Chapter 1

You may be wondering why this blog is called Movie Man Mills. The Movie Man, if you know me, should be evident. But, the Mills part doesn't seem to make sense. So, now I will let you all know!
Jon Mills is the main character in a book that I am writing. It is the first book in a planned series of eleven books. In the first book, he is a senior in high school and, in the planned last story, he is around 50.
I am almost done with the first book, but, after the events of the last year, I am finding it hard to write and get my thoughts and ideas out, so, I came up with this plan.....
I am going to post a chapter every day, Monday-Friday of my book. I am quite a ways ahead at this time, but, as I post more and more chapters, I will need to keep writing to finish, so, I figured a bit of peer pressure may work.
I just ask 2 things of you, my readers: 1- If you llike it, pass it on, let someone else know. 2- Please give me valid constructive criticism. Let me know what is good, what is bad, and everything in between.
Thank you, and, without fuurther ado- Chapter one of Time Out!

TIME OUT!


Monday October 25th, 1989

CHAPTER 1


As always, morning came too early. Jon Mills slammed his fist down onto his alarm clock, which read 4:45.
“Every day,” he muttered in his gravelly morning voice.
Slowly, he swung his feet onto the floor and put a little weight on them. Not too bad this morning, he half-thought. Jon put his hands on the edge of his bed and pushed himself into standing position. Unfortunately, he was too tired to resist the forward motion, so he continued with Newton’s Law and slammed face first into the floor.
“Perfect. Just perfect.”


Jon drug himself into the hallway and turned on the light in the bathroom. He winced as the light struck his green eyes. His hand shot out and turned off the switch. No need for that this morning, he thought. I can shower in the dark. He did, however, need music. He turned on the radio in the corner and listened as the Doobies rocked out to China Grove. He played the air guitar with gusto as the soap dripped down his 6 foot 2 inch frame. He massaged the shampoo into his thatch of thick brown hair. He sang along
as China Grove gave way to Bowie’s Golden Years.
Toweling off, Jon heard the KLZX morning team of Carter & Bammes open up the contest lines. The question this morning was: Which Oscar Winning writer is celebrating his 44th birthday today?
“David S. Ward,” Jon muttered as he tossed the wet white towel into the empty green clothes hamper and went into his room.
The Han Solo poster on his bedroom door fluttered as he sped past it to get into his usual school attire: a slightly faded pair of jeans, some very worn-in and comfortable white tennis shoes, and a white T-shirt. Today’s shirt read: So many films, so little time. He flipped off the radio in the bathroom and headed into the kitchen.
By now, his eyes were ready to face the day. Lights were blazing all over the house. He turned on the TV to a station he only watched in the morning. It gave him a sense of rhythm for the rest of his day. It woke him up, put a smile on his face, and gave him just enough information about a subject he didn’t care to know, but felt he needed to encounter his best friend Stan. He turned on TSC- the Trager Sports Channel. There was a rebroadcast of the previous evening’s SportsTime, which gave him the highlights and lowlights of the sports world.
“I’m Casey Rydell alongside Dan McCall. Tonight on SportsTime, soccer, hockey, and cricket,” read the sports announcer.
And his partner continued. “ And I’m Dan McCall alongside Casey Rydell. Those stories plus we’ve got Kelly Patrick reporting from Riverside, Bobbi Bernson in Seattle, and 7 days until Salt Lake.”
“All that and Dana Hurley, our associate producer herself, reporting live with our preparations for this week’s big game. You’re watching SportsNight on TSC, so stick around.”
Jon strode into the kitchen and opened the bread up with gusto and tossed 4 slices into the toaster. There were several pieces of paper stapled together on the kitchen counter with a yellow post-it note on the top sheet. He read the note.

Good Morning Sunshine!

We hope we didn’t wake you up when we left this morning at 2. If we did, you can come home and take a nap today after school. I wish your Uncle Gary could tell us he was getting married more than 3 days before the big event, but… that’s your Uncle Gary. We will be back home next Tuesday morning bright and early. Please take care of the plants. Make sure the lawn is mowed. Get your homework done on time. Go to bed at some point before 1 every night. Yes, Greg and Stan can come over, but no huge parties! Good luck on your presentation today and good luck at the talent show tryouts tomorrow. You’ll do great! There are 3 twenties and a ten in your dad’s top drawer if you want to go and get pizza or treats. Have a great week without us!


