Excerpt: Alice Frederickson and the Inescapable Legend

The bright orange hot air balloon floated lazily over the sparkling little lakes and rocky bluffs of Glacier National Park. It was too high up to startle the furry marmots, who had better things to do, anyway, than look up and ponder the embarrassing orangeness of a bag of hot air. The hikers were more bemused, but even more than that, they were amused. They queried one another about the phenomenon. Why a hot air balloon? Why Glacier National Park? Why that horrifying shade of orange?
“Why a balloon?” asked Mr. Peak, breaking the shocked silence that followed his mute halting and pointing at the apparition in the sky.
“Why Glacier National Park?” countered Cliff.
June said what they were all thinking. Or maybe it was just her thinking it, but nevertheless she felt it needed to be said: “Why that horrifying shade of orange?”
Mr. Peak considered. “It’s not that horrifying. Just bright, really.”
June sighed. “But out here—it doesn’t match anything. It contrasts nicely with the sky, I suppose, but all the wildflowers are much paler shades.”
Cliff jumped in. “Wait… so are you saying this is someone’s strange photography setup? Like, it’s just there so someone can take a picture?”
“Well, maybe—but if they wanted to work with the wildflowers they should reconsider,” said June, with the air of one who has encountered such problems before and has earned the right to discourse knowledgeably on the matter.
“Then again, if it’s just the balloon against the rocks and the sky—especially if it’s just against the sky—it wouldn’t matter so much that the flowers are so pale,” added Mr. Peak.
“You guys are so weird,” Cliff said, shaking his head. “Is everybody in the Outdoors Club here like you?”
June smiled brightly, like a spritely hummingbird fed on the sweet nectar of Red Bull and madness. “Why, yes! All the men are Peaky here, and all the women are like me, and take up the inevitable slack.”
“Woman, did you just pun, and badly, I might add, on a forbidden diminutive of my name?”
“Pun, yes. Badly, no. But perhaps The Beard was obstructing your hearing? Or your judgement?”
“Hey, The Beard could beat you with its hairs tied behind its back.”
“Speaking of back hair, for the love of all that is holy, please keep your shirt on for this trip.”
Cliff was beginning to settle into the rut of being the third wheel.