Chapter 9

Susie blew her whistle to get everyone’s attention. She could see how coaches could get drunk on power by having a whistle. “I now declare the official start of Potato Cannon Wars.”

Everyone cheered. The little girl standing to Susie’s right wore a penis balloon-animal hat that was complete with what looked like two giant balls, one over each ear. Uncle Milton had called it a flower. The only ones who saw it as a flower were he and the little girl, and hopefully the other children. The girl clapped and jumped up and down.

“If everyone will make their way to the side yard, we’ll present the winners of the Potato Cannon Beauty Contest first.” Susie hobbled on her crutches over to the side yard.

Dane followed closely at her side. Everyone had just accepted that he was cousin Stewart. In fact Marla Cantor, the mother of one of her students, had told her that she didn’t know what everyone was talking about because cousin Stewart didn’t look a thing like Dane Bennett.

Susie stopped in front of the rows of potato cannons. “The award for Most Ingenious Potato Cannon goes to Gianna Larson and her team, the Cannonettes, for their space shuttle cannon!”

There were whoops and lots of clapping.

Dane riffled through the blue ribbons she was holding and came up with the right one. He hung it on the fake booster rocket of the cannon that looked like the space shuttle.

“The award for Prettiest Potato Cannon goes to Eva Shoop and her team, the Spud Sisters, for the cannon that looks like a unicorn!” Susie clapped along with everyone. She loved all of the excited anticipation.

Dane found the right ribbon and looped it over the unicorn horn.

“The award for Ugliest Cannon goes to Chase Docker and his team, the Potato Blasters, for the cannon they named the Holy Grail!” She clapped as Chase ran up to Dane to get his ribbon.

“Yes! The Docker legacy continues.” Chase’s older brother, Mark, punched the air as the whole family whooped. They had five boys, and four out of the five had won ugliest cannon. The only reason it wasn’t five out of five was because Teddy Docker was about to start middle school.

“Finally, before we start firing the cannons, the award for Most Likely to Misfire goes to Luke Hogan and his team, the Luke Fry-Walkers, for their lightsaber potato cannon!”

“Go, Luke, go!” his classmates chanted.

“Now, on to my favorite part, the firing of the potato cannons.” Susie jumped up and down on one foot. She hobbled over to a table Dane had set up earlier since she couldn’t walk quickly to each cannon and fire it. Instead, he would bring them to her one by one.

“Okay, starting with the Most Ingenious Potato Cannon …”

Dane brought the space shuttle to her. She stuffed a potato down the barrel, hooked the cannon up to the air compressor, and waited for the pressure to reach 60 psi. She turned off the compressor, picked up the space shuttle, and yelled, “Fire in the hole.”

She pulled the trigger and shaded her eyes to watch the potato fly through the air.

The potato landed about sixty feet away.

The crowd went crazy.

“Cease fire!” Uncle Milton, who was downrange, ran out and replaced the potato with a flag. He ran back to the sidelines. “Range is hot!”

“This is so exciting.” Dane handed her the next cannon, the pink-and-white unicorn.

“I know, right?” She repeated the loading and firing process, and the crowd went wild.

She fired the rest of the guns. As she set the last cannon down, she could barely contain her excitement. They might just have a new school record.

Milton came over and motioned for her and Dane to huddle up with him.

“Okay, son, this is where we pretend to whisper about the cannons to add to the suspense,” Uncle Milton whispered.

“It might really sell it if we motion toward the guns and then look downrange.” Dane sounded like he was really into it. He seemed to really be enjoying himself.

“Great idea,” Susie whispered. “Okay, on the count of three, gesture toward the cannons and then we’ll all look downrange. “One, two, three.”

As a group they all turned to the cannons. Milton waved his hands wildly like he was drowning, and then they all turned to the range.

“I feel like I might have gotten carried away flapping my arms.” Uncle Milton chewed on his bottom lip, worried.

“No, no. I like the enthusiasm.” Dane looked at her uncle and then to Susie. “So, what are we really supposed to be talking about?”

“Not much. The distances speak for themselves.” Susie winked. “We usually wait until the crowd starts murmuring and shuffling.

“Y’all need to stop making googly eyes at each other. Cousin Stewart is family, and this family don’t go all weird.” Milton pointed his finger at Dane and then at Susie.

“What if we’re kissing cousins?” Susie blew Dane a kiss.

He caught it and returned it.

“Y’all are so sweet you’re about to make me puke.” Uncle Milton snorted. “Stop it. This picnic is rated G for stop being gross.”

The crowd moved in closer and started murmuring.

“Okay, I think they’re ready.” Susie broke the huddle. “Folks, we have a new record. The old record of 469 feet has been broken by a margin of two feet. The new record for longest distance belongs to …” She paused for dramatic effect. “William Cowan and his team, the Mr. Potato Heads, whose cannon shot a potato a staggering 471 feet!”

The crowd went wild and then began chanting, “Big Bertha, Big Bertha, Big Bertha.”

“What’s Big Bertha?” Dane glanced at her.

“It’s my potato cannon. Well, actually, it shoots watermelons.” She nodded to Milton, who headed toward the barn. “It’s parked behind the barn.”

“You have a potato cannon that shoots watermelons?” His eyes were huge. “I can’t wait.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty awesome. Milton and I built it together and both signed a treaty that we would never use it on each other.” Susie felt it was important to point that out. She wanted to paint herself in the best light.

“I can see how that would be very hard.” Dane smiled down at her. “Tell me more about those kissing cousins.”

