Six
Hey, you gonna finish that?”
“No, I guess not.”
Tommy handed the rest of his popcorn over to Jerry, who already had himself a Bandits Burger (two patties with fried onion rings glazed in hickory smoke barbeque sauce) and a Shutout Shake (just vanilla ice cream and chocolate milk mixed together, but Jerry swore they put alcohol in it).
“Get ready for a long summer again,” said Eric as he put his head in his hand.
Tommy and his friends had sat through seven innings of classic Bandits baseball: No runs for the good guys, plenty for the bad guys. With the lowly Providence Peacocks coming into town, the boys believed the Bandits had a chance to start the season off on the right foot.
They were wrong.
“It’s just the first game. You never know,” said Tommy.
“At least one of us is having a good time,” Justin said, looking next to Tommy.
Artie, sitting by Tommy’s side on the bleacher, saw something that caught his eye. He shot up out of his seat, barking and tail wagging.
It was his infamous adversary: The Bandits’ official team mascot, Beebee.
“Art, you can stop,” Tommy said. “He heard you.”
Beebee gave the usual wave and continued on his way, taking pictures with the young boys and girls. The arms and legs of the person wearing the costume jettisoned out of the oversized torso like toothpicks, ending with big cartoon gloves and cowboy boots. Tommy wondered fleetingly how it was possible that none of the kids were scared to take a picture with such a bizarre-looking character. Tommy was never one to get his picture taken with Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny, no matter how hard his mother tried to make him. There was something about a person who hid behind a mask that made him feel uncomfortable. And, the older he got, Tommy was beginning to realize that not all masks are the visible type.
Artie didn’t stop his barking, and some of the people sitting around him began to look.
“That’s right, Artie. You tell him,” Jerry said, chewing his popcorn. “I bet he can’t even see them people he’s taking pictures with!” He yelled this loud enough for Beebee to hear.
The top-heavy mascot, a nightmarish depiction of a cowboy, complete with a mustache and ten-gallon hat with a “B” adorned on the front of it, turned in the direction of Tommy and his friends, looking right at them with his dead, cartoon eyes. His big, fake smile and even bigger cowboy hat swayed from side to side as he walked through the stands.
Beebee, almost tripping over a small child with a camera in his pudgy little hands, was heading toward Artie and company.
Jerry got up on his feet. He dug his hand in the box of popcorn and took out a fistful of buttery puffs.
“Make sure you don’t trip, BEEBEEEEE!” Jerry dragged the “E” out for what felt like forever, then he launched his popcorn-filled hand at the mascot, showering it in yellow rain.
Beebee, seemingly forgetting where he was, started rushing up the bleachers at Jerry, pushing families out of his way with his massive cartoon hands.
Artie’s bark reached a crescendo as he leapt from his seat. He darted at Beebee, but when he landed on the next bleacher seat going down, he collapsed and let out a whimper.
“Artie!” Tommy yelled.
Scrambling around the people seated in front of him, Tommy reached out and picked up his four-legged friend.
Artie was shaking.
“Artie?”
Everyone, including Beebee, froze.
“What’s wrong with him?” Justin asked, visibly concerned.
“I don’t know,” Tommy said, clutching Artie to his chest. “Grab my bike. Hurry!”