The Lost Causes of Bleak Creek Read online

  “And so,” Pastor Mitchell went on, his voice shifting into a conclusive decrescendo, “we are so blessed to be here together, First Baptist and Second Baptist joined as one, as we consume this delectable bit of sustenance together. In Jesus’ name…”

  There it was. Go time.

  Rex’s hand was already in the air when Pastor Jingle, clearly desperate to get the last word, began to speak some more. “Yes, in Jesus’ name, we now bless our food. And the Lord hears us. And He likes what He hears.” Seriously? How many blessings were there going to be?

  Rex yanked his hand down, but it was too late. Leif had released Tucker’s collar, and Alicia was already sprinting and screaming. Rex wanted to explain his mistake to the crowd, but he had no choice but to keep filming. Sure, the three of them would probably get in more trouble than they’d anticipated—that was very clear when he panned over to the dozens of confused, angry faces staring at Alicia (perfect reaction shot)—but really, there was something even more authentic now: Tucker’s powerful barks forcing the pastor to stop speaking.

  “Somebody help!” Alicia shouted. “My dog is a ghost!” Her voice pitched higher on the last word, and it was gold. She’d completely nailed it. But Rex’s triumph turned to concern when he saw that Tucker’s performance was almost too convincing, his pursuit of the bacon tail transforming him into a seemingly rabid dog, inciting what looked like genuine terror in Alicia. Rex instinctively took his eye off the lens and saw Leif, already in a full sprint to retrieve his dog, his panicked face whiter than Tucker’s fake tail.

  “Now, what is this all about?” Pastor Jingle said into the microphone.

  “You got some nerve, interruptin’ the pastors!” a man with a goatee in a Garth Brooks T-shirt shouted at them, which inspired similar reprimands from others.

  It was an accident! Rex wanted to shout, but he didn’t want to taint the incredible take he was getting. He put his eye back on the lens in time to see Alicia zigging and zagging away from Tucker, whose age of eighty-four dog years was the only thing keeping him from closing the distance to Alicia and chomping the bacon lure. Rex figured he’d give it another few seconds before stepping in.

  Leif wasn’t on the same page. “Tucker!” he shouted. “Tucker, sit!” The collie, laser-focused on the prize, did not slow down. Then, Leif, apparently sensing the limits of human language, began making wild movements and animalistic sounds to get Tucker’s attention, which only kind of worked. He had, however, in an impressive display of newfound post-pubescent speed, caught up with Tucker. Left with no other options, Leif awkwardly tackled his canine companion, who let out a startled yip. Alicia looked back midsprint, which is why she didn’t notice that all her zigging and zagging had put her on a collision course with Wayne Whitewood, who was standing next to the open grill, ready to serve some pig plates.

  “Watch out!” Rex shouted, for some reason still looking through the camera.

  It was too late, though. Wayne Whitewood tried to sidestep the curly-haired hellion heading his way, but upon hearing Rex’s warning, so did Alicia. She plowed directly into Whitewood, sending him reeling sideways, his sweat-covered torso landing on the cooked pig. He caught himself on the still-hot metal bars of the grill, searing his bare hands with a sickening hiss.

  Whitewood let out an uncharacteristic shriek followed by a long, guttural moan. The crowd, stunned into silence, could have heard the faint sizzle of melted pig fat falling onto the hot coals if it weren’t for Whitewood’s oscillating between gasping and groaning, now coupled with Alicia’s repeated apologies.

  “I’m so sorry, Mr. Whitewood! So, so, sorry!” Alicia cried.

  Whitewood continued to breathe heavily, trying to gather himself. A crowd of about a dozen people, including Sheriff Lawson, had sprung into action and now clustered around the wounded man. Leggett Shackelford—a tall, wide man who, as the owner of the only other funeral home in town, was also Rex’s dad’s arch nemesis—put an arm on Whitewood’s shoulder, then turned to Alicia.

  “You, young lady, are out of control!” he yelled, his oversized mustache jumping up and down.

  “What possessed you to do such a thing?” demanded Mary Hattaway, who had also come to Whitewood’s aid.

  Rex was incredibly grateful that he was still filming, but the gravity of what was happening to Alicia quickly overshadowed his enthusiasm for PolterDog. This wasn’t good. It was an accident, sure, but Rex knew that wouldn’t make a difference to everyone who’d witnessed it.

