TITLE: EVERYTHING'S NOT LOST
GENRE: Contemporary YA
When I was little I thought my grandfather had an important sounding name. I call him Pop, but his name is Mr. George Mastrick. It always sounded like a banker or business guy's name. I'm sixteen now, and I know the only important things about my Pop are his fists. They're big and they hurt. But I'd never tell him that.
I even used to think my name, William Mastrick, sounded like I was somebody who mattered. My Pop decided to rename me Bull when I was five, said he didn't want me getting any crazy ideas that I was someone special, that my name was something special. He said I wrecked everyone's life when I came along, like a bull in a china shop. The name stuck.
I know I look like him. Not from any pictures or anything. We're not the kind of family with photo albums or sentimental trash. There isn't one photo of me till I hit kindergarten, and it's the school photo anyway.
When my mom's drunk she loves smacking me in the side of the head and telling me how much I look like him. "Look, you two have the same color green eyes," she says. It comes out like this though, "Luh, yeww tewww hah the say culah gree eye."
Pop has always hated me, no doubt. We stay out of each other's way unless he wants to beat the crap out of me.
Then we spend some real quality time together.