"Scout?"
I looked up from the rather fat ladybug I had been harassing. "What?"
"Nuthin', I'm just bored."
"This is Maycomb, Dill, you're supposed to be bored," I explained. "Want to try to make Boo Radley come out?"
"Nah, we just done that… I was thinking about fishing."
"I thought you were afraid of fish."
Dill had a scheming look on his face – I'd come to associate said look with impending trouble. "I'm not afraid of fish, I'm afraid of swimming – fish ain't nothing. And I figured we all have to overcome our phobias sooner or later."
"Dill Harris, what sort of evil are you planning now?" When he didn't reply, I drew my own conclusion. "Do you want to catch a fish for Jem?"
"Yeah. I thought about drawing him somethin' like a Minotaur, but I wouldn't want him to get the wrong idea. I decided that nothing really says, 'I'm sorry' like a freshly-caught fish."
I thought that should work, even if the theory was confusing as heck. "I still think it's his fault for making you fall off the tire swing, but whatever you say… Do you even know the first thing about fishing?"
"Sure I do, I've been fishing all my life! Jesus, Scout, where've you been?"
Two fishless hours and a broken toe later proved that this was indeed another of Dill Harris' fabulous stories.
"You did just fine, Dill," I assured as I helped him limp down the street.
"Everyone made it look easy enough, "he muttered by way of reply, and refused to say another word on the subject.