Bacon Pie

by Candace Robinson

How stupid is that? Crap.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Lia + Daddy

  Kiev and I head through the gate and pass a couple of people in pig costumes holding up signs that I don’t bother to read. I adjust my headband and tuck the tissues I got from my backpack along the sides to avoid a migraine.

  We spot Caroline as soon as we walk up to the Pig Shack. She looks down at her watch—a real one this time. “You guys are just in time, so that means you can leave at six.”

  I was hoping that much, since Dom was practically begging me to come and see Dad tear up the floor at the bacon contest, his words exactly. Now, I have a vision of Dad dancing while eating bacon—Barnabas playing Michael Jackson in the background for him.

  We both nod our heads. Caroline’s black ringlets fall forward when she scans the clipboard nestled in her hand like it’s her own little baby. Her head rotates upward to look back at us. “You two have piggy petting zoo duty today. Just follow the piggy footprint trail.”

  Kiev and I look at the ground for footprints. “I don’t see any pig prints,” Kiev says, cocking an eyebrow at the empty grass.

  Caroline taps the air with a fashionable fingernail. “Right there.” There’s a long row of individual pig feet on thin metal rods, trailing to a large caged-in area up ahead.

  “Like I said, when it gets to six o’clock, you two can leave for the day.” She smiles with her wide grin.

  “So, you ready for some baby pigs or what?” Kiev nudges my arm.

  I think about piglets for a moment. They’re cute. “I did like the movie Babe. Charlotte’s Web, on the other hand, was awful. And not because of the spider, the pig was annoying.”

  “Can’t say I’ve seen either one, but we did read Charlotte’s Web back in like fifth grade. It still brings a tear to my eye.” Kiev smiles and rubs the side of his eye for emphasis.

  “Yeah, I don’t think our class read that one. I can only remember reading The Giver.”

  “Nice. That’s a good one.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t like that one either. I think I’ve only liked 1984, which we read last year—it made me actually think about the world. I tend to not get too deep about things.”

  “I haven’t read that one, but I’ll have to check it out. If you want to think deep, you need to read more Shakespeare.”

  “Can’t stand that guy!”

  Kiev shakes his head, smiling. “Lia, you disappoint me so.”

  When we get to the piglets, it’s actually a pretty big area—metal fence with some wood connected to it along the bottom. I pull open the metal latch of the gate and stroll inside. I spot two college-aged guys. One seems to be flexing his bicep continuously at himself in his overly tight pink volunteer shirt, while the other one with glasses is fiddling around on his phone.

  “Doesn’t look to be too busy in here,” Kiev says, pulling the gate closed.

  Looking around, I see zero people in here. Easy enough. “It does have a distinct smell, though.” To avoid the smell of animal droppings, I keep my breathing to a minimal.

  “That it does.”

  “I guess we’re here to relieve you guys,” I say to Glasses and Muscles.

  “Oh, thank God,” Glasses says and zooms past us.

  Muscles’s eyes seem to scan over the both of us and linger. Not sure if he’s checking me or Kiev out or what. “Maybe I should stay?” he asks as he approaches us, his tongue swiping his bottom lip.

  Kiev speaks up. “No thanks, dude.”

  Muscles shrugs his shoulders. “Y’all’s loss.” He grins and strolls out.

  “Freak,” I whisper after he closes the gate.

  A little pig comes scampering up and sniffs at the side of my shoe. I bend down and pat its tiny pink head. Angling my face up at Kiev, I say, “He’s not as cool as Pepe but pretty close.”

  Kiev’s eyes study the fence. “Shit.”

  “What?” I search around for pig droppings because there’s a lot of it, but I seem to be in the safe zone.

  He closes his eyes for a moment before opening them. “Incoming.”

  I stand and glance over the gate. “Crap. Daycare kids.” There are three rows of kids, halted in front of the gate with blue shirts that read Sunshine Daycare across the front.

  We allow ten in at a time, so they don’t go too crazy. Maybe a better number would have been five, because they are a disaster, pulling pig’s tails, poking, jabbing, and stepping in the poop. Kids are insane.

