SAM SAW THE CHIEF judge holding his head in his hands.
He looked up to the gallery and saw red-faced Muriel and ghost-white George.
He looked to the Perfecto Kiddos. They sat with their knives and their forks in their hands and their mouths wide open.
Nancy pushed her chair back. Her dress was drenched and probably ruined. She had a shocked, smiling look on her face. She touched his arm and began to say something, but then Sam heard his mother’s voice, calling from the gallery.
“Sam Kellow, don’t you move!”
He looked toward the gallery, at all the staring silent grown-up faces. His mother and his father were hurrying down the stairs into the ballroom.
Sam watched them come toward him. He felt so sad and sorry. No one would believe the grand plans he had had. All they would see was that he had behaved badly.
On his right he could hear Gloria sobbing.
But now his mother and his father were running across the ballroom. The three judges put their score-cards to one side and stared open-mouthed.
There was no hope. Everything was lost completely. The public-address system made a spluttering, laughing sound. Then a voice boomed:
“Perfecto Boy thirty-two, Perfecto Girl thirty-two, present yourselves immediately at the judges’ podium.”
“You’re dead, Mr. Peanut,” said the boy with the jet-black hair. “You are totally executed.”