Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 114211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
“Make that the only small-town ma-and-pa joint,” says Pete.
All around us are clusters of people chatting and catching up, the ones who didn’t head home or off to brunch somewhere in town. A bearded man nearby excitedly describes to his friends a barbecue he’s throwing next weekend. Someone else, a lady with an abundance of jewelry on her fingers, is saddened by the news of a math teacher retiring this year from Spruce High. Three girls and a boy are chasing each other around the parking lot while the mother chides her husband about being too lax with the children, then resorting to wrangling them in herself, arms flapping and hands clapping madly, while the dad complains that “kid needs to be kids, let them have fun” before giving in and helping.
But I don’t see Anthony anywhere. I didn’t notice him leave, either. Did he slip out before everyone else did? It’s possible, since he was near the back, though it’s not like me to miss something. I pride myself in being as observant as a hawk no matter what.
Maybe Pete’s right and I’m having a totally off day.
I’ll give myself a single guess as to who’s responsible for that.
By the time Trey comes out, most of the others have left, and the parents decide to join us for our trip to the burger joint. It’s just down Main Street, and the path is mostly shaded by store awnings and trees, so we end up walking there together. Trey’s dad, while a bit reserved in demeanor, is warm and invested in me and Pete, asking us questions and delighting in our answers as we walk down the street. Cody’s mom is bubbly, clinging to her son’s arm the whole way, now and then throwing in a funny comment and giggling too much. Trey’s suspicious eyes keep landing on her, likely wondering why she’s so giddy, though he always maintains a polite smile on his face, even if it’s not always convincing.
“Look, they brought out the Tackler Monster!” shouts Cody.
We’ve arrived at the burger joint—Biggie’s Bites is the name—and standing out front is one seriously unfortunate soul wearing a costume that looks like the rejected mascot to some sports team no one’s heard of. He’s big, orange, and furry, with a head that looks like the Cookie Monster with yellow alien eyes and two tall antennae sticking out through holes in an oversized baseball cap worn backwards. Around its furry neck hangs a sign that reads in funny letters: “TRY MY HOT & TASTY TACKLE BURGER TODAY!”
As people pass by, the monster does some funny poses, gives a thumbs-up, or cheerily waves with its big hairy hands. Its motions are slowed by the heavy costume, and sometimes it stumbles left or right, as if dizzy, then rights itself with a silly dance as a person passes by, never speaking, like a silent bundle of monstrous joy.
I can only imagine how badly the poor soul trapped in that big costume is steam-cooking in their own sweat.
“Let’s get a picture with it before we go in!” shouts Pete. “Hey, Tackle Monster! Can we snap a shot with you?”
The monster turns its giant head our way. It just stands there, unresponsive, staring us down like we’re about to become the big burgers it wants to eat next, all its cheer from a second ago, gone.
Is it about to jump at us? Wave? Suddenly break into another silly dance?
Pete rushes up to its side, apparently not waiting for the furry monster to respond, and flags over the rest of us. “Cody, you and your ma get on this side. Trey, you’ll stand on the other side with your pops. And Bridge, you can stand right up here with me.”
“Then who’ll take the pic, Einstein?” I ask, getting my phone out. “Go ahead and get into position, everyone. I’ll take the shot.”
The Tackle Monster puts its arms around the others, its dead, alien, cartoon eyes staring at me. I lift the phone and fit everyone into the frame, then snap a few shots.
“Your turn!” announces Pete, snatching the phone from me. “Go get in there, cowboy!”
I hesitate, but when Cody and Trey flag me over, I give in and approach the monster, taking Pete’s place nestled in its left arm. It doesn’t feel as nice and cuddly when it puts its huge, hairy arm at my waist, making me feel like its awkward date to some school dance. I try to work the grimace currently on my face into a smile when Pete shouts, “Cheesy cheese!” at us.
That’s when I feel the monster’s big furry hand slowly slide down, squeeze my butt cheek, then return to my waist.
I turn, startled, and stare at the side of its blank, furry face.
Did that just happen? Or did I imagine it?