It was signed by his mom, in her perfect school teacher penmanship, and by his dad, with no penmanship. He picked up the stapled sheets. There were 8 of them. Each represented a day and had the chores that needed to be done for that day. He saw that lawn mowing was today’s major chore, with watering the large jade plant in the entryway a close second. He folded the list in half and tossed it across the kitchen into the garbage can.
SportsTime was back on the air after a commercial timeout. Dan started things off.
“ This Saturday night, the entire SportsTime staff will be reporting live from Salt Lake City for the barn burning spectacle of the first pre-season game between the high school teams of the Cottonwood Colts and the Taylorsville Warriors. Why do we care about these two high school teams who have never registered on a national level before? For that, let’s go to Dana Hurley in Salt Lake with a very familiar face.”
“Thanks, Dan. Chris Grissom was known as the Wilt Chamberlain of the NFL with different girls every night. But, 3 years ago, with a paternity suit brought against him here in Salt Lake; he was proven as the father of a gifted 13-year-old basketball player. On Saturday, Grissom’s son, Junior, as he’s affectionately known, will be making his high school basketball debut and the sports world is bracing itself for another genius player.”
The toast popped up and startled Jon. He brushed his straight brown hair out of his eyes and grabbed a paper plate. Dana Hurley kept on talking about the big game in just a few days. Tossing the toast onto the plate, along with a slab of butter, he grabbed a single serving milk carton out of the fridge, his backpack from the top of the stairs, and headed out into the chilly morning air.
It was still dark outside and the sprinklers were on. He dodged the spray and headed out to the curb. The big black garbage can was already by his cold cement seat. His dad probably put it out before he left even though the garbage didn’t come until Tuesday. That was one of his dad’s pet peeves. The garbage. If there was a speck of garbage left in the can after the garbage truck came, Robert Mills would take it to the neighbor’s can across the street and place it on top, guaranteeing that it would leave his realm of existence. Jon sat on the curb next to the can, taking in a quick breath as the coldness of the cement leaked through his jeans. He ate his toast and drank his milk in the predawn silence.
Just as he finished his toast, Jon saw headlights flooding onto his neighbor’s lawn across the street. He stood up, guzzled the rest of his milk, and threw the greasy plate and the milk carton into the garbage can. An old, fake-wooden-sided station wagon pulled up, and Jon hopped into the middle seat. Greg Taylor was driving and Stan Ingle was in the passenger seat.
“Glad to see you this morning, Greg!” Jon said, unusually loud for this early morning meeting. “I thought that maybe you had forgotten about me!”
“Oh, come on!” Greg retorted. “I’ve only forgotten you once!”
“Twice!” Stan corrected. “Once on an early morning school drive, and once when we were in St. George.”
“Hey!” Greg turned to Stan. “He shouldn’t have gone to the bathroom! He could’ve held it until Vegas!”
Stan tilted his head back towards Jon and changed the subject. “Did you know that you left the TV on?”
“Probably,” Jon replied. “I think I also forgot to lock the door.”
“What were you watching?” Greg asked.
“SportsTime. They were talking about you guys, Stan. How are you feeling about the game on Saturday?” Jon asked as they pulled up to a red light.
“A little nervous. The whole country will be watching us because of Grissom’s son. Not fair, but true. If we lose, everyone will expect it. If we win, they’ll blame it on Junior’s subpar performance. Lose-lose either way. But, “ a grin crept onto Stan’s face, “if Dana Hurley will be there, it will help a lot.”
A motorcycle pulled up alongside the car. Jon didn’t know motorcycles, but he could tell the girl was definitely a hot one. Jon started his look at the long leather boots. That split to her tight blue jeans with the slight ridge just under her knees where Jon assumed the boots stopped. She was wearing a maroon leather jacket that was tight and showed off her thin, yet muscley and well filled out, frame. She was wearing a big black motorcycle helmet, but the cascading red hair out of the back of the helmet proved it was a woman. The rider glanced over at the car as the light turned green and she sped off.
Jon sat back in his seat, stretched, and shook his head. “Good freakin’ Monday morning to you, too.”


