Riley, Rileeeeey!” A talking purple bear with bad breath was shaking me and calling my name. “I wanna go fishing.”
I opened my eyes and found out it was Brady.
“Ewww, get away. You smell really bad right now.”
“But I want to go fishing, and Sunday said we have to go early.”
I sat up and looked out the window of the room where Rusty and I were sleeping. Dark. I flopped back down and covered my head with my blankets.
“Go away. It’s night.”
“No, it’s not. It’s five o’clock. I told Sunday I’d be at the lake at five thirty to fish.”
“Then go.”
“I can’t go by myself.”
“Ugh! Then don’t go.” I turned over on my stomach and put my head under my pillow.
“But I want to go too.” That was a different voice. Rusty. She was up out of bed with her jacket on already.
I sat up and stared at her through the wavy mop of hair that covered my eyes. “Are you kidding? You want to go out there in the dark and catch stinky fish?”
“Aw, come on, Riley. We have our own lake and everything. Why not?”
“Yeah, listen to your friend,” Brady said.
It was clear I wasn’t getting out of this. I waved my finger at Brady. “You have to go tell Mom and Dad where we’re going. I’m not waking them up and making them mad.”
“I wrote them a note, and I left it in the bathroom.”
“Okay, then. Let’s get this over with.” I heaved myself out of bed and put on some jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. I didn’t know what shoes I was supposed to wear for mucking around on the shore of a lake.
“What are those big plastic boots called that come up to your waist? I need Swiftriver to make me some of those.” I moaned and grabbed a pair of flip-flops.
“Hurry up, Riley.” Brady was hanging on the doorknob. “Sunday’s gonna think I forgot to come.”
“It would have been nice,” I said, as I grabbed a flashlight, “if you had told me about this silly plan last night!” I stomped out of the room. Rusty giggled and followed.
We trekked down the hill from the lodge to the lake. It was a good thing I brought the flashlight. Since there were no city lights and no moon, the place was pitch-black. One small light shone in the distance. It was attached to Sunday’s head.
“You brought the girls! That is wonderful. We will load up the bigger boat.”
“We’re going out in a boat? Cool!” Rusty was obviously more adventurous than me at this time of the morning.
“Wait,” I said. “We can’t go out in the dark, can we?”
Sunday laughed. “Miss Riley Mae, do you not have boating shoes?” He pointed to my old flip-flops. I noticed he was wearing the same flaming-orange Riley Mae running shoes.
“Well, you should talk. Look what you’re wearing.”
“This is all I wear,” Sunday said. “I own seven pairs. Remember? I like orange.”
“Well, I hope they don’t scare the fish away,” I said. But on second thought, I sorta hoped they would, since I didn’t want to be dealing with any slimy old fish.
“Are we taking the motorboat?” Brady asked.
“No, too noisy,” Sunday said. “We can row this one.” Sunday grabbed some fishing gear from a big equipment box and arranged it neatly inside a midsized rowboat. “Girls, you get in, and Brady and I will push us out. Mmm . . . I can smell fish this morning.”
The boys got soaking wet during the push-in maneuver, but they didn’t seem to mind. Brady had an ear-to-ear grin after he hopped in. He seemed a little more grown up to me here in Montana.
“We do not have to row out far, the lake gets deep fast,” Sunday said.
“How do you know there are fish in here?” I asked.
“Mr. Chuck had them stock some lake trout last week. I watched the helicopter dump some huge ones in.”
So that’s where the fish come from that are in lakes. But, I wondered, where do they get them in the first place?
Sunday helped Brady prepare a fishing line with a nasty worm. The poor thing squirmed all over, and then when it was hooked, it bled all over.
“Yuck,” I said.
“You just row and let us men catch the fish,” Brady said.
Rowing is a little hard to do when you’re still half-asleep. “Rusty, can you grab an oar and help me?” We both sat in the middle of the boat and made a mean rowing team.
“Okay!” Sunday said. “You can stop now. You got us out quick.”
“Good, now I can sleep,” I said, and I lay down across the middle seat of the boat and closed my eyes. But something kept me from falling asleep. Cold.
