Skinny-Dipping at Monster Lake (3 page)

O
kay . . . so I overdid it on the counting. Trying to make it as slow and painful as possible . . . well, I took so long that even Ted and Jordan got a little ticked at me.

Besides, playing war was about all we had done for the three weeks that school had been out. It
was
getting kind of old. So when Pepper announced (at “a thousand twenty-eight”) that his mom was making a batch of chocolate chip cookies when he left the house this morning—the war was over.

Dead guys leaped to their feet and ran for their horses. Even Jordan quit laughing long enough to wipe the mud streaks from his cheeks. I was ready to quit, too. I didn't even try to make Daniel lay back down.

“We can eat at my house and swim,” Chet called. “I'll have Mrs. Garcia make some sandwiches.”

The whole bunch of us charged off.

Jordan followed me south, back down Bobcat Canyon, alongside Sinkhole River, and across
Wilson's Swamp. Ted rode west to his farm and the rest of the guys headed north.

Jordan and I lived in South Shore Estates. There were ten twenty-acre lots on the south side of Cedar Lake—five lake-front and five lots across the road and up the hill. We lived in the very first house, right on the lake. Jordan and his family were next door. West of their house were the Fergusons, then the Brocks. Across the road is where the McBrides and the Taylors lived. Both those couples were sort of old, but they were nice. The lot next to Mrs. Baum's place was still for sale, as were the three across the road.

Mom and Dad got our twenty-acre lot before anyone else knew that Mr. Gregg, the dairy farmer who used to own the land on this side of Cedar Lake, was dividing it up.

That's 'cause Dad fished Mrs. Gregg out of the lake.

For a long time, Mom and Dad had been wanting to move out of the city. Dad was a paramedic with the fire department. We did okay, but paramedics aren't what you'd call rich. About three years ago, on his day off, Dad and one of his buddies were fishing near the Point, when they saw this hay truck bouncing and careening down the hill. It went smack-dab into Cedar Lake. They
raced over and Dad jumped out and got the old woman loose from the truck before it went completely under. Mr. Gregg came running down the hill. His wife was fine, but when the truck lost its brakes and ended up in the water, it scared both of them half to death.

The Greggs thought Dad was a regular hero. Dad thought he was just doing what anybody would do, especially since he was a paramedic. They wanted to give him something or do something for him to show their appreciation, but Dad wouldn't have it. So they kind of sneaked around behind his back and went to Mom.

Somehow Mrs. Gregg found out that Mom was completing her real-estate license. She didn't pass the test the first time she took it. But six months later she did. How Mrs. Gregg knew, nobody could figure. But the day Mom passed her real-estate exam, Mrs. Gregg called and told her that they were retiring from the dairy business and were going to divide up their farm and sell it. She asked Mom to handle all the details and stuff that needed done. In return for her services, she would give us our choice of lots.

Now Mom was doing pretty well with her real estate sales. But back then we could never have afforded a place on Cedar Lake.

• • •

I put Duke's saddle and bridle in the shed, turned him into the pen, and gave him a helping of oats and sweet feed. Then I asked Mom if I could go swimming at Chet's, wrapped my bathing trunks in a towel, got my bicycle, and waited for Jordan.

And waited for Jordan . . .

And waited for Jordan . . .

After about twenty minutes I went after him. Mrs. Parks opened the door. She looked at me and gave kind of a helpless sigh.

“He was supposed to meet you, right?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Her shoulders sagged. She motioned toward Jordan's room. “He's on the computer.”

Before I even opened the door to his room, I sucked in a deep breath.

“JORDAN!”
I screamed as I burst through the doorway.

Startled, he looked up. “It might work.” He smiled over at me and shoved his glasses up. “As many times as our dads have cut the line with their lawn mowers, we'd have to run it through PVC pipe, though. Otherwise, the moisture would short it out.”

I must have looked like a total idiot. My mouth fell open so wide, a bird could have flown in and
built a nest. My plan had been to startle
him.
Instead . . .

“What in the world . . .” I gasped.

