Sink or Swim (8 page)

BAIT AND SWITCH

“SO WHAT DO WE
do now?” Sam asks. He paces around my room, anxiously drumming his fingers on his substantial belly. Mom and Dad are still doing the dinner dishes while my friends and I are supposedly finishing our homework. As if.

“Call the police?” Lucille sits on the edge of Dave's bed, tying and retying her size twelve saddle shoes. To say Lucille's feet are big is like saying water is wet.

“What good would that do?” Sam counters. “They've been on the case for the last thirty-six hours and as far as I can tell they haven't come up with a single lead. At least Charlie's actually laid eyes on the thing.”

“True,” I say quietly. “I hate to admit it, but we'll just have to catch the creature ourselves and do our best not to get killed.”

“That would be nice.” Lucille looks up. “I would really prefer to avoid death by homicidal maniac.”

“So how exactly do you plan to do that, Charlie?” Sam asks.

“You know that old dry well behind the fairgrounds?”

“Sure,” Lucille says. “It's all boarded up. Nobody ever goes there anymore.”

“What are you driving at, Drinkwater?” Sam asks.

“We uncover it, disguise it with leaves and branches, lure the creature over to it with some kind of bait, like maybe . . . um . . .”

“Fish!” Lucille exclaims. “We know he loves fish because he just stole all that salmon from Mr. Dieterly's store.”

“I'm loving it,” Sam says. “The creature falls in, the authorities come and arrest him, and you're not a suspect anymore, Charlie.”

“And I won't have to be on the swimming team anymore,” I say happily. “Or get expelled. And Mr. Hollabird will ask my mom to sell her desserts to Beautiful Bites. Happy ending all around!”

“This whole thing sounds incredibly familiar.” Lucille scratches her head. “Didn't we see something like this once in a movie?

“We sure did,” Sam says. “That's how Jack Driscoll and Carl Denham, fearless explorers, trapped the mighty King Kong. We watched the movie in fifth grade. I had nightmares for a week.”

“What are we waiting for?” I grab my backpack and head downstairs. Sam and Lucille follow close behind.

“What's the plan?” Lucille asks.

“We're going to my house to finish our English report. It's due Friday,” Sam whispers. “Follow my lead.”

“What do we do when they insist on driving us to your house, Sam?” Lucille asks. “Because they will and you know it.”

“We let them,” Sam says.

“No,” I say firmly. “We
ask
them to drive us before they bring it up. It's much less likely to raise their suspicions.”

“Bingo,” Sam says. “And
then
we go trap us a creature.”

My parents are in the den playing gin rummy for pennies. They have kept a running total for the last twenty years. So far my dad owes my mom over seven thousand dollars. My mom says she's willing to compromise. She'll accept a used Volkswagen convertible instead of the money.

“We have to go to Sam's to finish our English report, Mom and Dad. All our notes are on his computer and it's due Friday. Can you drive us?”

“We'd be happy to, Charlie.” Mom gathers up the cards and puts the box into the drawer. “I'm glad you asked. With that robber lurking around out there you can't be too careful.”

My dad carefully counts up the score. “I owe you another two dollars and fifty cents, Doris.”

“Put it on my tab, Fred.” She gets up from the table. “Wear your gloves, kids. It's cold out.”

I sneak the leftover salmon from tonight's dinner out of the fridge and into my backpack while my mom and my dad put on their overcoats. Then we all pile into my mom's beat-up red pickup truck and head for Sam's.

“How long do you think you'll be, kids?” my dad asks as we chug down Lonesome Lane

“I'd say an hour and a half, Mr. D,” Sam replies. “It's a pretty complicated project.”

“What's it about?” my mom asks.

“The use of the subjunctive tense in the short stories of Edgar Allan Poe.”

I don't know how Sam comes up with this stuff so quickly. For a basically honorable guy, he lies like a rug.

“That's very interesting, Sam,” my mom comments. “Can you give me an example?”

“I'm afraid I can't, Mrs. D,” Sam replies without batting an eyelash. “Many of Poe's short stories are no longer in print. That's why it's taking us so long to write our report. Finding the original source material is a real back-breaker.”

