Winner, Winner, Chicken Dinner

            It was supposed to be a reward, a reward I’d been working toward all year. The three kids who read the most books would receive a grand prize: a mystery celebration. We were guaranteed to love it.

            Sure, there were coupons for personal pan pizzas along the way, but the award at the end would be something wonderful, something an elementary school student couldn’t even imagine.

            Finally, the day came. Three students were chosen as the top readers, and I was among them. The whole school shuffled into the gymnasium for an end-of-the-year assembly, sitting on retractable bleachers, ready for fun, games, and entertainment. And our reward.

            We three super-nerds were called to the front, where an administrator announced the rules. We would be blindfolded. We’d be released into a fenced-in section of the gym floor, where various bills lay scattered. There were a few fifties out there, we were told. We would have to crawl. We had one minute. The crowd would direct us to the cash.

            I don’t know whose idea it was to have the biggest dorks in the school scramble on all fours in a pen blindfolded, pecking for cash to the shouts of their peers, but I would like to have a word with that person.

            We assumed the position, and the administrator shouted, “Go!”

            Time went quickly, awkwardly, and painfully. I crumpled bills into my palms as I scooted along the scuffed gym floor on hands and knees, bumping into the other contestants and the fence. Voices yelled directions from the bleachers, but who can hear three hundred conflicting cues? It was the closest I’ve ever come to being a sports star. And may have contributed to my fear of sports.

            When the count-down ended, I was left with far less money than I’d imagined. I collected thirty-two dollars.

            We were briefly paraded around before being sent back to our seats, and I can’t speak for what the others felt; some of them got fifties. Me, I felt…not proud.

            So, it was with some trepidation that I learned I was one of three finalists for the Winter Hauntings Evening of Ghost Stories, for my short story “Heaven or Hell.” Will I blindfolded and set to crawl on the floor in front of a crowd of cheering (jeering) spectators?

            They say no, much to the disappointment of my fans. Instead, there will be food and wine, and they’ll even let me have some. A band I like is playing, guests will receive a copy of the finalists’ stories, and actors will perform our pieces, taking our places in the proverbial money pit.

            But if anyone whips out a blindfold, I’m getting one of those fifties this time!

– by Jessi Waugh