by Amy Vansant
“You mean the exact color I can’t see.”
“Yep.”
Sebastian scanned the field and pointed to a few goats. “That one with the brown legs, the one with the spot over his eye and that white next to the brown one?”
Emily followed his finger and winced as he chose his last example. “Red, red and nope. That last one was green.”
His gaze darted from one of the red-marked goats to the green. “Okay. I think I can tell the difference. The green is a little lighter to me. I can see shades really well.”
“I’m green with envy.”
He whipped his head around to squint at her, a tight smile on his lips. “I can’t tell.”
“Whoops.”
“Very funny.”
“Thank you.”
“Okay, well, I think I have it, but keep an eye on me so I’m not running around with green goats.”
“Will do.”
Another bleat thundered from the speakers and Nicole screamed.
“Go!”
The contestants fanned across the field, chasing after goats wearing their colors. Goats scattered, wanting no part of the attention, except for one small, white goat sporting a red saddle strap. He wandered to Sebastian and tried to nibble his shorts.
“This is one of ours,” said Emily, putting a hand on the goat to keep it near. “You’re like the Goat Whisperer.”
Sebastian squatted and put his arm around the kid. “If goat whispering doesn’t make me rich I don’t know what will. Should we try and grab a few or one at a time?”
Emily hooked her mouth to the right, considering their options.
“Let’s take Snowball here to the pens first and check them out. There’s probably a trick.”
Sebastian hefted the goat, who seemed happy to be carried. They jogged toward the pens, which sat two hundred yards away on the opposite side of the field. Emily winced as she watched a larger goat kick one of the blonde twins in the shin.
“I hope all our goats are this small and docile. There’s one over there beating the crap out of Ashlyn. Or Tara. I can’t tell which.”
They reached their pen the same time as the couple they’d dubbed The Camos. It was becoming apparent camo-patterned clothing was all they owned. The male Camo held a goat under one arm, his opposite hand on his hip as he stared at the pen. It didn’t take Emily long to divine why he appeared confused. The octagon-shaped pen lacked every other panel. Putting the goats inside would be as useful as filling a sieve with water.
“The pen has holes in it,” said Sebastian as he, too, noticed the problem.
Emily dropped the backpack from her shoulder to the ground. “I know. It has to be the bungie cords. We’re supposed to use them to block off the gaps.” She grabbed what looked like one of the longer cords and hooked it to one of the pen walls. She stretched it towards the next panel, squinting with fear the hook would give way and snap back at her. She nearly had it secured when the other side released and she felt a sharp sting on her back.
“Ow!”
“You need help?” asked Sebastian, still standing with his new best friend in his arms. He shifted Snowball to keep the creature from nibbling his ear.
“Yes. Put him down. We can catch him again.”
“Here you go little buddy.” Sebastian set down the goat and pointed to the ground. “Stay.”
Snowball stared up at him and offered a tiny bleat. He had no intention of leaving Sebastian’s side.
Sebastian inspected the bungee cord that had snapped on Emily. “I think it’s too short. We’ll need to loop a few together.” He hooked the large one to a smaller cord and, hooking it to one panel, began to stretch toward the other. His connection gave way and he took one in the thigh.
“Ow.”
Emily huffed. “Thigh. Big deal. It got me in the small of my back.”
“Mine hurt more.”
“Did not.”
On the third try they successfully blocked two of the three gaps with connected bungee cords. With a little practice, they’d learned to keep the cords from slipping, but not before Emily took another nasty slingshot attack to the meaty part of her thumb. Sebastian soon sported a welt in the shape of a bungee hook on the inside of his right arm. They had to configure and reconfigure to block all the exits without running out of cords.
Both winced as they worked to hook the last bungee.
“It’s a little short,” said Sebastian.
“There might be one more in the backpack, hold on.”
Emily jogged to the bag and found a final short cord at the bottom of the pack.
“Got it.”
Sebastian stood like a bird drying his outstretched wings in the sun. He had a bungee in one hand and the other wrapped around the side of the pen. Her newly found cord would go where he stood.
She’d started towards him when she heard it—a whooshing, whipping noise, followed by a crack. Whatever made the sound had moved too fast to see.
Yelping like a wild Amazonian creature, Sebastian doubled over.
The commotion happened at the same moment a camera trained its lens on him. The cameraman made a strange grunting noise. He winced as Sebastian dropped to his knees.
Emily gasped. She knew something gasp-worthy had happened, but didn’t know what.
She pieced together the evidence.
The bungie cord Sebastian had been holding disappeared.
That felt like a clue.
He’s on the ground writhing in what appears to be pain.
Hm. Another clue. She looked at the cameraman.
Still wincing. And possibly...laughing a little.
That can’t be good.
Maybe I should just ask Sebastian before he bleeds out or something…
She approached Sebastian slowly, concerned whatever had taken him to the ground might lie in wait to do the same to her.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
Sebastian tilted his face toward her from his spot on the ground, but his eyes remained screwed shut. Emily thought she heard him mumble something.
