Splat! (6 page)

“I don't know...but apparently you do,” David said.

“I knew it would be a two-man operation,” said Sam.

David pointed at Keegan and then me, first holding up one finger and then a second, counting to two.

So much for
not
admitting to anything. Now it wouldn't just be Keegan that Owen would be searching for.

“How about if we just watch the parade?” I suggested.

“Maybe we should let the people waiting in line toss their tomatoes first,” David said. “It looks like they're getting a little impatient.”

I looked over. There were six of them. I didn't know any of them, and they looked a little rough around the edges—the sort
of people I'd normally cross the street to avoid. They were also older—like in their early twenties.

“We're not supposed to run the event during the parade,” I said.

“You go and tell them that,” Keegan suggested.

“Sure.” I walked over. As I got close I could swear that I smelled alcohol.

“It's about time,” one of them said.

“You're going to have to wait a little bit longer. We're not allowed to run our event because of the parade,” I said, trying to sound official and polite.

“I don't see no parade,” one of them said. He sounded like he'd been drinking. It was still before ten in the morning. Who had something to drink this early in the day?

“It's just about to start. Tell you what, you can watch it from here, you can even have our chairs. And once it's over you can have twice as many tomatoes and twice as long for the same amount of money.”

“Now that sounds like a deal,” the same guy said. The others nodded in agreement.

Three of them took the chairs and the other three slumped down on the steps leading up to the schoolyard as I went back to join my friends.

“So, that was okay with them?” Keegan asked.

“Sure, no problem. Let's just watch the parade,” I suggested.

“Sounds like you really want to see it,” Keegan said.

“I've seen it fifteen times before and I'm sure there isn't going to be much different this time,” I said.

“Can't imagine there will be
anything
different. At least business should pick up when the parade is over,” Keegan said.

“Probably.”

I heard the sound of bagpipes and looked up the street. There in the distance, way up the street, I could see the pipers. They always led the parade. Behind them I could make out the first cars—convertibles. My father, as mayor—would be in the lead car. That was tradition. The mayor always followed the pipers. Then the Miss
Tomato Festival contestants and then, in no particular order, a few tractors, some floats, guys on minibikes, some clowns, more floats, the high school marching band, some fancy cars and then, bringing up the rear, the fire trucks with their sirens blaring and bells ringing.

As they got closer the shrill sound of the pipers got louder and louder.

“You know,” Keegan said. “There's only one thing worse than bagpipe music.”

“Tuba music,” I said.

“Yeah, exactly! That's the only thing that's worse.”

“How much do you think somebody would pay to throw a tomato at one of the pipers?” I asked.

“Man, I know I'd pay a lot,” David said.

Both Sam and Keegan agreed.

The pipers passed by and next in line—as always—was my father. He sat on the back of a convertible, waving and smiling at the crowd, the perfect politician.

Just then he looked over and saw the four of us covered in tomato stains. He froze,
his hand above his head stuck in mid-wave, the smile replaced by a look of complete disbelief.

I didn't know whether I should be afraid or amused. I went with amused and waved back as his car rolled by. He cast one more glance over his shoulder, shook his head forlornly and then turned back to the crowd and started to wave. I couldn't see his face, but I knew he'd be smiling again.

I just wondered what was going on in his head. I guess I wouldn't have to wait long to find out. I was pretty sure he'd be back here as soon as the parade ended to tell me exactly what he thought. Maybe he wouldn't be pleased, but what could he really say? we were running the event and even making some money.

“There's my man!” Keegan yelled.

Next in line in the parade was Stewie The Tomato, the official mascot of the Tomato Festival. With him were his entire family—four other people dressed in tomato costumes to look like Mr. and Mrs.
Tomato and their three tomato children. They were riding atop a float that looked like a gigantic tomato basket.

“Hey, Stewie!” David yelled. “You rule, Stew!”

Stewie turned our way and waved. I noticed that the smile painted onto his costume looked very similar to the smile that my father was flashing. Maybe Stewie was thinking about running for mayor. He might have a shot.

“Anybody know who's inside the Stewie costume this year?” Keegan asked.

“No idea,” I said. “I just know how hot he must be.”

I'd been Stewie twice before and by the time they pulled the Stewie suit off me I was swimming in my own sweat. Not a pretty sight or smell—although compared to Owen last night I'd gotten off pretty easily.

Next in line came a float with an Elvis impersonator on the back. Music blared from the truck, and he sang along. When he wasn't being Elvis he ran the gas station.
He'd been a part of the parade for as long as I could remember.

He was dressed in a glitzy white jumpsuit covered in rhinestones and was wearing big, dark sunglasses and sideburns that were like pork chops.

Funny, he used to do a younger version of Elvis. Now he was imitating the middle-aged, big gut, eaten-too-many-donuts-and-deep-fried-chocolate-bars-and-cheesecake Elvis.

Right after Elvis came four white convertibles. Perched on the backseat of each were three of the contestants for the Miss Tomato Festival contest. All twelve contestants were dressed in identical long white dresses.

Kelsey sat in the second car, waving at people. If I had a vote she would have gotten it.

“She looks really good,” I said without thinking.

“Sometimes you don't appreciate what you have until it's gone, huh, Keegan?” David asked. That was even worse than what I said.

“She's only gone for the moment. She'll come back to her senses.”

“I don't know,” David said. “I saw her and Owen together this morning down at the fairgrounds, and they were all kissy face and holding hands.”

I cringed. This wasn't good—but maybe he needed to hear the truth.

“Hey, Kelsey!” Keegan yelled.

The three girls in her car looked over and all got that same stunned look that my father had when he saw us covered in tomato stains. Then they broke into big smiles and started laughing and pointing at us.

“I guess that's something,” Keegan said. “I knew she couldn't stay mad at me forever.”