The trio walked into detention at 5:33 according to the room clock. Mrs. Perry, the detention supervisor, was sitting at her desk, already monitoring for any talking. She stood up briskly as they entered the room.
“3 minutes late today, gentlemen! 2 more and that would’ve meant another week of this! Now, Greg, you already know the rules, so find a seat and sit down while I fill in your two friends!” She glared down at Greg with her steely gray eyes that matched her peppered hair, until, without a word, he found a seat. “Now, as for you two, there will be no talking. There will be no sleeping. There will be no reading,” she emphasized this last word for Jon, “and, basically nothing of any kind! You will sit with your eyes up front, both hands clasped in front of you on the desk, legs bent at the knees and facing forward. You will do that until 7:45, when the first bell will ring. Then, you will quietly leave and go to your first class of the day. Any questions?”
Stan headed back to a seat near Greg. Even though he wouldn’t talk to him, it made it tolerable just being by your buddies. He heard Greg mutter, “Oh, shit,” and turned around. Jon had raised his hand.
Mrs. Perry raised her eyebrow. “Yes, Jon?”
Jon slowly brought his hand down with a smirk on his face. “Could you remind me why I’m here again?”
Stan stopped in his tracks. The whole class of forward facing students pivoted ever so slightly to get a look at the kid who dared to defy Mrs. Perry.
Mrs. Perry smiled icily. “You know why you’re here, Mr. Mills. Now, please, “ she gestured to the desks, “take a seat.”
Jon smiled back. “No. I really don’t. I don’t get your reasoning.”
“What don’t you get? You were reading inappropriate material in my classroom!”
“I was reading Stephen King!”
“You were reading inappropri-“
“It was Stephen King! You make it sound like I had a damn Playboy laid full out on my desk!”
“That will be more than enough, Mr. Mills!”
“What do you want me to do when I’m done with an assignment? Would you rather I CHATTED with my classmates? Would you rather I-“ Jon paused ever so slightly to find Mrs. Perry-esque word, “-ROUGHHOUSED? Should I bring in a CD player and crank up Metallica? What do you want?”
“I want you to sit quietly and read appropriate-“
“What is appropriate to you?” Jon asked exasperatedly.
“You could start with Twain-“
“Read him.”
“I know you read Tom sawyer. We read it last term.”
“No.” Jon paused. “I’ve read Twain. ALL of Twain. Mark Twain, not some other Twain. I started reading Twain at the age of 5 in my grandfather’s lap. If you try to tell me to read Poe, I would have no problem with that especially since he was his generation’s Stephen King, but you wouldn’t want to accept that. Started reading Poe at SIX on my grandfather’s lap. I’ve read ALL of Poe. My grandfather was an English teacher with 40 years experience before he died. Next.”
“Then, continue with Dickens…”
“Tried. Boring as hell. Next.”
“I don’t like your attitude, Mr. Mills. “
“Nor I yours, Mrs. Perry. Next.”
“There’s Nathaniel Hawthorne…”
“Only writes really long stories with morals that no one would argue with. Next.”
“Since you’re a drama enthusiast, try William Shakespeare-“
“Shakespeare’s a hack writer who felt that he could take story lines that not even General Hospital would use, make them 9 billion pages long, so that they must seem important, and fooled a lot of people into believing it! A lot like Kevin Costner, actually-“
“Jon! Mr. Cannon’s office! Now!”
Jon could almost hear the whistles of the wartime flutes as he imagined himself grabbing his baseball mitt and ball and heading off to the cooler- the principal’s office.


“I’m sorry, Mr. Cannon, “ Jon was explaining, “I was wrong for being so rude and ignorant to Mrs. Perry, but I don’t get it! I was reading a 700-page book! At a time when high schools are being sued by students who graduate and can’t even read, I would think that an English teacher would appreciate that!”
“Stephen King writes about devilish violence and sex! That type of writing can lead to-“
Jon broke in. “Nothing. No one has proven a thing. It’s reading. It’s not animal sacrificing! It’s not even virgin sacrificing for that matter! If you would prefer to read Chaucer or Dickens for fun, great! More power to ya! As for me, I’ll read King.”
It was Mr. Cannon’s turn to break in. “Jon, Mrs. Perry just wants what’s best for you. She has a good point. She wants you to have a good background on the classics.”
“I have one!” Jon argued. “I just don’t want to read books given to me by somebody else when I have finished my assignments, and I’ve already finished the book to be read for this quarter and next quarter!”
The principal turned to the teacher. “Mrs. Perry, Jon also has a point. He is reading, and comprehending, a 700-page book. That fact alone should assuage any problems with the content of the book for you, as long as it’s not pornographic or obscene. Now, here’s a plan. Jon, go upstairs and finish this detention period. You did speak rudely and curtly to your teacher. There’s only 40 minutes left. Mrs. Perry, I want you to write up a slightly altered book report form that he will answer in no less than ten pages about the literary value of the book, any book, he chooses to read in your class. You will grade it. If he passes it, nothing happens. If he fails it, he fails his next test. Sound fair?”
Mrs. Perry harrumphed in her corner. Jon nodded. “Sounds good to me. I can do ten pages in my sleep. Thank you, Mr. Cannon.” Jon stood up and shook his hand. “I’ll see you back there, Mrs. Perry,” Jon called as he opened the door. The door slammed into a smaller, more compact, older gentleman who stumbled backwards.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Jon apologized as he tipped his red and green brimmed baseball cap to the man, “I wasn’t expecting anyone else near here this early in the morning.”
“No problem, no problem.” The 50-ish year old guy in the gray trenchcoat muttered and patted him on the shoulder.
Jon watched him enter the office and ran up the stairs.


