The Fourth Stall - Chris Rylander [19]
“We just want to play in our sandbox like we used to,” I said.
“No way. That’s our sandbox now,” Mike said.
I looked back across the street toward my trailer. I saw my dad just leaving the front door. I took a few steps toward the vampire and his older brother.
“Well, we’re here now, so we’re going to play in the sandbox,” I said.
Mike started walking toward me and said, “You really want to do this?”
“Go ahead, make my day,” I said. I saw some really cool dude say that in this movie I watched with my dad once. It was kind of boring, except for the part at the end where he says that line to this guy and then blows him away with a gun the size of Texas.
Mike kept moving toward me and I held my ground, just hoping that the plan would work. If not, I’d be in trouble. Mike stopped just a few feet away. He squinted an eye at me, as if to make sure I was still there and wasn’t an illusion. Then he scowled and reached out a hand faster than my eyes could move. He grabbed my shirt collar and pulled me up and toward him. His other hand formed a fist and I closed my eyes, waiting for the blow.
But then everything went still as a deep rumble fell down from the sky like the voice of an angry god.
“HEY! What is going on here?” my dad thundered as he walked into the playground.
Okay, I should explain something. I know it’s pretty wussy to hide behind your daddy, but we were just little kids and Mike was practically a giant gorilla or yeti or something compared to us. Besides, the smartest and best plans were usually the ones that involved cheap shots. Like in a fight, if you really want to win it, then you’ll bite and scratch and kick people in the groin instead of just punching and wrestling “like a man.”
“You let him go, right now!” my dad said.
Mike let go of me and backed away. His and Kristoff’s faces turned white as Elmer’s glue. They looked terrified. And I didn’t blame them. My dad, well, he’s pretty big and scary. He’s a football coach, so he has lots of experience at yelling and screaming. When he yells, he yells pretty loud and his face gets real red and his huge neck bulges with veins. He’s like six feet ten inches tall and weighs almost four hundred pounds, pure muscle. He’d scare anybody. But not me, because I know he is a pretty cool guy.
“How dare you threaten my boy? What are you thinking? You’re twice his size!”
Mike and Kristoff both looked at the ground. Mike shrugged and Kristoff started crying. They looked pretty scared and ashamed.
“I don’t ever want to see you out here acting like that again! You got that? Because I’ll call your parents! Who are you, picking on little kids half your size? What are you trying to prove?” my dad finished.
Mike put his head down and trudged back to his trailer. Kristoff followed. Kids’ faces poked around trailers, trying to see what all the commotion was about. They smiled when they realized what was happening. The playground was free territory once again.
“Next time idiots like that are harassing you, come tell me,” my dad said to us. “Now, are we going to play football or what?”
My dad’s pretty cool. That was the only time I ever involved him in any of my plans. I like to keep my family out of my business and my business out of my family. It’s worked well that way so far.
Anyways, word quickly spread throughout the trailer park that I had been behind the ingenious plan to get rid of Kristoff and Mike. Those two still played in the playground occasionally, but they mostly kept to themselves. In fact, sometimes we even let Kristoff play action figures with us in the sandbox. Turned out, he was an okay kid.
But back to the point: Everyone heard that it was me who got rid of them. It was my dad not me who scared them off, but Vince was going around telling everybody he came across, “Christian did it; he saved the playground. Hey! Hey, want to know who solved all our problems? Well, I’ll tell you: It was Christian. My best friend and super genius.”
We both knew he was exaggerating a little and he thought it