She also happened to be the principle at Elk Grove High, which is why I was currently sat before her in her office, listening as she rattled off all the many (and might I add, perfectly legitimate) reasons why I should be grateful I wasn’t being suspended.
I guess that’s going to take some unpacking. Here goes.
Over the past year or so, I had managed to miss out on an awful lot of school—some days of which were even for valid reasons. The majority of these times I’d actually been off adventuring with Dex (that’s what we do, by the way, “adventures”), and while I couldn’t say I regretted it, per se, I was starting to think now ditching school to careen around the galaxy solving mysteries and looting for treasure may not be such a great idea, after all.
‘Well?’ Miss Carnegie was staring at me.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Did you hear what I just said?’
I didn’t know how to answer that in any believable way, so I just smiled instead. Chicks love a nice smile.
‘Good. Because if I have to call you in here on account of you being absent again, you will be suspended. Do you understand?’
She continued on like this for another five minutes or so, before finally relieving me—but not before taking a moment to once again reiterate what would happen should I miss any more school.
I returned to my locker like a defeated man, shoes dragging, shoulders slouched, where I then began the slow and somewhat-arduous process of loading textbooks into my backpack. I should mention my locker isn’t like other lockers—and not just in the way that it holds more than its fair share of what could be classified “exotic paraphernalia”. And when I say “exotic”, you can bet I’m not talking about the far east.
During the many adventures Dex and I had found ourselves wrapped up in lately (sometimes of our own volition, many times not), I’d somehow come into the possession of an impressive array of strange and unusual objects—some that, truth be told, weren’t even all that dangerous. There was that tooth shard from that dragon-type creature we’d fought on Xenax that one time. A petri dish sample of the fungus Dex had collected during our time in the swamps of Kishtar. This last had been Dex’s idea, having decided on a whim the thing was sentient, and that it was trying to communicate with him (I should mention he was also very drunk at the time, so whether it was actually sentient or not, I’ll leave that to you to decide). Then of course there was my old friend, the Subatomic Discombobulator, which, were it to be summed in its simplest form, was pretty much just a gun that liquefied people. Yeah—tell me about it. Looked pretty cool, though.
The other thing that was different about my locker was the word now scrawled across the door, written in what looked like red marker—a word I won’t repeat here, just in case there are any children around. Let’s just say while my immediate bully threat had been substantially reduced in recent months, there was still the odd individual skulking around who was perfectly willing to make my life hell—not that this should be surprising, of course, as I am not what you might call a popular kid. But it was still very unfortunate.
Right here you’re probably wondering why it is I choose to keep these things in my locker, and not somewhere more secure—like a safe, for example, or Fort Knox. And that’s a great question. But really, ask yourself: would you want these things in a box under your bed? Would you?
I was still loading textbooks into my backpack when there was a blinding flash from in front of me, and then all of a sudden there was Dex’s bouffant head, jutting out from inside my locker and looking very, very drunk.
I recoiled backward like a startled cat, arms flailing everywhere. God, I hated Mondays. ‘What—Jesus, Dex!’ I snuck a quick glance around, just in case anybody was watching. ‘Why are you—?!’
‘Stow the dramatics, Bif. We got a job.’
‘A job?’
‘That’s right. Some real perilous gig, if what the client told me is true. Fraught with danger and adventure, et cetera. Should be fun. Now go put on your big-boy pants. It’s go time.’
‘I can’t go on an adventure right now, Dex. Miss Carnegie says I’ll get suspended if I miss any more school.’
‘So? School-shmool—and besides, I never went to school, and look how I turned out.’
Yeah, that’s kind of what I’m afraid of…
‘You don’t need school, Bif,’ he went on. ‘School is for losers and nerds. And losers who are also nerds. Now come on. The client’s waiting.’
