TICK TICK TICK
The clock on the classroom wall moved with an agonizing mechanical rhythm. The second hand jerked forward, hitting each black notch with a dull metallic click.
Ben Tennyson sat in the third row. His eyes remained locked on the clock face. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, leaving a damp smear on his forehead.
Beneath his desk, his fingers crinkled a limited edition Sumo Slammer gold-foil card.
The plastic sleeve made a sharp sound every time his thumb pressed against it.
"And so, the importance of the Magna Carta lies in its—"
Mrs. Konig's voice cut through the air. She stood at the chalkboard, her chalk scraping against the slate surface.
SKREEEEEE!
The high-pitched sound made Ben's teeth ache. He winced, his shoulders bunching up toward his ears.
"Hey, dweeb." A whisper came from the seat directly behind him. Ben didn't turn around. He knew that nasal, annoying tone anywhere.
"Hey, I'm talking to you, Tennyson," Cash Murray hissed.
Ben felt the tip of a pencil dig into his lower back. The lead poked through his thin white t-shirt and pricked his skin. He nearly jumped off his seat in pain and surprise.
"Cut it out, Cash," Ben muttered. He leaned forward to escape the pencil.
"What was that? I can't hear you over the sound of your own pathetic life," Cash whispered.
He leaned closer, the smell of sour onion chips hitting the back of Ben's neck. "After school, I'm gonna hang you from the flagpole by your underwear...prepare for it, It's a summer tradition after all."
Ben gripped his Sumo Slammer card harder. "Why don't you go find a fire hydrant to leg-hump? It's more your speed."
Cash's face turned a blotchy shade of purple. The veins on his forehead bulged. He raised his hand to deliver a heavy smack to the back of Ben's head.
WHACK!
"OW! HEY!" Ben's head snapped forward. His forehead nearly hit the desk when he got hit by Cash.
He spun around, his eyes wide and teeth bared.
"BENJAMIN TENNYSON!" Mrs. Konig stood at the front of the room. She held a heavy wooden ruler in one hand. She slammed it down onto her desk.
SLAM!
The sound echoed off the cinderblock walls. A girl in the front row jumped so hard her glasses slid down to the tip of her nose.
"Is there something more important than the foundation of modern law that you need to discuss with Mr. Murray?" Mrs. Konig asked.
She stepped toward Ben's desk. Her loafers clicked against the linoleum floor.
Ben looked at the ruler. He then turn to look at Cash, who was currently wearing a fake, innocent smile.
"Cash poked me with his pencil," Ben said. He pointed over his shoulder.
"Liar," Cash whispered. He held up his hands, showing they were empty. He had already tucked the pencil behind his ear.
Mrs. Konig stopped at Ben's desk. She looked down at him. A small piece of white chalk dust sat on her upper lip.
"I don't care who started it," she stated. Her voice came out coldly. "What I care about is that you are disrupting my final lecture before summer break. One more word, and you'll spend the first three hours of your summer break right here in this chair."
Ben sank lower into his seat. He felt the heat of embarrassment rising in his cheeks.
In the hallway, a janitor pushed a heavy metal cart.
CLATTER-CLANG!
"MOVE YOUR ASS, YOU LITTLE SHIT!" the janitor yelled.
A student had apparently gotten in the way of the cart. The sound of running footsteps faded down the hall.
Ben looked back at the clock. The second hand reached the twelve.
BRRRRRRIIIIIIING!
The school bell screamed. It was a loud, vibrating roar that signaled the end of the year.
Chaos erupted instantly. Twenty-five chairs scraped against the floor simultaneously.
SCRREEECH!
"SUMMER!" a kid in the back yelled.
Students scrambled for the door. They shoved past each other, elbows flying.
Ben grabbed his backpack and swung it over his shoulder. He moved toward the exit, but a large hand clamped down on his shoulder.
"Don't think you're getting away that easy, Tennyson," Cash growled into his ear.
Ben felt the grip tighten, the fabric of his shirt bunching under Cash's thick fingers.
Ben looked at the door. Freedom was ten feet away. He had to get to the Rustbucket before Cash decided to follow through on the flagpole threat.
Ben wrenched his shoulder forward with a violent twist. The fabric of his t-shirt made a sharp sound as it strained against Cash's grip.
RIP!
A small hole opened near the collar of Ben's shirt. But he didn't stop to look. He dived under the arm of a tall senior who was busy shoving a smaller kid into a locker.
"HEY! WATCH IT, YOU LITTLE SHIT!" the senior yelled. He kicked out a heavy combat boot, narrowly missing Ben's ankle.
