The Middle of Somewhere Read Online Free

or reversed electrons—until Pop mentioned getting a grant from some university in Kansas.
Hmm
, thought I,
could he really be on to something this time?
    After all the company left, we rearranged the furniture in the living room to make a convalescent center. Once Mama was settled on the couch, with pillows to prop up all her sore parts, I spread a tablecloth on the floor and we gathered around for a picnic supper of chili and coffee cake. Gee ate them together.
    Before sitting on the floor, Pop went out to the RV and brought back one of those plastic medicine organizers with compartments for every day of the week. “Wow, you take a lot of pills!” Gee exclaimed.
    “Not pills,” Pop corrected. “Supplements. The secret of my glowing health and no small part of my recent success.” Mama and I hunkered down expectantly, knowing we were about to hear the story that was almost popping out of Pop.
    “Back in April,” he began, “I was on my way to Lubbock to talk to some people at Texas Tech about my wind-power idea—and frankly, I was feeling a little down,because I'd been spinning wheels for months without get-ting anywhere. But then I saw the sign!”
    “The sign” sounded like some kind of vision from above. But when Pop stretched out a hand to mark the words, I realized he meant a highway billboard: “ ‘YOUR DREAMS COME TRUE AT MOTOR MIKE'S! Now at two convenient locations! Come see our fabulous new RV Lot!’ And listen to this: at that very minute, the
very minute
that billboard caught my attention, I heard Motor Mike himself on the radio, talking up his one-time-only grand-opening promotion. At that moment, I heard the knock of destiny.” (My ears perked up—what did Kent Clark say about destiny?)
    “I drove right over to Motor Mike's,” Pop continued, “and signed up for his hard-body contest.”
    “His
what
?” Mama gasped. “You're in good shape for a man your age, Dad, but—”
    “The body in question belonged to the prize,” Pop said with a little frown. “Not the contestants.” (I don't think he likes references to his age.) “I'd been thinking that the main problem with my new business was presentation. Here I was, driving an old pickup and living in that camper that Gee has such a low opinion of—” Pop broke off in alarm when Gee flung himself back on the floor and laughed like a maniac. Dropping his name in conversation is one of the things that sets him off, but I shushed him.
    “Anyway,” Pop went on, “by the time I got to Motor Mike's, there was only one contestant space left, and who got it? Yours truly.”
    I wasn't getting this. “But what
is
a hard-body contest?”
    He held up his hand. “Picture this. Saturday morning, five-thirty a.m. A fiery pink-and-orange sunrise splashed over a big Texas sky. Rows of gleaming pickups and campers under strings of white lights. Motor Mike himself on a flatbed trailer with the mayor and state representatives and local deejay. The high school band. TV cameras and radio mikes. Fifty hopeful contestants in bright orange vests. And in the middle of the whole scene: bright, sparkling, in all its maroon-and-white glory, a brand-new Coachman RV.”
    “Hey!” Gee exclaimed. “Just like yours!”
    I sighed, but Pop smiled gently. “Speeches are finally over. The band members finger their horns and woodwinds. A drumroll sounds. Motor Mike raises a pistol. Everybody sucks in a deep breath, and—
pow
! Fifty hands clamp to the body of that vehicle like magnets.” He slapped a hand against his knee so suddenly we jumped. “This triumph of the automaker's art will go to the last man standing.”
    We sat absolutely still, even Gee, as his meaning sank in.
    “But how did you go to the
bathroom
?” Gee burst out then.
    Pop explained, and for once he didn't overdo it. Each contestant had to keep at least one hand flat on the vehicle at all times. They got fifteen-minute rest periods every six hours, and five-minute bathroom breaks every