“The telegraph cable.” He shrugged. “If we bury the thing, it might work.”

• • •

The guys had finished their sandwiches and cookies and were already in the pool by the time we got to Chet's.

Mrs. Garcia, the Bentlys' housekeeper, left a couple of sandwiches and some chips on the poolside table. I didn't eat mine. Instead I went for the chocolate chip cookies.

Guess I couldn't help myself. Pepper's mom and dad were rather large people—like Pepper. Mrs. Hamilton was about the same height as my mom, only she was kind of round. Mr. Hamilton was about six feet five. Every so often our families got together at their house for neighborhood cookouts and stuff. Next to our dads, Mr. Hamilton looked like a giant. Both of Pepper's parents were fantastic cooks. Pepper couldn't help being big.

The cookies were delicious.

After we swam for a while, the diving competition started. We really didn't choose sides, but all Daniel's guys gave his team good scores. And my
guys—even when I tried to do a flip and ended up doing a belly-buster, gave me a 4.6.

Like I said, we didn't choose up teams, but . . .

When we got tired of diving and swimming, we dried off and got dressed.

• • •

The next day we chose up sides again and played bicycle polo. It was kind of like polo, only instead of using horses, we rode our bicycles. And instead of a wooden ball and mallets, we used a basketball and baseball bats.

The parking lot next to the boat ramp was our polo field—the outhouse was one goal and the “Permit Required” sign was the other. It was a fun game. We raced around on our bicycles, whacking that old basketball. Laughed, giggled, and had a regular blast, until . . .

Daniel's team got two goals behind. That's when it got serious. They tied the score, then Pepper crashed into the side of a pickup that some fisherman had parked there. It didn't leave much of a scratch. Even so, we headed for home as fast as we could go.

• • •

The next day we played football. Their team won. The day after that, we swam in Daniel's pool. We won the relay races. They won the diving
competition. Today we did bicycle polo again.

We were lying around, resting, and just looking up at the sky when Daniel said: “Let's have another war, tomorrow.” It sounded more like an order than a suggestion.

Jordan yawned. “I'm tired of playing war.”

Nobody said anything. We just kind of grunted our agreement and kept watching the clouds.

“I got another idea,” Daniel said. He sat up and looked straight at Ted. “Let's go fishing. We could choose up teams, and whoever comes in with the biggest and the most fish—”

“No!” Ted barked.

Mouths opened, the whole bunch of us sat up so quick it's a wonder we didn't pull a stomach muscle. Ted
always
wanted to go fishing. Ted loved fishing as much as Pepper loved eating. He lived and breathed for fishing. If someone so much as mentioned bait or worms or hooks, the smile on his face stretched clear up to his ears.

None of us could believe he was the one who yelled, “No!”

I
thought you liked fishing,” I said.

Ted sighed. “I do. I love to go fishing. But if it's going to be a competition . . . if we're gonna choose sides . . .” He sighed again, then took a deep breath as if he was trying to get himself back together or something.

“I love fishing,” he repeated. “But I just want to go fishing. Have fun. We can't do
anything
without picking sides and trying to beat each other. We play war to see who wins. We play games like baseball and bicycle polo.

“I just want to catch fish—all of us—just to have fun. No contest. No game. Just fish. If we can't do that, I don't even want to go.”

“Yeah,” Jordan agreed. When he nodded, his glasses slipped. He had to shove them back up. “Ted's right. We're all the time having a contest. We can't even swim without making it a challenge. Remember how we judged the diving? We can't even play in the pool without trying to see who
wins. Why don't we just go fishing like he said? We could maybe spend the night and cook out and . . .”

“Yeah.” Zane leaped to his feet. “The lake monster only comes out at night. If we sleep out, maybe we can see it.”

Like usual, we all ignored him.

“Our moms probably won't let us stay out all night, anyway,” Chet grumped.

“Why not?” Daniel asked. “They wouldn't let us spend the night on the lake last year, but we're twelve, now. We're old enough. I bet we can talk them into it. And”—he smiled at Ted—“we don't have to see who catches the biggest or the most fish. We can just go together.”