“I’ll catch you guys later!” Stan called as they left detention. “I was in there this morning for not being on time to practice. I don’t need detention again!” His friends waved him off as they returned to their lockers.
“You didn’t get any more detention?” Greg asked incredulously
“Nope. Just a ten page report. But, a ten-page report on King will be easy. I just have to write down how he describes the gray of a gate, and that’s fifteen pages right there!” They reached their lockers and started their combinations.
“How the hell are you going to type up a ten page paper with everything that’s going on?” Greg asked as he started stacking the books in his arms for history.
“I’ll make it,” Jon grunted as his lock stuck, again. “It’s ten pages. My parents are gone. I’ll type until three in the morning if I have to.” Jon used his fist to pound just above the lock and, after three tries, the lock opened up. The same history books started filling Jon’s arms.
Greg slammed his locker shut. “You’re supposed to be in bed by one, aren’t you, pumpkin?” Greg teased.
Jon looked over Greg’s shoulder and noticed Aleisha Madsen grinning at the exchange. Then, in a muted tone, Jon muttered to Greg, “Do that again, and I will have to kill you.”
Greg gave a slight head tilt behind him. “Aleisha?” he asked Jon quietly
“Yup.”
“How are you going to handle next class?”
Jon watched as Aleisha and her friends walked down the hall. “What do you mean?”
Greg gave him a funny look. “Family Life? Period 2? Like, in an hour and a half? “
Jon started putting his books back in his locker. “I left my picture boards at home, Greg. May I-?” He was cut off by the keys to the Oldsmo-buick sailing through the air at him. “Thanks. See you in bit!” Jon ran out of the building towards the parking lot.
“Don’t worry about it!” Greg called after him. “ I’ll take notes in history for you! No big deal!”



