There Will Be Bears (18 page)

Karen slings her arm across my shoulder and then, just as the song finishes, something soft touches the corner of my lips. I don’t even know what just happened until a moment later when I look at her. Her eyes are so bright they seem to be smiling. And then it hits me — I just got my first kiss.

What is it like to fall in love? I don’t know, but whatever this is, it’s pretty neat.

So I’m thirteen, I just got kissed, and a grizzly bear practically mauled me, but I still don’t feel like a man.

Six o’clock is fast approaching. Bright and I need to get to my home ASAP. So we race our bikes back, and I beat him by a solid fifteen seconds.

He sits across from me at the kitchen table, huffing as he reads the label on the jug in front of him, an awesome hint of fear in his voice: “Country Orchard Prune Juice.”

My fingers are rapping against the side of my jug and I’m staring at the bird clock above the sink.

“Don’t back out now,” I say, because the look on his face says it all. “This is how you will pay for your crimes.”

“But why would anyone do this?”

“You can thank me later.”

So in fifty-four seconds, it will be six o’clock.

Tick
.

In fifty-three seconds, the Canada goose will honk.

Tick
.

In fifty-two seconds, Bright and I will each be chugging a liter of prune juice to completion. Who will get to the bathroom first? Who will lock the door on the other?

This is a done deal.

The Canada goose honks, and I chug my liter down without even flinching. I slam my empty jug on the table, burp, and check the clock. It only took me thirty seconds. Bright, on the other hand, is gagging and forcing down his just deserts. He gives up about halfway through.

“I don’t know how on earth you do that,” he says, making a face. “So now what?”

“Now we watch
Wheel of Fortune
.”

We go into the living room and he sits on the sofa, and I explain to him what’s about to happen. There will be some sweating, a little bit of crying, and a lot of toilet paper.

I take a seat in Gramps’s reclining chair and turn on
Wheel of Fortune
.

Bright doesn’t say much for the next hour. I can feel his fear. He’s barely paying any attention to
Wheel of Fortune
or
Jeopardy!
Doesn’t he know that the whole point of pruning is to sit back and relax?

So we both eye the clock again, waiting for the final-Jeopardy question.

The category is: The Revolutionary War.

The answer is:
On April 18, 1775, Paul Revere warned his countrymen that the British were coming, prompting this battle, the very first in the American Revolutionary War
.

Before they even begin to play the final-Jeopardy music, I shout out, “What is the Battle of Lexington and Concord? Yeah, I win! The Americans defeat the British yet again.”

“I really have to go,” Bright says. He’s clenching every muscle in his body.

“Patience,” I say.

When seven o’clock comes around, Bright and I both jump up and race to the bathroom. I stiff-arm him, holding him back as I close the door and turn the lock.

There we go.
Now
I feel like a man.

Bright is pounding on the door.

“Come on, Tyson!”

“Why don’t you stop by Mr. Privett’s place? I’m sure he won’t mind.”

“How long are you going to be in there?”

“Dude. We have a new issue of
Better Homes and Gardens
in here. It’s going to be a while.”

I hear him run away. I already know that after this he’s going to be a changed man. Maybe we won’t be ten years old again, but that’s okay. I can still find newer and better ways to have fun with him. Even if it’s at his expense.

I’ve learned something. Something I’ll tell my kids, and my kids will pass on to their kids — revenge is a dish best served with prunes.

roar.

Thanks to my agent, John M. Cusick, for believing in and loving this story as much as I do; my agent’s agent, Scott Treimel; Brendan Rien and Mike Henry, for the ridiculous Wyoming adventure that helped inspire this story; and my beta readers: Sage Collins, Helen Sedwick, and Michael Ware. A special shout-out to Rae Mariz for reading all my manuscripts (good, bad, atrocious) and never being afraid to throw some much appreciated punches in my direction. Thanks to the Musers, for always being a source of encouragement, motivation, and GIFs. And of course, my editor, Joan Powers, and the team at Candlewick Press for taking a chance on me and my little story.

Here’s hoping that this book will score me a date with Taylor Swift. Just throwing that out there. . . .