Ben scrambled through the sea of legs and over-stuffed backpacks. The floor was sticky with spilled soda and discarded gum. His sneakers made a rhythmic SQUEAK SQUEAK SQUEAK against the tile.
He reached the heavy double doors of the school exit and slammed his weight into the metal push-bar.
WHAM!
The doors swung open. The afternoon heat hit him in the face like a physical weight. The air was thick with the smell of asphalt and bus exhaust. But that didn't stop Ben nor slow him down.
He sprinted toward the parking lot, his backpack bouncing against his spine with a heavy THUD every time his feet hit the pavement.
"GET BACK HERE, TENNYSON!" Cash and JT burst through the doors behind him.
Cash's face was bright red. He was breathing heavily through his mouth, his chest heaving under his varsity jacket.
Ben veered left, darting between a row of yellow school buses. The smell of diesel fumes made his nose itch. He saw a familiar, bulky shape parked near the edge of the lot. It was an old, rust-streaked RV with a white and a slight green paint job.
The Rustbucket.
Grandpa Max sat in the driver's seat. He was wearing a red Hawaiian shirt with white hibiscus flowers. His thick, calloused hands gripped the steering wheel.
Next to him, Gwen Tennyson sat with her arms crossed. Her orange hair was pulled back, and she was glaring at a thick book in her lap.
Ben reached the side door of the RV and grabbed the handle.
He yanked it open and threw himself inside. He landed hard on the carpeted floor, his knees barking in pain as they hit the metal step.
"Go, Grandpa! Go!" Ben scrambled to his feet, slamming the door shut.
BANG!
Max looked into the rearview mirror. His gray eyebrows shot up toward his receding hairline. "Rough day at the office, Ben?"
"Just drive!" Ben climbed into the passenger seat, his heart hammering against his ribs.
Max shifted the gear stick.
K-THUNK
The engine roared. A cloud of black smoke billowed from the exhaust pipe, hitting Cash and JT right in their faces as they reached the back of the van.
"COUGH! COUGH! YOU FUCKING...COUGH!" Cash screamed, waving his arms through the soot.
He kicked the back bumper of the RV, but the vehicle was already pulling away.
"Nice t-shirt, dweeb," Gwen remarked. She didn't look up from her book. She reached over and flicked the torn edge of Ben's collar.
"Is 'homeless chic' the new look for summer?"
"Shut up, Gwen," Ben snapped. He wiped a smudge of dirt off his face. "Cash tried to hang me from a flagpole. I'd like to see you handle that without getting a scratch."
"I wouldn't be in that position because I actually have a brain," Gwen replied. She turned a page in her book, the paper making a crisp SLAP against the opposite side.
The Rustbucket bounced as it hit a pothole in the parking lot exit.
Ben's head hit the window.
THACK.
He rubbed the side of his skull, his fingers finding a small bump already forming.
"Now, now," Max said. He reached into a small cooler between the seats. He pulled out a clear plastic container filled with something gray and translucent. It wobbled as he moved it.
"Let's keep it friendly. We've got a long drive ahead of us to the campsite. Who's hungry? I've got some marinated sea-slug gizzards."
The smell hit Ben instantly. It was a mixture of old gym socks and rotting fish. He felt the saliva pool in the back of his throat.
GULP
"I think I'll pass, Grandpa," Ben said. He looked out the window as the school faded into the distance.
The RV traveled down the highway for three hours. The sun began to dip lower, turning the sky a deep orange color.
Ben watched the trees go by. His legs felt cramped in the small seat. He shifted his weight, the vinyl material of the chair sticking to the back of his thighs. Every time he moved, the seat made a loud PEELING sound.
"Are we there yet?" Ben asked.
"Five more minutes," Max said.
"You said that twenty minutes ago!" Gwen yelled. She slammed her book shut. "The AC in this thing is barely working. I can feel a layer of grease forming on my forehead."
"Character building, Gwen! That's what summer is about!" Max laughed.
The Rustbucket turned off the main road and onto a gravel path.
The stones kicked up under the tires, hitting the undercarriage.
The van swayed as it navigated the uneven ground. They passed a sign that read: CAMP PEEWEE - WATCH FOR BEARS.
A man in a stained tank top stood by a small tent near the entrance. He was holding a beer can and staring at a flat tire on his truck.
"FUCKING PIECE OF JUNK!" the man screamed. He kicked the tire.
THUD
His foot bounced off the rubber, sending him stumbling backward into a bush.
"Well, he looks like a helpful guy," Ben muttered.
