“Sorry.” Gertie shrugged. “If I’m going to be the first journalist elected president, I need this paper to run smoothly.” She turned to leave.
“They’re cutting down the entire forest between the factory and Black Hole Lake,” said Lucy. “Did you know that?”
“That land is a habitat for endangered marmots.” Gertie’s eyes widened with fury.
“Fisher doesn’t give two honks about marmots,” said Lucy. “If you let me chase this up, I can expose him for the tree-munching monster he is.”
“All right, Sladan. You’ve got your story.” She held out a firm hand, which Lucy shook. Gertie cringed. “You touched the wall, didn’t you?”
“One more thing,” said Lucy, “I won’t be at the club meetings after school.”
Gertie frowned.
“I’ll need that time to investigate, see?”
“Fine. Just don’t get the paper into any trouble.”
“Trouble?” Lucy slung her backpack over her shoulder and headed for the exit. “I don’t know the meaning of the word.”
“Then get a thesaurus,” Gertie called after her.
“If we hurry –” Tex hustled up the stairs after Lucy – “we can still catch Hot Dog Monday.”
“I’m not really in the mood for hot dogs,” she replied.
They flung open the door to the main hall and almost tripped over a sullen eighth-grader sprawled out on the floor. It was Milo Fisher.
“Watch where you’re going, Fishcake!” snarled an enormous seventh-grader towering menacingly over him.
“Are you okay, Fish?” Lucy knelt down.
“He bumped into me,” said Milo, looking bewildered. He was holding the art room’s bathroom pass: a full-sized toilet seat, spray-painted gold. The art teacher thought it was the height of humour.
“What the plop, Lars?” Tex puffed up his chest and faced the bully. “Milo Fisher is half your size.”
“Everyone is half my size, pipsqueak,” spat Lars. He sauntered off in the direction of the school gymnasium.
“Eat a snack, man,” Tex yelled. “You are grumpy!”
Lucy helped Milo to his feet.
“What was that about?” he muttered.
Lucy furrowed her brow. “Well, Lars’s mom works at Nu Co.…”
“What’s that got to do with me?” said Milo.
“Uh, nothing.” Lucy noted a pair of dark circles under his eyes. “Did you get any sleep last night?”
“Huh? How did you—” Milo faltered as somebody’s overstuffed backpack collided with his shoulder. “I mean, well, there’s this … Thing.” He seemed to be having trouble finding his words.
It’s like he really wants to tell me something but he’s afraid to say it. “What is it?” said Lucy. “You look like a roadkill raccoon. What’s going on with you?”
A group of soccer players led by that schnoodle Joey Peluso passed by, sniggering.
Milo stared at the floor. “I need to get back to class,” he said. “Excuse me.” He marched off down the hall.
Tex clucked his tongue. “Do you ever consider, Lucille, simply letting someone talk instead of interrogating them?”
“Something is really bothering him.”
“And now we will never know what it is.”
Lucy kicked the nearest locker. So much for my investigative skills. She led the way towards the cafeteria, visions of Milo’s red kayak dancing through her head.
The Reel Deal
Eyes half open, Milo paddled his kayak across the mist-shrouded lake through a predawn drizzle of rain. He’d arisen extra early this morning, and for once, he was completely alone. Perfect.
He’d been sleeping fitfully lately, plagued by dreams of endless dark waters with unseen monsters lurking below. Not helping was the sudden wave of cold shoulders and bullying he’d experienced at school; his fingers had been “accidentally” slammed in a locker, a group of kids simultaneously “finished eating” when he sat down to join them at lunch, and, of course, that Neanderthal Lars had pushed him down so hard his knees were still scabby. To top it all off Milo hadn’t seen his father for five days in a row, which had to be some sort of record.
“PHEW-EEEE-OOO,” he whistled, announcing his presence to whatever was out there. “Time to go fishing.”
He unzipped his pack and pulled out a large bag of fat, juicy gummy worms from Mandy’s Candies.
Over the past week, Milo had attempted to lure the creature with a variety of supermarket candy with no success. He eventually concluded that Steve must have been on to something, and that he’d have more success with Mandy’s handmade confections. After all, everyone in town knew they were the best for miles around.
The day before, Milo had walked into Mandy’s Candies wary of the fact that his father’s alternative sweetener had previously turned the store’s owner into a many-legged beast bent on destroying the Nu Co. factory. To Milo’s relief, Mr Millepoids had greeted him with cool professionalism. Rather apologetically, Milo had bought some of everything the store had to offer, then, for good measure, tucked a twenty-dollar bill in the tip jar on the counter when he’d left.
The crinkling of the bag echoed across the lake as Milo emptied the candy into a netted pouch he’d secured to the end of a long rope. Closing the drawstring, he swung the bag over his head like a lasso, then released. The pouch flew through the air and landed with a PLURP.
Now, we wait. Milo took out his camera. His plan was to lure the creature close enough to capture a picture. Come on, you preposterous beastie, get your breakfast. There was a splash. Milo spun round so fast he felt whiplash in his neck.
QUACK.
An odd-looking duck with black-and-white plumage and bright orange eyes floated behind him. False alarm. The exotic bird swam over and pecked the side of his kayak.
“This candy isn’t for you.” Milo splashed the duck with his paddle until it ruffled its feathers and flew away.
Settling back into the boat, Milo’s eyes glazed over as the dark clouds above turned orange, then pink. He yanked the rope a few times to make the pouch of gummy worms seem more enticing. Just as he was about to nod off, he felt a tug on the rope. Something was nibbling on the gummies.
Now wide
