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I am thrilled to be hosting a spot on the FOREVER BOY by
Michael J. Bowler Blog Tour hosted by Rockstar
Book Tours.
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Check out my review and make sure to
enter the giveaway!
Title: FOREVER BOY
by Michael J. Bowler
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Pub. Date: September 24, 2024
Publisher: Michael J. Bowler Publishing
Formats: Hardcover, Paperback, eBook
Pages: 296
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Find it: Goodreads, https://books2read.com/FOREVER-BOY
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Outcast Isaac and popular Stephanie have barely spoken in all their years in school.
Now, in the ninth grade, their lives become intertwined with a strange boy from
eastern Europe named Drágan Albescu.
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Everything about Drágan is exotic, from his vintage style of dress to his
flowing long hair and delicate features. But he’s also shrouded in great
mystery.
He reveals that he’s a fashion model, so Stephanie searches his image on the
internet and discovers modeling photos dating back to the 1920’s. Then there’s
the valise Drágan carries that’s so heavy Isaac can’t lift it.
Drágan also possesses more knowledge and wisdom than all the teachers at
school, coupled with the uncanny ability to discern what others long to keep
private, a power that particularly frightens Stephanie due to her own dark
secrets.
Who is this enigmatic boy who becomes the best friend Isaac ever had? Why do
bullies at school suddenly stop their bullying? And what about the dead deer
found torn to shreds in the woods?
When Isaac and Stephanie learn the full truth about their new friend, they’ll
almost wish they hadn’t.
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MY REVIEW
This one was right up my alley. I enjoy mysterious and eerie stories written for the younger crowd. I’d love to have had more books like this to read when I was younger. I still enjoy them even though I’m an adult.
Isaac isn’t popular. He’s almost invisible to the other ninth graders in his school. Except for the bullies, unfortunately. That all changes when he meets Dragan. A strange boy. He acts much older than his age. Talks like someone much older. Dresses odd too. They form a friendship. Right from the beginning Dragan stands out. And people are drawn to him. Isaac is no longer alone. He’s got friends. And Dragan is his best one. He stands up for Isaac and others who are targets.
But, Isaac knows there’s more to Dragan than meets the eye. And one day Dragan shares his secret. And Isaac’s world is forever changed…. by the Forever Boy.
I read this straight through. I really wanted to know where the author was taking things. I had no idea and that made it hard to stop until I found out. And I loved the characters. How they formed a tight knit friendship. Supported and encouraged each other. I’m hoping their stories continue as it’s listed as book one.
4 STARS
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Enjoy this peek inside:
1
THE MYSTERIOUS BOY
Isaac spotted a boy
he’d never seen watching him as he wrangled a flying disc from high up in a
maple tree. He gripped the flying disc and squinted against the setting sun,
his gaze drawn to the new boy, who sported brown hair that fell in waves down
his back. His old-fashioned ankle-length coat had a cloak attached, and it
fluttered in the breeze. The boy looked back at Isaac, his eyes seemingly fixed
on him to the exclusion of all else.
Slightly disconcerted, Isaac slid the ring-shaped disc over one arm and
clambered down branch by branch. As soon as he dropped to the ground, two eager
young boys grabbed the disc and scampered away toward town without a word of
thanks.
“That was most inconsiderate of those youngsters,” said the strange boy as
he approached, “to not express gratitude for your assistance, especially after
you volunteered to retrieve their disc.” He stopped in front of Isaac and set
down his leather bag, a valise—at least that’s what Isaac thought it was
called. It looked like an antique gym bag.
“That’s how it is.” Isaac shrugged, then after a moment added, “Wait, you
saw what happened?”
“Yes,” the boy replied. “I’ve been observing you.” He wasn’t tall, about
Isaac’s height of five six. His voice, much like Isaac’s own, sounded on the
verge of adolescence, having perhaps just begun the change, but still boyish,
and he had an accent of some sort Isaac couldn’t place. It had traces of
British, but something else was mixed in.
“Why were you watching me?” Isaac shifted uncomfortably. The other boy’s
light brown eyes seemed to peer right through him.
“I was quite impressed when you assisted those young children. Most boys
our age would dismiss them with a curt word or two.” He extended his right
hand. “I am Drágan Albescu.”
“Your name is Dragon? That’s epic.”
“Sorry to disappoint, but it is spelled D-R-A-G-A-N, with an accent over
the first A.”
“Still, it’s the coolest name in Millwood,” Isaac gushed. “I’m Isaac
Foster.”
