Trent Reedy - Stealing Air

“All right, boys. The plates are in position.” Mr. Pineeda looked up and down the tables, checking for cheaters. “Nobody touch their food.” Red held his hands inches above his sandwich. Frankie cracked his knuckles. Mr. Pineeda moved to the middle of the group of contest tables. He raised his hand up above his head. “Ready. Set. Go!”

He dropped his arm, and the contest was on. Brian tried to get his hands around the Big Porker and pick it up, but he kept getting SSSBS on them.

“Dude, there’s no way you’re going to be able to eat that thing and stay clean. Can’t be done,” Alex said. “Just go for it. Remember” — he lowered his voice to a whisper — “we need this.”

Brian finally got ahold of the sandwich and took a big bite. He closed his eyes as he chewed. Mr. Pineeda was right. Piggly’s served the best barbecue pork in the world. He added a bit of salt to the Pig Tails and crammed a curl in his mouth. After every bite he remembered Max’s advice to chew a lot.

Across the table, Red’s face was almost as red as his hair. He had barbecue sauce all over his mouth and cheeks. He’d taken off the bun and was forking huge clumps of meat into his mouth. “Itsh goo,” he said, his mouth completely stuffed with pork.

“You still have to eat that bun,” Alex said.

When Red could finally swallow, he spoke loudly with sauce still on his face. “I saw this video about a guy in Japan who wins hot-dog eating contests by dipping the bun in water. I figure Mountain Dew should do it too.”

Brian kept eating, focusing on fries, while Red picked up the top bun, rolled and squished it into a sort of cigar shape, and then dipped it halfway down into his soda. Brian shook his head. Red slipped the soggy bun into his mouth and sort of slurped off the wet end, swallowing a second later.

“Easy,” Red said. “Tastes pretty good too.”

“You might have to try that trick,” Alex whispered to Brian.

Brian tried not to gag at the thought. He took another big bite of his sandwich.

After about forty-five minutes, the guys were slowing down. David leaned forward, his face low to the table. Over half of his Big Porker was left. He looked at Red. “How did I let you talk me into this?”

“You’re the one who said it would be easy. You love the barbecue pork here.” Red frowned. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me tonight. I usually eat, like, two sandwiches like this for supper.”

Alex laughed. “Red said!”

“Red said!” David moaned. He did not look up.

“Re shaid?” Brian mumbled while chewing. About half of his sandwich remained.

“It’s something we say, usually at lunch, whenever Red feeds us another one of his crazy stories,” Alex said.

“It’s true!” Red said. “Either two sandwiches like this, or a big buffalo steak.”

Brian watched Frankie. He had maybe a quarter of his sandwich left and only a few Pig Tails. He let out a huge belch. “You sissies are going to have bad stomachaches for no reason when you see me walk out of here with the big prize.” He caught Brian’s gaze and flashed a sick grin, then held a Pig Tail up above his head, tilted his head back, and lowered the curly fry into his mouth.

No way. Not this time. Frankie was not going to beat him. Brian took the top bun off his sandwich, rolled it like Red had done, and dipped it in his water. Then he squished the soggy mass in his mouth. He didn’t chew much. It sort of tasted pre-chewed anyway. He did the same thing with the bottom bun, then grabbed his fork and started shoving food in his mouth. Fries and pork together, it didn’t matter. Food was food, and Brian had some catching up to do.

Alex had finished his tiny meal a long time ago, so he was going around the tables, confirming bets on his iPhone. Most of the high school guys seemed to have given up. They joked with one another, messed around on their phones, and took their time eating. The few guys who were still trying poked at their plates, maybe eating a fry once in a while. The old guy had left long ago. Brian stayed focused on his own plate. There were only four or five more forkfuls left. He stabbed the last of his Pig Tails and brought the food to his mouth —

“Done!” Frankie shouted. He stood up, holding the empty plate above his head with both hands like a trophy. “I’m done. Who else is done? Nobody. I’m the winner!”

Seeing Frankie celebrate was enough to make Brian sick, and as full as he was, he didn’t need much help.

“We have a winner!” Mr. Pineeda shouted. Everyone clapped, except for Brian, and David, who just moaned again.

Brian looked at the little bit of food he had left. He had taken a risk in this contest. A chance for greatness. A chance to fly. Now he had failed. Worse, he had let Dad down. They’d never get the flyer’s engine fixed up enough to take off, not without extra parts. Mr. Piggly had been their only chance.

“You tried your best,” Alex said quietly. “Maybe Frankie will just sell us the balloon. If not, we’ll find another way to fly.”

“There is no other way,” Brian whispered.

“Well, what can we do about it?”

Frankie held his hand over his stomach as Mr. Pineeda told him how to handle Mr. Piggly.

That hand on the stomach. That was the giveaway.

“Hey, Frankie,” Brian shouted. Frankie and Mr. Pineeda looked at him. “Bet you can’t eat two!”

“What are you talking about?” Frankie snapped.

“Yeah, dude, what are you talking about?” Alex whispered.

“I bet you can’t eat another Big Porker sandwich before I do,” Brian said.

“Forget it. You lost. You’re a loser.” Frankie held his stomach and burped. “You’re always a loser.”

“Yeah? Hey, Frankie, maybe you’d rather order a chicken sandwich,” Jason said.

Frankie glared at him. Mr. Pineeda laughed so hard he shook. “Uh-oh, Frankie. I think there’s a challenge here… though nobody in the proud history of Piggly’s has ever eaten two Big Porkers in one night.”

“I can do it.” Brian stood up. He was glad that he had the table there to steady him. He stared at Frankie. “Can you? If I win, I get the Mr. Piggly balloon. If you win, you get the balloon, plus I’ll pay you ten bucks.”

The high school guys started to chant, “Fran-kie! Frankie! Fran-kie!”

Brian could see the hatred in Frankie’s eyes and knew he had him now. He sat back down and finished the food on his first plate.

“Fine!” Frankie held up his hands with his arms spread wide. “You guys want to see a new eating record. That’s cool.” He pointed at Brian. “Just the sandwich?”

“Just the sandwich,” Brian said.

“This is amazing!” Mr. Pineeda said. “I’ll be right back with two more Big Porkers!”

“Okay, okay!” Alex shouted. “It’s Brian versus Frankie in the ultimate eating smackdown challenge.” He held his iPhone above his head. “This contest is so hot, I’m going to take action on this. I got ten bucks on Brian right now! Any takers?”

Frankie slumped down in his seat. “Alex, my man! You gotta be kidding me! You don’t think I can beat this guy?”

“Just business, Frankie,” Alex said.

The other guys chimed in with their bets. The only one who didn’t gamble on Frankie was David, who seemed to be in some sort of barbecue-pork coma and didn’t bet at all.

The sandwiches were brought out. As soon as the new one was set down in front of Brian, everything else faded away. In all the world there was only Brian, his stomach, and the Big Porker.

He attacked the sandwich, forgetting all about the scientific methods he had studied. Slurping down another wet bun would have probably made him throw up anyway. Instead he forced down one bite while only partially chewing the next. Barbecue sauce glopped all over his mouth, cheeks, and fingers.