Splat! by Eric Walters Read Free Book Online Page A

agreed.
    â€œWell if
I’m
stupid then
you
were just as stupid.”
    â€œYou?” David asked, pointing at me. “You helped push it over?”
    â€œWe’re not admitting to anything,” Keegan said. “But,
if
I did do it, and I’m not saying that I did, you know I’d need some help. Do you know how heavy those port-a-potties are? How hard they are to tip over?”
    â€œI don’t know...but apparently you do,” David said.
    â€œI 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.
    â€œHow about if we just watch the parade?” I suggested.
    â€œMaybe 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 sortof people I’d normally cross the street to avoid. They were also older—like in their early twenties.
    â€œWe’re not supposed to run the event during the parade,” I said.
    â€œYou go and tell them that,” Keegan suggested.
    â€œSure.” I walked over. As I got close I could swear that I smelled alcohol.
    â€œIt’s about time,” one of them said.
    â€œYou’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.
    â€œI 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?
    â€œIt’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.”
    â€œNow 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.
    â€œSo, that was okay with them?” Keegan asked.
    â€œSure, no problem. Let’s just watch the parade,” I suggested.
    â€œSounds like you really want to see it,” Keegan said.
    â€œI’ve seen it fifteen times before and I’m sure there isn’t going to be much different this time,” I said.
    â€œCan’t imagine there will be
anything
different. At least business should pick up when the parade is over,” Keegan said.
    â€œProbably.”
    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 MissTomato 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.
    â€œYou know,” Keegan said. “There’s only one thing worse than bagpipe music.”
    â€œTuba music,” I said.
    â€œYeah, exactly! That’s the only thing that’s worse.”
    â€œHow much do you think somebody would pay to throw a tomato at one of the pipers?” I asked.
    â€œMan, 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