Striker Jones and the Midnight Archer

by Maggie M. Larche

  Chris emptied his pockets onto his dresser. He threw down some spare change, a couple of guitar picks, and a package of mints.

  “It’s not the thunderstorm,” Richard finally said. He ignored the shushing sounds that Bill was making and squared his shoulders. “It’s this.” He pulled the red t-shirt out of Striker’s hands. “We found this in the closet.”

  Bill clapped a hand to his forehead. “Now we’re done for,” he moaned quietly.

  Chris and Jared stared at the shirt.

  “Darn,” said Jared after a moment. “Chris, I knew we should have hid it under the bed.”

  “So you do know each other?” said Bill, gulping.

  “Yep,” said Chris. He raised his hands. “You caught us.”

  Bill threw a worried look at Striker, but Striker wasn’t paying attention. He disengaged himself from the huddle with Bill and Richard and walked over to Chris’s dresser.

  “Why’d you lie?” asked Bill, turning back to Chris. He straightened up and put on a brave face. “You can tell us.”

  “It’s not . . .” Richard leaned forward and whispered, “illegal, is it?”

  Striker turned to face the room and laughed. “Bill, Richard. Relax. It’s not what we thought.”

  How do Chris and Jared know each other?

  Solution

  Chris and Jared are in a band together!

  When Chris emptied his pockets, Striker saw that he had been carrying some guitar picks. But Jared was the one with the guitar!

  When two items go together, they are called complements. Peanut butter and jelly, a left shoe and a right shoe, a tennis racket and tennis balls – these are all pairs of complements. Having one item allows you to get more use out of the other.

  A guitar pick on its own is not much use. It needs to be paired with a guitar in order to fulfill its purpose. A guitar and a pick are complements.

  When Striker saw that Chris had an item that Jared would need, and vice versa, he guessed that they were connected through music. He wasn’t sure why the two had lied about knowing each other, but it seemed much more likely that it had something to do with a band than with some of the dastardly plots Richard dreamed up.

  “You guys would have found out tonight,” said Chris. The boys were standing around the room, drying off with some towels that they had finally found in the closet.

  “The Philosophy Club is our band. Me and Jared are the only two members here at camp, but we’re still pretty good. We can both play the guitar, and I play harmonica when we perform together. When we got here, a counselor I know from church asked us if we would mind playing at the welcome bonfire tonight. He wanted it to be a surprise for the campers, so we couldn’t tell anyone.”

  “We figured,” said Jared, “that rather than lie to you guys about how we knew each other, we’d just pretend we’d never met. We were afraid we’d give it away otherwise.”

  “Well, I guess we won’t hold it against you,” said Bill.

  “Even if you did almost give us heart attacks,” said Striker, laughing.

  “I’m just glad you’re not really up to some evil plot,” said Bill. Striker nodded.

  “I don’t know if I can forgive so easily,” said Richard.

  Jared and Chris exchanged uneasy looks. “Look, man,” started Jared, “we really are sorry –” but Richard cut him off.

  “Nope. Sorry. There’s no way I can get past this.” He paused, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Unless, of course, you’re willing to let me play your guitar.”

  The guys all laughed.

  “Deal.”

  Chapter 3: Relay Race Riddles

  “Morning, boys!”

  A few days after camp began, all the girls were gone on a field trip to a nearby Native American reservation while the boys had a field day. The following day, they would switch places.

  The owner of Camp Leopold, Mr. Cutchins, was addressing the group of about 40 boys. He was a grey-haired man with glasses and a full beard. “I’m glad to see you men wide awake on this gorgeous morning. We’re going to have a fantastic time today. And who better to lead us in all this merriment than the other half of the Leopold dynamic duo – our head counselor, Jamie!” He gestured to his left where Jamie stood with all the other male counselors. “Take it away, Jamie!”

