The water rippled as shadows shifted ominously beneath the surface.
I forced a cocky grin, though my stomach was doing backflips. “Relax, old man,” I shot back. “I’m just deciding which hand to sacrifice.”
Their laughter exploded like a shotgun blast, echoing into the thick woods around us. It was exactly what they wanted—a show of gumption, to prove I had what it took to be considered part of the family.
And damn it, I wasn’t about to disappoint.
I plunged my hand into the water, the sudden chill biting through my skin. The mud sucked at my arm like quicksand as I groped for the promised “hole.” Every nerve in my body screamed that this was a terrible idea, but I shoved the doubt down deep.
My fingers brushed something solid, and then it moved.
Fast.
“What the—” I yanked, but whatever was down there had other plans. It clamped onto my wrist with a force that could crush bones, its grip stronger than I expected. Pain shot up my arm, but I held on, gritting my teeth as the guys roared with approval.
“That’s it!” Tank hollered. “Pull the bastard out!”
The thing—a fish, I prayed—thrashed violently, sending waves splashing over my boots. I dug my heels into the mud, the strain making my muscles burn. My free hand clutched at the bank for balance, but the damn thing was winning.
“Don’t let it punk you out!” Braveheart shouted, his voice thick with mockery.
“It’s biting me!” I shouted, trying to dislodge my hand, to no avail.
“Well, duh,” Donut groaned, munching on a beignet. “It’s what they do.”
“Stop whining and yank it out already!” Tank barked, his voice cutting through the chaos like a whip.
The pressure on my wrist intensified, and for a split second, I considered giving up. But then I thought of their smug faces, their taunting laughter that would echo in my head for years if I failed. No way was I letting this thing get the best of me. Pulling as hard as I could, I managed to get my elbow past the surface of the water and well... that’s when I screamed like a little girl and didn’t give a flying fuck who heard.
“It’s an alligator!”
“Oh, shit!” Thore dropped everything and came running as Gator and Romeo fell out of their chairs, laughing like a pack of hyenas.
“GET IT OFF!” I screeched loudly, the sound causing a flock of birds to take flight.
Tank sprang into action, grabbing the nearest stick—a hefty branch—and waving it like a sword. “Hold still!” he bellowed, as if wrangling an angry alligator was a simple two-step process. Meanwhile, Braveheart doubled over, tears streaming down his face, gripping his knees as he howled with laughter.
Thore wasn’t far behind, clutching my arm like a lifeline as I flailed in the mud. “Quit moving, you’re making it worse!” he yelled.
“It’s eating my arm!”
“Here, gator, gator, gator,” Donut cajoled as he tried to proposition the damn thing with a beignet.
“Don’t you dare feed it!” I shouted, my voice breaking as I wrestled with the beast. “It’s not a damn mascot!”
“Relax, Trip. The little fella is just curious,” Donut said, holding out the sugary bait like we were at some twisted reptile petting zoo.
Suddenly, there was a splash, and the gator released my arm with a startling jerk. It wasn’t Tank’s stick or Thore’s grip or even Donut’s absurd attempt at bribery that scared it off—it was Romeo, who had somehow conjured a bucket out of nowhere and hurled it straight at the reptile’s face.
The gator blinked, stunned, then slid back into the murky depths with an air of casual indifference, as if it had simply grown bored with the chaos.
Silence descended as we all stood frozen, staring at the rippling surface.
“Is it gone?” I whispered, clutching my arm like it might suddenly vanish, too.
Tank tossed the branch aside, shooting Romeo a look of grudging respect. “I think you scared it off. Nice aim.”
“Scared it?” Romeo smirked, puffing out his chest. “I don’t think so. That gator knew it couldn’t handle all this.” He gestured to himself grandly, earning a chorus of groans and mock applause from the others.
