh, join the conversation?” Josh asked. Mitchell was about to tell him yes when his pants were suddenly yanked down. “Hey!” Mitchell yelled as he turned to see who was guilty.

Standing in front of him with a small posse assembled was Hunter Quinlan. To the kids whose families had money, the financially well-off and rich kids, Hunter was often cited as a friend, a role model, and probably the coolest kid in the grade.

But to middle-class kids like Mitchell, Hunter and his crew…well, you didn’t want to get on their bad sides. And Mitchell hadn’t done anything to get in this position, so he was pretty confused. Finally, as other kids started to point and laugh at him, he had a realization: maybe pulling his pants up would be a good idea.

Mitchell blushed as he pulled his jeans up over his briefs; he didn’t really care if anyone knew that he wore Jake and the Never Land Pirates underwear, but it was quite awkward to stand there, in front of everyone, with his jeans down at his ankles.

Hunter’s friends formed a ring around Mitchell, and soon it was just Hunter and Mitchell inside a ring that seemed to be growing and expanding with every second.

Hunter reached toward the collar of Mitchell’s red polo shirt.

Mondays suck, Mitchell thought as he prepared for what he thought would happen next.

—————————————————————————

Mitchell sat in his bed with a box of Kleenex. His nose had been broken and was still bleeding on and off, and he was still a little sore from the wedgie that Hunter Quinlan had given him.

He heard the phone ring downstairs, and soon, his dad was standing by his side with the phone. “It’s for you,” Peter Hanifin said as he handed his son the cordless telephone.

What Mitchell heard next was the biggest surprise of his life.

—————————————————————————

Timmy Turner sat in his bedroom crying. He hadn’t known Kristina Quinlan, the girl who had died in that car accident the other day, but he did know that it was always sad when anyone died, especially an innocent six-year-old girl.

Her brother Hunter had survived, and hadn’t even suffered more than a couple little cuts and bruises, but the death of not just his sister, but also his mom, had brought out a side of him that no one had seen before. Sure, Hunter had picked on kids in the past, but he had always just been joking around, teasing them, not slugging innocent kids in the face.

The problem with Hunter’s actions was that he was now alienated from not just his classmates, but also his friends and his remaining family members—his dad, extremely disappointed in his actions, had grounded him for six months and taken away his Xbox indefinitely.

But no one could have imagined the punishment that Hunter would give himself a year later.

Oh the mystery

Will use this as wallpaper

Mr. Quinlan had taken to smoking earlier that month, and he had just opened the front door to have his first cigarette of the day when his son Hunter darted under his arm, down the walkway, and straight into the path of a speeding car.

He died instantly.

His best friend, Kevin Vincent, was devastated, but he eventually got over it when his parents bought him a cell phone for his seventh birthday.

Another year passed.

——————————————————————————————————————————

Harley Aston was the first kid in the grade to wear boxers. His brother Shaun had finally convinced him during what was originally going to be a routine trip to Wal-Mart. Shaun, a thirteen-year-old couch potato, promised his youngest brother that boxers would immediately make him popular, especially if he sagged his pants to show them off.

His nine-year-old brother, Oliver, convinced him otherwise, and Harley compromised by getting the boxers but not sagging, knowing full well that both of them could beat him up easily, and not wanting to find out whether they would.

——————————————————————————————————————————

Oliver Hawthorne sat up in his bed, sweating after a horrible nightmare. He looked over at the clock mounted on the wall. He had just learned how to tell time on a clock like that one, and he was able to decipher the position of the two hands as meaning that it was 6:15. He didn’t have to be at school until 8 o’clock, but Oliver typically woke up around this time anyways.

[Oliver]: zzz?

A. zzz, indeed
B. Wake up normally
C. Wake up and go annoy your brothers
D. Wake up and crab-walk to school in the most outrageous outfit possible

AgentP, does this mean the log is over since Mr. Quinlan died?

How old are the kids now? Seven?

Kids are 10-13, Detroittigers

do you even read bro? Mr. Quinlan didnt die, the kid did

Yeah, most of them are seven at this point


No, he wasn't a major character at all