They shook hands and Isaac felt the boy’s strong grip, but he couldn’t take
his eyes off Drágan’s hair. He tilted his head and almost gasped at how long it
was—nearly to the boy’s waist.
“Your hair is amazing,” he gushed.
“Thank you. It has not been cut in some years.”
“No kidding.” Isaac chuckled. “I never had my hair real long. I don’t think
I’d want to spend so much time washing it.”
“It can be a burden, but there are reasons I keep it the way I do.”
Isaac could tell Drágan would provide no more details on that subject.
“I like your accent,” Drágan said in a conversational tone.
Isaac pulled a face. “I didn’t know I had one.”
“Oh, yes,” Drágan replied. “You pronounce the letter R at the end of a word
as an ah sound. For example, instead of Foster, it sounded like Fostah.
I like it.”
Isaac smiled. Drágan was unlike anyone he’d ever met. “Did you just move
here? Where’s your parents?”
“I’m new to Maine, but, alas, I am an orphan.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, man. Who you here with?”
“I’m traveling alone.”
“Yeah? You look my age.”
“I am fourteen as of my last birthday.”
Isaac grinned. “Cool. I just turned fourteen last week.”
“Congratulations on your birthday.”
“Thanks.”
“Perhaps you know of a boarding house in town where I may lodge during my
stay?”
Everything about Drágan confused Isaac, and yet everything also intrigued
him.
“Um, yeah, I do, but, uh, if you, you know, want company, I have an extra
bed in my room. My mom used to have foster kids, for which I got made fun of at
school cause my last name is Foster, but, um, anyway, I bet my mom would love
to have you stay, and I know I’d like the company. You wanna have dinner at my
house and we can ask?”
Drágan’s perfectly trimmed eyebrows rose in surprise. “We have only just
become acquainted, and yet you would have me in your home?”
Isaac shrugged. “My mom says I’m a good judge of people.”
“I am, as well,” Drágan replied, “and I shall be honored to dine with you.”
He picked up his large valise from the ground. “Truth be told, I’m rather
hungry.”
“Follow me.”
The boys left behind the expanse of tall, deciduous trees and strolled
across a bridge overlooking the placid Abenaki River, named, Isaac explained,
after one of the five Native American tribes to still live in Maine. After
passing over the river, they headed up a street fronting a row of houses, most
in the Victorian style and quite old. The narrow street, which had no room for
parking in front of the houses, wound around into the downtown area.
“There’s my house,” Isaac said, pointing to a white, two-story Victorian
without fancy adornments or cupolas. In back sat a large barn, which was
painted a dark red color and rose to the height of the house. With the onset of
dusk, tall trees cast long shadows across the roof.
“That barn is a garage on the bottom, and on the top floor is a rec room.
My mom holds parties there sometimes, but mostly it’s for me to play games in.”
Drágan’s eyes surveyed the house and barn appraisingly as a car drove past.
The driver waved to Isaac, and he waved back.
“A friend of yours?”
“Naw. He works at the drugstore. In this town, everyone pretty much knows
everyone.”
“Much like the village where I was born.”
Isaac was about to ask where, but they’d arrived at his house. He steered
Drágan up the cracked driveway to a side door and they entered.
“Mom? I’m home.”
“In the kitchen, honey” came his mom’s voice.
Just inside the door, there was a hallway leading around past an adjacent
sitting room to the kitchen. Directly in front as they entered were numerous
coat hooks on the wall, very useful during snowy winters. Isaac shrugged off
his parka and slipped it onto a hook with ease.
“You can leave your coat here.”
Drágan slipped out of his overcoat and hung it on a hook.
Isaac felt the material. It was thick and rough, and he liked the
ankle-length style.
“I have owned this coat for many years.”
Isaac stopped admiring the coat to gaze questioningly at Drágan. How many
years could he have had it since it fit him perfectly?
“I hear voices, Isaac,” his mother called from the kitchen. “Who’s with
you?”
“A friend, Mom.”
He gestured for Drágan to follow. They rounded a corner and passed through
the sitting room with an old wood burning stove. Beside it was Isaac’s favorite
reclining chair. On cold, snowy days, he’d curl up within its comforting
softness and devour book after book.
He led Drágan into the kitchen, where his mom stood at the counter chopping
vegetables. She wore an apron and had her shoulder-length brunette hair tied
back off her pleasant face. She broke into a warm smile.
“Mom, this is Drágan Albescu.”
Drágan stepped forward and bowed gallantly. “It is my great pleasure to
meet you, Mrs. Foster.”
She was taken aback by his greeting, but her smile grew ever broader. “Why
thank you, Drágan. What an exotic name and your clothes are amazing. Your whole
appearance, really.”