  A little brown-headed girl with two buns on the top of her head tugs on the edge of my shirt. I want to tell her to please don’t touch me with those hands that I don’t know where they’ve been, but instead I say, “Yes?”

  “Where do baby pigs come from?” Her eyelids blink several times, waiting for me to answer.

  I blink several times back at her. “From a momma pig.”

  “Where does the momma pig come from?”

  “From a momma pig.” I turn to the side so maybe she’ll go play with a pig or something, but she appears right back in front of me.

  “Where does that momma come from?”

  “From a momma pig.” Shit. I mean, what other answer does she want—she needs to talk about this with her parents.

  “Where does—”

  “I think your teacher’s calling you.” I point to a young woman who may be in her early twenties—she seems to be consumed by keeping the other kids in check. The little girl opens her mouth and stares at the teacher, but then finally leaves. Not all the kids seem to be overhyped on sugar—one little boy is gently petting a pig in the corner. I move closer to him to hopefully not be bothered with questions.

  After the daycare kids leave, the area stays pretty quiet. “That was rough,” I say.

  “Nah. It wasn’t that bad,” Kiev says, petting a little pig behind the ears.

  “Sorry, I forgot you were totally the kid whisperer. You were able to help the teachers calm them down.” I thought it was hard sometimes with Barnabas’s sisters, and that’s only two of them—a total cakewalk compared to this.

  He grins wryly. “I guess I just have patience.”

  I do need some of that.

  For the rest of the time we just talk back and forth about nothing, until two women wearing volunteer shirts stroll to the gate. “Your time’s up,” a lady with pink hair says.

  I pull out my phone and glance at the time—it’s already six o’clock. “Great.”

  The two ladies come in, and we exit. “Are you ready to go home?” Kiev asks.

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you, I’m going to be staying for the bacon eating contest. My dad has been practicing like crazy.”

  “I can stay with you.”

  “No big deal. I can catch a ride with Dad, and I think Barnabas will be there, too. My dad normally hates bacon, but he has built a tolerance specifically for this.” I shake my head and laugh.

  He rubs his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “Now you have me intrigued. I think I’ll stay to see this.”

  My heart speeds up, and I want to press my hand against my chest to tell it to knock the hell off. “All right, that works.”

  I pull the napkins out from under the pig-ear headband, and then slide the band off. But I have nowhere to put the stupid thing.

  Kiev snatches it from my hand. “I’m going to put these in the car, then I’ll find the contest and look for you there.”

  Well, that problem’s solved. “Thanks.” I smile.

  The contest is easy to find because there’s a huge pink banner with bright white words that read: Bacon Eating Contest. There are already several people seated on the wooden bleachers. Dad’s auburn hair is easy to spot at a table in the center, and he gives me a big wave. I shake my fist in the air to show him some support.

  Barnabas and Dom are sitting front row and center. Taking a seat next to Barnabas, I lean over and ask Dom, “Where’s Mom?”

  Dom runs a hand across his bald head. “She ended up having to work late tonight. And she was disappo
inted that she doesn’t get to see Alex vomit from acting like an idiot over this whole contest.”

  I laugh. “I don’t think there will be any throwing up from the stamina he now has.”

  Dom holds up his huge phone that looks more like a tablet. “I’m going to record it for her, though.”

  Nodding, I lean back and look at Barnabas. “You got here early.”

  “Yeah, I hopped a ride with the Daddies. Dom saw me and said it was pointless to drive separate.”

  “You didn’t invite Sophie?”

  Barnabas puckers his lips. “I did, but she had to work tonight.”

  “So, what’s going on with you two?” I wanted to ask him during lunch since he sat pretty close to Sophie, and they kept giving each other glances.

  Something hits my peripheral vision, and I look to the side to see my hat. “I thought you would want this.” Kiev has a half-smile on his face.

  “I could ask you the same thing,” Barnabas whispers in my ear while trying not to laugh.

  I take the hat and slide in on my head. “Thanks.”

  Kiev takes a seat beside me. “No problem.”

  “Who’s your friend?” Dom asks.

  I roll my eyes because I hate introductions. “Kiev, this is my dad, Dom. Dom, this is Kiev.” I motion between the two.

