A life built on orders. A Seattle scout troop that changes everything. Adam’s story begins the moment he realizes he’s allowed to choose himself.

A Coming-of-Age Origin Story from The Great American Eagle Hunt Universe

Author’s Note: Adam McAllister is one character in the novel The Great American Eagle Hunt, releasing this year. This is his origin story. Please subscribe to be notified when the full novel releases.

Early July 1999: 0500 Hours: San Diego, California

The alarm on Adam’s nightstand rings with a sharp reveille chime that cannot be ignored. Adam immediately opens his eyes and sits up, refusing the urge for ten more minutes of sleep. In a military family, there is no snooze button. A wake-up call is a wake-up call, even though today is the only day he can ignore it and get away with it. But today, he chooses not to.

Within seconds, he gets out of bed, turns, and makes his bed, sheets and blankets pulled tight, corners tucked, and pillow squared. In this house, the bed is made before your morning piss. At his dresser, he opens a drawer and selects a pair of Quicksilver board shorts. He pulls them up over his SpongeBob SquarePants skivvies and laces up the front. Next, he pulls a Volcom hoodie over his head. He slips his feet into a pair of flip-flops. Now it’s time for that piss.

“Phase one accomplished,” he whispers to himself.

He slowly walks to his bedroom door and listens for any noise in the hall. It sounds like the coast is clear. Adam opens his door and tiptoes down the hall. Halfway through, he stops at another closed bedroom door, puts his ear close, and listens.

“Good, still sleeping,” he notes to himself.

He expected his parents to sleep in today. But anything can change. After all, this will be the first time in thirty years they will sleep past 0600 hours.

Adam slips through the kitchen, grabbing a muffin and a banana from the counter. Next waypoint: the front door. He gets it unlocked, opened, and closed behind him without a squeak. Perfect execution.

Once outside, he’s nearly free. He walks stealthily to the side of the house and finds his skateboard, wetsuit, and backpack hidden where he stashed them last night.

With his gear in hand, Adam jogs to the sidewalk and jumps on his board. He rolls south on Coronado Avenue, cuts quickly through Sunset Park, and hangs a right for Breakers Beach. Breakers Beach is the private military beach in front of the North Island Navy Lodge on Coronado Island, accessible only to military personnel and their families.

The sky is clear over Breakers Beach, and the water is a perfect blue. At 0520, just before sunrise, the beach is nearly empty. He spots a few joggers, mostly military personnel getting in their P.E. before reporting to duty, and two other surfers already looking for waves.

At the sand’s edge, Adam hops off his skateboard and carries his gear and surfboard across the open beach. He finds a spot to set up base and drops his backpack, lunch, towel, and wetsuit. He wraps a towel around his waist, drops his board shorts and SpongeBob skivvies, and slowly pulls on his wetsuit. Once he gets the suit past his hips, he drops the towel and pulls the suit over his shoulders, sliding his arms into the tight sleeves. A quick zip up the back and he’s almost ready. He stares out at the ocean as he puts on sunscreen.

He gazes at the massive Navy ships out on the water. For as long as he can remember, he’s always been looking out at vessels like these, whether it was in Virginia, Long Beach, or now here in San Diego. And the thought has always been the same.

“My dad is somewhere out there.”

But not today. This morning, he knows exactly where his father is: at home. There is no more wondering which country, or across which ocean, his dad is sleeping tonight. Today is his father’s first day of no longer being Chief Warrant Officer Ryan McAllister. Today is his first day as Retired Chief Warrant Officer Ryan McAllister. Thirty years of service, starting right out of high school, is now complete.

And today is also Adam’s last day of surfing. There’s no surf in Seattle, the family’s new destination. Adam did the research. In 36 hours, Seattle will be his new home, their forever home, his dad promised. A place filled with family, his mother’s siblings, and their children. He’ll have cousins to hang out with. But will they be friends? He’s not sure. He’s moved six times in ten years. So, he’s never been good at making and keeping friends.

For all his 14 years, Adam knows being in a Navy family means moving. It means Dad being away for long stretches on deployment. He’s used to it. He’s used to meeting other Navy kids and then saying goodbye. But this move is promised to be different. This move is promised to be the last.