“Thank you,” Drágan replied.
“I invited Drágan for dinner,” Isaac interjected. “Is that okay?”
“Of course it is,” Penelope replied. “Your friends are always welcome.”
“Except I don’t have any,” mumbled Isaac.
Drágan eyed him but focused on his mom. “I am an accomplished chef if you’d
like some assistance.”
Penelope’s eyebrows rose in astonishment, and Isaac gazed at Drágan with
wonder.
“No thank you, Drágan,” Penelope replied. “But I appreciate the offer. Why
don’t you boys hang out in Isaac’s room, and I’ll call when dinner’s ready.”
“Thank you.” Drágan bowed once more.
Isaac tugged his arm. “C’mon, I wanna show you my room.” Flush with
excitement, he hurried from the kitchen, Drágan in tow.
They passed through the sitting room and out into the main hall. The floors
were hardwood, but the stairs leading up to the second floor were covered in
thick sky-blue carpet.
Isaac showed Drágan the two hallways on the second floor. One led to his
mom’s bedroom and the study, which she used as her home office. The other
passed the guest bedroom and a large bathroom before ending in Isaac’s room at
the rear of the house. It was the largest bedroom and had always been perfect
for Isaac to share when a foster child was a boy. Bunk beds rested against
Isaac’s back wall with chests of drawers along the adjoining wall overlooking
the driveway; a large wooden desk sat across the room beside a window looking
out at tall, majestic maple trees.
Drágan’s eyes swept the room, settling on the bookshelves above the twin
chests of drawers. Lining the shelves were meticulously detailed hand-painted
models of famous movie monsters, which Isaac had spent countless hours
crafting. With long slender fingers, Drágan picked up a model of the original
Wolfman from the 1940 Universal film. The monster bared its fangs at a lovely
young woman cowering before him.
Normally unsettled if anyone touched his models, Isaac instinctively sensed
that Drágan revered them as much as he did.
Drágan turned with the model in hand. “Do you believe Larry would’ve killed
Gwen when he grabbed her in the woods?”
Isaac was shocked that this boy would ask such a movie-geek question, but
figured Drágan must also love The Wolfman, so he dove right in with his
answer. “No. He loved her too much.”
“At long last, someone who agrees with me.” Drágan lovingly replaced the
figure on the shelf and studied the others.
Isaac gazed at him in surprise. “You’re a geek?”
“A what?”
“A geek. You know, someone who’s into pop culture stuff like horror
movies.”
A look of understanding enlightened Drágan’s face. “Ah, I understand. I
love the horror genre. In fact, Larry Talbot is my favorite character. His
struggles as the wolfman brought me near to tears on several occasions.”
Isaac’s heart pounded with excitement. “Me too! Especially when he was
finally cured. But those were tears of joy.”
Drágan regarded him as though doing a complete reevaluation. “You are the
first I’ve met to feel as I do. How fortuitous that we’ve made each other’s
acquaintance.”
Isaac felt stupid listening to the other boy speak and, if he were
honest—which he had no intention of being at that moment—he didn’t understand
half of what Drágan said to him. The boy was a walking dictionary!
“Uh, wanna sit down?” Isaac pointed to a beige-colored couch against one
wall.
Drágan nodded and lowered himself onto the couch, looking stiff and formal
while Isaac sat in his desk chair.
“Is the couch uncomfortable?” Isaac asked, worried he might have offended
the other boy.
“No,” replied Drágan, but his face looked tight and strained. “It’s merely
that I’ve never been in the bedroom of a youth my age. I’m accustomed to the
company of adults.”
Isaac’s mouth dropped open. He was appalled, but suddenly the other boy’s
high vocabulary made more sense. “Never? What about your friends?”
Still sitting up as though in a straight-backed chair, Drágan placed both
hands in his lap. “I’ve never had a real friend my age, at least not for any
significant period of time.”
Isaac was speechless. “I’m sorry, man. I mean, I have no friends either,
mainly cause I’m a geek and they all like sports and stuff. Plus, I wear
hearing aids, which makes playing sports suck big time.” He reached behind one
ear and slipped off a small hearing aid, holding it out to Drágan.
“I’ve heard of these small devices but have never known anyone who wore
them.” He turned the aid over in his hand. The unit was small with a tiny tube
leading to an earmold. “Are they effective at improving your hearing?”
He handed the aid back to Isaac, who deftly slipped it back onto his ear.