  The crowd began to escort Whitewood to his nearby Ford Super Duty truck, perching him on the tailgate, where he held his red, blistered hands. Rex turned off his camera and ran to Leif and Alicia, who both looked shell-shocked. “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “I didn’t mean to do it,” Alicia said.

  “I’m sorry,” Leif said, staring at the ground. “I underestimated Tucker’s…enthusiasm.”

  “Just tell me you got the shot,” Alicia said to Rex.

  “Oh yeah. I got it. It was awesome. You were aw—”

  “What in the world were you doin’?” Rex’s mom asked as she rushed over to them. She was as angry as he’d seen her in a long time. “Interruptin’ grace like that…have you lost your mind? And Mr. Whitewood is hurt!” She spun to Alicia. “Are your parents here?”

  Alicia looked every bit as terrified as she’d been while Tucker was chasing her. “No, ma’am.”

  “Well, I’m gonna call them as soon as I get home,” Martha threatened. She then headed toward Whitewood to survey the damage her son and his friends were responsible for.

  Sirens cut through the air as both Bleak Creek ambulances pulled up to the sawhorses blocking Main Street. EMTs hopped out of the back and started rushing toward Whitewood.

  “I think I might be in a lot of trouble,” Alicia said.

  Whitewood was quickly wheeled into one of the ambulances, conscious and alert and waving to the crowd.

  “Nah, he looks totally fine,” Rex said. “You have nothing to worry about.”

  “Yeah,” Alicia said, but she didn’t sound convinced.

  Rex wasn’t convinced either.

  2

  “WELL, BOYS,” STEVE McClendon began, “I think we all know why you’re here.”

  Leif and Rex sat in two formal high-backed chairs in the McClendon living room. Rex’s parents, along with Leif’s mom, Bonnie, were lined up across from them on an antique wood-trimmed couch. Leif figured that the impending discussion would not be pleasant, as he’d only seen Rex’s mother let two types of people sit in her living room: out-of-town guests she was desperately trying to impress, and children she was desperately trying to discipline.

  “Yes, sir,” Rex replied, which Leif quickly repeated.

  Even though Alicia had been the one who’d leveled Wayne Whitewood, she wasn’t present. As usual, Rex’s parents had decided to treat the two boys as a unit, something Leif’s mom had passively accepted years ago. Leif had grown used to receiving whatever punishment Rex did, and he didn’t mind; enduring the same sanctions as his best friend somehow made them closer.

  “What you two did,” Rex’s dad continued. “It was just so…disrespectful.” There it was. The worst offense a Bleak Creek youth could commit: failing to show proper reverence for the institutions the town held so dear. And, in a sick twist of fate, because their stunt had rudely interrupted a prayer during a pig pickin’, they had simultaneously dishonored the town’s most sacred deities, God and pork. Double whammy.

  “I thought we raised you better than that,” Rex’s mom said, looking over to Leif’s mom, who put down one of the at-least-five-year-old Andes mints she’d picked up from the porcelain bowl on the coffee table. She nodded in an effort to lay on the collective condemnation.

  “You did, Mom,” Rex offered. “It was really stupid. And I can promise you that it won’t ever happen again.” L
eif signaled his agreement by assuming the most contrite posture he could, pressing his knees together and drawing his elbows to his sides.

  “Well, it won’t happen again because I’m takin’ my camera back. Your dog movie is over,” Rex’s dad said.

  Rex and Leif exchanged a look like they’d both been punched in the stomach.

  “No, Dad, please!” Rex pleaded. “We’re almost done with it!”

  “I was never comfortable with you makin’ a movie about a ghost in the first place,” Rex’s mom said. “There’s no such thing as ghosts. The Bible says ‘absent from the body, present with the Lord.’ That stuff is demonic!”

  “It’s just a movie, Mom. Please, please, please…don’t take the camera! We’ve been working on this all summer.” Leif thought Rex was going to cry, and figured it might help the cause.