Ted smiled back. Zane gave a little wave with his arm, trying to get everyone's attention.

“The monster only comes out when there's a full moon. We can take turns standing guard. That way somebody's awake all the time and maybe we can spot him.”

No one so much as looked up at Zane.

“We could cut bank poles and use shad gizzards,” Ted suggested.

Daniel cocked his head to one side. “What are bank poles?”

“Well, they're just willow trees. You cut 'em down and sharpen one end and put a hook . . . and . . . well, I'll just have to show you.”

“What are shad gizzards?” Foster wondered. “Well, they're . . . ah . . . they're inside shad and ah . . . er . . . and . . . I got no idea.”

“A gizzard is an internal organ in earthworms and birds. Also found in some fish, it aids in the digestion of food.” When Jordan explained stuff, he sounded like an encyclopedia. “It's kind of hard and helps grind their food.”

“Yeah,” Ted agreed, pointing at Jordan. “What he said. It's kind of hard, so it stays on a fishing hook real well.”

“Where do we get them?” I asked.

“Like, duh,” Ted sneered at me. “You get them from shad.”

I sneered right back and wobbled my head. “Like, duh. Where do we find the shad?”

“Oh.” He gave a sheepish grin and ducked his head. “The shad feed in the shallows down under the dam. You know, where the water runs over? We'd have to take our bows and some real arrows and—”

Zane moaned. “I want to see the monster.”

Daniel propped his elbow on his knee and rested his chin on his fist. Only with not much
chin, it looked like he was resting his bottom lip on his fist.

“Would you knock it off. There
is
no lake monster.”

“I swear,” Zane protested. “I saw his eyes shining under the water. I really did.”

“Two years ago you saw that mountain lion,” Jordan said. “Thing was nothing but a scraggly old house cat.”

“The year before that, you saw a black bear,” Ted reminded him. “Only it turned out to be an Angus cows rump.”

“And when was it you saw Big Foot?” Chet asked.

Zane folded his legs and flopped down on the ground. He tipped over backward to stare up at the clouds. “I was just teasing about that Big Foot thing. I told you guys that.”

Now that we had Zane shut up about the lake monster, we turned our attention back to the fishing trip.

“Do we need worms and minnows, too?” Chet asked.

“When can we get started?”

“We'll go tomorrow night.” Ted was on his feet now. “That would give us time to get all the stuff ready. Everybody go home, check with your
parents—beg if you have to—then call my house. Okay?”

• • •

Dad's pickup wasn't in the drive when I got home. I put my bicycle away and went inside to see what Mom was doing. She had just started supper. Something sizzled in the pan on the stove. I eased up beside her to see what we were having.

She smiled at me, then her nose kind of crinkled. “What have you been doing?”

“Bicycle polo.”

She leaned away from me, so far to one side that I thought she was going to tip over. After I told her about the game and how much fun we had, Mom politely suggested that I go take a shower before supper.

I heard Dad's pickup pull in while I was washing my hair. They were both at the table by the time I got dried off and slipped into some clean clothes.

When asking to spend the night out on the lake with the guys—timing is critical. First off, I didn't just march in and blurt it out. I sat down at the table and listened for a while. If either of my parents was in a bad mood or had had trouble at work, asking should be put off until after dinner.

Dad's shift at the fire department was pretty calm. He only had to work two car accidents and nobody was hurt. Mom thought the house she was trying to sell in town was pretty much a “done deal.” So she was in a good mood, too.

Dad and I helped set the table while Mom finished up the fried okra and got the meat loaf out of the oven. Since both had had a good day, as soon as Dad finished saying grace, I would ask.

Before I could say anything, Mom folded her arms and rocked back in her chair. “I wish there was something we could do for Emma,” she said. “I just feel so sorry for her.”

“Money problems again?” Dad stopped his forkful of meat loaf just short of his lips.

Mom sighed and laced her fingers together. “Yeah. Between having her husband in that nursing home, and taxes, and trying to keep that old truck of hers going . . . I just don't see how she can make it much longer.”