Splat! (3 page)

“And I'm sure both she and her new boyfriend would disagree.”

“I don't care what he thinks...actually I don't believe he
does
think. The guy is such a caveman. He operates on only basic instincts. ug...Owen...need meat...Owen need fire...fire
magic
.”

“You be sure to do that impersonation the next time you see Owen. He'll be really impressed.”

“I would, but he wouldn't understand that I was insulting him. I just can't believe that she dumped me for a tuba player. Can you believe that, a
tuba
player!”

“First off, she didn't dump you. You told her that you wanted to see other people.”

“Yeah,
I
wanted to see other people.
That didn't mean I wanted
her
to see other people.”

“Okay, I'm not even going to go there. Second, you didn't even seem interested in her until she started to see somebody else.”

“She's not just seeing somebody else, she's seeing a
tuba
player. The freak plays tuba in a marching band. Who in their right mind dates a tuba player?”

“Certainly a step down from you,” I said, “but he does do a few other things too.”

“There's only a few other things that stand in the way of me kicking the stuffing out of him!”

“And would those include the fact that he out-weighs you by sixty pounds, plays on the football team and is the state wrestling champion?”

“Those would be the things,” Keegan admitted. “As well, I pride myself on being nonviolent.”

“Especially when you're on the receiving end of the violence.”

“Especially correct. You know he's all wrong for her. For one thing he's just
way
too old. Seniors shouldn't be allowed to date sophomores. He's almost three years older than her.”

“If you mean three years, as in she's just about to turn sixteen and he's just about to turn eighteen, then you should check your math.”

“Shows how little you know. He turns eighteen two weeks before she turns sixteen so that means for those two weeks he
will
be three years older than her.”

“I stand corrected, although I'm a little stunned that you know his birthday. Were you planning to get him something?”

“Yeah, right. I just know his birthday. And it's not only that it's three years, it's a percentage thing. He's like...like...what percent older is he than Kelsey?”

“Twenty percent,” I said.

“Are you sure it isn't more?”

“Are you questioning my math ability?” I asked.

He shook his head. “You are Mr. Math.
But really, there's got to be some law against it.”

“You might want to check with your father on that one. He probably would have arrested him by now if that was a problem.”

“I'll check with him. I know that in some states it must be illegal to date somebody who's twenty-percent younger than you.”

“I doubt it.”

“Then if it isn't illegal, it should at least be
immoral
...sort of like dating your cousin.”

“In some states I think it's illegal
not
to date your cousin,” I joked, “but I don't think this is one of those states. If it would make you feel any better we could paint his face on one of the targets and you could toss tomatoes at it.”

“I'd rather toss tomatoes at him.”

“Safer to toss at the targets,” I said. “And just remember we'll be making some money to fix up the skate park.”

“Do you really think we could raise enough money to buy anything worth having?” Keegan questioned.

“Any money is better than no money.”

“I guess you have a point,” he said. “It just seems like a lot of work.”

“Speaking of work, everybody wants to volunteer me to do work today. What exactly did you volunteer me to do at your farm?” I asked.

“It's nothing,” said Keegan.

““If it's nothing, you can do it by yourself. Tell me what it is.”

“It'll take fifteen, twenty minutes at most. It's nothing.”

“Tell me exactly what this nothing is or it'll take you exactly twice as long to do it by yourself.”

“We just have to move some tomatoes,” Keegan explained. “Some rotten tomatoes out of storage and into the compost, that's all.”

“Sounds delightful.”

“Not delightful, but we'll both get paid and that's not bad.”

“Not bad,” I agreed.

We came to a stop at the lights and jumped off our boards. My board skittered
away to the side. For a second I thought I was going to trip before I regained my balance.

“Mind if I ask you a question?” Keegan asked.

“Could I stop you if I wanted?”

He shook his head. “Probably not. I was just wondering, why do you want to raise money to improve the skate park?”

“I just want to make it better.”

“Yeah, that's great. It's just...you're not really a very good skateboarder.”

“I'm not fantastic, but it's not like I'm the worst person in the world.”

“Not the worst,” he agreed. “But the person who's had the worst luck with injuries.”

“I haven't been injured in weeks.”

He pointed down at my left leg which was all ripped up on the outside of the calf.

“Okay, I haven't been injured badly in
almost
a week. So, what's your point?”

“It is just that people usually only like what they are good at, but you love skateboarding.”

“And because I'm not that good you don't think I should like it so much?”

He shrugged. “I guess. I gotta give you credit though. Nobody, and I mean nobody, can take the pain and abuse you suffer and keep coming back for more.”

“I guess that's a compliment.”

“It is, man, believe me,” said Keegan. “You're like a superhero with absolutely
no
powers. Forget Superman or Spiderman or Batman. They have special powers or abilities or at least really, really cool utility belts. But
you
—you know you can't fly but you keep jumping off those buildings. Now that takes guts.”

“Guts or stupidity.”

“Wasn't going to mention that, but maybe both. You're like my personal superhero... Splatman!”

“You make it sound like I never land a trick,” I said.

“You land some, but
not
landing them doesn't seem to stop you. Me, if I missed a trick six or seven dozen times I might just stop. But you, you just keep coming.”

“Again, I'll take that as a compliment.”

“It
is
, believe me.”

“And I guess we're very similar that way,” I said.

“We are?” Keegan asked, looking confused. He was a great boarder and hardly ever missed a trick.

“Yeah. How many times in the last month has Kelsey said no to getting back together with you?”

“More than I can count.”

“But you still keep picking yourself off the ground, wiping away the humiliation and coming back for more, knowing that she wants you to die,” I said.

“It isn't that bad.”

“Oh, it is,” I said. “Believe me, it is. But still, you haven't given up.”