So I sat up and asked Sunday if there was an extra fishing pole and if he had any kind of bait I could use that wouldn’t bleed all over me. He handed me a ball of cheese. I sniffed it. “This smells nasty.”
“It is not for you to eat,” Sunday said.
Then he laughed his special Sunday laugh. I think it starts from his toes somewhere and gains momentum until it pops out of his mouth and makes me jump every time. Then I can’t help laughing too.
“Put it on the hook,” Sunday said. “Fish sometimes go for it.”
After I jammed it on, Sunday showed me how to cast the line out into the lake. Funny, as much as my dad loves fishing, we’d never done it together, and no one else had ever taught me. I kinda liked casting and then reeling in the line. So I practiced over and over.
Sunday grabbed my right hand to stop me from reeling. “You must leave it alone for a while or the fish will never see the bait.”
“So, I’m just supposed to sit here and wait?”
“Yes. You must be patient.”
No wonder Dad never took me fishing before.
Brady, on the other hand, was frozen like a statue at the front of the boat. The only thing moving on him was his eyes — back and forth, scanning the water.
Ha. Like he could see anything in the dark.
“Ooh! I think I caught something!” Rusty bounced up and down on the seat and pulled back her fishing pole.
Sunday yelped. “It is me. You have hooked my pants.” Sunday pulled a hook from the bottom of his right pant leg. “I am glad you missed my leg.”
Rusty put her hand to her mouth. “Oh no! I’m so sor —”
“GADZOOKS! I’ve got him! He’s big and I’ve got him!” Brady emerged from his statue-coma by jumping up and down in the boat while he reeled like a madman.
Brady’s jumping caused the boat to dip back and forth. I slipped right off where I was sitting on the middle seat onto the wet floor of the boat.
“Brady, knock it off! You’re gonna flip us!”
Sunday moved over next to Brady to help coach him.
“Oh yes, you certainly do have a big fish! Do not pull too hard. Reel a bit, then rest, and let him take the line. Now, pull again. He will get tired.”
Sunday reached a hand back in my direction. “Riley, please give me the net.”
Behind me in the back of the boat was a pile of fishing junk. And at the bottom of the junk was the net. I held it out to Sunday. “You’re not going to put the fish in that, are you?”
“Unless you would like to hold it in your lap until we get to shore,” Sunday said. Then he laughed again.
“I’m getting tired.” Brady shook his reeling hand. “My fingers are numb.”
“Come on, Brady,” Rusty said. “You can do it. Don’t give up. I wanna see how big that fish is.” I guess that bit of encouragement should have come from me, but I didn’t think of it.
Brady mustered some new strength and began reeling and pulling again. We all watched in amazement as my brother continued the battle for what seemed like at least ten more minutes. Then something splashed next to the boat.
Sunday had jumped in. Or had he fallen in? I was about to panic when Sunday’s head popped up above the surface.
“He is enormous!” Sunday yelled.
He was holding the net in the water, and in the net was a big, ugly fish. Well, most of the fish was in the net. The back of the fish hung out at least a foot.
“What should we do?” Rusty held a life vest in one hand, an oar in the other, and she pinched her fishing pole between her knees.
“Row us in! This monster cannot come in the boat. He will flip out.” Sunday hugged the netted fish close to his body. “Brady, keep a tight hold on your pole, but do not reel anymore.”
Brady stiffened back to statue position and smiled. “I knew I had a big one.”
Rusty and I returned to our rowing job in the middle of the boat, and in no time we made it to shore. Sunday and the monster fish swam alongside the whole way, and as soon as we got to shallow water, Brady jumped in to help Sunday drag up his catch.
“He weighs a ton! I can’t wait to show Dad!”
Rusty and I waited until the boat reached the beach before we jumped out. No sense getting all wet just to see a slimy sea creature. Plus, I didn’t want to be involved at all with getting it off the hook.
Sunday had him off the hook by the time we got there. He pulled a knife out of his pants pockets.
“What’re you gonna do with that?” I asked.
“The most humane thing.” He raised the knife up, the point directed at the fish’s head. I closed my eyes . . .
And then I heard huffing and snorting.