Francis And The Saga Of Boys From Hazelville

Chapter Ten

By the end of the day, I can't wait to get home to listen to the tape. Only I can't find the Walkman. I search everywhere, under my bed, on my bed, in my bed. The desk, my bag, it's gone. I don't need this right now. Did I lose it? How did I lose it? Did someone steal it? Who and why? I panic, and I don't need to meltdown over this.

Bunny comes into the door frame of my room. "Looking for something?" She says it like she already knows the answer.

"Have you got it?"

She doesn't say anything. She comes in. "I just wanted to help you." Bunny doesn't just help people for the sake of helping them. She just likes to be nosey and she, like me, likes figuring things out. We get a buzz out of it. "I'm your sister, Francis, don't you want me to help you find the love of your life?"

"Why do you need to when you already think it's Dubby," I reply.

"Because there's the slim possibility it's not, slim, but a possibility nonetheless. And besides, sometimes the journey is more fun than the destination."

"Have you listened to the new clue?" I ask, impatient. Maybe she is right, I should chill and take all this in. And as Mom says, take things lightly.

"It's shit." I ask why, and she says, "Because it doesn't make sense. We are not riddle masters."

"I'm not a riddle master," I add. Because Bunny wants to feel that this is as much about her as it is me. I take the Walkman from her, behind her back. And I put it on and press play. That's how life starts I guess, literally, metaphorically... by pressing play.

'I hope you liked the last quest, I'm glad you figured it all out. The next clue you'll find at the dollar store. My life can be measured in hours, I serve by being devoured. Thin, I am quick. Fat, I am slow, and wind is my foe.' I slip it back off. Just... huh? This is getting stranger and harder. Maybe this is some old man who loves riddles and, even creepier, teenage girls.

"What is this?" I say.

"My thoughts exactly," Bunny replies. "Who does this guy think he is? Maybe lots of girls are getting these tapes, and he's trying to find the book smartiest one. If he is, maybe we can kiss love goodbye."

I scoff at her. "Shut up, he loves me."

"I know you want to believe in the fantasy, Francis, but please don't get attached to this guy until you see him, meet him, spend a lot of time with him, and see his ambitions long term. You need someone who is smart enough to sell you a genuine dream and not so dumb they have to return it." Where does she get this stuff?

It makes me feel weird, because half of me just wants something to believe in, to cling to, above all else. The other side of me appreciates the logic. Oh no, is this quest and this mystery man making me become more emotional? Maybe even more empathetic? Why do I feel like that's a bad thing? It's just different. I always thought emotions should evolve with logic, and that was growing, but now I'm not so sure. Maybe that's the beautiful thing about life, there is no truth, only perception.

That night after dinner I rush over to see Dubby, his Mom lets me in, and I go down to the basement myself. He's just lying on the couch, passed out. I go over and try to wake him naturally by saying his name, but it doesn't work. So I shout at him to get up. He bolts up in shock.

"Evening, Miss Francis."

"Sir Dubbington," I reply.

He does that thing again, where his dimples fade into just soft cheeks. "Why do you call me that?"

"I don't know. That's not important right now. You have to listen to my next clue." He's just blank in the face. "Why aren't you excited and jumping?"

He sits up and looks at me. "Because he's your secret admirer, not mine." He tries to smile. "But I'm happy for you, yay!" He fist pumps the air. I'm starting to get a headache, so I don't have time to be analyzing Dubby and his Dubby-ness. His mom always buys these stupid scented candles, I hate them. In theory, having them all smell different is pretty cool, and I can admire that, but in reality, yuck.

"My life can be measured in hours, I serve by being devoured. Thin, I am quick. Fat, I am slow, and wind is my foe," I tell him.

"Francis?" He says.

I hold the top of my nose, massaging my headache. "Yes? Do you know it?"

"What's happening right now?"

"I'm telling you my clue. But I also have a headache."

"You have a headache from what?" He stands up.

"From your Mom sneaking candles into your room. Do you want me to find it, I will? I already have sniffed it out, it's on the window ledge behind the curtain. That's dangerous, you know?"

"You have a headache from what?"

What is he talking about, did he take more edibles? "From the candle." He's silent and doesn't say anything, he's waiting for me to say something more, but I'm confused. "Think, Francis, think."

And then it hits me, oh my gosh, the clue means candles. Candles at the dollar store. I feel like I'm a genius, but I guess that's Dubby.