Avant-Pop Literary Magazine

Excerpt: Lawrence Looks For Treasure by @JonaElliot

The longer we biked, the stranger our way became. The trees stopped looking familiar. The path narrowed. The forest thickened. It was the farthest I'd ever biked down the tracks. I looked behind me to see how far we'd come, and then turned forward, and said a little type of prayer. In my head, I mean. It wasn't addressed to anyone in particular. In fact, it was kind of addressed to everyone, whoever would listen. I prayed that everything work out. I said, 'Please, let it all work out.' I wasn't talking about the treasure hunt, either. I really did mean everything. For so long, as a kid and all, I'd been such a critic. I can't stand this. I don't want to do that. Acting like nothing was done right. I longed for the freedom to do it my way. But now here I was. I had freedom. I had my way. But I was paralyzed. No university and no clue. What was I doing? On this dumb treasure hunt. I was the biggest failure I knew. 'Please,' I repeated, 'let it all work out.'

When I finished praying, I focused on the road ahead, and pedaled harder. I passed Matty. I pedaled harder. I passed Chris. I pedaled harder. My thighs burned. I pedaled harder.

I was a championship biker shooting past the competition. The breeze, hot and heavy, rushed past. It felt good. The path turned left; I turned left. The path turned more, curling like a damn race track; I turned more, slanting like a damn racer. My pedal skidded against the dirt. I couldn't see the path ahead. I was turning too sharply and too quickly. Far behind were Matty and Chris. My wheels slid out. I straightened as best I could, and pumped the brakes. But my bike sped forward and the path kept curling. I shot right off it, right into the forest. Bumping through trees, I was poked and bitten by branches. I pulled the brakes hard, and went right over the handle bars, landing in a pile of dirt and leaves.

Nothing hurt. I pushed myself up. Though shaky, I wasn't shocked. I expected it, in a way. It's what I do. I'm always getting worked up to be, oh, I dunno, a championship biker. It's kind of funny, if you think about it. For instance, in ninth grade I determined to be the best student in school. I studied hard and got pretty good grades. But then I got bored or lazy, or maybe I just pedaled too hard. By tenth grade, my marks were back to normal. By eleventh, I nearly failed a class. And now, in twelfth grade, I hadn't applied to a single university. Even as I write this book, I wonder whether I'm just pedaling too hard. I mean, who knows if I'll ever finish? Probably won't. But let's say I do—who's gonna read this crap? Probably no one. I'm not a writer. I don't even like most books. And, to think, I could've spent all this time doing something useful, something respectable, something for my future. Instead, I waste my energy, pedaling wildly, until I knock myself off the god damn bike.

Before I knew it, Chris and Matty had dropped their bikes and run through the forest to find me.

'Alright dude?' Chris asked, laughing.

'Yeah,' I said, laughing. 'I'm fine.'

'What happened?' Matty asked.

'Dunno,' I said, smiling and scratching the back of my head. 'Went a little too fast, I guess.'

'Be careful.' Chris said. 'We have a long trip ahead.'

'Yeah, my bad.' I said.

I walked to get my bike. But as soon as I took my first step, my left ankle panged. I couldn't really put weight on it. I didn't want to tell the guys though. So I just sort of kept walking. My adrenaline still pumped so it wasn't that bad. When I crouched to pick up my bike, I saw my ankle was real swollen, a bit purple too. Either way, I wasn't going to say anything. Our trip had just begun. And this trip was all I had.

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E/N: Check out JonaElliot and his amazing novel 'Lawrence Looks For Treasure, currently feature in our 'Holden - Bildungsroman' reading list!