Storytime, day 22 continued
my trusty paintball gun against my chest. “Retreat!” Snow Cone screamed, issuing a new order. I smiled, but shook my head. “Say again, good buddy?” I dug my finger in my ear. Retreat? What was he talking about? Shouldn’t he be screaming something like victory or three cheers for Hashbrown or. . . ? “Retreat Hashbrown!” Four Hips appeared from behind the cover of the dumpster hopping up and down like a possessed orca. Four Hips, Snow Cone and Measles flung their paintball guns into the air and charged off in the other direction. Out of the corner of my visor, a giant figure blazed into view. It was a set-up. Pot Roast and Stilts were only decoys and now Hambone Oxcart, Pordunce Elementary School’s number one bully was barreling down upon me toting a massive cardboard tube in his arms. He was the secret weapon! Hambone looked like a bearded brontosaurus, crashing through the trees and trampling anything standing in his way. Where did he come from? How did Piñata Gonzales convince Hambone to play on his team? More importantly, what in the world was he holding? I tried to run, but it was useless. Hambone covered the distance in a matter of a few lumbering strides. In a final attempt to save myself I fired my paintball gun directly at Hambone. The bullets simply bounced off his muscular chest as if it were bulletproof. Grinning, he positioned the tube on his shoulder, revealing a can of fluorescent yellow paint emptying into the rear. It was no ordinary cardboard tube. No, it was a paintball bazooka! Ka-blam! I blacked out for a solid minute. When I awoke, Piñata Gonzales and Staples Ardmore stood dangling our captured flag above my head like a kite. I looked like one of my younger sister’s finger paintings.
62
rate this story!
“I told you to wait,” Snow Cone said, slugging me in the shoulder as the two of us, heavily plastered with paint, exited the course and headed toward our bicycles. It was a heartbreaking loss. My team had gone undefeated two years in a row. “I don’t get it,” I said, skimming paint from my chin with a squeegee. “Since when did Piñata become friends with Hambone? Hambone doesn’t have any friends. He beats everyone up.” It just didn’t make sense. Hambone Oxcart ruled elementary school. No one messed with him. Not even the teachers. Snow Cone grabbed my arm and pulled me behind a tree. “There’s the reason,” he whispered. Through the cover of branches we saw Piñata Gonzales, Petrol Giminski, and Staples Ardmore handing Hambone a stack of comic books and some green dollar bills. “They paid him off.” “Dirty little boogers,” I said. “They stepped over the line.” “Yeah but what are we going to do about it? We can’t cross Hambone.” My blood boiled as we crept away from the trees. “Where was Whiz anyway?” I asked. “Nature called,” Whiz said, poking his head up from behind his bike. In his hand he clutched a plastic bag filled with a dampened pair of his blue jeans. He now wore a pair of pink and green shorts, two sizes too small and decorated with tiny paintball helmets. “I got these for cheap at the gift shop,” he said, staring down proudly at his new clothing. “That’s gross, Whiz,” I said and took a step back to give him some room.
Hashbrown Winters is the first book of local author, Frank Cole. It’s all about Hashbrown, and how he crosses the biggest bully of the school, Hambone Oxcart. Learn more about it at: knowonder.com/stories/hashbrown