Free Muskie Attack (An Up North Adventure) by G.M. Moore

forth.
    “Wave that thing this way,” Griffy instructed as he hopped in the cart. Sweat trickled down his face. “Get that horsefly. He’s driving me nuts!”
    Gil swatted the fern down hard and fast, knocking the fly out of the air and onto the cart’s dashboard. Griffy quickly smacked it again with his stack of fliers and flicked it into the road.
    “Thanks. One down. Five hundred thousand to go,” he said, feeling defeated.
    Griffy examined the splat of blood and insect goo now stuck to one of his fliers. Oh, well, he shrugged. What could Andy Gibson expect for ten dollars a week? Distributing these fliers was hot, hard work. They negotiated and negotiated, but he wouldn’t budge from ten dollars a week per person. Griffy’s enthusiasm over catching the mammoth muskie had not waned, but his enthusiasm over passing out fliers had. If not for Pike’s zealous drive, Griffy would have given it up. A week to the day had passed since the launch of the Master Fisherman Muskie Competition, and he and Pike were as determined as ever to enter and win. The only obstacle still standing in the way: cash.
    Pike walked up, keeping pace with the moving vehicle. A look of frustration covered his face.
    “Even after we get paid today, we won’t have enough money. Forty-six dollars. That’s all. Not even enough for two entry fees. It will be two, maybe three, more weeks before we get paid again,” he whined. “That muskie will be as good as caught by then. Have you seen all the boats out there?”
    Griffy shook his head in agreement. “And more are coming in every day. It’s amazing.”
    “Excuse me,” Gil interjected. “Where did you learn to do math? You’ve only got thirty-six dollars. Sixteen plus ten plus ten equals thirty-six.”
    “Plus your ten equals forty-six.”
    “I’m not giving you my ten dollars.”
    “Come on, Gil!” Pike pleaded. “Why not? We’ll give you a share of the five-thousand-dollar prize.”
    “You mean the one that you won’t be winning? I’ll pass on that.”
    “Griffy and I will catch that fish, guaranteed,” Pike said confidently.
    “You can’t catch a fish if you don’t have a pole in the water, and Mom will never let you out on that lake. It’s crazy out there. Andy’s called in the paramedics so many times they set up a permanent tent.”
    Pike looked like he was about ready to blow.
    Griffy quickly interjected, trying to mollify him. “It’s OK, Pike. You and I will pool our money. You can enter the competition now. We’ll fish with what we’ve got. We’ll use our next twenty dollars to buy better gear.”
    That wasn’t going to mollify Pike. Not one bit. He fumed.
    “You always ruin everything, Gil. What’s wrong with you? Why are you being so mean?” He stopped walking, letting the cart pass him by. “I wish you weren’t my sister! I wish I didn’t have a sister!” he yelled after the cart.
    Gil harrumphed. “I’m not giving you guys my ten dollars. No way.”
    Griffy shrugged and looked back at Pike, who now stood in the middle of the road, hands planted firmly on his hips, brow furrowed. “You should probably stop driving. He’s not following us.”
    Gil kept her foot on the gas and stared intently at the road ahead.
    “Aren’t you going to stop?” Griffy asked, glancing over his shoulder and back at Pike, who was getting farther and farther away.
    “I’m not giving him my money,” Gil grunted, brow furrowed too.
    Griffy sat back in the seat. “I give up.”
    Gil suddenly hit the brakes so hard the cart veered wildly to one side almost throwing Griffy out. Well, at least she decided to stop, Griffy thought as he rocked back into his seat.
    “Nice driving,” he finally said.
    “Sorry about that,” Gil replied. “But I’ve got an idea.” She nodded to a rickety old mailbox sticking out of the woods just ahead of them. The peeling paint on its side read “T. Hanover.”
    Gil stood up and leaned out the side of the cart. “Hurry up, Pike,