Max pulled the RV into a secluded clearing surrounded by towering pine trees. The air here was cooler, smelling of pine needles and damp earth. He turned the key in the ignition.
The engine died with a final shudder. Silence fell over the clearing, broken only by the sound of crickets beginning their nightly song.
"Alright, kids! Set up shop!" Max climbed out of the van.
Ben stepped out onto the grass. He stretched his arms over his head, his spine making a series of dry POPS.
He looked at the torn collar of his shirt and then at Gwen, who was struggling to lug a heavy cooler out of the side door. Her face was turning a bright shade of pink from the exertion.
"Are you going to stand there like a statue of a moron, or are you going to help?" Gwen grunted. She lost her grip on the plastic handle.
CRASH!
The cooler hit the ground, spilling a bag of ice and several vacuum-sealed pouches of green slime onto the dirt.
"Nice one, Doofus," Ben remarked. But he didn't move. He leaned against the side of the RV, picking a piece of dried school-bus gum off the sole of his sneaker. "Maybe if you spent less time reading and more time lifting something heavier than a bookmark, you wouldn't be such a klutz."
Gwen's eyes narrowed into slits. She marched over to Ben and shoved her index finger hard into the center of his chest. "And maybe if you had more than two brain cells fighting for third place, you'd realize that we're in the middle of nowhere and I'm the only one who knows how to use the first-aid kit when you inevitably trip over your own feet."
"Back off!" Ben swiped her hand away. "I'm going for a walk. I need to get away from the smell of those sea-slug guts and your ego."
Max popped the trunk of the RV, causing a cloud of dust to billow out. He started humming a tuneless melody while pulling out a rusted folding table. "Don't go too far, Ben! The woods are thick this time of year. You might get turned around and end up as a snack for a black bear! They love the taste of city kids!"
"I'll be fine, Grandpa! It's just trees!" Ben turned his back on them.
"If you get eaten, I'm taking your Sumo Slammer cards!" Gwen yelled after him. She picked up a handful of melting ice and chucked it at the back of his head.
SPLAT.
The freezing water soaked into the back of Ben's shirt. He jumped, his shoulders almost hitting his ears as he shivered at the cold sensation the cold liquid ran down his spine.
"YOU WITCH!" Ben spun around, his face twisting into a mask of pure rage. He reached for a rock, but Gwen had already ducked back inside the RV, slamming the metal door behind her.
"Ben, focus on the nature! Deep breaths!" Max called out. He was currently struggling to unfold the table, accidentally pinching his thumb in the metal hinge. "OW! MOTHER—" Max bit his lip, his face turning a deep crimson as he shook his hand violently.
Ben ignored them both. He stomped away from the yellow light of the Rustbucket. His shoes crushed dry leaves and snapped small twigs.
CRACK. CRUNCH.
He pushed past a low-hanging branch, the needles scratching a thin red line across his left cheek.
He reached a small ridge overlooking a valley. He sat down on a flat rock. The stone was cold and rough, the granite texture biting into the skin of his palms.
He looked up at the stars, his chest still heaving from the argument.
Suddenly, a streak of light appeared in the sky.
It wasn't a slow-moving star. It was a bright, neon-green blur that tore through the atmosphere, trailing a wake of white-hot sparks.
WHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
The sound grew louder, a high-pitched whistle that made the fluid in Ben's inner ear vibrate.
The light grew larger, turning the surrounding pine needles a sickly, radioactive shade of emerald.
"What the...?"
The object changed direction mid-air. It headed straight for the ridge.
Ben jumped to his feet. His pupils dilated until his eyes were almost entirely black. He turned to run, but the air pressure around him suddenly spiked, popping his ears.
BOOM!
A massive explosion of dirt and fire erupted fifty yards away. The force of the impact hit Ben like a physical fist. He flew backward, his back slamming into a thick oak tree.
THUMP.
The air left his lungs in a single, jagged wheeze. His vision swam with black dots as he slumped to the damp forest floor.
In the distance, Gwen's voice drifted through the trees, sharp and mocking. "Ben? Was that you, you idiot? What did you blow up now?"
Ben didn't answer. He rolled onto his stomach, coughing as the smell of burnt ozone and scorched earth filled his nostrils.
He looked toward the impact site. A deep, perfectly circular crater smoked in the center of the clearing.
At the bottom of the pit, something metallic reflected the moonlight.
Ben stood up. His knees shook, the muscles twitching uncontrollably. He wiped a streak of black soot off his forearm and began to walk toward the edge of the smoking hole like he was hypnotic.