“Just because she's laughing at you— laughing at all of us—doesn't mean she's going to forgive you,” I said.

“Step by step, I'm moving in the right direction.”

“Just don't forget that large roadblock and his tuba standing between you and her,” I warned.

“I haven't forgotten. If it wasn't for that big goof everything would be fine by now.”

“You can't blame him for everything.”

“Of course I can. If I didn't, then I'd have to blame some of it on
me
and I'm not about to start doing that.”

There was no point in saying anything more—reason hardly ever worked with Keegan.

“It's too bad we can't go to the beauty contest today,” I said.

It was slated for the middle of the afternoon. We had to stay and run our event. Probably for the best because it would keep Keegan away from Kelsey and Owen.

The last of the convertibles passed by, and Kelsey continued along the parade route and away from us.

Next in line came the reason for the parade—actually the reason for the whole town being here. Two tractors slowly moved down the street. Each was pulling a gigantic trailer filled, almost overflowing,
with field-ripe tomatoes. Kids dressed in red, ran beside the tractors and gave out candies to the kids sitting on the curb.

“And here comes your buddy,” David said.

Right behind the tractor two girls held a large banner—
Leamington Heights Marching Band
, it proudly read.

Immediately behind the banner were the first members of the band—the majorettes. They were dressed, like everybody else in the band, in white and blue uniforms topped by blue cowboy hats trimmed with feathers. They all looked pretty ridiculous. The majorettes twirled and tossed their batons high into the air.

Next came the drummers—there were twenty of them at least—banging away, keeping a beat while the rest of the band followed, holding their instruments but not playing. Row after row, they marched forward. Clarinet players followed by the trumpets and trombones and then the two tuba players, Owen and some other poor sap, came next.

Suddenly the conductor yelled out a command, and all the instruments came to life in a rousing blaring version of a Beatles song. John, Paul, George and Ringo never would have written “Hey Jude” if they thought it was going to be played by a marching band.

As they closed in, the song got louder and louder. Once the row of trumpets had passed, the tuba players were so close that you could almost
feel
their playing and—a red blur flew across the street and slammed right into the big, upturned bell of Owen's tuba, disappearing inside!

Owen stumbled and stopped playing. He knew something had happened but he had no idea what it was.

I looked at Keegan. He was wide-eyed. He looked as shocked as Owen.

“I just...I just threw it...I wasn't thinking. I just—”

Then the six guys waiting in line started to toss tomatoes at the band too.

Tomatoes exploded against the members of the band! They startled and jumped, and a trumpet player dropped his trumpet. Some of them scrambled off to the side while others, not hit, not knowing what was going on, kept marching and playing. Owen stood there, stunned, holding his tuba. A tomato hit him squarely on his square head, and he stumbled backwards. Two more tomatoes hit him, and he ran away, using his tuba as a shield. Finally I'd found out what a tuba was good for.

Other tomatoes fell short of the band, hitting the people on the sidewalk. They screamed and scrambled out of the way.

A group of high school kids who had been watching, broke away and ran across the street, trying to get away from the fire—no, they ran up to the tomato trailer, grabbed tomatoes and returned fire!

The float following the band came into range. Suddenly the members of the local peewee baseball team were being fired on. They leaped off the float and ran for the tomato truck, grabbed tomatoes and started heaving them. In the confusion the baseball team didn't realize who was firing on them. They started to toss tomatoes at the teenagers who were doing battle with the six guys on the edge of the schoolyard. There was a gigantic food fight taking place right in front of us!

“We have to do something!” I screamed.

“You're right!” Keegan agreed.

He reached down and grabbed a tomato and tossed it at the six guys. David and Sam started to do the same thing. This wasn't
what I had in mind. I grabbed the fence and leaped over it onto the sidewalk.

The whole street was going crazy. All up and down the parade route the madness was spreading.

The band had disintegrated. Its members had either run off or were holding their instruments in one hand and tossing tomatoes with the other. The baseball players were now showing why they were champions. They were working as a team, directing their fire at the original six shooters. Spectators had abandoned their seats, either running away or joining in the battle. There were lots of kids, but there were at least two senior citizens out there, their shirts stained with tomatoes, fighting back.

Another float cruised into the battle zone, and the choir from the local church came under fire. Tomatoes bounced off their white robes, and they screamed, stopped singing and abandoned the float.

Some of them ran toward another trailing tractor, towing another load of
tomatoes. They started firing back, so much for turning the other cheek!

This was going from bad to worse. Where were the police, where was my father? He'd know what to do.

I started running up the street, but out in the open I was an instant target. I was pelted by tomatoes. They really stung as they hit. These weren't squishy rotten tomatoes but hard, good, eating tomatoes.

I dodged and wove, but I was hit by tomatoes on both sides. I wasn't getting away from them. The fight had already spread up the street, along the parade route.

Up ahead the four cars holding the Miss Tomato Festival contestants were under fire. Most of the girls ducked down in the convertibles, but the tomatoes kept coming, staining the white dresses with gigantic red welts.

Suddenly sirens started to blare. The street came alive with flashing lights and blaring horns. The police who had been blocking streets for the parade came running and driving onto the parade route.

A lot of people ran off, but unbelievably, others threw tomatoes at the police cruisers and the officers. They were in a firefight with cops. Were these people insane? They were using tomatoes against guys with guns and batons and pepper spray.

And that's when the fire department got involved. The big pumper truck roared up with water spewing out of its hoses. A thick stream of water shot out at a row of teenagers who hadn't given up the fight. It blew them backwards and onto their butts! They got up and ran off.

The firemen swung the hose around and aimed the jet of water at another stubborn pocket of people. They scattered and ran. The last few stragglers fled as the police spread out. It looked like it was finally over.