Free I'm Going to Be Famous by Tom Birdseye

in the kitchen now—Kerry, Ben, Mike, and me. We moved the table with the plastic orange tablecloth out of the way. Then we began.
    I ate two bananas in just over fifteen seconds. Mike gave me a standing ovation. Ben ate two lemons in a little under twenty-five seconds. That’s a slower time than he had in the cafeteria a week and a half ago. He said he was just feeling off his best form today. He went home to watch the old reruns of Leave It to Beaver and Bonanza. Kerry says Ben looks sick to her. “Green around the gills” was how she put it.
    Kerry is spitting watermelon seeds across the kitchen. She stands in the hallway door, throws her head way back, arches her body, and then lunges forward in one giant spit. The force of the motion pulls her feet right off the ground and sends the seed zooming across the kitchen and into the living room.
    I must admit that I’m impressed with her progress. This neck-snapping method seems to work. She keeps grinning like a dog at a picnic and shouts, “Red alert! Red alert! Melon-seed missile at twelve o’clock.” Still, she’s only spitting about twenty to twenty-five feet. That’s hardly a world record.
    Mike has been over by the refrigerator doing jumping jacks and toe touches. He says that warming up is essential to his ice-cream-eating. “If I don’t get warmed up first,” he reminds me, “I might freeze my stomach with all that ice cream.”
    Mike has asked for “quiet on the set” so he can concentrate on his speed eating. He is sitting at the kitchen table, staring at a quart of chocolate-chip mint ice cream. I’ll time him on Dad’s stopwatch.
    â€œOK, Mike,” I say, “ready when you are.”
    He raises his spoon and waves it at me. This is the signal that he’s ready.
    â€œTake your mark … get set … go!” I shout and click the watch on.
    Wow. Mike is shoveling huge bites of chocolate-chip mint into his mouth. It makes my teeth shiver just to watch him.
    â€œGo, Mike, go! You can do it.”
    Kerry is Mike’s cheering section. All she needs is a couple of pompoms and a megaphone.
    â€œEat, Mike, eat!… How much time, Arlo?” she asks.
    As timekeeper, I must stay cool and observant. “Sixteen seconds and counting.”
    â€œYahoo!” Kerry shouts. “Eat em’ up, Mike!”
    But as a cool and observant timekeeper, I have failed to notice the time of day or the fact that Mom is now home. Home and standing in the kitchen doorway.
    â€œHi, Mom,” I say, trying not to panic.
    â€œEek!” says Kerry.
    â€œHemfroph, Mrz. Munoh,” says Mike, greeting my Mom through a mouthful of chocolate-chip mint ice cream.
    â€œDidn’t I throw those jeans away, Arlo?” Mom asks, setting two bags of groceries on the counter.
    â€œWell … uh,” I stutter, “gee … I’m not sure, Mom.” I’ve been caught in two crimes.
    â€œDinner will be ready in twenty minutes.” She’s giving me that look again. I’m caught red-handed. “I have a meeting tonight with Mrs. Gorman. I’ve got to hurry, so supper will be whatever I throw on the stove. Help me with these groceries, please.”
    Mike is slowly backing toward the door. He still has a huge spoonful of chocolate-chip mint ice cream almost to his mouth. Kerry has snuck into the living room and is frantically picking melon seeds out of the carpet and putting them in her pockets.
    â€œI’m sure I threw those jeans away. You look like a street bum with them on,” Mom says with what might be a smile on her lips.
    Street bum? I thought I looked like a poor orphan child. And why is she not saying anything about what we were doing? I’m sure she saw us.
    â€œAnd don’t forget, Arlo …”
    Mike has made his escape. I’m not sure if I’ve made mine.
    â€œIt’s your turn to set the table