If they ever make lying an Olympic sport, Sam's a gold-medal winner for sure.

“We'll be back to pick you up at eight forty-five on the dot, Charlie,” my mom announces as we pull into Sam's driveway and hop out of the truck. “Please be ready to go then.”

Sam, Lucille, and I wave good-bye before going into Sam's house. My mom and dad wait out front until they see the front door close behind us. I love my parents, but sometimes they're harder to shake than burrs off a woolen mitten.

“We have to hunt fast. We don't have much time,” Sam says. “We've got to be back here by the time your folks come to get you, Charlie. No matter what.”

We head straight for the living room, where Mrs. Endervelt sits in front of the big TV, watching the local news. She looks up briefly. “Hi, kids. What's up?” Sam's mom is a no-nonsense, practical type of mom. Wire-framed glasses. Gray hair. Keds.

Joe Jefferson's phony deep voice booms out over the speaker. “The mysterious Decatur robber is still on the loose, ladies and gentlemen. If you see anything suspicious, call our crime-stoppers hotline. That's 555-6600.”

“We have to go to Lucille's house to work on our English project, Mom. We forgot we left our notes there.”

“That's nice, Sam,” Mrs. Endervelt answers. Not one question. Not a “does Lucille's mom know you're coming?” Or a “what time will you be back?” Or a “did you finish your homework?” Nothing.

If any other kid in middle school dyed his hair purple, painted his fingernails black, and wore a fake nose ring, his mom would probably chain him to his desk and throw away the key. Not Sue Endervelt.

“Help yourselves to whatever's in the fridge before you go, kids. Just be sure to leave something for your dad, Sam. He's coming home late tonight and he'll be starving.” Mr. Endervelt works at a recycling plant. He looks just like Sam. Only taller. And he doesn't do Goth.

“Thanks, Mrs. Endervelt!” I call, and we quickly raid the fridge

“Let's get out of here,” Lucille whispers. We dump our creature bait into a plastic bag and head for the door.

“Don't work too hard, kids,” Mrs. Endervelt calls.

“Don't worry, we won't!” I shout.

We beeline across the front lawn and head for the corner of Lonesome Lane and Cedar Street, the site of my previous encounter. The street is deserted. The fog is as thick as cotton. A damp penetrating chill rises up from the sidewalk. I can barely see two feet in front of me.

“Tonight reminds of that scene in
The Wolf Man
,” Sam says quietly. “Where Larry Talbot rescues his friend and gets bitten by the Wolf Man and turns into a wolf. Good thing it's not a full moon. Or is it?” Sam looks up at the sky. “It's pretty hard to tell with all that fog and mist.”

“Must you say every single terrifying thought that enters your brain, Sam Endervelt?” Lucille sighs.

“Quiet. I smell creature.” I twist my long thick neck around and breathe in the frosty air. “It's not far away. It must have smelled the bait and come out to feed.”

“What do we do now?” Sam asks nervously.

“We keep it interested.” I take a hunk of salmon from my book bag and start shredding it into bite-sized pieces with my claws.

“Whatever you're doing smells like you've got an entire school of dead fish in there.” Lucille looks like she is about to throw up.

“That's the point, Lucille. Now you guys run ahead and cover up that old well while I lure the creature over to it.” It's less than a mile to the fairgrounds. Even taking into account Sam's legendary slowness, they should be there in less than fifteen minutes. I take another deep breath. “Hurry. He's getting closer.”

“Take your time, pal,” Sam warns. “We don't want you and Mr. Creature arriving before we're ready for our guest.”

“Get going,” I urge. “Before it's too late!”

“Are you sure you'll be okay by yourself, Charlie?” Lucille hesitates.

“Sure I'm sure.” I try to sound confident. I'm not. “Get out of here. I'm not kidding.”

Sam and Lucille hurry off at last to prepare the trap, and I am left alone in the murky darkness. Except for the rustling of the wind through the big old pines that line the street, all is quiet. I scatter bits of salmon behind me as I walk.

Suddenly a twig snaps. And then another one.

My earflaps perk up. I detect distant footsteps. It sounds like they're heading toward me. I walk faster. So does whatever is following me. The smell of mutant dinosaur is so strong it makes my nostrils tingle.

