Rhett McLaughlin - The Lost Causes of Bleak Creek

“No.” Leif crossed his arms over his purple Hypercolor.

“Gotcha. No problem.” He set aside his banana peel and moved on to a tuna fish sandwich. The smell was overwhelming.

“What’s the important business?” Leif asked.

“Remember the stuff that you-know-who asked for? Well, I’ve got it all. Even the fire extinguisher.”

Leif stopped unwrapping the aluminum foil from his peanut butter and jelly sandwich. “You’re not still thinking about going back to the wild boy, are you?”

“Actually, I am. I was thinking we could do it today after school,” Rex said.

“This afternoon? I don’t know…” Leif nervously sipped his Juicy Juice, even though Rex had strongly advised him not to bring juice boxes to high school. “I need time to prepare.”

“Prepare for what?”

“Maybe…figuring out how to not get murdered in the woods?”

“I’m pretty sure he’s not a murderer. Weird, yes. But not a killer.”

“How do you know he won’t hit us over the head with the rake and then, like, throw the hot dogs and Cheerwine at us, and then spray us with the fire extinguisher?”

“I’d be very surprised if those exact things happened,” Rex said.

“Pardon me for interrupting,” Hornhat said, putting down his chocolate milk, “but I am quite intrigued by what I’m hearing and would love to join this mission if you’ll have me. I have nunchucks, by the way.”

Rex knew Leif was expecting him to immediately shut down Hornhat’s offer, and that was his first instinct, but he stopped himself.

“Hmm,” he said.

Leif stared at Rex, horrified. “Wait, you’re actually considering this?”

“Maybe,” Rex said. “I mean, since you’re clearly not gonna come. He does have nunchucks.” Hornhat nodded, pleased with himself.

“Well.” Leif understood Rex was saying these things as a way of pressuring him to go, but he also knew Rex wasn’t one to bluff. “I think no one should go,” Leif said.

“All right,” Rex said, shrugging, “I guess it’s me and Hornhat then.”

“Yes!” Hornhat said, pulling in his fist like he was doing an impression of Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone.

“Okay, I’m in,” Leif said, the words busting out of him, almost involuntarily.

“Great!” Rex said. “Sorry, Hornhat. Leif is gonna go instead of you.”

“Aw, seriously?” Hornhat said. “Why can’t it be the three of us?”

“It’s not that kind of mission, unfortunately,” Rex said. “You’re at the top of the alternate list, though.”

“All right,” Hornhat said. “That seems fair. But, hey, since I can’t go on the mission, can I at least breathe on your shirt, Leif?”

Leif thought it seemed almost sacrilegious to let Hornhat breathe on his Hypercolor shirt, considering that Alicia had always loved it, changing the purple to pink with her breath at least once every time he wore it. But he felt a little sympathy for Hornhat, considering he had just been deftly used as a pawn in one of Rex’s schemes.

“Okay, fine.”

“Awesome!” Hornhat’s whole face lit up as he stood and approached Leif, then proceeded to bend down and unleash a cannon of tuna fish air. Leif held his breath and watched his left nipple area change color, trying to convince himself that this was a way of honoring Alicia.

—

AS LEIF WADED through the Cape Fear River holding a rake and a six-pack of Cheerwine, he was thinking he’d given in to Rex way too easily. There was a tight ball of fear in his gut, a genuine (if irrational) concern that they wouldn’t make it home alive. “Let the record show that I think this is a mistake,” he said as they stepped onto the far bank of the river, murky water spilling out of his yellow Asics.

They arrived at the edge of the small clearing around the Tree. Rex tiptoed out toward the giant trunk, Leif following with a couple of tiny steps. A small fire burned in the fire ring, but there was no sign of Ben.

“Hellooooo!” Rex shouted.

“SSSSHHHHHHH!” Leif placed his finger over his mouth and looked at Rex like he’d lost his mind.

“What? I want him to know we’re here,” Rex said.

“I think he’s gone. Let’s go home,” Leif said, quickly turning around and beginning to walk back toward the river.

Before Leif could take one step, Ben jumped out from behind a smaller tree, landing in front of him, spear in hand. Leif peed a little, though it was unnoticeable in his already soaked Umbro shorts.

“You’re back!” Ben said enthusiastically. He was still in the brown jumpsuit, a rabbit/possum pelt still slung over his shoulders and a bloody bandage still on his hand. “And you did it,” he said, smiling. “You fulfilled the mission. Please, come in.”

He walked past them back toward the fire. Rex turned to follow him, not sure what qualified as “coming in.” Leif remained on the edge of the clearing, gathering himself. Ben seemed significantly friendlier this time around, despite his alarming way of welcoming visitors.

“I’m really glad you came through on this. I had a feeling you could be trusted. Would you mind passing me the rake and the hot dogs?”

Rex handed over the hot dogs, but it took Leif a few seconds to realize he was still holding the rake.

“Oh. Sure,” he eventually said, walking up to Ben and carefully handing it over.

“I was in the middle of a game of tic-tac-toe if either of you is interested,” Ben said, gesturing to the ground. “Feel free to use my stick.”

“Thanks,” Leif said, as if that was at all an appealing idea.

“I didn’t catch your names last time,” Ben said, tearing open the plastic package and methodically sliding a hot dog down each tine of the rake.

“Leif. And Rex.”

“Leef? Not Layf?”

“My mom wanted to go with Layf, just like—”

“Leif Erikson,” Ben interrupted, “the first person to discover North America, way before Columbus. Well, first white person.”

“Yeah,” Leif confirmed.

“And lemme guess. These nimrods around here kept reading it and calling you Leef, so you just went with it to avoid the trouble of having to constantly correct idiots.”

“Uh, yeah,” Leif said. He’d never met anyone who had so bluntly (and accurately) stated the lifelong predicament with his name. “Pretty much exactly that.”

“Well, I’m gonna call you Layf,” Ben said. “Check it out.” He smiled at them as the hot dogs roasted on the open fire.

“That’s why you wanted the rake and the hot dogs?” Rex asked, in disbelief.

“Pretty great, right?” Ben said. “We’re all gonna eat well tonight. Leif, would you mind taking over hot dog duty for a bit?”

“Oh,” Leif said, thinking there was some kind of catch here, that maybe it was a trap. But it did look kind of fun to cook that many hot dogs at once. “Sure.” He took the rake from Ben, who grabbed the six-pack of Cheerwine and stared at it.

“I only asked for three cans,” he said.

“That’s how they sell them,” Leif said, dipping the rake into the fire and wondering why he’d never thought of using it in this way before.

“This is actually better.” Ben placed the six-pack on the ground. “Rex, could I have the fire extinguisher?” Rex handed it over, and within seconds Ben had removed the pin and was spraying it at the cans.

“Whoa,” Rex said, taking a couple steps backward. “What are you doing?”

“Do you know what the perfect soft drink temperature is?” Ben shouted over the sound of the carbon-dioxide-powered fire extinguisher.

“What?” Rex asked.

“It’s thirty-nine degrees Fahrenheit. Three and eighty-nine hundredths degrees Celsius.” A billowing white cloud surrounded the cans. “Now, we could attempt to get these cans there with a freezer. But we don’t have one. And that would take about twenty-five minutes, anyway. A bucket of ice could do the job in about half that time. But we don’t have that either. Lucky for us, and thanks to you, we do have this fire extinguisher, which will get these cans to the perfect temperature in less…than…one…minute.” The spray ran out. Ben reached into the white cloud, his hand reappearing with a Cheerwine. He cracked it open and took a sip. “Ahh, perfect. I’ve been dying for one of these.”