Splat! (7 page)

My father staggered up the street. His shirt was stained, tomato pieces dripped from his hair. He looked angrier than I'd ever seen him in my entire life.

Maybe this wasn't so much over as just beginning.

Once again we found ourselves sitting in my father's office. All around us were dozens of people, police and all of the members of the Tomato Festival committee. They were all yelling and screaming. It was almost as chaotic in here as it had been on the streets. The big difference was that nobody was throwing tomatoes, although there wasn't a single person in the room who didn't have at least one stain on their clothing.

Keegan and I were so covered that we
looked like we had one stain that covered our entire bodies. There was hardly any part of us that wasn't red and splattered. If the whole thing wasn't so serious it would have been funny.

Everybody was talking and yelling, but nobody seemed to be listening. I wanted to put my hands over my ears so I couldn't hear what they were talking about—who they were blaming—but I couldn't avoid hearing.

So far, thank goodness, nobody was pointing a finger directly at us, although there was a general sense that it had started somewhere near our event. It was also unsettling that we were the only kids in the room.

Keegan sat beside me, trying to look calm. It wasn't working. I knew him well enough to know that he was really, really worried. He was biting the inside of his lip, and his one foot was tapping like it had a life of its own.

He knew I wouldn't say a word, but I was sure that other people had seen him throw
the first tomato. There were hundreds of people there when he started the riot.

Although, technically, Keegan hadn't really started it. He'd thrown that one tomato, but it hadn't hit anybody. It just disappeared into a tuba.

Everybody was so focused on the parade that maybe they hadn't noticed that first tomato—well, nobody but those guys waiting to toss tomatoes. They had seen him do it. I just hoped we'd seen the last of them.

Still, it was certain that lots of people saw where the first barrage came from—the tomato toss area. We were in charge, so that made us responsible. Denying would only work so far. It might be better to just admit that the whole thing was our fault. What was the worst they could do to us? No, I didn't want to think about that.

Thank goodness that at least it hadn't ruined the
whole
festival. Of course the parade had been stopped, and the beauty pageant was postponed until the contestants could change into something
that didn't have tomato stains. I thought the stains would have made it a real Miss Tomato Festival contest in a bizarre way. But the rest of the events, all the booths and tents and the rides, were still going on as planned. Every event except the tomato toss. If that wasn't a statement of our guilt, I didn't know what was.

I could see out the window overlooking the main street. The fire department was out on the street right now. They'd finished hosing down the spectators and were now hosing down the street.

The police were there beside the fire-fighters, watching everybody and everything. It would be a certain arrest right now to even threaten to throw a tomato.

I'd overheard the chief tell my father that up to that point nobody had been arrested. I hoped we could keep it that way, although they really wouldn't arrest us for starting things...would they? I didn't want to put that to the test.

“Could I have everybody's attention, please!” my father said.

Either nobody heard him except me, or they were all too excited to listen.

“Everybody, shut up!” the chief yelled, and the room got silent. He turned to my father and motioned for him to speak.

“We need to stay focused,” he said. “We still have a festival to run the rest of today and all of tomorrow. I need you all to go, get changed into different clothes if you have to and go down there and take charge of your events.”

“You can't expect us to act like nothing happened,” Mr. Miller, who ran the bank, said angrily. He had a large red stain on the back of his shirt. It looked like a bull'seye.

“That's
exactly
what I want you to do. Go out and take care of things,” my father said.

Mr. Miller had run against my father in the last election, and I knew the two men didn't like each other.

“We can't undo what's been done,” my father said. “We can either sulk and complain or make it work. You do want
to make it work, don't you?” he asked Mr. Miller.

“Of course I do. I just think that we have to get to the bottom of this.”

“Believe me, I
am
going to get to the bottom of it,” the chief said.

“Yes,” my father agreed. “The chief and I will take personal responsibility to find out what happened, and more importantly, how to prevent it from happening again.”

I was working hard at not making eye contact with anybody, but I thought some of the people in the room were looking at me and Keegan.

“But we need you all to go out there and make sure that everything else runs the way it's supposed to. Okay?”

There was a general nodding of heads and voicing of agreement.

“Thank you all,” my father said. “Let's get going.”

As people started out of the room Keegan and I got up as well, hoping to become lost in the crowd.

“Not you two,” the chief said, and we both sat back down.

I had to fight the urge not to climb under the chair instead of sitting on it.

My father closed the door as the last person left. He took a chair, pulled it over until it was right in front of us.

“So, what happened?” he asked.

“It's really hard to say,” I said.

“It just got so crazy so fast,” Keegan agreed. “It was scary how quickly it spread.”

“Yes it was. The big question isn't how fast it spread, but how it started in the first place. What sparked the fire?”

Keegan shrugged in response. I stayed quiet.

“Thank goodness nobody got hurt,” my father said.

“There were a few bumps and bruises,” the chief said.

“The big problem is that it's a major black eye for the festival and for the whole town,” my father said.

“It's embarrassing,” the chief agreed. “And you boys know nothing?”

I tried to look at him but found myself staring at my shoes.

“Maybe I should resign,” the chief said.

“No way,” Keegan said. “It wasn't your fault.”

“My men couldn't get control at first,” said the chief.

“But ultimately, it's my responsibility,” my father said. “The buck stops at my desk. If anybody resigns it should be me. Somebody has to take responsibility for—”

“It's my fault,” Keegan said, cutting him off.

My father and his father stared at him.

“It all happened because of me. I'm responsible.”

“
We're
responsible,” I added, before I could think to stop myself. “It all started with the tomato toss.”