A chill runs down my long, spiky neck. I am wrestling with two of my biggest fears at once: fear of the dark, and fear of monsters. The fact that this monster looks exactly like me doesn't seem to make me any less afraid. If anything, it's scarier. Because it's stranger.

The more bait I drop, the closer the footsteps get, until finally the creature is so close I can hear it snarling and grunting as it tears into the salmon with its massive fangs.

And then all of a sudden the sound stops and everything is quiet. I don't know whether to keep walking and risk losing the creature, or to stop and risk getting attacked.

I am shaking like a leaf. And it's not because of the icy chill in the air. Nope. It's just plain old abject fear that is turning my legs into a mass of quivering Jell-O.

I wonder if Sam and Lucille have got the trap prepared yet. I wonder if the creature has lost interest and sought refuge in the neighboring woods. Or is it lying low and planning to take me by surprise? I decide to move on and see if that rouses the creature.

Which is when a voice in the dark calls to me, stopping me in my tracks. “Please don't leave. I need talk to you. Please.” It is a gentle, human voice.

The clouds break and a silvery shaft of moonlight illuminates the scaly green mutant dinosaur standing across the road, staring right at me. It makes its way slowly toward me.

“I won't hurt you, Charlie. I'm so glad I found you. I'm your cousin, Stanley. I've been looking for you everywhere.”

STRANGERS IN THE NIGHT

“WHERE HAVE YOU
been, pal?” Sam asks when I finally arrive at the fairgrounds alone. “We thought you were dead. Do you have any idea how hard it was to cover up this abandoned well?” He points to the tangle of leaves and branches he and Lucille have cleverly arranged.

“Where's the creature?” Lucille looks around. “I thought it was following you.”

“Not anymore,” I reply.

“What do you mean?” Sam pulls on his nose ring so hard I am afraid he may pull off his nose. “You were supposed to lure him into the trap, pal.”

“That was before.”

“Before what?” Lucille asks. “C'mon. Tell.”

“I can't. We have to take the Mainframe pledge first. That's how ultrasecret and important this is.” My friends and I raise our right hands (in my case my right claw) and recite in unison:

“Our lips are sealed.

Our eyes are shut.

We promise not to reveal

The secret which goes to our graves with us.

This truth we forever conceal.”

Then we jump in the air, turn around three times, clap our hands, and shout, “Eternity sucks!” I get so dizzy I stumble over my tail and nearly fall on Sam.

“So tell us the secret already,” Sam says breathlessly. “I'm exhausted from taking the pledge.”

“Well, first of all, he's incredibly nice. He's more than nice. He's amazing. He's brave and thoughtful and . . .”

“Slow down.” Lucille waves her long skinny arms around. “Let me get this straight. HE'S NICE??? I thought he was terrifying and dangerous.”

“Not when you get to know him,” I reply. “He even wants to teach me how to swim. Can you believe it? Not that I'm exactly
dying
to learn how or anything. But it was nice of him to offer.”

“How did swimming even come up as a topic of discussion?” Sam asks.

“We were telling each other stuff about our lives,” I explain. “And I mentioned how much I hate being on the swimming team. Being a non-swimmer and all. And guess what he told me? He's my cousin! Can you believe it?”

“That is beyond amazing, Charlie!” Lucille gasps.

“I know. He's Aunt Harriet and Uncle Marvin's kid. He said he turned into a creature just like me when he was twelve years old. He left Decatur nine years ago to go live under Crater Lake with the rest of our long-lost relatives. Evidently everyone was so sad he was gone they couldn't bear to talk about him. That's how come I'd never heard about him before.” Sam and Lucille are glued to my every word. “His name is Stanley. And now he's back in Decatur because he's on this unbelievably dangerous mission.”

“What kind of a mission?” Sam asks eagerly.

“Hold on, guys!” Lucille points to her watch. “It's almost eight. We've got to get back to Sam's before your parents show up, Charlie. Let's go.”

Lucille, Sam, and I start running as fast as we can to the Endervelts' house. All I can think about is how brave my cousin was when he talked to me about leaving home. “My parents begged me to stay,” he explained after I followed him into the thicket of trees just off the road. “But I knew it was for the best. And in the end they agreed with me: a creature should live with others of its kind.”