  Jamie stepped out from the others. He wore shiny, reflective sunglasses, hiking boots, and a crew cut. “Thanks for the intro, Mr. Cutchins!” He grinned out at the campers. “Today we’ll have lots of fun and have a great time getting to know each other better! We’ll have several competitions, some serious and some silly. I hope you’re all ready to run and maybe even get wet!”

  The boys all cheered. It was only midmorning, but the sun was already beating down on them.

  “Jamie’s my favorite,” said Bill to Striker. “He always comes up with the best ideas.”

  “He rocks,” agreed Richard, standing nearby. “Do you remember last year when he helped us build the world’s largest ice cream sundae?”

  “And then helped us start the world’s biggest food fight with it!”

  The boys laughed as Jamie began speaking again.

  “First thing we’re going to do,” said Jamie. “Everybody take your shoes and socks off!”

  Striker and Bill looked at each other in surprise.

  “You heard the man!” said Richard.

  All the boys took their shoes off, some sitting on the ground, others kicking their shoes off as they stood.

  “Whoops,” said Striker as he tilted sideways while pulling off his left sock.

  “Okay, guys,” said Jamie. “Socks, if you’ve got ‘em, go in your pockets so you don’t lose them. As for your shoes – I want you to throw them into a nice big pile here in the middle of the field.”

  “Why not?” said Striker with a laugh as he set off for the middle of the field.

  All the boys jostled one another as they ran together, tossing their shoes into one pile. By the time they were done, there was a mountain of sandals, sneakers, and boots.

  “Now let’s make it interesting,” said Jamie. He walked to the pile and mixed the shoes all together. A mixture of laughter and groans rose from the crowd.

  Jamie turned to face the boys again and smiled. “The object is to find your shoes and put them back on as quickly as you can. The first five kids to do so get a swanky camp t-shirt.”

  Everyone laughed.

  “Okay,” said Jamie, “make a circle around the shoes. Stand back about 30 feet.” He marked it off for the kids.

  “On your mark, get set . . . go!”

  The boys attacked the mountain.

  “Whoa!”

  “Found one!”

  “Watch it!”

  “Mine!”

  While Bill zoomed around the pile, Striker ducked to avoid a tennis shoe sailing through the air like a perfectly thrown football. Unfortunately, he wasn’t fast enough the second time and couldn’t avoid a sneaker thrown directly into his stomach.

  “Ooof . . .” he said, doubling over. “Hey,” he looked at the shoe, “this is actually mine!”

  It took Striker a while to find his second shoe, and he was among the last to finish. As he’d expected, Bill was one of the winners. Richard finished near the end with Striker.

  “We’ll nail the next one,” Richard said, as Bill ran back to them, pulling his new bright blue t-shirt over his head as he went.

  “Very nice,” said Jamie. “Next up – a water relay race! If you’ll all come over this way.” He gestured to a row of buckets filled with water. “Let’s split up – four kids per team.”

  The boys began milling around, talking and breaking into teams.

  Bill, Striker, and Richard turned to a red-headed boy standing nearby. His arms were crossed, and he was digging his toe into the dirt. Striker recognized him from the bus on the way to camp.

  “Teammates?” Striker asked him with a smile.

  “Sure!” he said eagerly, uncrossing his arms
. “I mean, uh, whatever.” He shrugged.

  Bill introduced himself, then Striker and Richard. “What’s your name?”

  “Charlie Johnson.” He shifted awkwardly as if unsure of whether to shake hands or not. He finally settled for slouching back onto his heels.

  “Johnson?” said Striker after a moment. “We’ve got a kid named Johnson in our class at school. Ralph Johnson.” Striker looked at Charlie more closely. “You actually kind of look like him.”

  Bill stared at Charlie. “Hey, you’re right! You’re not related, are you?”

  “Yeah, I am. He’s my cousin.”

  Bill and Striker exchanged looks.

  “Good to know ya’, Charlie,” said Richard. He clapped his hands. “Now, let’s win!”