About twenty feet to his right, Adam sees the old set of pier pilings jutting up fifteen feet from the sand. The pier is long gone, but no one ever bothered to remove the pylons. He’s climbed and played around these pylons countless times in the three years he’s been here. Adam reaches into his backpack and pulls out his pocketknife, a standard Swiss Army tool. He walks over to the pylons and starts reading the messages and names carved into the wood.

Michael Hunter – 1997

Brian Joseph – 1996. Adam knew his younger brother. Last he heard, they were in Japan.

Eleanor Simmons – 1998. Adam recognizes that name. They were in the same English class at school. Adam stands and looks at all the names carved into the wooden pylons, all Navy kids who have come through this place before.

Adam finds a bare spot in the wood and starts carving.

Adam McAllister – 1999 was here. I’ll be back in 2003.

Adam steps back and studies the letters, the carving still full of fresh splinters. He sighs.

“Probably,” he murmurs.  “It seems inevitable.”

There is no excitement in it. No dread either. Just a fact. It is part of the family plan. The plan has been devised. His future is set. McAllisters serve. McAllisters deploy. McAllisters pack up and move when the orders come. He doesn’t mind. It’s the same path as his father and grandfather. A good legacy to carry on. And Adam has never questioned that.

But as he looks at the carving, something stirs in him.
It’s not rebellion or anger. Just… a thought he’s never allowed himself to have.

“If my destination is already set,” he thinks. “Can’t I have a say in how I get there? Maybe I can finally choose the route.” He wonders.

As he stares out at the ocean he makes a promise to himself.

“When we get there, I am choosing something for me. Something that is mine,” he vows silently. “I want to start being me. Make my own choices. Something I am not ordered into.”

Adam pulls his wetsuit hood over his head and down past his face. He picks up his board and jogs into the water. One last surf. One last dive under the water, where the noise of the landlocked world is washed away. One last surf, the only place he finds calm; in the white noise under the waves. One last surf, where he can be alone, go it alone, and not hear the demands of others around him.

One last surf before everything changes… again.

#

Thirty Days Later: Early August 1999: Puget Sound: 4:00pm

As the sun slowly moves westward on its steady path, the water catches and reflects every ray. August is the best-kept secret of this city, always perceived as gray and gloomy by the rest of the world. But on a day like this, the secret is out. One in four families in this city owns a boat. And they are all out on Puget Sound today, enjoying the sun, the weather, and the views.

And this includes Adam’s family. One of the first things Adam’s dad did when they arrived was to buy a new boat, selling the old one in San Diego. Adam quickly grew to love this ship, a Sabre 36 sailboat. Thirty-six feet long, twelve-foot beam. It was perfect for this family of three. Adam had no fear on this vessel. He and his father worked well as a team navigating, while his mother Susan enjoys the ride.

The Sabre 36 cuts across the blue waters of the Sound, the bow cutting through the chop. Adam stands near the mast, already damp from sea spray, his fingers curled around a coil of line.

His father grips the wheel behind him, boots planted wide, eyes scanning sky, water, and horizon in the same single sweep he used on Navy decks for thirty years.

“Alright,” his father calls out confidently. “Trim the jib.”

Adam feeds the line through his hands and pulls. The sail snaps tight with a loud crack, the belly catching wind again. The boat surges forward.

“Good. Now bring her up five degrees. Keep an eye on the telltales.”

Adam glances at the sail, then nudges the tiller. The Sabre straightens into a steady hum. Adam ties off all the lines with confidence. One bowline knot to attached the sheet to the clew, one cleat hitch and one reef knot to keep everything secure.

His father nods, pleased his son is learning the craft.

A gust hits hard from port. The boat heels sharply. Adam braces, one foot slipping before he regains balance. The railing dips close to the waterline. Adam yanks the mainsheet. The sail spills wind, the boat levels, and the world steadies again. His father smacks the wheel with the flat of his palm, satisfied.

“There it is. Feel that? That’s control. That’s command.”

Adam nods, even though his heart is still pounding. There’s something reassuring about his dad’s certainty, like every problem has a procedure if you just know the right one.

His father shifts stance, checking the telltales again.

“Ready to tack?”

“Ready,” Adam answers.

Adam ducks and crosses the cockpit as the boom swings over with a heavy whoosh. He catches the jib sheet on the other side, pulling fast before it can flog itself useless.

