Big Mouth by Deborah Halverson Page A

and rocket, jam and rocket…
    My wrist started to burn. My forearm threatened to cramp. That’s when I realized that I was a total idiot. I should’ve let the ice cream get soft and melty first. The pros probably knew that. At least I’d stretched. Maybe I’d tell Lucy to add weight lifting to her graphs.
    Jam and rocket, jam and rocket…
    Every movement became automatic. Tuning out the burn and the freeze, I concentrated on my form. My shoulder and upper arm were tucked against my ribs, my wrist and hand worked the scoop, and my elbow bent like an automatic hinge, bringing the spoon up to my mouth and back down to the chocolate tub again, over and over. I unhinged my jaw as best I could—
open wide, stick in spoon, clamp down, pull off with lips…open wide, stick in spoon, clamp down, pull off with lips…open wide, stick in spoon, clamp down, pull off with lips…
    The muscles in front of my ears were burning.
    “Two minutes down!” Gardo hollered.
    That’s all?
    “Ten to go.”
    Autopilot was kicking in, and my mind started to wander. I heard some voices, so customers were probably coming in. But I didn’t want to look up, I didn’t want to move my head one iota. If customers were coming in, so be it. They could wait. History was being made.
    Jam and rocket, jam and rocket…
    Two of the voices sounded familiar. I think they belonged to my afternoon regulars, Fudge Ripple and Butter Pecan, two ninth graders from my school.
    Jam and rocket, jam and rocket…
    Yeah, that’s who it was. Who was with them?
    Jam and rocket, jam and rocket…
    “Four minutes left!” Gardo hollered. “Four minutes!”
    Four more minutes?
I didn’t know if I could keep it up.
    Jam and rocket, jam and rocket…
    More voices. The shop was filling. Someone shouted, “Go, Thuff!”
    My lower face muscles burned as I opened, shut, opened, shut, opened, shut. I started to seriously regret this whole thing as my stomach started objecting. It was cold, it was stretched, it was not happy. It felt like I’d just downed a whole gallon of milk—and not the wimpy nonfat kind, either. No way could I keep up this speed for twelve whole minutes. No way. Maybe I was a sprinter, a two-minute speed eater. Twelve minutes was a mistake.
    Jam and rocket, jam and rocket…
    Ugh.
So that was what it felt like to swallow a whole Thanksgiving turkey…
when it was still frozen.
And there was still a ton of ice cream in the tub. Where would I fit it all? There just wasn’t enough room. Maybe if I threw up—
No!
No. Reversals of fortune were for wimps. I wanted to be champion, I could
do
this.
    I’ll catch a burp. That’ll free up space.
Without pausing my arm and mouth, I hopped and wiggled and shook like Tsunami did when he was trying to settle the hot dogs to the bottom of his stomach. A burp was in there, I knew it, caught under the ice cream. I just…had to…dislodge…the…ice cream…
    “Go, Thuff!” someone yelled.
    “You can do it!”
    “Pack it down, big guy!”
    BURRRPP!
    Total silence in the room, then laughing and more cheering.
    Oh man, that does feel better. Way better.
I shook my head like I’d just regained consciousness. Three and a half minutes left. I could last three and a half minutes. That burp was the ticket.
C’mon, Thuff!
I redunked the spoon in the water, splashing everywhere, then jammed it into the ice cream once again.
    Jam and rocket, jam and rocket…Yes! I got me a second wind, baby! Thank the Gods of Gas for burps…. Jam and rocket, jam and rocket…
    I’d excavated a crater in the center of the chocolate ice cream. My whole lower arm disappeared as I stabbed in for another scoop, then another, then another.
    Jam and rocket, jam and rocket…
    My bulging stomach had gone past prickly cold, right into numb. My throat was totally numb, too, and the icy numbness was traveling upward, into my head, into my br—
    “Ow-ow-ow!” I screamed, dropping the spoon and clutching at my forehead.
    The crowd gasped. In