Sink or Swim by Bob Balaban Page B

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.”
    â€œWe have to go to Lucille’s house to work on our English project, Mom. We forgot we left our notes there.”
    â€œThat’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.
    â€œHelp 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.
    â€œThanks, Mrs. Endervelt!” I call, and we quickly raid the fridge
    â€œLet’s get out of here,” Lucille whispers. We dump our creature bait into a plastic bag and head for the door.
    â€œDon’t work too hard, kids,” Mrs. Endervelt calls.
    â€œDon’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.
    â€œTonight 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.”
    â€œMust you say every single terrifying thought that enters your brain, Sam Endervelt?” Lucille sighs.
    â€œQuiet. 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.”
    â€œWhat do we do now?” Sam asks nervously.
    â€œWe keep it interested.” I take a hunk of salmon from my book bag and start shredding it into bite-sized pieces with my claws.
    â€œWhatever 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.
    â€œThat’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.”
    â€œTake your time, pal,” Sam warns. “We don’t want you and Mr. Creature arriving before we’re ready for our guest.”
    â€œGet going,” I urge. “Before it’s too late!”
    â€œAre you sure you’ll be okay by yourself, Charlie?” Lucille hesitates.
    â€œSure 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