“What?” she asked.
Snowball wandered to Sebastian and nibbled his face, apparently giddy that Sebastian’s nose had dipped low enough for him to reach.
Emily tried again. “Sebastian?”
Sebastian turned his head to avoid suffocating beneath Snowball’s tongue bath, still refusing to straighten, his knees tucked to his chest.
Emily guessed why.
“Balls?” she asked.
Sebastian mumbled something that sounded like, “Tip.”
“Tip of your balls?”
That sounds serious.
She whispered, trying to keep her voice from carrying to the camera growing ever closer to them. The cameras were like sharks, and this one smelled blood.
Though she hoped not literally.
Sebastian slowly unfolded and stood. His left hand nonchalantly covered his package as he tried to straighten.
“Tip of my balls?” he asked her.
Hm. He sounded annoyed. Maybe it had been a dumb thing to ask? She hadn’t thought balls had tips, but who really knew how men referred to their parts? Possibly in ways women only overheard during times of strife.
“What else could it be the tip of—” Her voice faded as the answer dawned on her. “Oh. The tip of that.”
He nodded.
Emily felt a smile creeping across her face and tried to squelch it.
“It’s not funny,” he said, hand still clutching his twig and berries as he turned from the circling camera.
“It’s kinda funny,” she said.
“I could have lost a testicle.”
“Did you?”
He looked down. “No. Like I said, it hit the tip of my, uh...pee-pee. He took one for the team.”
Emily made a snorting noise. She’d been trying too hard not to laugh and the effort made the final result much worse than it would have been if she’d allowed herself to snicker.
Sebastian looked at the
other pens. The competing teams were making progress locking their pens with bungees. A chorus of snapping noises and ow! echoed across the field.
Sebastian grimaced. “I’m fine. Let’s finish.”
Working together they closed the last gap. One of the pre-constructed panels had a door and Sebastian scooted Snowball through it.
“You wait here, little buddy. We’re going to get you some friends.”
Snowball bleated.
“He said sorry about your penis,” said Emily.
He stared at her as she cracked herself up.
“I speak goat,” she explained between giggles.
They returned to the fray and began ushering red-marked goats toward their man-eating pen. Emily nearly had one secured when the goat spotted a buddy, jumped over her outstretched arm and ran off to join the others. Growling, she identified the escapee to Sebastian.
He shook his head. “Nope. You get the small, speedy one. I’ll get that bruiser over there.” He nodded toward a moody-looking tan goat in the opposite direction.
As each team finished corralling their color-coded goats, they raised a flag secured to the side of the pen, signifying completion of the challenge. When Sebastian and Emily had five goats to go, they spotted the hoisting of the first flag—Marc and Kady’s color.
Good for them.
It made sense her friends would be the first to finish. Earlier, she’d seen Marc running with a goat beneath each arm. His brawn and willingness to fling himself at the beasts made short work of the task. She and Sebastian had made progress—before running into a batch of surly teenage goats. Those bearded slackers didn’t want anything to do with being captured.
Flags continued to rise until only the Camo Couple and Emily and Sebastian remained. Each team had one goat to capture and Camo Man already had his wrapped in his burly arms. He jogged towards his pen, the large, dark brown goat in his grasp struggling to escape.
Emily darted across the field to block the path of a black goat with a white eye patch—the last remaining critter wearing their colors. She forced it to change directions and it swerved toward Sebastian, who lunged forward to grab it.
“I got it,” he hollered. He seemed as surprised as the goat.
Emily shooed him. “Go! Run! Run!”
Sebastian bolted after Camo Man.
Emily ran after Sebastian and heard Kady rooting for her as she approached the pens.
Even with Sebastian’s long strides, the distance between Camo Man and him proved insurmountable. Camo opened his gate and tossed his goat inside. He raised his flag as Sebastian fumbled with his own gate.
Emily slowed.
It’s over.
Out of breath, she stopped shouting encouragement and walked as she neared the pen. They’d be the next couple to go home. She supposed it wasn’t all bad. It would have been nice to win money, but getting away from chiggers and mosquitos and other pests like Greta wasn’t all bad.
Camo Man grinned at Nicole, awaiting the air horn that would signify the end of the competition.
Nicole shook her head. The horn remained still at her side.
Camo’s brow knit.
“What?” he asked, his palms upturned.
Nicole refused to answer and he spun to ensure his flag was raised.
It was.
Confused as to why Nicole hadn’t blared her horn, Emily’s gaze swept across the pen area.
Something furry moved near where Greta lolled beside her completed pen.
A brown goat wearing a purple jacket happily nibbled a carrot held in Greta’s hand.
Greta has a loose goat? Is she going home?
Oh happy day.
Emily’s smile dropped.
Oh, no...Wait...
Emily’s elation over Greta’s failing proved short-lived. As Camo scrambled to the back of his pen to fix a broken bungee link, she realized his goats were dressed in purple. Greta stood feeding his goat—which meant the creature wasn’t in his pen.
“He doesn’t have it. Raise the flag!” Emily whirled to call to Sebastian, only to find him already in mid-hoist.
