Chapter Text
Arthur Kirkland rummaged through the boxes in his bedroom, wondering what to keep and what to throw away. He needed to downsize before going to college in the autumn. Though he wasn't one to develop sentimental attachment to anything, some of the things he came across were hard to get rid of. A few of those things would include a stuffed green rabbit with wings that his grandmother had made him when he was little, some yearbooks from elementary school, and a book of pressed flowers that he and his childhood friend Alfred Jones had made before Arthur had moved away in sixth grade.
He sighed as he combed his blond hair back out of his green eyes with his slim fingers. "Who knew I had so much junk?" he asked himself. With another sigh, he got around to opening the final box, ending up throwing most of it in the garbage.
One thing stuck out to him, though. It was a small notebook with pictures and clippings sticking out of it. Though Arthur could only see the back of it, he already knew what it was. It was a small book he had made about Alfred when they found out he was moving away. Alfred had made one about Arthur as well, and the boys each decided to hold on to their own to make the separation between them less difficult.
Arthur pulled the notebook out of the box and smiled when he saw the cover. "The Very Best Things About Alfred" was written on the front in large, clumsy letters. And though he knew he didn't have the time for it, Arthur cracked open the notebook to a page and read what it said.
"Alfred Foster Jones is my best friend, and here is why. He had always been by my side. We are straight-up homies. No one will ever replace him."
He felt his lips pull from a smile to a frown, knowing that he had lost contact with Alfred after a falling out freshman year of high school. Finding this book made him wonder how his old friend was doing. Should he give him a call? No, that would be weird. Or would it?
Deciding against it, Arthur took the notebook downstairs to where his mom was making dinner. "Mum, check out what I found," he said, sitting on a barstool at the island counter where she was working. He slid the notebook across the counter to her. "It really takes you back, doesn't it?"
Alice Kirkland looked up from her cooking and adjusted her glasses as she peered down at the notebook. "Now there's a name I haven't seen in ages," she mused, smiling. "I miss our friend Alfie Jones." She wiped her hands on a dishcloth and began flipping through the pages of the notebook. "He was such a sweet boy when we lived next door to each other." Her green eyes shifted up to her son. "What ever happened to him anyway? You haven't even spoken his name in a couple years."
"We got into a fight freshman year and haven't spoken to each other since," Arthur flatly stated, taking the notebook back and shutting it. His fingertip traced the words on the cover as he thought for a few moments. "I do wonder how he's doing sometimes," he admitted. "Do you think I should give him a call?"
"I don't see why not," Alice answered. "Then again, you know most families don't use home phones anymore."
"That's true," he sighed, pulling out his cell phone. "But I'll still try it out."
He went back up to his room and set the notebook on his desk as he collapsed into the chair and found Alfred's old number in his contacts. His fingers tapped impatiently on the hard wood of his desk as he waited for someone to pick up.
"Hello?" a woman's voice answered. "Jones Residence, Amelia speaking."
"Mrs. Jones?" Arthur asked, dumbfounded over the fact that they still had a home phone. "This is Arthur Kirkland. I was a friend of Alfred's."
"Yes," she said, a strange tone to her voice. "I remember you quite clearly, Arthur. Unfortunately, Alfred no longer lives here and no longer has a cell phone. I'm sorry."
"Is there any way to reach him?" Arthur asked, leaning forward in his seat. Something didn't seem right. How was there no way to contact Alfred? "I will be studying abroad for college in a month, and I would like to see him if possible."
"Next month, you say?" she asked. "It may take awhile to do so, but I believe that if you talked to some friends of his, they could point you in his direction." Amelia sighed on the other end of the receiver. "Unfortunately, they're all over the place."
The boy's interest was piqued. "You mean for me to go on a roadtrip to find him?" he asked. He had always loved adventures. In fact, he and Alfred used to go on adventures all over the place as children.
"Yes," she sighed. "It's the only way." After a moment, she said, "I only know where to find one person, though. But she may be able to lead you to him, or at least other people who would know."
"Would it be alright for me to go talk to her?"
"I can let her know ahead of time," she stated, a smile in her voice. "Let me find her address real quick."
.
Amelia Jones hung up the home phone and took a deep, shaky breath. She didn't expect the day when Arthur would call their home again. With trembling fingers, she dialed the number and waited for the person on the other end to pick up. "Hello," she greeted. "This is Amelia Jones, Alfred's mother. I finally received the call. He's coming your way in two days."
After hanging up the phone, she smiled fondly at the picture of her son that she kept on the mantle of her fireplace. "He's on his way, Alfie."
.
Arthur looked at the address that he had scribbled down on a loose piece of notebook paper. This person lived about a four hour drive away from him. Though he didn't understand why he couldn't just call the person, he could sense an adventure on the horizon.
Little did Arthur know that he was about to experience the craziest month of his life.