“After everyone leaves, I’ll show you.” She was planning on showing him a lot.

“Deal.” Dane glanced over his left shoulder and his mouth dropped open.

Susie hopped around Dane on her crutches and shaded her eyes from the sun.

Big Bertha, pulled by Milton’s giant John Deere, bumped along on her four tires. Milton parked her on the edge of an open field.

Everyone made their way to Big Bertha.

“That’s a potato cannon?” Dane squinted, trying to get a better look. “It’s bigger than a real cannon.”

“You’re probably thinking, why did they build that?” Some people probably thought it was a waste of time and money, but the way Susie saw it, some things were just too fun to pass up.

“Nope, I was thinking that next year, you should start the competition with that.” Dane nodded his head in appreciation of Big Bertha. “You know, like they use a gun to start track competitions.”

“No, they only get Bertha if everyone turns in a cannon and none of them explode.” Big Bertha was the dessert and not the appetizer.

“Has anyone ever not turned in a cannon?” He continued to admire Bertha.

“No—well, one year, one of my captains got sick.” She looked up at Dane. “Leukemia. So I helped his team cut all of the parts and we took it to the hospital to assemble it. We found a spot in the parking lot that he could see from his hospital room window, and then we launched a potato into the parking lot. Because we didn’t exactly have permission to do it, we ran like hell, jumped into my car, and drove off before security could catch us.”

Dane looked down at her with concern. “How is your student now?”

She felt her eyes burn with tears. “He didn’t make it. He died a few months later.” She pointed to a couple who were holding hands and laughing with another couple who were holding twins. “Those are Drayton’s parents, the Langetrees. They come every year and donate all of the gift cards. His mom told me that he talked about his potato cannon right up until the end.”

It had been five years ago, but it still hurt. If he had survived, Drayton would now be coming home for the summer after his first year of college. She knew a few teachers who were just there for the paycheck, but she didn’t understand that. If teaching was just money to them, there were lots of jobs that paid more. Practically everything paid more than teaching.

“I wish I could do that,” Dane whispered.

“What?” She looked around. She wasn’t doing anything.

“Inspire people. As an actor, I like to think that my work inspires others, but yours really does.” He leaned in close to her ear. “I wish I could put my arm around you.”

“Me too.” It would be nice to show her friends and students that someone was interested in her romantically, but it wasn’t a good idea to have cousin Stewart be interested in her romantically.

Milton cupped his hands around his mouth. “Get over here, girl, I need some help.”

“One day he’s going to learn some manners.” She busted out laughing. “Nope, I think I’m out of luck on that one.”

“I want to at least hold your hand or something. The part of cousin Stewart is very artistically restrictive.” Dane smiled down at her as they made their way to Milton. “I’m used to having more freedom with my roles.”

“Later,” Susie whispered. She felt a little shiver at the idea of being alone with him later.

Milton glared at them. “If you two are done making eyes at each other, I need some help here. Okay, son, I need you to hold that watermelon.” He turned to Susie. “Get some hay to pack behind it.”

Susie hopped to the bale Milton had dropped off before the picnic started and grabbed two handfuls. On a regular day, it was hard to take Milton seriously, but today it was even harder. His clown makeup was melting in the heat of the afternoon, and his red clown wig was askew, but the kids still seemed to love him.

Milton opened the chamber at the base of the cannon to load the watermelon, which was easier than trying to stuff it down the twelve-foot barrel. He loaded up the watermelon and grabbed the hay from Susie, packing it behind the melon. He closed the door.

“Okay, everybody help me count down.” Milton grinned from ear to ear. He was a pain in her ass, but some of the time he was a nice guy. “Three, two, one.”

He pulled the firing pin, and the watermelon launched into the air.

Susie counted, “One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand. She got all the way to seven before the watermelon crashed to the ground.

“Now that was some serious air.” Dane clapped and cheered along with the crowd.

Milton shook his head. “Sorry, folks, we didn’t beat our record of nine seconds. Maybe next year.”

Susie pulled herself up onto the back of Big Bertha. “Everyone, thank you for coming. I’d also like to thank Bill and Cindy Langetree for donating all of the gift cards, Devon and Sweet Louise Harding for cooking most of the food, and I’d especially like to thank my students, who seem to always surpass my expectations and teach me new things every single day. Today has been so much fun, I can’t wait for next year. Have a safe trip home.”

Dane helped her down and held her hand a little too long, but no one except Milton seemed to notice.

Dane leaned in close. “I had a really nice time today.”

Her heart swelled and then sank. “You’re not leaving now, are you?”

“Not if you want me to stay.” He looked so hopeful.

How did she bring up the topic of sex? Did she ask him to stay all night? Flings weren’t something she had any experience with.

He searched her face, his expression falling. “Oh, I understand. I’m sure you have a lot to do tonight to get ready for school tomorrow.” He sounded disappointed.

“Oh no, I want you to stay. I was just trying to figure out how to ask you to stay until tomorrow.” She gulped and looked him dead in the eye. “Did I say that out loud?”

God, she hoped not.

“Yes, but you whispered it, so we can pretend you didn’t say it if you’ve already changed your mind.” His shoulders shook with laughter.

“No, I meant it and still mean it, I just didn’t know the best way to bring it up. I’ve never had a fling before.” She wanted to crawl into a hole … a very deep one.

“I would love to stay for as long as you’ll let me.” He looked around and then playfully smacked her on the butt. Was it her imagination, or did his hand linger? “We’re going to have so much more than a fling.”