“Sure thing,” I agreed. I didn't want to tell Stanley that, except for Craig Dieterly and Amy Armstrong and a few other assorted creeps, I felt perfectly content living among humans. I didn't want him having second thoughts or anything. And he seemed to be so happy living in his creature-filled world. It actually did seem pretty cool.

“It's so great living under the lake,” he said. “I have millions of friends who look just like me. And we go on all these amazing adventures in these hidden underwater prehistoric caverns together.”

I can't even imagine how it must feel not to be the only green scaly giant around. Not that I would ever want to leave my two-legged family and friends. But still . . . it does make you wonder.

“Come on,” Sam complains, shaking me out of my reverie. “I took the pledge and I want to know everything.” He slows down to catch his breath. Lucille gives him a gentle nudge and he picks up the pace. “What's the creature's mission?” he pants.

“Here's the deal,” I begin. “Stanley has been sent here to save his people from extinction from a deadly virus. The antidote is hidden somewhere in Decatur. He must find it and return home, or else . . .”

“Or else what, Charlie?” Lucille asks.

“All the mutant dinosaurs under Crater Lake will die a terrible death.”

“That would be awful!” Sam says. We turn the corner at Maple and Euclid. We're almost at his house.

“It sure would,” I answer. “And here's why it's
so
unbelievably important to keep his visit a secret.” I lower my voice. “Stanley told me Aunt Harriet doesn't want anybody to know about it, but she has a really weak heart. And if she ever found out that he was up here, and what he was doing? She would probably have an attack or something.”

“Wow,” Lucille says, clearly impressed. “He must really trust you, Charlie.”

“I'm one of his kind, guys. He knows he can count on me. He says that's why he sought me out: he knew I would never let him down.”

“This is so exciting I can hardly stand it!” Lucille shrieks. “It makes
Forbidden Planet
look like
Sesame Street
.”

“This is our best friend's relative we're dealing with here, Lucille,” Sam explains. “It's not a movie or a TV show. We have a life-or-death situation on our hands. Get a grip.”

“You're right,” Lucille says softly. “I'm awfully sorry.”

“Where is Stanley now, Charlie?” Sam asks.

“He's off looking for the antidote. He wouldn't tell me where. He can't tell anybody. I promised to bring him breakfast first thing in the morning, before school. And he promised he wouldn't go around stealing food anymore. And getting me into trouble.”

We turn onto the Endervelts' block.

“Uh-oh, look who's here.” Sam points to my mom's beat-up red pickup truck. It sits smack in the middle of Sam's driveway.

We are so busted it isn't even funny.

My mom storms out of Sam's house, followed by Sam's two unhappy-looking parents. “Let's go, Charles.” Mom must be really mad. She never calls me Charles.

She yanks down the tailgate in the back of the truck and I crawl in. “I've been scared to death. Where on earth have you been, Charlie?”

“I can explain,” I begin.

“I certainly hope so,” my mom says through clenched teeth. She hops into the front seat next to my dad. My father just sits there staring silently out the window. My parents don't say another word to me until we're home.

One we're settled in the kitchen, my mom really lays into me. “First of all, we know you weren't working on your English project because we called Mrs. Adams.”

I sit at the kitchen table, staring at the floor, while my mom stands at the counter, making her famous high-fiber blueberry muffins. My dad stands next to her, helping stir the batter and looking really serious. “She says you handed in your project days ago.”

“What? You talked to Mrs. Adams?” I practically shriek. “That is so embarrassing. Nobody's parents
ever
call their teachers.”

“I'm really sorry, honey, but when I got to Sam's, you weren't there. Mrs. Endervelt said you told her you were at Lucille's house working on your English project. So I immediately called Naomi Strang, and when she told me you were at
Sam's
house working on your English project, we didn't know
what
to do.” Mom pours the batter into a greased muffin tin.

My mom and Lucille's mom talk to each other ten zillion times a day. If a fly buzzes in Naomi Strang's kitchen, my mom hears about it two nanoseconds later.

“I don't understand what's going on, honey. We're worried about you. Is there something you want to tell us?” Mom asks, sticking the muffins into the oven. “Whatever's on your mind, just
say
it.”

