Rhett McLaughlin - The Lost Causes of Bleak Creek

But she also knew there was no way they’d be able to pull it off. And even if they did, her parents would just send her right back.

“This is embarrassing for us,” her mother had said in June, as Alicia had sat on her bed, staring a hole through the Salt-N-Pepa poster on her wall. Both of her parents had paced around, taking turns lecturing her for pulling down the pants of five mannequins earlier that day.

“Do you understand how this looks?” her dad had said. Alicia did understand. It looked like a teenage girl doing a mischievous prank you’d normally associate with a preschooler. The truth was, it had been an impulsive and cathartic expression of rage, her response to being left out—yet again—by the people who claimed to be her best friends. But Alicia knew the truth wouldn’t help much with easing her parents’ anger.

“It looks like you’re a bad kid, Alicia,” her dad continued. “But we know you’re not a bad kid. You’re a good kid.”

“Can’t I be both?” Alicia asked, sort of kidding, but also not.

That had stopped her parents cold. Her dad took slow steps toward her, which is when Alicia started to get scared. “You think this is a joke?”

“No,” Alicia said.

“How many times do we have to talk about this? This town’s hard enough on kids as it is, but you… you have to be extra careful.”

“I know, Dad.” This wasn’t the first time he’d reminded her that in Bleak Creek, having a black father and white mother (not to mention being a girl with zero interest in acting like a young lady) meant that she would never be given the same margin of error as the other kids in town. She understood where he was coming from—she had watched how hard her father had worked to project strength and pride, even in the face of the whispered comments and snide remarks—but it was still exhausting to be on her best behavior every second of every day.

“Good. Because, Alicia, we’re torn up about this. And we’re not sure grounding you is working anymore.” Her dad looked at her mother, who nodded after a moment, then stared out the window. “We didn’t want to tell you this, but your mother and I have even started talking about…the Whitewood School.”

Alicia internally shuddered as she looked to her mom, who again nodded solemnly. “Because of some pantsed mannequins?”

“It’s not just that,” her dad said. “It’s your whole…attitude lately. Always talking back, rolling your eyes at everything we say. Or else you’re holed up in your room, listening to that Nervous band…”

“Nirvana, Dad.”

“Even worse,” her mother said.

“What’s wrong with Mariah Carey?” her dad asked.

“Or Amy Grant?” her mom added.

“Do you really think Nirvana made me pull down mannequin pants?”

“This is what I’m talking about!” her dad said, exasperated. “That tone!”

“And your little sister looks up to you so much,” Alicia’s mom said. “What if Melissa starts getting these same sorts of ideas?” Alicia knew her parents were using that as an excuse; her sister rarely crossed any lines, and when she did, it wasn’t unusual to find her in her room praying for forgiveness.

“Okay,” Alicia said. She respected her parents enough to take the threat seriously, though she still assumed they were bluffing. After all, pretty much every parent in Bleak Creek threatened to send their kids to Whitewood at some point. Alicia had always thought that was kind of the main reason the school existed at all. Like the hundreds of times her mom had said she was “going to go get the wooden spoon” if Alicia didn’t stop some particular misdeed. She’d never seen her mom use that wooden spoon for anything other than stirring her infamous fifteen-bean soup, which her dad had always secretly called “ruptured spleen” soup due to its legendary gastrointestinal consequences.

What she wouldn’t do for a spoonful of her mom’s ruptured spleen soup now.

“Candidatus.” The helper was suddenly very close to Alicia’s face. “If I catch you daydreaming again, you’re going to the Roll.”

Alicia almost said sorry before remembering not to and simply nodding instead. She guessed the Roll was considerably less fun than this classroom, although it did sound like a ride she’d wait an hour to get on at the State Fair.

“Now, can you tell me what this sign says?” The woman walked back up to the front of the room and gestured to the wall behind her, which was mostly bare—not even a chalkboard—except for a portrait of Mr. Whitewood just like the one in Alicia’s dorm room and a large white piece of paper with one word painted in red letters.

“Follow,” Alicia said quietly.

“I can’t hear you,” the helper said.

“Follow!” Alicia shouted, finally accessing some of her rage.

“That’s right, Candidatus. Follow . If you stick to this simple advice, you will do just fine here. If you don’t…Well, I wouldn’t advise that.”

Alicia nodded again, though she no longer felt like crying. Igniting her anger had been helpful. It simmered in her chest, reminding her who she was. She thought again of Rex and Leif, and she suddenly knew where they’d stand on all this: They’d be terrified. Rex might be a little better at hiding it, but neither of them would stand up to the helper.

In the triumvirate, confrontation had always been Alicia’s thing. Unlike Rex and Leif, she actually loved a good fight, mostly because it helped her deal with feeling stuck between the two worlds that her parents represented, two worlds that remained remarkably separated in Bleak Creek. Screw trying to fit in. She’d decided years ago that the easiest way to counteract ostracism was to stand out as much as possible. It still hurt to never feel completely at home, but at least she’d become pretty damn good at sticking up for herself.

So, no, Alicia decided: She wasn’t going to Follow, and she wasn’t going to wait for her best friends to rescue her, either. She was no Princess Peach, trapped in a castle hoping that two plumbers were coming to save her.

She was going to save herself.

“Are we clear?” the helper asked.

“Crystal,” Alicia said, her lips turning to the slightest smile.

6

BIG GARY’S KIDNEY stones weren’t as vomit-inducing as Janine had been expecting. In fact, if she hadn’t already known what she was staring at, she might have mistaken it for a jar of pebbles, something she would’ve kept on the shelf in her bedroom during her “collecting pointless things” phase.

“Now, don’t forget this side,” Big Gary said, turning the jar so Janine and her camcorder could capture every cubic inch of kidney stone. While the colossal man wore a nearly constant broad smile, his eyes betrayed the baseline level of skepticism he reserved for anyone from outside of Harland County.

“Great,” Janine said, her eye pressed to the lens, zero emotion in her voice. “Really great.” They were standing in the back of Li’l Dino’s Pizza ’n’ Subs, Donna behind them, already immersed in the process of washing dishes.

Big Gary had a habit of filling any gaps in conversation with a series of gentle but guttural noises, almost like he was tasting something he liked. The volume and frequency of these sounds increased as Janine racked focus across the jar. As she stood there, pointing her camcorder at a grown man’s rock collection, birthed from his own urethra, listening to him say mmm-mmmm over and over again, she couldn’t ignore the voice in her head screaming, This is why you went to grad school? This is why you’re thousands of dollars in debt? So you could do this ?

“I been waitin’ so long for someone to film these,” Big Gary said, staring at the jar with pride. Resisting the urge to say, “Seriously?” Janine zoomed out to capture Big Gary and his booger-green Li’l Dino’s polo shirt in all its glory. She couldn’t imagine any color looking worse on camera.