“First of all, thank you for not shouting. Every time I tell someone I’m hard
of hearing, they start yelling. Drives me crazy. Anyway, these work pretty
well. I control ’em with an app on my phone. But in noisy places or big sports
fields they aren’t so good. I can always hear the PE coach yelling at me, but I
don’t understand what he’s saying. Then he gets mad afterward and says I didn’t
listen.”
“My hearing is excellent, so I have no notion of how your life has been.”
Isaac shrugged. “I was born this way and have no idea what it’s like to
have perfect hearing, so I guess we’re even.”
Drágan nodded.
Now that they weren’t moving, he studied Drágan’s features and clothing
with greater scrutiny.
Drágan’s long, wavy hair was a light brown color and framed his soft
features, draped over his small ears, parted in the middle, and brushed across
both sides of his smooth forehead. His skin reminded Isaac of some dolls his
mother used to collect. What were those made of? Oh, yeah, porcelain. Drágan’s
skin was like perfect, unblemished porcelain, white to the point of being pale,
without the slightest indication that he’d ever had acne, which thankfully
Isaac hadn’t experienced yet either. Drágan’s eyebrows, the same color as his
hair, were slender and looked professionally trimmed. His lips were full, with
a slight reddish tint, really the only visible coloration on his face.
But it was Drágan’s eyes that held Isaac’s attention. The color of
hazelnuts, they seemed to dance with power. As they fixed on him, Isaac felt
himself sliding into oblivion. The sensation lasted only a split second, but he
would not soon forget it.
“Your clothes are cool, Drágan. Get ’em at a vintage clothes place?”
The boy’s long-sleeve shirt was baggy, almost like a pirate shirt, with a
small collar encircled by an old-fashioned tie that looked to be made of
leather. Over the shirt he wore a dark brown vest that looked quite old. Over
that was a suit jacket with the styling of an era long past. His pants were
navy blue, and his brown leather boots looked antique.
“With no disrespect to your own clothing, I prefer attire from past eras.”
Isaac wore jeans, a long-sleeve hoodie shirt and sneakers.
“I think you look great.”
Looking slightly more relaxed, Drágan asked about the film camera on
Isaac’s desk that rested beside a twenty-seven-inch iMac computer.
Happy to talk about something to break the awkwardness, Isaac picked up the
camera, a high-end model with a powerful lens.
“I plan to make my own movie. A horror film, of course.” Isaac realized
he’d begun rambling but couldn’t stop. “There’s this film festival in Bangor at
the end of next month, Halloween weekend, in fact, and there’s a category for
student filmmakers under eighteen. Big prize money too. But the best part is,
one of the judges of the horror films will be Stephen King. He lives in Bangor
and he’s my favorite horror writer. Ever read any of his books?” Out of breath,
he finally stopped and laughed. “Sorry, I get carried away.”
Drágan replied, “I’ve read many of Mr. King’s works. My favorite is Salem’s
Lot. I have an affinity for vampires, I suppose, in addition to
werewolves.”
Isaac broke into a huge grin. “That’s my favorite too. It really must be
fortui … what you said before that we met.”
“Fortuitous,” Drágan repeated without any condescension. “It means
fortunate. How many performers will be in your film?”
Isaac frowned. “Well, that’s the tricky part. There’s two leads and a few
smaller parts, but I don’t have any friends at school, so I’m thinking of going
to the next town over to audition strangers.”
“I have performing experience in my past,” Drágan commented without
boasting. “Alas, all on the stage, but I’d enjoy being of assistance.”
Isaac’s heart nearly burst. “That would be fantastic.”
“What does your story entail?”
“Well, you’d be playing a guy like Larry Talbot, except a kid, who’s a
werewolf.”
“And how would you create the transformations?”
Isaac indicated his computer. “I got some cool AI programs that can do
amazing stuff. Let me show—”
“Boys, dinner’s ready!” came his mother’s voice from downstairs.
“I’ll show you after dinner.”
About Michael J. Bowler:
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Michael J. Bowler is an award-winning author
who grew up in Northern California. He majored in English/Theatre at Santa
Clara University, earned a master’s in film production from Loyola Marymount
University, a teaching credential in English from LMU, and a master’s in
Special Education from Cal State University Dominguez Hills. Michael taught
high school in Hawthorne, California, both in general education and to students
with disabilities. When Michael is not writing, he serves as a youth mentor
with the Big Brothers Big Sisters program and a volunteer within the juvenile
justice system in Los Angeles, but mostly he takes care of his recently adopted
son. He is a passionate advocate for the fair treatment of children and teens
in California and hopes that his books can show young people they are not alone
in their struggles.
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