The boat glides into its new course like it was always meant to.

His father finally breathes out with approval, his test completed.

“Not bad.”

A beat.

“You know… you’ll be the smartest recruit in your class when you get to basic.”

“Think so?” Adam asks. He hasn’t even started high school and his dad is already prepping him for service.

“Ten weeks. You’ll crush it. Third-generation sailor. You keep doing what you’re doing here, following orders, paying attention, you’ll outrank half the recruits in your unit in six months.”

Adam stares at the water. He is torn. He likes the work, he likes the challenge, but the future his father sees for him feels overwhelming, huge, and heavy. It feels like a weight he’s supposed to carry. But he doesn’t know why.

He swallows and nods to his father.

“What if… “ he imagines to himself. The words stick. “What if I’m not cut out for it?” It’s a question he asks himself every single day. But one he will never ask out loud.

The wind shifts. Adam feels it before the sails do. He reaches up instinctively and adjusts the sheet, correcting without being commanded.

His father notices.

“Good catch,” He praises his son. “That’s what taking command looks like.”

Adam nods, eyes on the water.

“I have good news for you.” His father breaks the silence. “I’ve been doing some research. I found a great Boy Scout troop for you to join. It’s a large, healthy troop. I went and observed one of their meetings.”

“You went to a meeting?” Adam thinks to himself. “Without me?”

“I didn’t want to bother you. So I checked it out myself. They’re very disciplined. This troop goes to competitions and wins most every year.”

“I don’t have a say in this?” Adam asks himself. “I wanted to pick the troop myself.”

“You’ll make Eagle in no time, I’m sure of it,” his dad continues. “And you know what that means. As an Eagle you enter the service with higher pay and you’ll advance faster.”

“I haven’t even started high school yet and I’m already talking about Eagle Scout and Navy promotions. Can’t we just slow down and enjoy today?” Again, Adam asks himself, never daring to say it aloud.

“Yes, sir. Sounds great,” Adam nods, eyes on the water. The promise he made to himself at Breakers Beach feels very far away.

#

Seven Days Later: Mid August 1999: Seattle: Queen Anne High School, Scout Meeting Night

Adam arrives at Queen Anne High for his first boy scout meeting. He’s optimistic and happy. Mainly he’s happy that his mom and dad let him skateboard by himself to the meeting. Even though his house is only fifteen minutes away from the school, Adam had to fight for the right to skate by himself. Adam used the argument that it will make him more independent. That argument won his father over.

Once inside Adam is unsure where to go. The boys that are current members of the troop immediately find their place in one of the five lines forming.

“They must be lining up by patrol,” Adam thinks. Not sure where he belongs, he walks to the back of the room. Here he sees other kids his age. They must be new too.

From the front of the room an older boy yells.

“SIGN IS UP!” The boy holds up the two fingers of his right hand, his arm at a perfect right angle. 

“ATTENTION!” He snaps.    

The meeting starts with a few announcements from the older boys. These must be the guys that run everything.  

“We have a few fall-season camping trips planned,” the assistant announces. “Our October trip will be to Olympic National Park! More information about that trip at the next meeting,” the older boy continues. “And I want every Scout’s gear to be in top form. That camp trip will be the first training session for the All-District Scout Competition, which we intend to win!” 

The room explodes in cheer. This must be a very big deal.   

The leader continues.  “We will have a merit badge workshop next week. This is your chance to finish any merit badges in time for the next advancement ceremony. We will now break into individual patrols and patrol meetings. BREAK!” 

Instantly, all the other boys break out of their perfect rows and into small groups, their individual patrols. 

 Where am I supposed to go? Do I just pick a group? 

“NEW Scouts ON ME!” Another older boy yells.  “New Scouts will line up against the back wall. Your patrol leader will meet you and give you orientation.”  

Adam goes to line up. He thought he would be the only new kid. The number of others surprises him. They line up in two rows. Adam grabs a space at the end of the front row.  

One of the older boys steps out of the Scoutmaster’s office and walks toward the group. He marches like he is on a parade deck. His eyes sweep the line.

“Scouts! Stand up straight and look at me!” He barks at us.  “My name is Assistant Patrol Leader Kyle Kelly! I am your temporary Patrol Leader. My mission is to transform each one of you into not just a Boy Scout, but the best Boy Scout in the state! If that’s too much for you, there are plenty of other troops in this city. You can go there and be happy in second place.”  