  “No, son. I’m sorry. You can finish it later,” Rex’s dad insisted. “Because, you know, your mother’s right,” he added, looking to his wife. “You’re starting high school. This is no time to be messin’ around with…demon stuff.” Leif doubted that Rex’s dad really thought PolterDog was Satanic, but figured he wanted to present a united parental front. “If you start behaving—not to mention begin puttin’ some of that movie energy into gettin’ yourself in shape for basketball tryouts—then maybe you can use the camera next year.”

  Leif looked to Rex, who sat quiet, resigned that arguing further would only make things worse.

  “And…we think you should take a break from spending time with Alicia,” Rex’s mom added.

  “What? No!” Leif had planned to stick to nonverbal communication, but he couldn’t help himself. “It wasn’t even her fault! We’re the ones who made her run into Mr. Whitewood!”

  “It doesn’t matter whose fault it is,” Leif’s mom said, breaking her similar practice of letting the McClendons do the talking. “Between hitting Mr. Whitewood and that…mannequin situation, she’s getting a bad reputation.”

  “That’s right,” Rex’s dad said. “And you two are too. Would hate to have to bring the Whitewood School into this, but…”

  Leif found himself short of breath. In all previous disciplinary episodes in this room, the McClendons had never mentioned the possibility of Wayne Whitewood’s reform school. This was new. And terrifying.

  Leif tried to steady his shaky knees as Rex began to speak again.

  “Mom, Dad, Mrs. Nelson,” he said, making eye contact with each adult as he addressed them. “We know what we did was wrong, and we feel horrible about it. We’ll do whatever it takes to regain your trust. Even if that means not finishing PolterDog and never talking to Alicia again.”

  Leif nodded accordingly, though he was relatively certain his best friend was being strategic rather than sincere.

  * * *

  —

  LEIF PEDALED IN the dark, his mind racing even faster than his bike. He’d convinced himself that Alicia running into Mr. Whitewood—and him no longer being allowed to be her friend—was all his fault. It didn’t matter that Rex had given the signal too early. He had been the one to suggest the bacon belt. And he had been the one who had tackled Tucker, causing Alicia to turn her head at the worst moment. He kept running through the scene, each time hearing the humiliating moans of the usually composed Wayne Whitewood. What an absolute nightmare.

  He’d also correctly guessed that Rex had never intended to keep his promise to his parents. Later that night, Rex had found the camcorder exactly where he knew his dad would hide it: the not-actually-secret secret cabinet in the garage. Rex had then done his Rex thing, telling Leif about the amazing destiny that awaited them if they could just finish the film.

  “First, we win the Durham festival,” he’d said, standing on the back deck overlooking the woods behind his house, his arms moving in sweeping motions, like he was materializing the future right in front of them. “Then we get into a big one. Maybe even Sundance. Then we get distribution. Next thing you know, we’re getting coffee with Robert Zemeckis. Coffee with Zemeckis! Are you telling me you want to say no to that?” He was extremely convincing. Coffee with Zemeckis felt so possible. Plus, Leif had learned that once Rex set his sights on something, trying to dissuade him was futile.

  That was why he now found himself barreling down the middle of Main Street after midnight, on his way to meet up with Rex and Alicia to film one of the last remaining scenes of PolterDog.

  However, of the two restrictions they’d been given by their parents, not hanging out with Alicia was far more concerning to Leif than not finishing their movie. And this wasn’t just because he was worried about the demise of their tight friend group. No. Lately he’d been thinking about Alicia in a very different way.

  It had started during their first day of shooting PolterDog. Alicia and Tucker were cavorting in a field for an early scene meant to establish Jessica and Mr. Bones’s easy, playful rapport before Mr. Bones bit it. Alicia wasn’t an animal lover, but she was a great actor. As Leif watched her dote on Tucker for the first time in her life, burying her face in his shaggy neck on the same soccer field where Leif had made minor contributions to at least two rec league victories, a strange half-formed image sprang into his head: grown-up versions of him and Alicia sitting by a fireplace, Tucker sprawled in Alicia’s lap as Leif worked on a crossword puzzle, mug of coffee by his side.

  “Are the kids asleep?” Leif had imagined himself asking.

  “I think so,” grown-up Alicia had responded.

  “But you’re not entirely sure?” grown-up Leif had asked.

  “No, no, I’m mostly sure.”

