Mr. Forgettable #Wattys2016

20

Evening fell into night, and Larkin still hadn't seen nor heard a peep from Greta. After dropping her overnight bag back at her house and sneaking out again without her parents noticing, Larkin had set up camp in the shadow of Greta's house. She only hoped that no one would look too closely into the shadow, or they would see a girl reclined on the grass.

It was after nine o'clock, so Larkin entertained herself by making the stars brighten and then dim. She let the grass tickle her neck as she fought the warm hands of sleep. She couldn't sleep. Not when she was so close to learning what Greta had been up to. She couldn't let this opportunity pass.

Larkin listened. She listened for the telltale signs that Greta might be approaching. However, the fruits of her labor were few, and she could only hear the rumbles of car engines and laughter spilling from the windows of the homes around her.

Two houses were relatively silent. On her right sat the Avers's house. Inside, she could hear the tapping of feet from Mrs. Avers's old Birkenstocks. She was probably pacing in the kitchen, worrying about her missing daughter. On her left sat her home. If she really concentrated, she could make out the thumping of the washing machine in the laundry room. Her parents probably hadn't moved since she left the house, except, maybe, to eat dinner.

So Larkin waited, and her thoughts drifted further than her mind could reach. Slowly, ever so slowly, the hands of sleep grasped her and pulled her towards the edge of consciousness, into a dream that was eerily familiar.

The rickety raft again traveled upstream, against the natural current. Larkin gazed out at the dark sky. Apparently, the sun hadn't erupted yet. Instead, the moon sat just above the tree line, giving the branches an ethereal glow that was reflected on the roiling waters of the river.

George stood at the edge of the raft. He had a long pole in his hand, and he used it to steer the raft.

"George," Larkin called. They were on a first-name basis now. Their time on the river had really bonded them.

The man turned around. He was mumbling under his breath, something Larkin couldn't understand, but she suspected it had to do with the sun.

"See George, out there, see that?" Larkin pointed out into the distance, her eyes locked onto a figure splashing in the river up ahead. The figure flailed their arms, sending water flying into the air. In the dark, Larkin couldn't' tell whether it was a boy or a girl.

George turned back towards the front of the boat. "Yes, yes. That won't do. No, no."

"I don't think we have room for another person," said Larkin, gesturing at the raft. She ran her hand over the sticks and the twine holding it all together. The bark on the sticks peeled off when she touched it.

Without another word from George, they continued floating up the river. The person in the distance seemed to get a bit closer. Apparently, George recognized the person before Larkin did. He mumbled some more.

Larkin squinted. She thought that maybe it was a boy. The person didn't seem to have long hair. Next thing she knew, they had pulled up alongside the flailing person. Larkin smiled when she saw who it was.

"Finn! You're here to join the cruise, I assume?" exclaimed Larkin.

He didn't respond. His frantic splashing and the swirling waters proved difficult for Finn to form coherent sentences.

"Just...boat..." he gasped.

Larkin's eyes widened. "Oh! Yeah, it is small, but I assure you you'll fit. I promise."