Suddenly, a voice from the second row behind Adam breaks the tension. 

“Hey Kyle, What’s the difference between a ginger and a calendar?” Kyle looks confused, wondering who dared interrupt his speech. The voice finishes his punchline. “The calendar actually has dates.” 

The suppressed snickering is growing among the rows of new kids. 

“Quiet!” Kyle snaps, trying to squash the laughter.  

The voice from the next row chimes up again.  

“Kyle, is this your natural leadership style? Or is there another reason nobody likes you?” 

We all want to laugh, but nobody dares. Except for this kid. Kelly does not scare him at all. And then Adam realizes he knows him from the soccer practice bleachers yesterday. That is him. He is only slightly taller than Adam. A skinny kid who probably weighs barely over 110 pounds. Curly hair on top, cut short around the ears, which makes his ears look even bigger, like two open car doors. He has a cocky smirk on his face that stretches from ear to ear. Adam does not understand how such a small skinny kid can be brave enough to antagonize a bigger kid like Kyle.

Kyle’s mouth opens and closes like he has lines he’s supposed to deliver, but now none of them fit. His world works when everyone follows the script, when fear keeps them quiet. But when someone breaks ranks, he has nothing. 

“No more questions!” Kelley snaps. “A Scout has the highest virtues. He obeys orders. My orders. He respects his seniors and strives constantly to be the best in everything he does.” Kelly slowly walks towards the kid in the second row, stopping toe to toe, staring at him right in the eye. 

“Discipline and spirit are the hallmarks of a Scout. Each one of you can become a Scout if you instill discipline and spirit. I will make every effort to train you, even after some of you have given up on yourselves. Starting now, you will treat all Senior Scouts with the highest level of respect, for we have earned our places here. I will accept nothing less than that from you. I cannot…will not let the established standards of this troop slide on my watch.” 

Adam sees Kyle is trying to intimidate the kid. But the kid isn’t backing down. He looks at him right in his eyes.

“I never could do that,” Adam thinks to himself.

The kid stands there, shoulders relaxed, same easy smile on his face. The contrast is almost comical. Kyle, with his perfectly pressed uniform and rigid posture, trying to loom over this skinny kid in a wrinkled t-shirt who looks like he has no fear at all. 

“Serious question, do you REALLY want us to be great Scouts? Or do you just want us to fear you? I get it, you’re auditioning to be the school asshole. Well, you got the job,” the kid retorts. It takes everything for me and the others to keep from laughing.  

 Kyle takes a sharp step forward, closing what little space is still between them, trying to intimidate him. But the kid doesn’t even blink. If anything, his smile grows wider.   

“You’ve all made a conscious choice to be here, a choice that sets you apart from the rest. You’ve chosen to challenge yourselves physically, mentally, and emotionally. The journey ahead won’t be easy, but I assure you, it will be worth it. My mission here is to mold you into disciplined warriors, instill in you the values of honor, courage, and commitment, and forge an unbreakable bond among your fellow Scouts.”  

The kid looks down his row and asks us: 

“Did he rehearse that speech in the mirror? Does he really think it sounds good in his own head? I was in the same kindergarten class with him when he pissed his pants.”  

That does it. The dam breaks. Our entire line erupts in laughter, and Kyle’s face shifts from red to nuclear. He is losing control of the meeting. We can see it.

Kyle barks at our group of new kids. 

“You’ll get nowhere in this troop,” he snarls. “Your insubordination will cost you. Drop and give me ten push-ups.”  

“Ten push-ups?” The kid’s voice dripping with mock concern. “Piss off. There’s no corporal punishment allowed in Scouting. You know that.” The kid is standing his ground.  

Then the kid slowly raises his right hand, clenches it close to his mouth. He starts blowing into the little hole where the thumb and index finger overlap. He makes it look and sound like he’s blowing up a balloon. And with each breath, his middle finger slowly rises and “inflates” until it is fully upright. He then pops the “balloon” away from his mouth and makes a loud pfffft! sound as if the balloon’s wildly deflating. With each sound, he wildly waives his middle finger in Kyle’s face.  