  Jamie held his hands up to regain everyone’s attention. “All right. The object of this relay race is to transfer as much water as possible from your bucket in front of the line to the bucket at the back of the line. You’ll be passing these milk jugs from person to person to move the water.” He held up a jug with the top cut off to make a bigger opening. “Anybody notice anything unusual about these?” he asked.

  “There are holes in the bottom!” yelled someone.

  “You’ve got it,” said Jamie laughing. “Each milk jug has lots of little holes punched in the bottom, so the water will be leaking out as you move it from one bucket to the other.

  “The team with the most water in their back bucket when time runs out wins.”

  “Sounds simple enough,” said Bill.

  Jamie tapped his chin. “Now, I think that’s about it . . . Oh wait.” A devilish look came into his eye. “There is one thing I forgot to mention. You’ve got to pass the water jugs over your heads!”

  Everyone laughed.

  “So I hope you’re ready for a shower!” shouted Jamie. “And . . . GO!”

  Striker’s team jumped into action, scrambling to form a relatively straight line. Charlie, who was first, ran up to the front water bucket and filled the milk jug. He quickly passed it over his head to Bill, who was next in line.

  Bill, sputtering as water cascaded down his face, passed the jug to Striker, who sent it on to Richard. By the time Richard had dumped the jug into the back bucket, there was very little water left. Luckily, the four boys were laughing so hard, they didn’t especially care.

  The same thing was going on across all the teams. Boys hurried to pass the milk jugs back and forth, getting wetter by the minute and falling all over themselves on the slippery grass.

  “Yo, Charlie,” shouted Richard. “Catch!”

  He sent the empty milk jug sailing back to Charlie at the front of the line. Charlie caught it with a surprised and then delighted expression and dashed back to the water bucket to refill.

  By the time the relay was over, everyone was soaked. Striker relished the cool, clean feeling of the water on his skin under the warm sunshine. He stretched his arms out and bumped fists with his teammates. They hadn’t won the relay, but it had been a good time.

  Jamie chuckled as he called the boys back together again.

  “Having fun yet?” he asked.

  “Yeah!” yelled the kids.

  “Good! We’ve got one more competition coming up before lunch. This one’s a little more intense, but I think you guys are up for it.”

  “Yeah, we are!” shouted Richard. The crowd laughed.

  Jamie grinned. “That’s the spirit! Now, this is another team challenge. For the sake of simplicity, let’s keep the same teams as the water relay race. For this one, you get to practice before the actual race because some of the tasks are a little tricky.

  “In this relay race, there are several different activities to go through. Here are the rules.

  “First, each team will have to run four laps around the bases.” He gestured to the baseball field behind him.

  “No prob,” said Bill to Striker.

  “Next, each team will have to make four shots on the b-ball court over by the lake. No moving on until you’ve made all four baskets,” he said, pointing his finger at the crowd of boys while donning a mock stern expression.

  Bill began counting out the rules on his fingers.

  “Next,” Jamie continued, “you’ll have to run the tires on the ground by the courts – back and forth four times.

  “And finally, each one of you must swing over the sand traps – otherwise known as the sand volleyball courts – using the ropes that we have hung for that purpose.”

  Bill looked at his fingers in confusion. “I think I lost track,” he said to Striker. “Was that three or four things?”

  “Four,” said Striker. “I think.”

  “We’ll have to time each team,” Jamie was saying, “because there isn’t room for everyone to run the race at the same time. Two teams will go at a time. Everyone else can watch and cheer!”

  “Whew. That’s a bunch to remember,” said Richard to his teammates. By the looks on everyone’s faces, other teams seemed to be thinking the same thing.

  “Now, I know it’s a lot,” said Jamie, holding up his hands. “Which is why we’re giving you one hour to try out the activities and get a feel for the correct order. We’ve got camp counselors stationed along the way if you need help.”

  “What’s the prize if we win?” one boy yelled from the crowd.

  “It’s good,” said Jamie. “The winning team gets to go into lunch first. You’re going to be hungry after this one!”