  Dom’s dark eyebrows furrow. “Kiev? As in the one you punched in the face?” He turns to Kiev. “And you’re still hanging out with this girl?”

  Kiev turns all red. “I’m apparently a glutton for pain. What can I say? I do like Shakespeare.”

  “Wow,” I say.

  “So, you’re doing the bacon contest, sir?” Kiev asks, scanning the contestants.

  Closing one eye, Dom points to Dad. “No. That would be Alex. He’s the one over there with the hair that matches Lia.”

  “Oh. Okay,” Kiev says like he doesn’t understand, but his head turns and he spots my dad.

  “I have two dads,” I point out.

  He still looks confused. “No mom?”

  “Yes, I have a mom. I didn’t come from a petri dish. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.” I point to my biological dad. “That’s my real dad, but they both feel like equal dads, if that makes sense. My mom also lives in the same apartment complex, as does Barnabas.” I turn my head to Barnabas, who thankfully is wearing tight black pants today instead of the loose catastrophes.

  Kiev nods his head. “Cool.”

  “That’s it?” He doesn’t have any more questions?

  “Yeah, it seems you manage the family dynamic well, even though your parents aren’t together. I wish I could say the same for mine.” There wasn’t any pity in his voice, just stating facts.

  A loud squeal echoes in the air through a handheld microphone. “Welcome to the Fifteenth Annual Piggy Palooza Festival. Are y’all ready for the bacon contest?” Mr. Ham is the speaker with his incredibly bad curly combover and thin mustache.

  Most of the audience, with the exception of me and Kiev, cheer. Barnabas cups his mouth and yells something I don’t understand. Dom stands up and claps while yelling, “Go Alex! Tear the pig apart!”

  I want to tell Dom that the pig is already torn apart, since the contestants are eating bacon, but let him have his entertainment.

  “We’re giving the contestants one hour to eat as many platefuls of bacon as they can”—Mr. Ham pauses—“or until there’s only one contestant left standing.” He makes a weird howling sound. I roll my eyes. Or until someone has a heart attack from eating all the damn bacon. This is so ridiculous.

  Kiev rubs his hands together. “This is going to be good.”

  “So, are you not thinking the festival is lame anymore?” I ask. It hasn’t been that bad, but I wouldn’t go out of my way to come here on my own.

  “Oh, it’s still very much lame, but who can pass up watching an eating contest?”

  I raise my hand. “Me.”

  “You can lean your head against my shoulder and close your eyes if you get that grossed out.” He baby pats the edge of his shoulder.

  I give him a soft shove. “Seriously, shut up.”

  “Flirting?” Barnabas mouths the words when I look his way, and I shake my head.

  The announcer seems to be making sure all the contestants are in their places. Four plates of bacon are lined up in front of each person, and there are volunteers with other plates ready to replace the ones that get finished.

  Mr. Ham pulls the speaker back up to his face. “And three, two, one, Go!”

  I keep my eyes focused on Dad as he throws piece after greasy piece of bacon inside his mouth. Please don’t choke.

  One of the men built like a bull next to Dad begins to cough after finishing his third plate, hacking up something. A small volunteer woman runs to him to try and help, but the man shoos her off, going right back at it.

  Live or die over bacon.

  Dad is rocking it at his bacon station. The man next to Dad ends up being disqualified when he finally throws up in a can underneath his station, specifically there for that purpose. I can’t believe Dad doesn’t even wince with someone puking right beside him—he just keeps tossing back the bacon.

  This goes on for quite a while. One of the other ladies throws up, another guy just tosses in the towel, so now it’s only Dad and a very muscular woman.

  “Come on, Alex!” Dom shouts, still recording a video. I highly doubt Mom’s actually going to sit there and watch this whole thing, but she may just to see the reactions of the other contestants.

  Barnabas grabs my upper arm. “I think your dad has it.” There’s twenty-two minutes on the clock left, and Dad is ahead by two plates. The muscular woman gives up, and the buzzer goes off. I figured the people would last longer than they did.

  Dad is still eating the bacon. “Sir, you can stop now,” Mr. Ham says. Dad keeps on eating.