Did I want to go with him, you ask? Sure. While I may just have been some dumb kid from the ass-end of nowhere, that didn’t mean I couldn’t appreciate a good adventure. A boy has needs, after all. But if I went off adventuring with Dex, Miss Carnegie would find out I’d ditched school again. And then I’d be suspended—or even worse, expelled. Did I really want to find out what Expelled Bif looked like? Heck, my future prospects were already limited as it was; the “curse of the small town”, and so on. Did I really want to tempt fate?
I let out a long sigh. ‘Sorry, Dex. Not this time.’
He opened his mouth—no doubt to protest some more—but I shut the door in his face.
Now, I’d like to tell you this is where it ended, that I shut the locker and went back to class, sans-incident. But of course, this being Dex we’re talking about, I was instead forced for the remainder of the day to endure what could only be classified as more pitiful attempts by Dex to get me to ditch school in order to go on an adventure with him. I could go into more detail on this, but the abbreviated version can be summarized as:
Dex appearing to me outside my classroom window, signaling me in what I think was meant to be sign language while riding atop a Space Hopper.
Dex commandeering the school’s tannoy system to loudly declare to all my classmates how I had a suspected case of what he called “malignant baby-dick”, and that I had to go to the nurse’s office post-haste, lest my penis and testicles fall off.
Dex appearing to me in the hallway between first and second period, wild-eyed and raving, talking about “a second me” he had witnessed while visiting the girls’ changing room. He’d been about ready to pull his hair out until I had promptly informed him that, actually, the “second me” he’d seen had merely been his own reflection. I don’t know if this was a genuine attempt by Dex to get me to go on an adventure with him, or whether he truly believed his evil twin had chosen that particular moment to pay him a visit. Either way, it was very annoying.
And so on, and so forth.
It got so bad I was even thinking about ditching school after all, just to get away from him.
The “crème de la crème” came during lunch. I was sitting down with my friend Blake from math class (or maybe not “friend” exactly, but he never upped and left when I put my tray down, and to be honest, besides Dex and his frequent interruptions, he was about the closest thing to a friend I had in this town). I was just preparing to tuck into the egg-mayonnaise I’d prepared myself that morning, when low and behold, over walks Dex, looking—quite impossibly—even more drunk than he had done earlier.
He saw the two of us sitting together and straightened. ‘The hell’s this? This kid giving you hassle, Bif?’ He reached into his jacket. ‘Want me to set him on fire?’
‘No, Dex. We’re fine. Everything’s fine.’
‘Are you sure? Because he’s got those eyes, you know? Those “please light me on fire immediately” eyes.’
‘Go home, Dex. You’re drunk.’
‘So? YOU’RE SHORT. See, Bif? It doesn’t feel good getting called names now, does it?’
Blake observed this exchange with his usual amount of autistic flare, before finally pushing out his chair. ‘Yeah, I have to get back to class now…’
‘Oh, yeah, that’s it,’ said Dex, chasing after him. ‘Run away. Run away, little boy!’
When he was gone, Dex turned back to me. ‘Sheesh—you see the way he ran? What’s up with that, am I right?’
‘He has cerebral palsy.’
‘…Oh.’
‘Did you really have to do that?’
‘What?’
‘That. Be all mean to Blake. He’s my friend.’
‘Who, jelly-legs?’ He scoffed. ‘Please—I bet he’s never set someone on fire even once. And besides, everyone knows I’m you’re only friend.’
‘Dex…’
He let his hands fall to his sides. ‘Okay, okay, fine. You want me to go? I’m gone. But just know I’ll be deducting this from your paycheck. I’m serious, Bif. Call it “the cuck tax”.’
‘Okay, first of all—’
‘Because you’re a cuck.’
‘Are you done?’
He nodded thoughtfully. ‘I think so. In all honesty, Bif, I’m so drunk right now I’ve yet to be convinced this isn’t all just a dream.’
There was more talk of this variety as Dex continued in vain to strong-arm me into accompanying him on another adventure, threatening more terrible pay cuts as I led him protesting towards the exit (just for the record, Dex doesn’t pay me, so exactly what he was trying to achieve here is anyone’s guess).
Somehow, I finally managed to get him out of the building.