  All the boys cheered before breaking back into their groups. Some headed to the basketball courts or baseball fields.

  “Let’s get crackin’,” said Richard, rubbing his hands together.

  “Okay,” said Striker. “Should we try basketball first?”

  “I’m game,” said Bill. The other boys nodded.

  On the court, the boys found a free goal and grabbed a ball. They took turns shooting. Richard sunk his first shot immediately, but Striker, Bill, and Charlie all missed.

  “That’s all right,” called Richard as Charlie returned from chasing the ball. “Let’s try it again, men!”

  Richard made yet another basket, followed by misses from Striker and Charlie. Bill managed to make his shot with a well executed layup.

  As they practiced for another ten minutes, it became clear that Richard was the best basketball player. Bill wasn’t bad, but he wasn’t as consistent as Richard. Richard made every shot but one, while Bill missed as many as he made. Striker and Charlie definitely were the worst; they missed the majority of their shots and, sometimes, even the backboard.

  “Dang,” said Charlie, after he missed a free throw.

  “That’s all right,” said Richard. “We’ll make it up on the other challenges.”

  “We’ll have to,” said Striker as he watched the other teams practicing. “Those other teams all look like they’re better than us at basketball.”

  And indeed, the other teams were making more of their shots than Striker’s team had.

  “That’s okay,” said Bill. “We’ll surprise them. Let’s go try the tire run.”

  Dropping their basketball back on the court, the boys ran to one of the tire runs laid out on the ground. They practiced running through the tires as quickly as they could, lifting their knees high so that they wouldn’t trip.

  Charlie excelled at the tires. He was very light on his feet and moved easily through the tire run while the other boys had to go more slowly to keep from falling over. On one practice run, Richard even tripped at the very last tire and hit the dirt with a loud thud.

  On the whole, they were better than they had been at basketball, but they were still far from the fastest team.

  “Geez,” said Bill, watching the team on the other tire run. “Look at them go!”

  That team had four members who all managed to get through the tires pretty quickly. At least no one looks like they are about to fall over, thought Striker.

  “We’ll just have to count on Charlie here to pull us through,” sai
d Richard, throwing an arm over Charlie’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s go run those bases.”

  Finally, a challenge where Striker felt he could contribute. He was the first to finish the entire lap, with Bill following a close second. He and Bill were so much faster that Richard and Charlie had not even rounded third by the time they each tagged home plate.

  The four boys collapsed on the grass to catch their breath. They watched the other teams practicing on the baseball field.

  “Is it just me,” said Richard, propping himself up on his elbows, “or are we the underdogs here?”

  It still seemed that they wouldn’t be fast enough to win the race. The other teams weren’t as quick as Striker and Bill, but most didn’t have any particularly poky teammates slowing them down either. Taken as a whole, they were probably faster than Striker’s team.

  Charlie nodded glumly while Bill said, “We’re just too uneven. The other teams are better all-around than we are.”

  “So much for winning,” said Richard.

  “Maybe not,” said Striker. “I’ve got an idea, as long as we can hang back and be the last team to compete.” He jumped up. “Come on. Let’s go practice the rope swing. I’ll tell you all the plan on the way over.”

  Ten minutes later, the races began. Each team was timed. Striker’s team won by a landslide.

  How did they do it?

  Solution

  Striker’s team was composed of four boys with very different talents. While Striker and Bill were both very fast runners, neither was very good at basketball or the tires. Richard was great at basketball, but not at anything else. Charlie nailed the tire run, but that was about it.

  If all four members had to participate in each activity, the average of the group would be fairly low. But then, Striker had a great idea. They would specialize.

  To specialize means to focus on what you do best. If you’re a wonderful piano player, you might specialize in the piano and not spend time practicing the violin or flute. If you’re a talented artist, you’ll probably spend more time painting than you will, say, building things. By specializing, you can focus on what you’re best at.