Flower Feud by Catherine R. Daly Page A

loud whisper. “How are things with Bob?”
    I gave her a quizzical look. I wasn’t sure, but I thought I could feel Hamilton’s eyes on my back. I didn’t turn around to confirm.
    “You know, your
partner,
” she said meaningfully.
    I opened my mouth to reply. But then, said partner spoke up and added insult to injury. “Did you get dressed in the dark, Del Frito-Lay?” he shouted.
    Tweet!
Our gym teacher, Mr. Rolando, blew his whistle and we all looked his way. “I thought we’d take a break from basketball today,” he said. Some kids cheered and others groaned. I decided to withhold my reaction until I heard what the alternative was.
    “So instead I have a treat — an oldie but a goodie. Today we are going to play Steal the Bacon!” he said cheerfully.
    This time
everyone
groaned. Myself included.
    “A fine, friendly game that tests your speed and agility,” he boomed. He smiled. “I used to love to play Steal the Bacon in gym class back at Saint Nicholas of Tolentine School,” he said. He divided us into teams and gave us each a number from one to twelve. Then he placed a gym towel on the floor. “This is the bacon,” he said solemnly.He explained that he would randomly call a number and the two kids with the same number would walk up to the towel and circle it. Then one kid would grab the “bacon” and try to run back “home.” If that kid made it back, that team got a point. If they got tagged, the other team got the point. It was simple, he said.
    And awful,
I thought.
    The only game I could think of that was worse than this was musical chairs. Not too long ago, that game had been a staple at almost every birthday party. I can still remember making it to the bitter end, circling the remaining chair, warily eyeing the boy or girl who, until that moment, had been a friend and was now a mortal enemy. Then the dive for the chair. And one person triumphantly sitting, the other unceremoniously ending up on the floor.
    “Number four,” called Mr. Rolando. I watched as two kids ran up to the towel and begin circling it.
    “Grab it, grab it!” called Bob from the sidelines. “Do something!”
    Finally, Rob Chambers grabbed the “bacon” and ran back “home” as fast as he could. Maria Gonzales didn’t stand a chance.
My team is losing at Steal the Bacon,
Ithought.
And my family is losing business that they really need. What are we going to tell Gran and Gramps?
    “Number ten,” called Mr. Rolando.
    I watched as Fred Jacobs, a kid from the other team, approached the towel — I mean bacon. Then I watched as he grabbed it and ran away.
Uh-oh,
I thought.
Some dummy forgot their number.
    “Del, what are you doing?” one of my teammates yelled.
    Oh no.
That dummy was me! I stood up but it was too late. Fred was jumping up and down, having scored a point for his team. I hadn’t even tried to stop him. How humiliating.
    “Way to go, Del!” shouted Bob sarcastically. Ashley, who was on the other team, saluted me. I couldn’t even look at Hamilton, who was also on the other team.
    Mortified, I stared at the floor. I hated Steal the Bacon. I hated Bob. I hated Ashley. And I definitely hated the prom, too. It was totally distracting me.
    At the end of the class, I trudged out of the gym, my eyes on the scuffed floor.
    “Hey, Del!” said a voice. I groaned. It was Hamilton. I had almost made it.
    “Hey, Hamilton,” I said weakly.
    “I hate Steal the Bacon,” he said with a grin. “We used to play it all the time at my old school. One time I stole it and this kid tackled me and almost pulled down my gym shorts.”
    I laughed despite myself. He may have been the enemy, but he was still very funny.
    “So I wanted to ask you a question,” he said.
    My heart flew to my throat. Oh no! What if he was going to ask me to the dance? I quickly changed the subject.
    “You know what’s worse than Steal the Bacon?” I asked. “Nothing! Well, maybe square dancing. Remember square dancing?” I rattled