“DROP AND GIVE ME TEN PUSH UPS” Kyle screams. He’s seriously losing it. He yells so loudly that the entire hall full of kids and parents stops and looks over. This is going to be a standoff.  

At that moment, an adult in full uniform steps out of the aside office next to the stage, the Scoutmaster’s office. This was the Adult Scoutmaster.  

He looks over at us.  

“Mr. Kelly,” is all he says, with a slight head shake that speaks volumes.

Kyle clamps his mouth shut. The moment passes. But Adam has seen enough to know it.

“This troop is not what my father thinks it is,” Adam thinks to himself. “I wouldn’t have chosen this troop.”

Kyle switches tactics in order to save face. He starts to bark new orders to the boys.

“Red Devils over here, Timber Wolves over there, Panthers by the stage,” he orders.

Adam is still hovering with the new kids when Kyle calls out, “You. Front.”

Adam steps forward. “Are you McAllister?” He asks.

“Yes sir,” Adam responds.

“Scoutmaster says he talked to your dad,” Kyle says. “He wants you in the best patrol. That is us. The Red Devils.”

Kyle tosses him a length of rope.

“Tie a bowline. Fast.”

Adam catches the rope, his fingers already moving before his brain can catch up. Loop, rabbit, tree, back down the hole. He finishes in seconds.

“Square knot,” Kyle snaps.

Adam unties, reties.

“Clove hitch.”

Done.

Kyle studies him. A slow, greedy smile crawls across his face.

“Not bad. For a first year, anyway.”

He raises his voice so the other patrol leaders can hear.

“McAllister is with the Red Devils. My dad says your dad wanted you with the winners. You should be grateful. We are going to need you for the All-District competition.”

Adam nods automatically. “Another decision made for me,” he says to himself

At the end of the meeting Adam heads out to the parking lot. He sees the kid who stood up to Kyle and another kid, Robbie, skating lazy circles in the far end of the parking lot, boards clacking against cracked asphalt.

“Here’s my chance.” Adam puts his board down and get ready to skate. He figures if he just starts making big, lazy circles around the lot like them, eventually they will group up. Then he can introduce himself. He pushes off and slowly starts circling the perimeter. Half way around he’s stopped. Two headlights put him in a spotlight. Adam holds his hand up to his eyes, blocking the headlight glare. Soon he realizes who is driving. He sighs as he recognizes his father’s truck.

“Hop in, buddy,” his dad calls.

Adam hops off his board, sighs and gets in.

“How was it?” his dad asks.

“Fine,” Adam says.

He looks out the window as the truck pulls away, watching Sawyer and Robbie shrink in the side mirror. The promise he made on Breakers Beach tugs at him.

When we get there, I am choosing something for me.

So far, Seattle looks exactly like everywhere else.

#

August 15, 1999: Seattle: Queen Anne High School: The Next Morning.

At 6:00am, the alarm on Adam’s nightstand rings. Adam immediately opens his eyes and sits up, refusing the urge for ten more minutes of sleep. Habits never die. Plus, Adam feels safest in the structure of a rigid schedule.

Like every day, he gets out of bed, turns, and makes his bed, sheets and blankets pulled tight, corners tucked, and pillow squared. In this house, the bed is made before your morning piss.

A quick piss, a quick shower, and he’s ready to get dressed. At his dresser, he opens a drawer and selects a pair of jeans. He pulls them up over his skivvies and buttons the front. Next, he pulls a collared dress shirt from the closet, puts it on, and buttons up. He slips his feet into a pair of new sneakers.

A quick breakfast, and he’s out the door to school. He convinces his parents to let him skateboard to school. These little steps of independence make him feel good.

As he arrives at Queen Anne High, he skates into the main courtyard. Queen Anne is a massive school with 2,700 kids and a campus of four red-brick buildings. He’s overwhelmed by the number of students. Every other school he attended was smaller and in a Navy town, usually filled with Navy kids. That naturally brought structure to school. But here, everything is more uncontrolled. More independent. As he scans the courtyard, he sees the typical groups: athletes, theater kids, car buffs, and stoners.

Adam makes his way to building number three, where his first class, Introduction to Marine Biology, is held. Up to the second floor and down the long hallway. Halfway down, he hears music. He looks in an open door. Someone is playing a piano. He looks in and sees a massive music room filled with keyboards, percussion instruments, music stands, and chairs. Trophies from music competitions stuff the shelves lining the walls. He steps into the room and sees who is playing.