“Not yet. I remain hopeful.”

“Hard to see how. It isn't like she's given you even a word of encouragement.”

“But there is encouragement. It's like I said...she's dating a
tuba
player. Sooner or later she'll have to come to her senses.”

I dug the shovel into the pile of rotting tomatoes, and they dripped and dropped into the wheelbarrow. The tomatoes looked disgusting and smelled worse. They were all rotting and running and looked more like blood and gore than produce. It all reminded me of an episode of
CSI
or the
Texas Chainsaw Massacre
.

I dropped the shovel and picked up the now-full wheelbarrow. Carefully I pushed it out of the barn. This was my sixth load
and I was really working up a sweat...which reminded me...where exactly was Keegan? He said he was just going to the bathroom and, unless he was actually having a bath, he should have been back by now.

Then I saw him. He was sitting on a stump in the shade, talking on the phone. His wheelbarrow was still filled with tomatoes. In the time I'd dumped the last two loads he still hadn't emptied one.

“Keegan!” I called out.

He turned around, scowled and gestured for me to leave him alone. Then he turned his back to me and kept talking on the phone.

I felt my temper starting to rise. This wasn't even my job to begin with and now I was the only one working. I was getting so mad that I could just...I looked down at the tomatoes in my wheelbarrow.

I reached down and picked up one of the tomatoes. It was so overripe it was squishy and soft to the touch. My fingers sunk in, almost breaking the skin. I tossed
it a few inches up into the air and caught it again. Nice weight. Nice.

Keegan still had his back to me. There was a slight wind—left to right—so I'd have to take that into account. I drew my arm back and threw the tomato. It flew through the air, slightly spiraling, toward him and— Splat! It smashed right into the back of his head and exploded into a thousand pieces of pulp!

Keegan shrieked and jumped into the air, spinning around in mid-flight. His expression was shock, fear and confusion, all rolled into one. He didn't know what had happened.

He reached up to the back of his head. When his hand came back covered with tomato he quickly put the pieces together in his head. There was only me here, standing in front of a wheelbarrow full of rotten tomatoes.

I started to laugh so hard that I almost fell over. Keegan's expression wasn't so joyful. He hung up the phone and slipped it into his pocket.

Suddenly he broke into a smile. That wasn't the reaction I expected.

“Lucky shot,” Keegan said.

“Lucky for me.”

“
Completely
lucky. You don't throw much better than you board. One-in-a-million shot. I could stand here all day, and you wouldn't be able to do that a second time.”

I picked up a second tomato. “Wanna find out?”

“Go ahead.”

“Turn around again. I don't want you to move if it's coming for you.”

He started to turn around and then stopped and spun back around to face me. “But, first I should get a shot at you. That would be fair...right?”

I shrugged. I had to admit that it did seem fair. “Go for it.”

“You turn around.”

Reluctantly I turned. It was better to get it in the back of the head instead of in the face—not that he was going to hit me. It
was
a pretty lucky shot that I got him to begin with. I doubted he could hit me.

“Go ahead and throw the—”

A tomato flew by my head, missing by at least two feet. I knew he couldn't hit me. A second tomato crashed into the back of my head and I screamed in shock and pain. It really hurt! As I turned around, a third tomato whizzed by my face, just barely missing my nose.

“Hey, you were only supposed to—” Another tomato was midair, and I ducked behind my wheelbarrow as it flew past.

I grabbed a tomato and flung it wildly at him, missing by a mile. I grabbed another and took aim, and it smashed into the side of his wheelbarrow.

Keegan grabbed an armful of rotten tomatoes and started running directly at me. I pitched one high and wide and then a second that was a direct hit, square in the middle of his chest!

He staggered slightly, slowed down and then dodged to the side. I hurled another tomato, but it missed—he was practically on top of me. I reached down and grabbed two handfuls of rotten tomato pieces and
flung them in his face at the same instant he threw his armful of tomatoes at me. I had just enough time to close my eyes as they exploded into my face, temporarily blinding me.

I reached over, grabbed Keegan by the shirt and tried to pull him forward and into the wheelbarrow. He fought back, and he was bigger than me. He reached down and scooped out more tomatoes, throwing them up into my face. This wasn't working at all.

Still holding his shirt tightly in my hands I threw myself backward. My weight pulled him forward, depositing him in the wheelbarrow. The tomatoes squashed under him and overflowed over the sides of the wheelbarrow and onto me!

I tried to roll out of the way but before I could get away the wheelbarrow tipped over and I was covered by tomatoes and Keegan.

“Truce, truce!” Keegan screamed as he rolled off me.

“Truce,” I agreed.

Keegan's hair and face, pants and shirt were red and pulpy. He looked like he'd been shot in a dozen places, bloody and gory.

“You know who you look like?” Keegan asked.

“You?”

“With your hair color and freckles, plus all the tomato pieces and your shirt stained red you look like Stewie the Tomato,” he said.

“Then that makes two of us,” I said. “You should look at yourself!”

He held up a red hand and then looked down at himself.

“Okay, me too. But you gotta admit that
was
fun.”

“I liked it. Especially the first shot. It was pretty cool to aim at a real live target.”

“It was,” he agreed. “I'd pay money to do that.”

“So would I.”

“In that case, maybe instead of getting paid to help, you should pay me for the privilege of tossing tomatoes,” Keegan suggested.

“Yeah, this was a lot more fun than tossing
them at some stupid target—” Suddenly an idea came to me.

“It's not just you or me who would pay money for this. I bet a whole lot of people would pay a lot of money to throw a tomato at a real live person.”

Keegan smiled. “Are you saying what I think you're saying?”

I nodded. “Forget targets. Let's charge people to throw tomatoes at other people.”