“You will never be punished for telling us the truth,” my dad says. “I hope you know that, Charlie.”

If only I could tell my parents. But I can't. The lives of thousands of creatures depend on it.

“I can't tell you,” I finally say.

“Why?” My poor dad looks so confused.

“Because I made a promise that I wouldn't. I feel terrible, but you don't want me to go around breaking promises, do you guys?”

Mom thinks for a while before she answers. “I guess not. But we don't want you to go around keeping secrets from us, either.”

“I don't know what else to do. It's nothing bad. I swear. I'll tell you when I can. You'll understand, I guarantee. Are you still mad at me?”

Mom shakes her head. “Your father and I aren't angry. Just disappointed.”

• • •

Much later that night, after I've finished my homework and gone to bed, Dave finally tiptoes into our room. He was helping his favorite girlfriend, Janie, with her trig homework.

I'm still awake because I can't stop thinking about how cousin Stanley is on a death-defying mission to save the mutant dinosaurs of Crater Lake from extinction, and I can't even get it together to learn how to swim. “Hi, Dave,” I say quietly. “I'm up.”

“I noticed.” My brother looks at me and scratches his head. “What's up?”

“I've got a lot on my mind.”

He comes over and sits on the edge of my bed. “What is it, little bro?”

“I'm in trouble with Mom because I lied to her.”

Dave reaches over and turns on my night light. “What did you lie about?”

“I told her I was going over to Sam's to study tonight. Only that's not what I was doing.”

“What
were
you doing, Charlie?”

“Can't say.”

“How come?”

“Promised I wouldn't.”

“Who'd you promise?”

“Can't say.”

I would love to tell Dave all about Stanley and his amazing quest, but my brother is the world's worst secret-keeper. He can't even keep what he's giving you for your birthday to himself. He doesn't mean to ruin surprises. It's just not in his nature to hide anything from anybody.

“I see your problem.”

“I just feel so yucky when I lie, Dave. Especially to our parents.”

“Lying is never a good thing, little bro. But I'm sure you had a perfectly good reason. And it's not like you were doing anything wild or crazy. . . . You weren't, right?”

“I don't do wild and crazy things, Dave. You know that. I'm just this incredibly boring mutant dinosaur who can't get anything right. I'm amphibious and I don't even know how to swim.” I turn over on my side and stare glumly at the wall. “I'm such a loser.”

“You keep telling yourself you're a loser, and pretty soon you'll convince yourself you really are one. And then you know what? You'll really
be
one, Charlie. And that would be a shame, you know?”

“Yeah. Right. Because I'm so terrific and amazing.”

“No,” Dave warns. “Because positive thoughts can build mountains and doubts can quickly tear them down.”

Dave is always saying stuff like this to me. He says it's empowering. Basically it gives me a headache. He gets a lot of his material from
The Karate Kid.
He tried to make me watch it when I was nine. I fell asleep after the first three nanoseconds. It's his favorite movie. It's all about this kid who learns karate from a Zen master named Mr. Miyagi who goes around saying stuff like “Hope flies in on wings of despair” and “Inner peace will slay your outer dragon,” and other expressions that I totally do not comprehend.

Dave hung the poster for the movie over his bed for inspiration. Sometimes he even talks to it before he goes to sleep. I myself prefer the original lobby card from George A. Romero's
Night of the Living Dead
starring Duane Jones and Judith O'Dea, which hangs over
my
bed. I never talk to it. I'm afraid it might say something back to me and I would jump out of my scaly green skin.

Dave reaches up and puts his arm around my slimy shoulders. “You're smart, you're funny, you're kind, you're unique. And I'm getting pretty tired of sitting around and listening to you telling yourself what you can't do. Start telling yourself what you
can
do for a change.”

“Thanks for the advice, Dave. It's . . . uh . . . it's very helpful.” I do not feel one iota better. But I can't tell Dave that, or he'll never stop talking. I yawn an enormous, fang-filled, seaweed-smelling yawn and stretch my stumpy arms.

“Great!” My brother reaches over and carefully pats the top of my cranial ridge. “'Night, little bro.”