“It’s the same kid from the Scout meeting,” Adam realizes. “The one who did not flinch in front of Kyle. This may be my chance.”

“Come in!” the kid yells, still at the piano, playing loudly and wildly. “What’s your name?”

“Adam,” he replies.

“Hey Adam, I’m Sawyer,” the boy with the short cut hair and big ears replies. “You like Elvis Costello? This is one of his tunes.”

“No. I never heard any of his music.” Adam says shyly.

“You were at the Scout meeting last night, weren’t you?” Sawyer asks.

“Yeah. I saw you too. I can’t believe how you stood up to Kyle.”

“Don’t ever worry about Kyle. He’s a pussy. He lives on my street. Even his own brothers hate him. He’s a bully because he’s so insecure. it sucks you got put into his patrol.”

“I was told it was the best patrol.”

Sawyer starts laughing hysterically. “No! They’re losers! They can’t do anything right. You know why they picked you to be in their patrol? They’re using you. You were great at knowing your knots. They want you on their team so they can win the patrol competition. They are so two faced fake. Listen, my friend Robbie and I are starting a new patrol. We have a cool adult sponsor. It’s going to be great. We’ll run it our way. It will be fun. If you want to join us, we’d love to have you.”

Adam thinks it over. “Thanks, but Kyle’s Red Devil Patrol already assigned me. That’s where my dad wants me.”

“You can make your own choices,” Sawyer pushes back. “Besides, our meetings are more fun. Better music and we are better skaters.”

“You skate?” Now Adam was interested.

“Who’s talking out there? Sawyer, you should be practicing not talking.” A middle age woman’s voice calls from a side storage room.

“I’m done Mrs. Clemmons!” Sawyer calls back. “I’ll see you at next week’s lesson.” He turns to Sawyer “See ya!” Sawyer jumps up and bolts out of the room.

As Sawyer leaves the room, Mrs. Clemmons, the school music teacher enters. Adam has never seen anything like her. He is stunned by her wild flowing hair bursting out from under a paisley head scarf. Giant yellow hoop earrings. Adam has never seen what might be described as a hippie or free spirit. But this woman must be one of those.

“Are you my new student?” She asks.

“No,” Adam replies meekly. “I just heard someone playing and I looked in. They left.”

“Never mind. Do you play? Are you here to sign up for lessons” she asks.

“Yes, I play. Since I was seven. But, I’m not here to sign up for lessons,” Adam replies.

“OH!” The woman exclaims, her face lighting up with clear excitement.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you, Mrs…”

“Miss. Miss Clemmons. I’m head of the music department. Nice to meet you. Please, sit down and play something for me.” She gestures toward an open keyboard.

“I really should get to class,” Adam objects.

“Oh, please, it’s the first day. You can be late. Besides, I can write you a pass.”

Adam hesitantly sits at the piano and begins to play. Adam plays something simple. Miss Clemmons has probably heard this piece a million times before from every one of her students.

“Do you like playing?” Ms. Clemmons asks.

“Yes. I started because my mom wants me to experience more than the structure and efficiency of military life. She said she wants a little culture around the house.”

“I see,” she says, a little confused by Adam’s answer. “But why do you play? If you’ve been playing for seven years and haven’t quit, surely there’s a reason you like it.” She presses him.

Adam hesitates, then answers slowly.

“The patterns. I can see and hear the patterns. I like that I can master the patterns.”

“I can tell. You’re a very technical player. But not a very emotional player.” She pauses, considering how to reach this kid without scaring him off. “But there’s more to music than patterns. Don’t you agree?”

She pauses, careful not to push. She walks across the room, her paisley sundress flowing around her. She opens a cabinet and turns on a sound system inside. She starts playing a jazz album. The music fills the room.

“Have you ever played jazz? Ever studied Thelonious Monk?”

Adam shakes his head no.

“Keep playing,” she encourages him. “Jazz is a blend of knowing your patterns, your keys and scales, and then adding your own personal flair to it. Kind of like life. Jazz invites you to let yourself get lost. Be free, if just for a moment. The structure is your sandbox. But from there, you can build anything you want.”

“I think I understand,” Adam replies.

