Page 50 of The Summer Show

“I am going to get the rubbing alcohol,” Yiayia said. “We will need it.”

Twisted up in some elaborate wrestling move, they rolled toward the table. Hard to say who was winning.

The bread basket toppled off the table, landing on the hot concrete.

Enough was enough. It was bad enough that their shenanigans had wiped out a flower pot, but this was bread. Soft, pillowy bread that had been out of the oven less than an hour and still had a chewy crust.

Did they have no respect for quality baked goods?

This had to stop before more bread was ruined.

“Is there a hose around here?”

Nobody answered. They were busy making bets about who would win. So I found the hose myself, a lazy python coiled up at the side of the house. I uncoiled the loops, turned the water on full, and dragged it to where the lunatics were fighting.

Breaking up fights was rare in our elementary school. The hormones hadn’t kicked in yet. That didn’t mean I didn’t know what to do. These fully grown men would get the same treatment as a pair of warring dogs.

All betting stopped. The laughter started. Everyone except the oblivious idiots rolling around the concrete recognized what was about to happen and found it deeply hilarious. Me, I was just trying to save bread.

I aimed the nozzle at the men.

Pulled the metal trigger.

Water rocketed out of the nozzle, nailing their backsides. I would have aimed for their heads but their butts were closer.

Cursing, the men broke apart and scrambled to their feet. Their expressions said they wanted to be annoyed but couldn’t quite get there because they knew, a fraction below the surface, that they were a ridiculous pair of boneheads.

I released the trigger. Blew on the nozzle. Tucked the python’s coils back into its sunshiny bed.

And went to see about some more bread.

nineteen

Filming. Night two.

We reconvened at the set. After hair, makeup, and the same costumes we had worn last night, we were divided into two teams that had, as far as I could tell, been chosen arbitrarily.

Nick was on the other team. On my team were Pretty Monkey and Kostas the childlike mountain. Rounding out our team was a barrel chested fisherman named Tassos and a man who looked like an accountant but could have been a serial killer.

“Good luck!” Memo said as we approached the arena.

Team sports weren’t my thing. In fact, I’d go so far as to say I was a walking cautionary tale about the dangers of non-sporty people trying to play sportsball. So I really hoped balls weren’t about to enter the arena with us.

They didn’t.

It was so much worse, but not entirely unexpected, I had to admit.

Two palaces had arrived overnight, placed at either end of the arena. Set pieces, obviously, but the magic was convincing. I believed. They were heavy on the columns and statuary. Grand. Imposing. The roof of each palace was adorned with a flag waving from a wooden pole. One blue, one white.

Racks were set up along the sidelines. Weapons racks. Nestled in each slot was a long spear. Alongside the weapons racks, armor racks waited. Armor in the form of round shields.

“Do not worry,” Memo said through the earpiece, trying to sound positive and failing. “The spears are not sharp.”

As if that would make a difference. One thing I learned when I was on playground duty: you can make a weapon out of anything if you try hard and believe in yourself. Those spears could be made out of bread and they could still gouge an eye. Hopefully the shields were the real deal and we figured out how to use them—fast.

Paris, done up in an excess of sequined denim, jogged to the edge of the arena with his barking ball of fluff and leaned over the barrier. Memo translated his words for me. “Everybody get ready. Warm up. And now they are going to play some getting-ready music. I think it is from Rocky. Very good music. Inspiring.”

Sure enough, the theme from Rocky burst forth from the speakers like Athena out of Zeus’s head. My gaze cut directly to Nick, who was standing with his arms folded. Foreboding. Keeping the enemy at bay with his attitude. I raised my eyebrows at him in an “Are you going to show us your robot?” way.