Page 68 of Eye on the Ball

Monkey? Poor kid.

“Fine, fine, fine,” Monkey grumbled, putting his phone back in his pocket. “But, dude. Great job. Thanks for saving the world and all.”

They turned to leave, but Monkey looked back at us and winked at Jack. “Dude! Congrats on scoring the hot chick!”

Jack stood stock still for a long moment after the kids disappeared around the side of the food truck aisle. Then he looked at me, outrage all over his face.

“Old age?Old age?I’m thirty-three!”

“Oh, honey. It’s okay. You missed the important part, anyway.”

“That I’m a hero?”

I batted my eyelashes. “That you scored the hot chick.”

His outrage morphed into smugness. “I certainly did.”

We were still laughing when the “fifteen minutes until pig racing” announcement blared out over the speakers.

“Shaquille O’Squeal, here we come!”

37

Jack

Shelley adored the pig races and kept jumping up and down on the bleachers.

“Look! They’re giving them Oreos for a reward!”

“I’d run around a track for Oreos, too,” I told her.

She grinned and gave me a one-armed hug. “Me, too! Ooh! Look! They’re bringing out the piglets for the swimming race!”

Sure enough, as soon as Spamela Hamderson won the last race around the track and the pigs all snorfled their reward cookies on their way to their trailer, the woman in charge of the event led a group of eight piglets out. They were cute, even I had to admit. Maybe sixty pounds each and shiny clean. They wore ribbons and bows around their necks.

“How old do you think they are?” I asked Mike, knowing nothing about pig life cycles.

He studied them with his farmer’s eye. “Probably three or four months.”

“They can train them to do this that young?”

“Pigs are smart. They probably start training them when they’re four or five weeks old.”

“Can we have one? Can we, Uncle Mike?” Shelley’s eyes filled with piglet-shaped stars. “I’d take care of it!”

I expected him to say no, but he thought about it. “How about this? We spend this year seeing how things with Pickles go. If you still want to raise a piglet, come this Christmas, we’ll talk about it. It would be your responsibility to do all the work, though. Ruby is not a fan of pigs.”

“Yay!”

I winced and rubbed my ear, wondering if my eardrum had just shattered. Ten-year-old-girl excitement and superior tiger hearing didn’t make a great combination for the tiger.

Tess, on the other side of Shelley, leaned over toward me, behind her sister. “Hey. I see the new chemistry teacher over there with Rick Peabody. She texted me she’d bring the perfume bottle, and I could get it here. I have her refund check in my purse. I’ll be right back.”

Shelley and I cheered for the piglets, who raced around the oval track, climbed a short ramp, and dove into the pool, curly tails wagging. They swam across to wild cheers from everyone, even me, and crunched down on their cookies.

“Who won?” I’d missed it, when I’d turned to see Tess walk over to the woman, presumably the new teacher, standing with Peabody.

Shelly pointed at the smallest piglet and the black-and-pink one next to it. “Kim Kardashaham almost won, but in the end, Porker Posey took it all!”