  This strange daydream about grown-up Alicia’s uncertainty regarding their unborn children’s consciousness was interrupted by real Rex asking real Leif if he thought that last take had enough face-licking.

  “Uh, yeah. That’s plenty,” Leif had said with a false confidence.

  He had tried to put these thoughts about Alicia out of his head, but that only seemed to intensify them. His distant-future visions had been replaced with present-day fantasies: the two of them tandem-biking through the woods, feeding each other popcorn at the Twin Plaza, eating a fancy dinner at TGI Friday’s. And making out. A lot. Complete with serious, mouth-exploratory tongue action.

  After a week of this, Leif had admitted to himself (and to his diary that he called a journal): I, Leif Nelson, have a crush on Alicia Boykins. Though it felt good to acknowledge, he knew he wasn’t going to do anything about it. Yes, she was smart and funny and fearless and trustworthy and so pretty that he had no idea why he hadn’t fully registered it before, but she was also part of his best-friend triangle, or, as Alicia had coined them, the Triumvirate. He instinctively knew no good could come of it, so he’d made a vow to himself (and to his diary) that he would tell absolutely no one. Not even Rex.

  As an unspoken corollary of this vow, Leif had made sure nothing in his behavior gave even the slightest hint of his crush. At times, he’d swung too far in the other direction, harping endlessly on Alicia’s minimal flaws (such as her inability to be punctual), seeming like he actually despised her. But he preferred that to revealing the truth, which would surely alter their trio’s dynamic forever. Besides, the odds seemed good that Alicia didn’t feel the same way, so what was the point of baring his soul for no reason?

  Or, at least, that had been Leif’s philosophy.

  Until he’d been forbidden to see her.

  Before the incident with Whitewood had screwed everything up, he’d convinced himself that he could carry his hidden crush around with him while still enjoying her presence, savoring the moments when she playfully put him in a full nelson, her hair brushing up against the back of his neck. He could live with that. But the thought of only being able to see her in secret as they filmed the last few scenes of PolterDog filled him with an electric desperation, like he had to communicate his feelings now.

&n
bsp; Adding to the sense of urgency, Alicia had not only agreed to finish the movie, but insisted they shoot tonight. Maybe she felt the same connection between the two of them after all.

  “Really?” Rex and Leif had said simultaneously, their heads pressed together to the earpiece of the phone at Rex’s house earlier that evening, while both the McClendons and the Boykinses attended a back-to-school PTA meeting at Bleak Creek High.

  “Yeah, really,” Alicia had said. “We’ve got three weeks. Just a few more scenes and then the edit. We’re cutting it close either way.”

  “We don’t want to get you in even more trouble,” Leif said.

  “You don’t get me in trouble, Leif,” Alicia responded, grinning through the phone. “I get myself in trouble. And anyway, my parents and I had a talk, and they actually seem pretty okay about what happened. They know I didn’t run into Mr. Whitewood on purpose. Plus, the idea of having some kind of secret friendship sounds pretty sweet. Like we’re a secret society or something.”

  Leif couldn’t help but smile. “Okay,” he said.

  “Yeah,” Rex agreed. “Let’s finish this thing. Meet you at your place at quarter past midnight.”

  “Word,” Alicia said. “See ya.”

  In just a few short hours, Leif might be embarking on a clandestine romance with the girl of his dreams. A real Romeo and Juliet situation. He tried to convince himself that he didn’t care about the outcome, though of course he was hoping Alicia might want to be his girlfriend and that Rex would be supportive. Crazier things had happened.

  * * *

  —

  LEIF BROUGHT HIS bike to a stop a couple houses down from Alicia’s (the appointed meeting spot with Rex, a dark patch in between streetlights) and waited. As he scanned the house in front of him—which belonged to a new family that had recently moved to town from Nebraska, a place that seemed so foreign as to be exotic—Leif flinched at the sight of a pair of eyes staring at him from only a few feet away. Is that Rex waiting to do one of his classic jump scares? he thought. Or are these Nebraskans actually insomniacs who walk the streets at night? But as his eyes adjusted, he saw it: a raccoon perched atop the Nebraskans’ trash can. Leif let out a loud hiss, and the raccoon, seeming to understand it as the universal sound for “Get the hell out of here,” darted away into the night.