It turns out that Flip is some kind of national ping-pong champion. He claimed that he couldn’t find his trophy to prove it, but even if he was just kidding, it didn’t matter, because he really could play. I didn’t even score a point in the first game.
“You serve too hard!” I ran to the corner of the room to retrieve one of the ping-pong balls that had ricocheted off the table and then off my forearm.
“Hard, shmard,” Flip said. “You need to toughen up for your river trip.”
“C’mon, just serve one easy so I can hit it back to you.”
“Oh, okaaaay.” Flip delivered the next serve in slow motion, and I finally was able to return the ball. Then his eyes widened as he smacked it super hard again, and it bounced off the table and into my lower lip.
“Owwww!” I immediately felt a bump raise up where my lip got smashed between the ball and my tooth.
Flip frowned and hobbled over to my side of the table.
“Oh, hey, I’m sorry, kiddo. The ball wasn’t supposed to hit you in the mouth.” He put his hand on my shoulder and looked me in the eyes, pouting a bit. Then his Flip-smirk appeared. “You do know that was game point.”
That did it. Who cares about a little fat lip?
“Oh, good.” I said. “Let’s play again. Now it’s my serve, and I’m on to your little game.”
I wound up like I was going to hit my serve really hard. Flip stood back from the table, getting ready to return it. Instead of whacking it, I tapped it easy, and it landed on Flip’s side of the table, close to the net. He lunged, but missed it.
“Nice whiff! That makes the score 1-0, and I serve again.” I blew on the ball and gave Flip the evil eye.
This time I executed a perfect softball-windmill-arm serve. Flip lunged forward, but I hit the ball way up in the air, and it came down and bounced off his head, and out of bounds.
“Pretty sneaky,” Flip said.
“Looks like the national champ’s a little confused. Two, zip!”
I blew on the ball. Gave the evil eye again . . . and then I totally ran out of ideas! It wasn’t fair. I hardly ever play ping-pong. So, in my confusion, I ended up tapping the ball over the net, which must have made it look as big as a meatball to Flip, who pounded it. But this time it didn’t hit me, because I dove under the table.
I heard the ball ricochet off one wall, and then another, and then it splashed in something.
“Wow! I couldn’t do that again if I tried. One to two,” Flip said.
I poked my head up just far enough for Flip to see my eyes, glaring at him.
“C’mon, Riley. You can’t play from under there.”
I stood up and stuck out my fat boo-boo lip. “How about you play with your left hand?”
Flip tossed the paddle in the air. It turned over a couple of times, and then he snatched the handle with his left hand. “I’ve been hoping you’d ask that.”
I forgot Flip was left-handed.
And then the serves came harder, except for when he faked a hard serve and then dribbled it. One time he let me get a few volleys in, but then he wound up, and after I dove under the table, he hit a gentle one.
Flip laughed so hard one time that he completely missed the ball when he tried to serve.
“My serve! My serve!” I danced around the table.
This time, I didn’t even try to hit the table. I just batted the ball straight at Flip.
The ball smacked him right on the lower lip. I watched as a little bump appeared immediately where his lip got smashed between the ball and his tooth.
We both collapsed on the ground laughing. For a minute I thought I might wet my pants.
“What is wrong with you two?” I looked up from the ground to see Sunday, shaking his head. Both Sunday and Brady stared down at us like we were crazy.
Flip still lay on the floor laughing. “Just a little friendly game of ping-pong,” he said. “You guys wanna play?”
Brady’s eyes flicked back and forth between Flip’s and my fat lip, kinda like he was watching a tennis match. “No, it looks too dangerous. Come on, Sunday, let’s go finish blowing up those aliens.”
Flip rubbed his lip and collapsed laughing on the floor again. “What do you say we call it a tie and go get some ice for these injuries?”