My father nodded. “We'd heard that it all started in the vicinity of your event.”

“We closed it down because of the parade—the way we were supposed to—but there were these guys...we don't know who
they are. They didn't want to wait and they started throwing tomatoes at the band.”

“And then it just got crazy. We wanted to stop it but we couldn't,” Keegan said. “But that isn't an excuse, it's my fault.”

“
We're
responsible,” I said.

Keegan stood up. “No, not
us
. It was me.
I
threw the first tomato.”

Neither my father nor his father said a word. They looked shocked. I was shocked.

“It just happened. One second I'm holding a tomato and then the next I just threw it. I can't explain it,” Keegan said.

“And that's where it's my responsibility,” I said, jumping to my feet. “It was my idea to have the tomato toss with people as targets. If I hadn't done that, none of this would have happened. Not Keegan, not those guys, nothing. If you have to blame somebody, blame me.”

“No, you can't blame alex, he's just trying to defend me. It's my fault. Everything was under control until I threw the first tomato. It's all because of—”

“Both of you, stop!” my father ordered. “We need to discuss this. You two take a seat outside.”

“Yes sir,” I said dutifully. We shuffled to the reception area.

Mrs. Wallace was sitting at her desk watching tv—that was almost reassuring. She was the nerve center of the whole festival, and everybody phoned in to her to ask for information or updates about the events. Absently I started to watch tv—
Cnn Headline News
. Maybe seeing a war somewhere else would make this seem less tragic.

“You didn't have to do that,” Keegan said. “You didn't have to say it was your fault.”

“Yes, I did. I'm as much to blame as you.”

“Maybe more.”

“What?” I exclaimed.

He smiled. “Just kidding. Thanks for sharing it.”

“You know what they say, misery loves company. At least neither of us will be alone.”

The door opened, and my father motioned
for us to come back in. We sat down again.

“We asked the two of you to get involved because we felt that you needed to be more responsible,” the chief said.

“No argument from us about—”

“Close your mouth and quit interrupting!” the chief said, cutting Keegan off.

“Yes, sir.”

“And we want to let you know that somehow, in some strange way, we're actually proud of you both,” my father said.

“What?” I exclaimed.

“Despite knowing just how serious this is, you have accepted blame,” my father said.

“You have claimed
responsibility
for your actions,” the chief added. “You both really stepped up to the plate on this one.”

I looked over at Keegan. His expression was as shocked as I felt.

“Does this mean we're not going to get punished?” Keegan asked.

Both my father and the chief burst into laughter.

“Oh, you're going to get punished,” my father said. “Believe me, you're going to get punished!”

“Worse than you ever have in your entire life, no question,” the chief said. “You're both going to regret this day for a long, long time.”

“Part of being responsible for your actions is accepting the consequences,” my father said. “Actions come with—”

There was a loud knock on the door, and before anybody could react it opened, and Mrs. Wallace popped her head in.

“You better come out and see this,” she said.

“Whatever it is will have to wait,” my father said.

“I don't think it can. We're next up on
CNN.”

We all rushed out the door, practically bumping into each other. Mrs. Wallace turned up the volume.

“And this just in,” one of the announcers said. “It's footage shot by a local cable company of a riot at a fall fair.”

“Yes, and while it was your traditional fall fair,” the female announcer said. “It was not your traditional riot.”

The two announcers disappeared and were replaced by video of the parade
coming down the street—everything looking normal.

“The Tomato Festival has been an annual event in Leamington for the last thirty-five years and, as the name would suggest, is a celebration of the tomato,” said a voice-over of the male announcer.

“But during today's parade they found a new way to celebrate tomatoes!” the woman said.

The scene changed to a full-out tomato assault. They showed tomatoes flying through the air and smashing into members of the band, the peewee baseball team joining in, and then spectators adding to the melee.

“It continued for over ten minutes,” the male announcer said.

There were more and more shots as the riot rippled up and down the parade route.

“It even hit the local beauty pageant contestants,” the woman said.

“There's Kelsey!” Keegan exclaimed.

A barrage of tomatoes hit her and the two other girls in her car. Two of them ducked, but Kelsey jumped out of the car,
ran over, grabbed some tomatoes from the wagon and began returning fire. She hit a guy right in the head as he was cocking his arm back to throw a tomato himself.

“I think we have the winner of the talent portion of the contest!” the female announced exclaimed.

Another camera angle came on the screen. There in the middle of it all was my father. He was the target for a number of tomatoes. It was awful to watch as he got hit repeatedly. Then he picked up a tomato himself and tossed it—hitting Mr. Miller squarely in the back!

We all looked at my father. He looked embarrassed.

“I was hoping nobody would see that,” he said.

The two announcers came back on the screen.

“Reports are that there were neither arrests nor injuries,” the woman said.

“To see more video of this event, or to find out more about Leamington and their Tomato Festival, please visit our website.”

“We're the laughingstock of the country,” my father said, holding his head in his hands.

“Isn't
CNN
broadcast internationally?” Keegan asked.

Was he trying to make things worse?

“Laughingstock of the entire world,” my father groaned.

“I don't know about you,” the male announcer said, “but that looked like a whole lot of fun, didn't it?”

“It did. It reminded me of the world-famous La Tomatina Festival,” the woman said.

“The what?” I asked.

“The world's largest tomato festival held in Bunyol, Spain,” she said, like she was answering my question.

“Bunyol features a daylong tomato fight, closing down a street to allow people to throw tomatoes at
anybody
along that section.”