Wednesday, August 20, 2014

76. Finding Something You Thought You Lost, Part 1

"Where did you hide my tent poles, Grim?!"

Whistle is standing next to her backpack, all of its contents spread out in a nimbus around her. It looks like her pack is the epicenter of a recent, small explosion. Dumptruck walks up to them with his pack, looking curious. 

"What's going-"

Whistle whips around, her hair flying over her shoulder, looking appraisingly at Dumptruck and demanding,

"Did YOU take my tent poles?"

Dumptruck hoists a convincingly concerned and confused expression onto his face and shakes his head. 

"What? Did you lose your tent poles?"

Before Dumptruck can even finish his sentence, Whistle has directed her laser eyes back at Grim, clearly now feeling a lot of conviction that her first accusation was the right one.

"Give them to me, Grim."

"I don't have them!" Grim splutters, shrugging his shoulders and offering his hands out palms-up, a comical expression on his face that looks like the emoticon D:

Whistle is not angry at all, she is laughing, but she is also clearly not going to put up anyone trying to convince her that she lost her own poles. She will not have that nonsense, no, she will not have any of it.

While all of this is happening, I am hiding behind a nearby privy, shaking with barely-contained silent laughter. Tears are forming at the corners of my crinkled eyes. I do not have the tent poles, but I do know who took them, and thus I must hide. I have no ability to keep a straight face when pranking. I have a good poker face, but only specifically when playing poker. Apparently this skill is non-transferable.

Whistle notices my absence and raises an eyebrow, looking around the shelter area. 

"Where's Clever Girl?"

"Still hiking," says Dumptruck, a little too quickly.

Whistle, her forensic sleuthing skills kicking in, sticks one hand out to Dumptruck, a sly smile playing around her pursed lips.

"Hand 'em over."

Dumptruck breaks into a wide comical grin, the emoticon :D, and removes Whistle's tent poles from his pack and gives them to her. I collapse into view from my hiding place, laying on my back in the dirt, kicking my feet in the air and laughing.

Whistle deftly snatches the poles away from Dumptruck in a mock-huff, and starts setting up her tent.

"We stole them when you guys left your packs at the turn-off for the side trail to the waterfall," I reveal, walking over and wiping my eyes with the backs of my hands. "We were hoping you'd think you'd lost them."

Whistle makes a fart sound at me.

The previous day, Whistle had told us all that she often panicked halfway through the day while hiking, convincing herself that she had forgotten her tent poles at the previous camping spot. For it to have been an actually effective prank, Dumptruck and I probably should have waited more than 24 hours to immediately take the thing that Whistle told us she was worried she'd lose. But apparently we are not very good at hatching schemes. 

Or rather, I am not good at hatching schemes. Mostly because I laugh too much. 

Love,
Clever Girl

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