Miss Clemmons walks to the window and lifts the blinds.

“Come here. Maybe this will help you understand. Come look out the window with me.” She motions for him to join her.

“Look at the courtyard below,” she says. “See how it’s filled with individuals? It looks like chaos.”

“I agree,” Adam says. “They should all be walking in lines on the right. It would be more orderly.”

“True,” Miss Clemmons replies. “But that’s not life. From here it looks like a bunch of ants scurrying around randomly. But in reality, that’s what life looks like. Can you see the patterns? Eventually, they all end up where they need to be. That’s a lot like life, it’s messy, at times chaotic and unpredictable, but once you recognize the patterns, you’ll find your place in it. You just have to be open to the search. Try it.”

She guides him back to the piano.

“Just listen. Then play. See where it takes you.” Miss Clemmons walks back to the sound system and turns the music louder. It is consuming the room, drowning out all noise from outside.

Adam stares at the keyboard blankly. He doesn’t know where to start.

“You know the structure,” Miss Clemmons prods him. What key are they in?

“G,” Adam responds.

“Good! Find the key, that’s your structure, now make it your own. Try whatever you want.”

Adam tentatively places his hands on the keyboard. He closes his eyes and listens to the music. Searching for the tempo. The changes.

“Think less,” Miss Clemons prods. “Play more.”

Adam takes a deep breath in.

“Good,” Miss Clemmons prods. “Now go.”

Adam exhales and starts to play. At first his playing is very reserved. As Clemmons said, technical. But he keeps up with the album. He’s in tune and in key. With each note he plays his confidence builds. With each measure, he plays harder, faster driving the music. His confidence is built to the point he can imaging that the is the man leading the band. His fingers race up and down the keyboard. He is lost in the music. For the first time, he is not following anyone’s sheet.

Until he is interrupted by the school bell ringing. He is snapped back to reality. Five minutes until first period starts. Adam abruptly stops playing.

“I need to go,” Adam apologizes.

“Have a great day. And please drop in anytime. The keyboards are always open for use.”

Adam steps out of the classroom and takes a deep breath. He’s never felt like that before. He can’t comprehend what he just experienced. He thinks back. His playing was messy and random. It wasn’t disciplined at all. He feels he should be ashamed for his playing. But he isn’t. He’s exhilarated. He looks back into the music room as the first period music students file in.

“I think I understand what she means,” he says to himself. “Up until now, everything in my life has been planned, squared away and structured. But I’m in a whole new world now. I should be angry. But I’m not. I’m confused. What else is out there that I’ve been missing?”

He glances back into the music room as the first period students file in.

Adam snaps out of his deep thought and starts walking down the hallway to first period class.

His life doesn’t feel like anything she described. But for some reason, he can’t get her words out of his head.

#

Wednesday Night: August, 1999: Seattle: Queen Anne High School

The troop stands in full formation, five patrols in five straight lines. Adam takes his place with the Red Devils Patrol.

“Back of the line, newb,” one of the older boys sneers at him. Adam is reminded of his place in this patrol. He’s not a true member. He’s here to help them win.

Scoutmaster Miltner stands at the front with a clipboard. He addresses the boys. “Tonight is a big night. Patrol assignments are being finalized for the fall campout and first competition training.”

Adam stands tall in the Red Devils line, making the best of it. If this patrol wins, his father will be proud. His father wanted him here, that’s where he’ll stay. As Scoutmaster Miltner speaks, Kyle moves up and down their row, adjusting collars that do not need adjusting.

Across the aisle Adam sees Sawyer, his friend Robbie and two other scouts. This must be the patrol Sawyer and Robbie are trying to form. Adam notices they are not in proper formation. Their line has gaps. They laugh among themselves. Their uniforms are mostly in order, but messy. There is an edge to them. Less polished. More real.

“These guys again,” Kyle mutters under his breath as he passes their line. “Play patrol.”

Sawyer turns to his patrol, “Ever notice how Kyle acts like a drill sergeant but walks like he’s got a Funyun lodged in his ass?” The snickering is loud. Adam is fascinated with the insubordination. Sawyer keeps going. “I don’t know what’s more impressive, his uniform or the fact he’s managed to stick that entire yardstick up his butt and fuse it to his spine.” “

Mr. Miltner clears his throat. “Tonight we lock final patrol rosters for the next three months. We have five standing patrols, plus a new patrol formed last week.”

