The Big Toe Contest
Nobody
had a big toe like Hayden’s.
Hayden
Tucker is my best friend, but he gets weird ideas. Like
the time my grandpa and grandma took Hayden and me to the
county fair.
I reached Hayden’s house at around seven in the morning and banged on his bedroom door.
“Time to go, sleepyhead,” I shouted. “The Gramps-mobile will be here any minute.”
Not hearing anything, I opened the door and went in. My friend was sitting on the bed, counting. “. . . forty-five, forty-six--”
“What are you doing?”
Hayden glanced
at me. “Shhh. Don’t mess me up, Rick. Forty-eight,
forty-nine . . . ”
I walked around the bed and stopped short. His right pant leg was rolled up to the knee, and on the end of his big toe was a plastic weight from his dad’s weightlifting set. Every second or so, Hayden flexed his toe up, then down.
“Get
your toe stuck?”
“No,” he grunted. “I’m training for an important event.”
I laughed. “What event? The Mr. Toeriffic Competition?”
Hayden sighed and stopped counting. He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and waved it at me.
“I am preparing for the River County Fair’s Big Toe Contest,” he announced.
I snatched the paper in mid-wave. Sure enough, in big blue letters it said:
The Big Toe Contest $50 First Prize
“Nobody’s going to give away money for people’s toes,” I argued.
“They will too. Says so right there. ‘Prize money offered by the River County Fair.’”
He was right. It even had an official-looking logo. “But, Hay, there must be thousands of great toes in River County. How are you going to win?”
“I’ve been practicing twenty minutes every day, and soaking my toe in orange juice. Vitamin C keeps you healthy.”
Hayden and I inspected his big toe. It did look healthy.
Outside, a horn blasted twice. Hayden grabbed his gym bag, and we raced downstairs. The Gramps-mobile sat in the driveway. Grandma and Grandpa grinned and waved at us from the RV’s high front seat.
“You boys make yourselves comfortable,” said Grandma as we scrambled in. “We’ll be there in an hour or so.” The inside of the Gramps-mobile was fixed up like a little house, with a kitchen, a living room, and a bedroom. Grandma handed us two glasses of apple juice and a plate of warm blueberry muffins.
For the next few minutes we munched on muffins and stared out the window at the farmland. Then Hayden pulled a bottle from his gym bag. He unscrewed the cap and gave me a sniff. Phew! It smelled like gasoline and flowers mixed together.
“What is that?”
Hayden rubbed the liquid on his big toe. “It’s supposed to keep your joints from getting stiff. I figure judges like toes that are kind of springy.” Finished, he pulled two socks over his foot.
By the time we reached the fairgrounds and Grandpa bought tickets, Hayden was so excited he was jumping up and down.
“Hold on there,” said Grandpa. “Where’s the fire?”
“I’ve got to sign up for the Big Toe Contest,” Hayden explained.
Grandma smiled. “Goodness, Hayden, I didn’t know you had a big toe. Are you sure yours is ready to be judged?”
Hayden patted his bag. “Of course it is. I’ve been taking care of it for a whole month.” The other Big Toe contestants were a lot older than Hayden, but he wasn’t worried. “I bet they haven’t been lifting weights,” he whispered, climbing onto the stage. He stood between a man wearing overalls and a woman in a red-flowered dress. All the contestants were carrying small bags or boxes.
Two men with badges clipped to their pockets walked onstage.
“We’ll
get started in a minute,” one said, “but first
we’d like to say a very special hello to our youngest
contestant, eleven-year-old Hayden Tucker.”
Hayden grinned as the crowd applauded.
Then the judges announced, “Contestants, display your big toes,” and craziness hit the stage like a thunderstorm as people dug into their boxes and bags. I lost sight of Hayden. Then I heard Grandma gasp. A little girl next to me giggled.
“Mommy, look-it that boy!” she squealed.
I looked. Hayden was sitting on the stage with his right foot stuck high in the air, his naked big toe wiggling like mad. The other contestants still had their shoes on. Each of them was holding up a small pickle. It was a West India gherkin, Grandma told me later. Folks around here called them “big toe” pickles because they grew short and stubby, just like a lot of people’s big toes.
At that moment everybody was busy laughing—except Hayden. First his face turned red, then green.
But all of a sudden he must have decided the whole thing was pretty funny because he started grinning. Then he wiggled his toe again. The crowd laughed louder.
Eventually, the judges stopped laughing and started judging. Hayden didn’t win the fifty dollars, but he did get a ribbon for having the funniest big toe in River County.
On the trip home, I couldn’t resist teasing him.
“Boy, toeday sure was toeribble,” I said. “Hope it wasn’t toe hard on you.”
Hayden just grinned. “Wait until next month,” he said. “My aunt’s dance troupe is looking for toe dancers. I can’t wait to try out.”
I groaned. Hayden Tucker’s big toe in a tutu? It was toe horrible to think about!
