This section of the Knight Crier is devoted to creative writing. Submissions are welcome to [email protected]

When Darla approached me with her latest treasure map, I was less than eager to subject myself to yet another half-baked adventure originating from the back of a Cheerios box. Don’t get me wrong — normally I’d be all over it. Spontaneous escapades involving reckless endangerment featuring the occasional damsel in distress are my life. But in my painful and short lifespan of sixteen years, somehow I always end up the one distressed. There was the Great Trip of 08, and by trip I mean the act of, as in while tripping, I broke both hands and nose in one fell swoop. Then, there was the whole Map Debacle in 2010 during which Darla tried to tell me I was holding it upside down. We solved every clue, stepped every pace… and of course she was right. I almost swore off treasure seeking after last year’s unspeakable incident. You do not want to know how I came to earn the nickname “cherub.” Let’s just say it involved a midget with an inclination for stealing people’s pants… particularly mine. Darla still sends me some funny looks after that one. But this time around, she seems really excited, and if there’s one thing I will not do, it’s say ‘no’ to Darla.

Oh, Darla Jones: five foot five inches of golden hair, green eyes and Southern twang — my sidekick extraordinaire and the love of my life. Not that she knows it yet. But I am convinced I’ll win her over by the end of this next endeavor. I went to the local library to research the best ways to pick up girls, and behind a rusty door in the last hallway of the dark basement three floors down, I came across a dusty tome filled with pages these things called ‘pick-up lines.’ I must say, they’re fool proof. I can’t wait to try one. Every good adventurer, even the subpar ones, has a lady friend, and I’m not willing to be the exception. If that means attempting another adventure, bring it on.

“We’ve graduated from cereal boxes!” I say excitedly as Darla counts out the 546.5 paces. I have never been good at counting. Anything after ten confuses me.

Darla laughs mid-count. “This here map promises a real adventure, cherub. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity.”

“Do you have another map?” I ask.

“No, why?”

“Because I’m getting lost in your eyes.”

“Iowa, we’re not even looking at each other.”

I wince. It’s not my fault the directions in the book of pick-up lines had been ripped out! I can respect manly desperation.

“Five hundred and forty—” I trip, grabbing Darla’s arm as I go down and taking her with me. “Iowa! Are y’all all right, cherub?”

“Fantastic,” I say through a mouthful of dirt. “Now I know why people are only touched by angels. Being sat on by one is painful. Way too much divine glory for just one dude.”

Darla yanks me to my feet. “We’re here!” She gestures proudly in front of her.

“This is the public restroom in the Quikmart. You know I don’t do public bathrooms, Darla! And my God, is this the girls’ bathroom?” Pressing my fists to my eyes, I try to keep my irrational fear at bay.

“It’ll be okay, cherub.” Right as she tries to assure me, a woman bursts through one of the stalls, screaming when she sees me. I scream right back because it’s a reflex. There are people who laugh when others laugh, and cry just because someone else is. But me? I’m a sympathy screamer.

The woman proceeds to abuse me with her purse. “Get out, you filthy pervert! SECURITY!” Classic line. It’s a shame it only works in movies, though I guess I ought to be grateful. The purse, however, still leaves real-life bruises.

“Hey! Find your own nerd to pound!” Darla shouts, grabbing my hand and pulling me through the hole she uncovered while I was suffering a beat down.

“How productive of you,” I mutter as we duck into the darkness. I click on my flashlight. “Where was that wooden spoon when I needed it?” Some people carry pocket knives or pepper spray. My girl, she wields a giant wooded spoon like nobody’s business. It’s so hot.

“Focus, cherub. The map says this tunnel branches off to the left. From there we follow a small river for fifty paces.”

I shine the light ahead of us. “It looks like it goes on forever.”

“Well, nothing lasts forever. Let’s start walking.”

“So if you think nothing lasts forever, will you be my nothing?” I try hopefully.

Darla chuckles. “I can’t decide if that was demeaning or cute.”

I slump my shoulders in defeat and keep walking. While shining my light onto the walls to make shadow puppets, I come across the branch. We discover the map failed to explain the entire tunnel was flooded with water. Darla and I push our way through the current for fifty paces, entering a dimly lit room. Rushing dirty brown water splits the room in half, spilling down the tunnel through which we just emerged.

“Can we jump it?” I ask, walking to the edge.

“We’ll have to try,” Darla concedes. “I’ll go first.” She backs up and gets a running start, vaulting herself gracefully over the river, landing with a tuck and roll. I imitate her, backing up for a decent jump. Five feet from the edge, my wet shoes slip and I face plant.

