CHAPTER 31

 

The audience usually brings beach chairs or just sits on blankets,” I tell Schuyler as we check out the stage. “Last summer, I actually saw the Drifters, Gary U.S. Bonds, and Southside Johnny—all right here.”

“I might’ve been wrong about you middle school nerds,” says Schuyler, who seems to be loosening up a little. “You guys are okay.”

“Yes, we are,” says Meredith. “We are also extremely phat.”

(Trust me, girls, phat meant “cool,” not “chubby,” back in the ’90s.)

“And of course,” I tell Schuyler, “the stage is conveniently located right next to the boardwalk. In case, you know, you want to hang out under there with my sister again.”

“Huh?”

“Sophia. Or, you know, Olivia. I think that’s what you called her after Sandfleas growled and chased you away.…”

I can tell from his eyes that a lightbulb just flipped on inside his brain. “You were the girl with the dog.”

“Yep. Still am.”

“Well, aren’t I just the rankest compound of villainous smell that ever offended nostril.”

Now it’s my turn to be confused. “Huh?”

“It’s a Shakespearean insult. Aunt Kathy has been teaching me a bunch of them.”

When he’s done cracking me up with all the Shakespearean insults he’s memorized, Schuyler asks if there’s “anything fun to do around here.”

“Are you kidding?” I tell him. “You see that pier there? It’s called the Funtown Pier. You can’t get more fun than that. Come on. How about we go over to the boardwalk and play a few games?”

“Cool.”

“So you guys—who’s up for a quick game of Ringtoss?”

“It’s rigged,” groans Bill.

“So is the baseball game,” says Jeff.

“And the basketball hoops,” says Dan.

“They’re not rigged,” I say with a sly smile. “You just have to know how to beat ’em.”

“And you do?” asks Schuyler.

I nod. “At least the ringtoss.”

It’s time for Jacky Ha-Ha to show off her special skills and boardwalk superpowers.

The Ringtoss booth is conveniently located directly across from my Balloon Race stand. That means I’ve spent several hours’ worth of fifteen-minute breaks learning how to beat the bottles. To win, you have to land your rubber ring on the neck of a glass bottle crowded into a battalion of bottles all lined up in tight and tidy rows.

“Aim for a close bottle,” I tell everybody. “That way, your ring won’t get knocked off course.” I crouch down. “Try to make sure your ring is on the same plane as the bottle tops before you fling it.”

“Whoa,” says Jeff. “Listen to Ms. Geometry.”

I ignore him. We have to do that a lot with Jeff Cohen.

“Snap your wrist as you fling the ring, like you’re throwin’ a Frisbee, to get as much spin as possible. It’s easier to land on the target cleanly if you’re kind of hovering over it like a UFO. You want it to drop straight down to minimize the bounce factor.”

I toss my ring. It lands on a bottle.

“Woo-hoo!” shouts Dan.

“Jack-ee, Jack-ee,” chants Bill.

“My girl is the bomb,” says Meredith.

Schuyler laughs. “This is so cool.” He goes to grab a ring.

“Sorry,” says the guy running the booth. “We’re closed for inventory.”

He grabs the bucket of rubber rings.

“What?” I say. “Inventory?”

“Yeah. I gotta count the rings. So do me a favor, little lady. Go back to your boss’s booth and ruin his day!”

“Fine. After you give me my prize.”

“Here,” he says, handing me a slip of paper. “It’s a coupon. Ten percent off at Willy B. Williams’s Taffy Shoppe. Enjoy.”

“Huh. That’s where my sister Victoria works. Who else is hungry for chewy tubes of gooey sugar?”

Everybody’s hands shoot up.

“So let’s go see Victoria. And please—nobody call her Vickie. She’ll go nutso.”

Little did I know that our trip to the Taffy Shoppe would totally change my big sister’s life. Forever!