Chapter Eighteen

Sam trudged toward the small arena where the pig wrestling would soon be held. Exiting the auditorium next to the arena, a line of 4-H members trailed out. Disappointment filled the faces of the kids who hadn’t won.

When Sam and his friends got to the arena, they saw cowboys sitting on top of the corral’s metal fence. They matched, sort of, with their jeans, boots, colorful shirts, and brown cowboy hats. Jordan, of course, had to take a picture.

When Sam saw the stands were packed, his stomach turned. The heat beat down on his head, and he felt like he was going to be sick.

“You ready for this?” Sam asked Jordan.

“Are you kidding? We’re going to get that pig and win. We’ll show these cowboys what city boys can do!”

Sam smiled, but he didn’t feel quite so confident. He’d imagined it would be a small event held behind one of the animal barns, nothing like this.

Tall bleachers circled the small ring, which was filled with two feet of mud. Some of Arielle’s friends waved to them from one of the bleacher rows, and as they climbed up the steps, everyone squeezed together to make room for them to sit. Before the pig was released into the ring, it too was also slathered with the icky mud.

Arielle pulled her canvas bag off her shoulder. “Guess what?”

Sam looked her direction, attempting a smile. “What?”

“Natalie and I made some T-shirts for you with your names.” She pulled four gray T-shirts out of the bag and tossed one to each of the guys.

Sam held his up. On the front was a drawing of a pig sitting in a barrel. He couldn’t help but smile. “Gee, thanks.”

“Yeah, turn it around and look at the back,” Natalie urged.

Sam turned it around and saw his name.

“Thanks.”

“Sure thing. Go ahead and put it on.”

Sam slipped it over the T-shirt he was already wearing. He’d purposefully worn his least-favorite pair of jeans and old tennis shoes, knowing they were going to end up a mess.

As soon as everyone had their shirts on, Arielle had them stand so she could take their picture. Sam was glad everyone was excited, but he would have been just as happy to quit and walk away from this particular competition. As he sat in the bleachers, shoulder to shoulder between Jake and Jordan, Sam wondered again why he’d let them talk him into this.

The event started with groups of little kids chasing piglets. Everyone cheered each time the kids got their hands on the pig. They cheered even louder when the kids slipped in the mud during their chase. Only one group actually got the pig into the barrel.

The men’s division was next, and the first guys who entered the pig-wrestling ring made it look anything but easy. The goal of the contest was to catch a pig as a group of four, pick it up, and dump it into a barrel in the middle of the ring.

The first group of guys managed to catch the pig, but the buzzer went off right before they got it into the barrel. The second group of guys didn’t even get a firm grip on the pig. They tried to race up to it and ended up flat on their faces in the mud more than once.

Paul leaned across Jake. “We’re up after these guys. They look old and fat. I’m sure it will take them the whole time just to cross the pen.”

Paul chuckled. “Oink, oink.”

“I’m not too sure,” Jake shook his head. “These are last year’s winners. They’ve been farmers twice as long as you’ve been alive. If anyone knows how to tame a pig, it’s them.”

“Yeah,” Jordan mumbled. “I’ve heard about these guys. I think I saw them on TV. They call themselves the Pig Whisperers.” He laughed, and Paul and Jake joined him.

“Really?” Natalie turned to them, eyes wide.

Jordan laughed harder. “No, it was just a joke.”

Sam wasn’t in the mood for joking around. Instead, he kept his eyes on the timekeeper guy with the orange flag. When the flag dropped, he expected the men to rush forward like the others had done. Instead, they waited and then slowly began their trek across the pen. They didn’t move too fast. They didn’t make a noise. In fact, it seemed as if the whole crowd was holding its breath in anticipation.

“Look at that. The pig isn’t running. He doesn’t even realize they’re coming.” Jake pointed.

Sam felt his shoulders tighten with anxiety. Were they going to do it? Then he watched in amazement as the men circled the pig, picked him up, and deposited him in the bucket as easily as if they were throwing a Styrofoam cup into the trash.

“That’s the way we have to do it.” Sam stood, knowing they were next. He looked at the clock keeper, waiting to hear the time.

“Twenty-nine point five seconds!” the man yelled out.

“No way,” Jake mumbled. “We can never beat that.”

“Hey, stop jinxing us.” Paul socked his shoulder playfully. “We know the plan, right? We’re going to do it just like that—maybe a little faster.”

“Next up,” the man on the microphone called, “are the Baconators! They are about to fry that pig, right boys?”

“That’s right!” Sam heard himself saying.

“Yippee!” Jordan called beside him.

They entered the gate, and Sam was surprised by how thick the mud was. It wasn’t like the soft clay at the soft bottom in Heather Creek. Instead, it had a thicker consistency—like cement that had partially set.

They had to place their hands on the rail near the gate and watch as the pig was released. The pig was huge—bigger than the others had been.

“What is that? Godzilla pig?” he heard Jordan mutter.

The blaring of a horn told them to start, and he knew the seconds were ticking by. Sam forgot about getting the best time. He focused on the pig and just hoped they’d get it into the barrel.

He began inching closer, noticing the others doing the same. Jordan moved faster than the others, and Sam picked up his pace to catch up. The mud was slippery. It was like walking on ice, or grease. With each step he had to pause slightly to balance himself.

“Come on, guys. You’re moving too slow. Pick up the pace.” The words were barely out of Jordan’s mouth when his feet slipped out from under him. Sam didn’t know someone could fall that fast. Jordan landed on his back with his arms and legs sprawled everywhere. Seeing this, the pig squealed and bolted in Sam’s direction.

“Catch him!” Jake yelled, scurrying after the pig.

Sam set his feet, scrunched down, and prepared to catch the pig. It approached, and he dove for it. His arms stretched out and wrapped around the pig, but it was just like trying to catch a large, slippery bullet. His hands felt the bristly hairs of the pig briefly, and then it was gone. Even though the pig moved on, Sam’s body continued falling forward. He tried to catch himself, but it was useless. His hands, arms, and chest hit the mud first and then his face.

“Get up!” Sam heard Paul yell. “Get up! Get up!”

Sam struggled to his feet, but the ground was too slippery. Just as he started to rise, his feet slid again, and his body splashed back into the mud.

Sam tried a third time, and this time he made it up. He tried to wipe the mud from his eyes, but it did little good. He half-opened them and mostly listened for the shouts of his friends.

“We got it. We got it.” He heard Jordan call.

Sam reached them and the pig, and tried to help them hoist it up. It was no use. The pig wriggled and squealed, sounding like it was being butchered. Sam wrapped his arms around it just as the buzzer went off.

“No way,” Paul muttered.

The crowd laughed and cheered—mostly laughed—and Sam felt heat rising to his cheeks. They’d just made fools of themselves in front of everyone they knew.

“Good try.” He felt Jordan’s hand on his back.

“Maybe next year.” Jake wrapped his arm around Sam’s shoulders as they exited the arena.

“Or maybe not,” Sam mumbled, happy to get his feet on firm ground again. He’d barely made it two steps out of the ring when he felt Arielle’s arms around him.

“That was amazing!” She placed a quick kiss on his muddy cheek and giggled. “Watching that was the best thing ever. I’m so proud of you.”

“Really?” Sam straightened his shoulders.

“Come on.” Arielle tugged on his arms. “There are some hoses over here. They use them to wash off the cows and pigs.”

“Are you calling me a pig?”

Arielle reached up and pulled a clump of mud from Sam’s hair, flicking it to the ground. “Yes. Yes, I am.”