Charlie's Arc

Chapter 1 of 3

Charlie weighed sixty pounds, half his sister's size, and today he swore he would keep up. Bridgette and her friends met at the tall storybook house with three floors and a green front door. They had a clubhouse on the top floor. Charlie wanted a spot in it. To earn one, he had to prove he could keep pace on their trail runs. So far he never had. Bridgette climbed onto her bike and looked back at him. "We're not slowing down for you," she said. "Last time you cried at the creek." "I won't fall behind," Charlie said. He gripped his handlebars. His legs were short, but he had a plan. The pack shot down the trail. Charlie pedaled hard. The bigger kids pulled ahead fast, their tires kicking up dirt. Within a minute he trailed by twenty feet. His lungs burned. He knew he could not win by speed. But Charlie knew this trail. He knew the muddy shortcut through the tall weeds that the older kids always skipped. It was narrow and messy, and Bridgette hated getting dirty. Charlie loved green things and never minded the grass. He swung off the main path and cut through. The shortcut worked. He burst out ahead of the whole pack. For the first time, he was winning. He heard Bridgette yell behind him, surprised. Then Charlie saw it. A single purple flower stood in the middle of his path. Its petals shone like something good to eat. A small hand-painted sign leaned beside it. "POISON. DO NOT TOUCH." His front tire was headed straight for it. Charlie yanked the handlebars. His bike skidded sideways in the mud. He missed the flower but hit a root. He flew over the bars and landed hard on his shoulder. His bike clattered into the weeds. Bridgette braked beside him. The others circled around. Charlie sat up, muddy, his arm throbbing. He waited for her to laugh. She didn't. Bridgette stared at the shortcut he had taken. "You beat us," she said slowly. "Through there. Nobody uses that." "I almost hit that flower," Charlie said. He pointed at the purple tulip and the warning sign. Bridgette knelt and looked at it. Her face went pale. "That's the poison one. My friend touched it last summer and swelled up for a week." She looked at Charlie. "You could've stopped us all from smelling it." Charlie stood, holding his sore arm. He hadn't kept up. He had gotten ahead, then crashed. But he had found the fast way, and he had spotted the danger first. Bridgette wiped mud off his shoulder. "You're too small for the trails," she said. "But you see things we miss." She paused. "Come to the clubhouse tonight. There's something we need help finding. Something old and broken. If you can find it, maybe you've earned a spot." Charlie's arm hurt. But he grinned. He wasn't fast. He was something else now, and Bridgette had finally noticed.