He nods towards the group of misfits including Sawyer and Robbie.

“They need one more Scout on their roster to remain active for competition season. If they cannot fill that spot, they will be folded into existing patrols.”

A small ripple of laughter runs through some of the older boys.

Kyle smirks.

“Good. Less dead weight.”

Adam looks at the boys by the stage. He remembers Sawyer’s jokes on that first night. The way he did not flinch when Kyle tried to scare him. The way Robbie and Sawyer skated in the parking lot after that meeting like they did not care who was watching. The way Miss Clemmons told him that sometimes you have to choose your own note and live with it.

“Red Devils are full, sir,” Kyle calls out. “We are ready.”

Adam stares straight ahead.

“You will be with the winners,” Kyle whispers in Adam’s ear. “You should be grateful.”

All Adam can hear is his father’s voice. “You will make Eagle. You will enter the Navy. You will advance faster.”

Everyone seems very sure of what Adam will do. Everyone except Adam.

Mr. Miltner looks over his clipboard.

“Before we confirm, any Scout who wishes to request a patrol transfer may do so now, as long as there is room.”

The room stays silent. No one moves. Of course no one moves, Adam thinks. You do not just leave your patrol. It is your identity here. Your chain of command. You stay where you are put.

Kyle leans in toward Adam and whispers, “Do not even think about it. Your dad wanted you here. We need you for competition. You are a Red Devil.”

There it is. The Red Devils line in front of him. Sawyer and Robbie’s small small, crooked patrol across the room. The promise he carved into the piling. The piano keys under his hands.

“If my destination is set, can I at least choose the route,” he says under his breath. “I want to enjoy the journey.”

He takes a breath. And steps out of the Red Devils line. One step.
Then another. The room sound fades to a low buzz. He can feel everyone staring. Parents. Scouts. Leaders.

“McAllister,” Kyle snaps. “Get back in line. That is an order.”

Adam keeps walking.

“Adam,” Kyle says louder. “You are Red Devils. Your father requested it.”

Adam stops halfway between them.

He turns around and looks Kyle in the eye.

“I’ll choose for myself,” he says.

Kyle sputters. “You cannot just leave your patrol!”

“I just did,” Adam says as he turns and walks the rest of the way across the room.

Robbie’s eyes go wide.

Sawyer grins that wide, reckless grin Adam has seen before.

Adam swallows. His heart is pounding so hard he can feel it in his teeth.

“It’s time I stat making my own decisions.”

“Looks like we you have a full patrol,” Scoutmasters Milner declares.

A low murmur travels through the room. Some kids shake their heads. Some look impressed. Kyle looks like someone kicked his legs out from under him. Adam stands with his new patrol, shoulders back. His uniform is still perfect. But something inside him is different now. For the first time in his life, he did not stand where he was told. He stood where he chose.

He does not know what this patrol will become. He does not know what trouble, or work, or weirdness is coming with these misfits.

But he knows one thing.

Back on Breakers Beach, he made a promise.

In this room, under these lights, with everyone watching, he’s finally starting to keep it.

“Welcome, to The Magnificent 7. That’s our patrol name.” Robbie the Patrol leader says extending his hand.

“Dude!” Sawyer yells, putting his hand on Adam’s shoulder. “You’re going to love it here.”

“Thanks,” Adam replies. ” I do have one question.”

“Shoot, let’s hear it,” Robbie replies.

“I heard you guys skate.” Adam says with a little challenge in his voice.

“Meeting dismissed!” Sawyer yells at the top of his lungs, sending the meeting into chaos.

“Challenge accepted,” Robbie says to Adam, poking him in the chest with his finger.

With that The Magnificent 7 bolt for the door and grab their boards and hit the parking lot asphalt skating in big circles around the lot.

As Adam readies his board he is reminded of the word Ms. Clemmons told him earlier. Now he understood what she was telling him. “Eventually, we all end up where we need to be. That’s life, it’s messy, at times chaotic and unpredictable, but once you recognize the patterns, you’ll find your place. You just have to be open to the search.”

Author’s Note: Adam McAllister is one character in the novel The Great American Eagle Hunt, releasing this year. This is his origin story. Please subscribe to be notified when the full novel releases.