“Jon?” Mrs. Katsilas read from her roll book. “Would you like to go first?”
Stan patted him on the shoulder. “Blow ‘em away,” he whispered.
Mills stood up and headed to the front of the classroom with his posterboards filled with pictures and maps. On his way up the small aisle, one of the posterboards bent and brushed Aleisha Madsen’s long blonde hair as he walked by. A tiny red blush broke out on his cheeks.
Jon set the posterboards up in chronological order on the rim of the chalkboard and turned to face the class. It wasn’t that he had a hard time getting in front of people, he had been the lead in the school play, and had gone to state Drama Championships for the past 3 years. He had a hard time getting up in front of her. Aleisha Madsen. He’d had a crush on her since second grade when she had moved into his neighborhood. They had been in the same class up until sixth grade, and had had at least two classes together each year since then. Now, here they were, seniors in high school, and he still felt foolish around her. He didn’t speak to her much, just a hi as they passed each other in the halls, a “tough test today in Mr. Shewell’s class” as they waited for their class to start, but it never went further than small talk.
Aleisha was the epitome of every boy’s fantasy in high school. She was a slender 5’8” with long, flowing blonde hair that reached her waist. Her ice blue eyes reminded Jon of the female Mel Gibson. Her voice was always soft and gentle, but never with the annoying twittery high pitch of some high school girls. There was an ever so slight touch of bass in her voice that seemed to give it a sexy growl during her pronunciation of large 15 letter words that she used often.
“Are you ready, Jon?” Mrs. Katsilas asked.
Jon blushed again and realized he had probably been staring at Aleisha for a good 15 seconds in silence. “Yes, Ma’am. Well, where to begin? I am an only child.”
Greg began a group “awwww”. Jon flashed him a look of reproach and continued.
“Many of you knew my parents before you knew me.” He caught Aleisha’s grin from the front row. “And some knew me first. My mom was the infamous Mrs. Mills at Plymouth Elementary, which is one of the feeder schools into this high school. Just last year, in fact, she was voted Teacher of the Year for the state of Utah. My dad has been a policeman with a long and distinguished career. He was one of the youngest ever graduates of Harvard, and, yet, for some reason, he wanted to join the Utah Highway Patrol. He was one of the youngest ever troopers to make Sergeant, and then was promoted to a Lieutenant a short six months later.
“Where I came from, I really couldn’t tell you.” This garnered a laugh, as it always did when Jon told about his background. “I was born in Ogden, Utah in 1972. I was a sickly, premature baby born 9 weeks premature. I was a sickly kid and the doctors always said that I would be behind my peer group in nearly everything. My parents put me into school a year early since I was already reading books and the movie section in the newspaper by myself.” Those who knew Jon gave an appreciative laugh. “I was the runt of my class until fifth grade when I started to grow. Now, I am a tall, gangly kid who looks like I should be able to play basketball, but couldn’t even if my life depended on it. The one place I am behind from my peers is my athletic ability. I, uh, don’t do well in gym, to say the least. I run a twelve minute mile and can do three pull ups
“I’ve done relatively well in school with a 3.6 GPA thus far. I’m not the genius my father and mother were, but I’m not too shabby either. My parents and I finished first in a Trivial Pursuit tournament for the past three years.
Jon took a deep breath. “How am I a product of my environment? Most people say that I have the personality and decision making skills of my dad, but the emotions of my mom. I would say that I have the brains of my parents crossed with my own personal relaxedness, if that’s a word,” Jon grinned, “and even though I’m no Harrison Ford, I’m not Dustin Dimond, either.” Another grin from Jon and another laugh from the class. Jon noticed a slightly different reaction from Aleisha, but couldn’t quite read it. “I enjoy the arts a lot because my parents said that I always calmed down when I was sick if they took me to a movie. It didn’t matter what it was, as long as it was inside a theater, I would be calm.
“I’ve got pictures up here on the boards of me in the hospital, Alien Baby as many relatives refer to me at that point, and the wonderful childhood photos taken by a doting mother. Any questions?”
For a moment, nothing. And then, to Jon’s horror, he saw Aleisha raise her hand. He felt he had done well until now, but, this-
Mrs. Katsilas pointed to Aleisha. “Yes, Aleisha? A question for Jon?”
A sweetly devilish smile appeared on Aleisha’s lips. “I was just wondering if you had-“
A flashing light and a loud whooping sound that came over the intercom obliterated the rest of her question.
Mrs. Katsilas stood up. “Very good, Jon. Looks like you’re saved by the fire alarm. Would everyone please leave their books and personal belongings on their desks and make your way out to the track in a calm and orderly manner?”
The rest of the class had already started jumping out of their seats, whooping and hollering as they ran out the door. Jon waited for the mad rush of students to end before he started to head toward the door. Mrs. Katsilas was next to last out and motioned for Jon to hurry. He started up the center aisle and picked up his baseball cap from the floor. He caught a quick glimpse of Aleisha in the hall looking at him with a grin on her face before she was swept away with the crowd. The door shut behind Mrs. Katsilas.
Jon was only a step or two behind. He wanted to make sure that he could find Aleisha and find out what her question was. Funny thing, his heart seemed to be racing in his chest just at the thought of having an actual conversation with her. He opened the door to the hallway.
Immediately, a hand closed over his wrist.
“Hey! What the-?” Jon exclaimed.
A low voice grumbled near his ear. “Shhh! Be quiet and follow us. Please don’t give us any problems.” Jon saw the flash of a police badge before it disappeared into the man’s pocket.
They spun him into the hall, one on each side of him, and they started into the school, swimming upstream from the pack.


Greg and Stan were waiting by the track in the straight line that the school always made them get into for a quick count during a fire drill. Aleisha was just ahead of Stan in line. She turned and the wind kicked a strand of blond hair into her face.
“Have you guys seen Jon anywhere?” she asked.
Greg shook his head. “Not yet. He must’ve gotten turned around in the school. He’s a little goofy after he performs.” Greg smiled a crooked half-smile that didn’t seem quite right to Aleisha as she turned back around.
Greg felt a tap on his shoulder. Now, he turned around to face Stan. Stan said nothing but just pointed to a white Chevy Lumina driving out of the parking lot. In the backseat, was the unmistakable black and green brim of Jon’s baseball cap.