A taunt? Okay, buddy. She put her hand in her pocket, felt the wad of cash
she'd put there, then grinned. “I've got a roll of twenties that says otherwise.”
“Well, you can take your roll of twenties and—”
He couldn't finish, as he was being dragged towards the tank.
She had a last glimpse of him as he took off his button-down shirt and gave a
crooked smile and—was that a wink?
Oh, she was absolutely, positively getting in on this action.
* * *
“You sure you can make it from there?” Peter taunted from the tank. “Maybe you should step a little closer.”
“Maybe you should take a deep breath,” Kate called back, then let loose with
her first pitch.
The ball sailed wide and thunked harmlessly into the canvas backdrop.
The crowd gathered around the dunk tank groaned a collective oh!
“You throw like a girl!” Peter called through cupped hands. He was sitting on his perch in the tank, legs dangling.
“I am a girl, you idiot,” Kate yelled, winging the second ball.
This one hit square on the protective plastic in front of Peter's face with an
echoing thwack. He recoiled instinctively, grabbing the seat. Way off, but oh so satisfying.
“Sorry, did I scare you?” she called, batting her eyes.
He shook his head. “Not since you wore that Frida Kahlo costume in fourth
grade.” He made a slashing gesture across his forehead, mouthing the word unibrow.
Ooo. Below the belt, mister.
The crowd had grown, a mix of students and townspeople, some pointing
and smiling. Okay, she thought, jaw set, but grinning. This was now officially serious business.
Two shots left. She hefted the next ball as she eyed Peter, who waved from
the booth. “Any day, sweetheart,” he called.
Sweetheart? She cocked back and threw. Her arm felt like it was flying out
of its socket. The ball shot straight for the red and white circles of the target, then curved and dinged the edge, careening across the gym floor. The tank's arm
whanged and wobbled but stayed, and Peter remained dry.
Another oh! from the crowd.
“Oh, so close!” Peter yelled, cupping his hands again. “C'mon, Kate. It's for
charity, remember?”
She flipped the remaining ball up and down in her hand. Last one.
“Nail him, Kate,” Lucius called from a booth across the floor. A few of the
guy students began chanting, “Mr. C! Mr. C!”
“Ready to get wet?” she called to Peter.
He answered with a grin, folding his arms. “Take your best shot!”
She nodded. Oh, I will, mister. She bent forward, eyeing the target. Someone in the crowd whistled. An unusual competitiveness gripped her as her eyes narrowed.
She reared back, aimed, and threw.
The ball thunked harmlessly against the canvas backdrop.
Oooh came the groan from the crowd. Kate stood with her hands on her hips.