I was on my way back to the cafeteria again when I rounded a corner and walked straight into Audrey Deen.
Audrey was the resident hot-chick at Elk Grove High, and apart from being smarter than all-hell, was actually very nice. Blond. Short. The kind of body like she’d stepped into a teleporter with a Barbie doll. She dominated the extra-curricular circuit the same way an alpha gorilla keeps the younger members of its pack in check; bashing their brains in, biting off digits, showering them in feces—all metaphorically speaking, of course. Because the truth was, nobody minded Audrey being in charge. As I said earlier, she really was very nice.
I let out a surprised grunt and stumbled backwards, my bag dropping to the floor with an angry clatter. ‘Oh, Audrey—hey! I, uh, didn’t see you there.’
I helped her to her feet, then gave her space while she quickly brushed herself down. Ordinarily this would be the part where she would set off on a tirade, screaming at me about how clumsy I was, how I should have been looking where I was going, and what kind of a name is Bif, anyway? And if this were any other gorgeous sixteen-year-old Barbie-hybrid, maybe she would have.
‘Meh. I’ll live.’ She suddenly frowned. ‘Hey, did you hear there’s some homeless guy been skulking around the girls’ changing room?’
‘Shut up.’
‘I’m serious. Apparently he was trying to fight the mirrors, or something.’
‘That’s so weird.’
‘Right?’ She laughed. ‘So what’s up? I haven’t seen you around school much lately. I thought maybe you’d gotten sick again.’
This was my go-to lie whenever anybody questioned my frequent disappearing acts. Not that many people did question them, of course, but it’s always good to be prepared.
‘Yeah, I’ve, uh, been pretty busy. With my job. I, uh, have a job, now.’
‘Oh?’ I noticed the sudden light in her eyes. Chicks love a working man. ‘What kind of job?’
‘I cut down things,’ I said. ‘With axes. Just big, heavy axes. Yeah, it’s pretty hard work, but…’ And I leaned against the locker like I wasn’t even trying to be cool.
‘Cutting down things? You mean like trees?’
‘Sometimes.’
Audrey nodded and shuffled her feet. Somewhere close-by, a bell was ringing. ‘Well. Guess I better get going now, Bif—talk to you later!’ She started to head off to class, before turning back. ‘Oh, hey, look at that. We have the same backpack. What are the odds, huh?’
I shifted my gaze to where she was gesturing.
So it was a girls’ backpack. That was a shame.
Audrey offered me a final smile, before turning on her heels and disappearing further down the corridor.
I waited until she was out of sight, disappearing into the crowd of migrating teenagers.
Then I grabbed my girls’ backpack and left.
I returned home a little before 4:00pm, strolling in through the front door with my girls’ backpack closely in tow. In case I haven’t mentioned it already, home for me is a two-story bungalow I share with my Aunt Loretta—although “share” might not be the best word to describe our living situation, as while I do indeed live there, I’ve yet to shell out a single dollar towards rent (a fact of which Aunt Loretta likes to inform me at every possible opportunity). I’d gone to live with her after my mom passed away several years back, and it was where I’d remained ever since.
It’s actually not so bad. I stay out of Aunt Loretta’s way, and—when she isn’t forcing me to go buy snacks to satiate her enormous appetite, at least—she stays out of mine. In fact, except for her addiction to daytime TV (and it was an addiction, I assure you), it isn’t too dissimilar from the relationship you might have with a cat. Probably get more love from the cat, though.
I found her in the kitchen, leaning over the stove and staring out into the backyard towards the treeline that stands along the edge of our property. She was standing stock still, meaty hands clasped over her eyebrows as she pressed her face against the window. I should mention it wasn’t the first time I’d returned home to find Aunt Loretta in the kitchen (that was where the refrigerator lived, after all), but on not one of these occasions did I ever recall seeing her there without an item of food in her hand.
I eyed her warily from the doorway. ‘Uh, is everything okay, Aunt Loretta?’
