Sometimes, skipping school doesn’t pan out the way you might think.

It was Friday, and D.C. families emptied out early to stretch the weekend. The boys wouldn’t be missed. They were noodling around the Piscataway Creek shoreline, just enough distance from the road to be out of the way and not be bothered by nosy adults or cops. They found crooked walking sticks and trudged through the mud and trash that lined the rocks and deadwood to an open area facing the wide section of the Potomac before it turned back toward the city. After a brief pushing match, a rock skipping contest ensued. Who was the best? They didn’t care all that much. Chucking rocks was better than being at school arguing over glue, sprinkles, and stupid costumes for the coming school play.

But after a few rounds of arguably the best rock-skipping in the county, a dull thud caught their attention. A wayward throw had struck a nearby lump of floating trash a few yards from shore. Blue crabs scattered into the water to avoid the assault.

Could they hit it again and sink the debris? Or hit a crab! New contest!

A volley of bombs crashed into the river, with each toss getting closer and closer to their target. They were better at skipping rocks than chucking softball-sized stones. One found its mark. There was a loud thud and a bounce, and the rock splashed a few feet away. Direct hit!

The boys were celebrating with high fives while trying not to tumble into the river or lose a shoe in the mud when the tallest of the three stopped and forced the others to turn.

Their target had rolled over, and a ghostly face stared back at them, its mouth open and swollen tongue filling the hole. One eye was partially bulged out, the other pushed in a bit too far. The body bobbed but stayed put, snagged on a branch protruding from the river. Still too far to reach but close enough for another attack.

“Wicked! Did you see his eyes?”

The tallest boy dove into his pocket and tried to tap in his code. His excitement and friends jumping around made it hard. He finally unlocked the piece-of-shit phone that was his older brother's two years ago.

“Camera. Camera. Before it floats away or sinks. Yes!”

“We're gonna be famous—we found a dead guy!”

Now they really had a target. Amid the squeals of delight and the jockeying for position, an onslaught that would have made the Navy proud rained upon the bobbing corpse. Who was going to be the man? Who was going to nail that guy square between his grotesque eyes?

They threw whatever they could find. Sticks, rocks, a few empty bottles, but nothing freed the body from the branch’s grip. So the boys dared each other to free the man. But no one was brave enough to wade into the freezing water, let alone touch a dead guy.

With no profiles in courage, posing for pictures was the next best thing. Smiles beamed as they snapped a few with the head floating in the background and the crab mounted on it. Poses with the head peeking over their shoulders were fun too. They took turns pretending they were in a horror movie.

Even a dead body can get boring. It just sat there, glaring back at them. It was back to serving as a landing spot for crabs.

“The team is gonna freak out! Let’s get the guys and come back tonight!”

The boys returned to their bikes and cranked off to their neighborhood. The mud was cold in the November chill, but the adrenaline kept them pumping through the streets.

Photos circulated, and by lunchtime, the three were instant celebrities. Some didn’t believe them, a few were just jealous because they were stuck at school, and others asked about the body. They organized an expedition to show off their new find. Backpacks, flashlights, and a rope that might reach their treasure were collected.

But of course, there was that one kid. There always is. The one who showed his mother the gruesome pictures and caused things to come crashing down around everyone.

Before the kids could head out to retrieve the dead guy, the parents were all over it, and the cops were knocking on doors.