  “Sir.”

  Dad finally looks up and stops chewing.

  “Winner.”

  Dad seems to finally come out of his eating trance.

  “The winner is Alexander Abbie,” Mr. Ham shouts into the microphone.

  One of the volunteers walks over and hands Dad a medium-sized, gaudy trophy and a white envelope.

  I’m curious to see what’s in the envelope. I know it’s a gift card, probably a twenty-five-dollar Wal-Mart card again.

  Dad strolls up to us like he’s the celebrity of all celebrities while everyone congratulates him—for eating bacon.

  “Congrats, Dad.” I give him a pat on the back.

  Dom throws his arms around him in excitement. Barnabas and Kiev just stand back and watch.

  Dad pulls back and opens the envelope. “Looks like we’re going out for a victory party now.” He shoves the IHOP gift card in my face.

  Grabbing it, I flip it over. “What? How is it you get a hundred dollars, yet someone that put hours into making a pie, where they have to buy their own ingredients, I might add, only gets twenty-five?”

  He snatches the card back. “Hey, I put in hours of work, too.” That part is true, practically making him sick at first.

  “You totally did, Dad.”

  “Barnabas, come on, let’s go eat, buddy.” Dad just now notices Kiev. “Oh, whoever you are, come on, too.” He waves them over.

  “Dad, that’s Kiev.”

  “Oh. Okay.” He doesn’t seem to think anything of it, until Dom lets him know who he is. “I definitely owe you a meal for my daughter. Deepest apologies.”

  Kiev waves him off. “That’s okay, you guys can go.”

  “I insist.” Dad will sit here all day until he says yes.

  “Kiev, I know we ate earlier, but you also didn’t have lunch, so I know you’re at least somewhat hungry.” I’m still hungry even after our after-school dinner.

  “All right. I’ll go.”

  “Barnabas, you riding with us or my dads?” I ask.

  “You guys.”

  “Traitor,” Dom says.

  “We’ll meet y
ou there,” I say.

  We walk to the parking lot and find Kiev’s Jetta. Barnabas opens up the door to the backseat, and the light flickers on to reveal the disaster. “What the hell?”

  Oh yeah, I failed to mention to Barnabas that Kiev’s car is a freaking hot mess. It’s not nasty with old food or anything. Otherwise, I would have hitched a ride somewhere else.

  “What?” Kiev asks, apparently his vision is immune to the clutter. He can’t be that blind.

  “You have books and books and more books. Everywhere.” I point at the sea of paper things in the backseat.

  “Oh, those are all just plays,” he tells Barnabas, since he already told me he had plays earlier. Then he looks at the disarrayed floor. “And a couple of binders, and maybe some spiral notebooks.” Kiev leans in and scoots everything to the opposite side. “All clear.” The problem is solved for him.

  Barnabas takes a seat. “Yeah, unless we get in a car wreck. Decapitation by paper cut to the throat.” He wraps a hand around his own neck.

  “Not with Kiev’s driving. He drives like an old lady,” I say. I would rather have safe driving than a nausea-induced ride.

  “My life is hopefully saved, then.”

  Kiev puts a hand on the back door and looks at Barnabas. “Before I forget, thanks for the other night with my sister.”

  “Oh, no problem.” Barnabas nods. He didn’t find it a waste of time when I told him that Kiev knew about his sister. He was just glad that he and Sophie were able to get Vienna home.

  “Before this gets overly sentimental, let’s get out of here,” I say.

  I sit down in the front seat, and we’re about halfway to IHOP when my phone beeps.

  Twisting in my seat, I pull it out of my tight black pants and check it.

  Sophie: I have some bad news.

  Me: What?

  Sophie: They are rebooting the Crow.

  Me: WTF? Like another one of those poor sequels?

  Sophie: REBOOT!

  This has to be a lie. I go to my IMDB app and check to see if she’s lying. She isn’t. “No,” I moan.

  Me: Noooooooooooooo!

  Sophie: My thoughts exactly.

  “What are you saying ‘no’ about?” Kiev asks.

  I turn from Kiev to Barnabas. “They’re rebooting The Crow.”