“My face!” I moan, rolling over.

“Iowa, come on!” Darla calls.

“No really, I’m fine,” I mumble. I abandon jumping, afraid I might actually break something the next time around, and slug through the current. I’m up to my waist and the water is ice cold. Darla helps me out on the other side.

“We’ll stop to warm up in a bit,” she assures me. I shiver in response. We struggle down another tunnel that opens into a smaller room without more water, thank you very much. One wall doesn’t quite reach the ceiling. Darla says that’s where we need to go. She sits down, strips off her shoes and socks, and digs in her backpack for a flare. She lights it and throws it at me, instructing me to dry off.

“You know,” I say, staring at her socks. “I wish I lived in your socks so I could be with you every step of the way.”

Darla just looks at me.

“Huh. Was that weird?”

She raises an eyebrow.

“That was definitely weird. Not using that one again.”

“It’s time to rock and roll, cherub. Get the rope from my backpack. Climb that ladder there and tie the rope around something so I can climb up.” Once I have it secure, I climb back down the ladder. If you’re going to go on an adventure, you’ve got to go all out.

I watch Darla shimmy up the rope. “Give me some fries with that shake, oooh oooh!” I shout. Darla has not responded to my previous lines. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

“Iowa Smith, cherub, y’all vex me, I swear it. Don’t make me untie this rope while you climb it.”

She makes me all tingly inside, that Darla Jones. “You’re cute when you threaten me,” I say as I climb up behind her.

“Come on, Romeo. The treasure should be right around this corner.”

“I can’t believe there aren’t any booby traps,” I say, turning the corner. “Usually I would have set them all—HOLY CRACKERS BATMAN!” I find myself clinging to Darla, wrapped in her arms. Somehow I always pictured that a little differently.

Giant, bedazzled metal spikes stick out of the wall, bearing a sign that reads “Sharp object are closer that they appear.”

“How did I miss that?”

“Just be careful. There’s gotta be more,” Darla warns. She pulls the spoon from her pocket for protection and sets me on the ground.

I tentatively creep past the spikes. In front of me are lettered squares and a riddle engraved on the floor. “What’s in the middle of Paris?” I read aloud.

“I have no idea,” Darla says. “Is it the Eifel Tower?”

“Oh! I’ve got this one!” I say, jumping up and down. I accidently land on the ‘Z’ stone, pushing it down in my excitement. A monkey lowers itself from the ceiling and throws a piece of fruit at Darla.

“Hey!” she shouts. It screeches in reply. “Spell it carefully, Iowa.”

I teeter towards the ‘R’ square but sneeze and press down the ‘K’ accidentally. The monkey throws a coconut at Darla’s head, but she takes it like a champ. Other than that, I step on the ‘R’ successfully so Darla can make her way across. The monkey retreats back to its hiding place.

“What did you spell cherub? What was the answer?”

“It was just ‘R,’” I answer proudly. “P-A-R-I-S spells Paris. Come on, Darla, all adventurers need to be well cultured. I read that in the handbook.”

Looking mildly confused, Darla turns her attention to the final obstacle — a giant red button that reads “Do NOT push!” It’s so agonizingly close, taunting me. It’s criminal to leave a button un-pushed. Everyone knows that!

I can’t help it. I lunge for it, pressing it down. “Iowa, no!” Darla screams behind me.

Suddenly I find myself ensnared in a massive amount of rope, dangling by my ankles. “You can kiss me if I’m wrong, but this is totally NOT my fault, right?”

“Oh, cherub.” Darla pats my cheek and walks past to retrieve the treasure. When she returns, she looks impossibly disappointed with a note clenched in her fist.

“What’s it say?” I ask.

“Beat u 2 it! Loozers.” Darla looks at me, eyes welling. “‘Loser’ isn’t even spelled right. I’m so sorry, Iowa. I thought for sure this time…”

“Hey now, don’t cry, Darla.” I reach up to wipe away a tear. I feel a little strange consoling her while still upside down, but I don’t want to ruin the moment. “You know what?” I ask.

She sniffles. “What?”

“You’re so beautiful that I forgot my pick-up line.” I smile. I don’t need pick-up lines to win over Darla. Cheesy one-liners cannot possibly convey how I feel about my kickass sidekick.

“But I have one for y’all,” she says, the corners of her mouth turning up. She leans in close, and my heart skips a beat. “Can I borrow a kiss?” she whispers. “I promise I’ll give it right back…”