The air horn sounded, accompanied by the now familiar Minefield explosions.
“But that’s impossible. That bungee was secure,” moaned Camo Girl. She’d been standing on the opposite side of the pen, oblivious to the fact Greta had lured one of her goats away.
“You didn’t watch them,” snapped Camo Man.
Camo Girl slapped her thighs with both hands. “I did. I swear it was closed a minute ago.”
Greta stood happily still, feeding the goat, unconcerned by the furious man in camouflage headed in her direction.
Something didn’t feel right.
Emily scowled.
Where did Greta get a carrot?
Greta spotted her staring and smiled.
Greta released Camo’s bungee.
Emily was sure of it. She’d unhooked it and lured away the goat to keep Sebastian in the competition.
To keep him near her. So she could keep making our lives miserable.
No one else seemed to have seen her do it. Except maybe Joe, who slouched against his pen, staring at the ground.
When Emily looked at him, he looked away.
Chapter Twenty-One
Joe let himself into his room. The show had broken for lunch and an impromptu Camo Going-Away party. Camo couple voiced their suspicions that Greta had sabotaged them, but nothing came of it. Whether cheating was part of the competition or Minefield had no proof of Greta’s tampering, Joe didn’t know.
He’d seen her do it, of course. He didn’t say anything. But he’d seen. Greta had pulled a carrot from her backpack and lured the goat from Camo’s pen. She’d unhooked a line and coaxed the creature away.
It was clear Greta had connections the rest of them didn’t, and a small part of him was happy she did. It increased the chances they’d win. It would be nice to have extra cash to put down on a new apartment, or to buy something really nice for Kady—depending if his plan to win her back worked or not.
His desire to win was only a small part of the reason he hadn’t ratted Greta out. For one, he was terrified of her. Turning her in would be like kicking a hornets’ nest. But more importantly, if they banished Greta from the show, he’d have to go with her, and then he’d never get another chance with Kady.
The door latched behind him as he stepped into the hotel room, but his wish to be alone would not be granted. Greta sat in the middle of their king bed, papers strewn around her. She’d changed, and now wore jeans and a long-sleeve shirt with a top she’d unzipped low enough to reveal her cleavage.
“You changed.”
She looked up. “We have to be downstairs in half an hour. Egg war.”
“Egg war?”
“Yep. We’re going to run around shooting eggs at each other.”
“How do you know that?”
“I know everything.” She pointed to the wad of papers sitting on the bed.
He moved to them and shuffled through a few. They contained a detailed explanation of the upcoming challenges.
“This is everything coming up?”
“Yep.”
“So you know the challenges before anyone else?”
“Yep.”
“So that’s why you had a carrot for luring the goats. They’re letting you know how to prepare so you can cause maximum chaos.”
“Yep.”
“So what do you have planned for the Egg War?”
She grinned.
Joe sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor.
“You have to stop moping around,” she said.
He scoffed. “That’s easy for you to say. You don’t have a heart to be broken.”
“Oh come on. You were cheating on her. How much could you have been into her?”
“I’m an idiot. I think I was freaking out because I knew I liked her so much.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Then get her back.”
“What do you think I’m doing?”
“You’re not doing anything from what I see.”
Joe stood again, beginning to pace. “I can’t just walk up to her and demand she come back to me.”
“Then do a grand gesture. Win her back. Do something romantic.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Figure it out yourself. I have my own stuff to worry about.”
“Like getting Sebastian back?”
“Ha. No. Screw him. Now I’m figuring the best way to destroy Emily’s life.”
“Why?”
She scowled at him, lip curled as if he smelled of rotten fish. “Why? What do you mean why?”
“I mean why. She didn’t steal Sebastian.”
“She didn’t? Wait, I’m sorry...whose room is she in right now?”
“She didn’t steal him. You cheated on him and he left you. That isn’t her fault.”
“I’ve cheated on him before and he never left.”
“He knew?”
“He should have.”
“But you never told him.”
Greta rolled her eyes. “No, I never told him. That would be insane.”
Joe shook his head. “I don’t know what I ever saw in you.”
“Back at you, loser.”
Joe winced. Greta had chosen the perfect word to hurt him and she’d practically spat the word loser before he finished his sentence. It was almost as if she’d had that thought on the tip of her brain for weeks.
Fair enough. That’s what he felt like. A loser. He’d ruined a relationship with a great girl, all for a few stolen moments with a terrible girl.
Greta pointed. “Hand me that pen.”
“I’m not going to help you with this stuff.”
“Whatever.” She lunged forward and snatched the pen from the end of the bed. “We’re going to win, thanks to me. You could at least be a little grateful.”
Joe shook his head. “I don’t want to win this way, not with you and your aunt rigging the show.”
“Yeah, well, we’ll see about that when you have the check in your hand. You know, if you were nicer to me maybe I’d help you get Frizz-head back.”
Forgetting why he’d returned to the room in the first place, he turned and opened the door to leave. “I don’t need your help.”