‘No, everything is not okay, Bif!’ she cried, still with her face pressed against the window. ‘Someone’s been stealing my underwear again. I put them on the line this morning, and now look—they’re gone!’
This was a common occurrence in our house. For reasons unknown, every once in a while items of Aunt Loretta’s clothing would go missing. Underwear, bras, nighties and socks. You name it. Nobody knew where they went, or how it was they seemed to just disappear out of thin air. Even considering the things I got up to in my downtime (which almost always involved an encounter with some disgusting alien or another), I had to admit, it was pretty weird.
‘Is it possible the wind could have blown them off?’
‘It wasn’t the wind, Bif!’ she cried, spittle flying from between crumb-caked lips. ‘I bet it was Mr Hanson—you know, from down the road?’
‘The guy in the wheelchair?’
She nodded her enormous head. ‘Yeah, that’s him. I bet he’s got them in his hands right now. That dirty old bird…’
I tried to imagine a reason why anyone would want to steal Aunt Loretta’s underwear. Then when it dawned on me I didn’t really want to know, after all, I grabbed a glass of water and made my way upstairs.
Just like my locker at school, my bedroom was not like other bedrooms. And not just because of that water-damage stain it had in the ceiling, which in pretty much any lighting looked uncannily like a screaming Jesus.
While it may not have had any “exotic paraphernalia” to speak of, my bedroom was unique in the fact that it had remained in the exact same state since I was nine-years-old. Same wallpaper. Same Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles bedsheets with the soup stains down them. I don’t know whether Aunt Loretta knew how desperately in need of redecorating the room was and just didn’t care, or if she genuinely believed that a fifteen-year-old-boy would have no qualms about having Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles covers for bedsheets. All I know is I had them, and they made me sad.
I flumped down onto the bed as I began to recount the events of that day.
I thought about miss Carnegie’s warning. While not exactly an “exemplary student”, I had—until then, at least—always held my own. And while I was admittedly never going to become the CEO of a major corporation or anything, I wasn’t exactly going to be on minimum wage flipping burgers for the rest of my life, either. Probably I’d just end up the guy stuck in an office cubicle somewhere, telling himself everything’s fine while working himself into what is sure to be an
early grave—and I could live with that. Everything in life has its place. Or maybe I’d just end up working at the Koppleman steelworks like every other male in town, who knows?
And while I may not have had any real “aspirations” to speak of, just knowing there were some options out there for me had been comforting. Mediocrity, when utilized correctly, can be very fulfilling.
But now? Now I was on the last straw. The thinnest of ices. If I were to get caught missing school again, Miss Carnegie would suspend me, and then the few meager options left open to me would be closed forever. Suspension would likely turn into expulsion, and then before you can say “unlikely outcome”, there I’d be, out on the streets and working the corners like the rest of the high school dropouts, doing all kinds of unsavory things to pay for the drug addiction I would doubtless have, because that’s just what you do in these situations. Sure, it was possible a kindly elder bachelor would take me into his care, teach me how to be a real woman, just like Julia Roberts did to Richard Gere in that one movie that one time. But I knew it was a longshot.
I was still thinking about my future as a reluctant prostitute when there was another blinding flash from across the room, and then before I knew it, there was Dex once again, spilling into my room like the drunken fool he was.
There was smoke coming off his jacket, and I could see what looked to be bullet holes in the leather. Once there was a time I’d have been curious about this. Now, though? Now it was just par for the course.
He saw me lying there and started. ‘Oh—Bif! There you are, man. You’re never going to believe this. That job I was telling you about earlier? Yeah, turns out it was all just a scheme by Princess Zealoth to dethrone her evil step-mother and gain control of Veytar. Not gonna lie, I had to shoot some people. A LOT of people, if I’m honest. I think it might be a new record.’ He laughed like he was remembering a fond childhood memory. ‘Anyway, I just called to get my ball back.’
For a moment, this confused me.
Then I remembered
The ball. The one from the other day. The “orb”.
Dex Wexler: Space Detective (Chronicles of Bif Book 1) Page 15