Page 135 of Rock Bottom Girl
Donkey Ote—aclever take on everyone’s favorite windmill-slaying Man of La Mancha—had a bristly coat that made my skin itch. What we lacked in common with body hair, we made up for in sheer reluctance.
“I don’t want to do this any more than you do,” I promised him. He shoved his nose into the hood of my sweatshirt and snorted.
Oh, shit. Did donkeys bite?
A grating peal of laughter stabbed into my eardrums.
Amie Jo, in white stilettos and bubble gum pink skinny pants, pointed and giggled at me and my donkey.
“Don’t listen to her, Ote,” I whispered, ruffling the coarse tuft of hair between his ears. “She’s just jealous she doesn’t get to play.”
“You lookpositively ridiculous,” she said as if I were unaware of this fact.
“Yeah, well. It’s for a good cause,” I said.
Every year, the Donkey Basketball game raised funds for the local food bank. Ninety percent of the funds that fed families for Thanksgiving came from this damn game. And one of those families on the list was Libby’s foster family. Thank you very much, Jake, for finding that tidbit of information and emotionally blackmailing me into participating.
I might not have cash to donate to the cause. But my dignity? That I was willing to part with.
“That’s a sizeableassyou’ve got there, Marley,” Amie Jo said, batting her long purple-tinted lashes. She cracked herself up and doubled over again.
“You ready to be defeated, Mars?” Jake asked, smugly escorting his significantly larger steed up next to mine in the hallway. He ignored Amie Jo’s giggle fit and gave me a kiss.
His donkey leaned in and grabbed the hood of my sweatshirt.
“Gah!” I choked.
“Knock it off, Bertha!” Jake wrestled his mutant donkey away. Bertha took part of my hood with her.
Donkey Ote eyed me.
“Oh,I’mthe dumbass?” I asked. The donkey tossed his head in an emphatic “yes.”
“Look at you two bonding,” Bill said, appearing cheerfully with a helmet and a clipboard. He reached out to pet Donkey Ote, but my donkey did this weird thing where his jaw opened, sending his upper teeth in one direction and his lower teeth in another. The noise was like a banshee scream.
Amie Jo was in hysterics again. At least until Bertha lunged in her direction, big yellow teeth snapping.
She shrieked and threw herself at Jake. “Save me!” Jake wrestled woman and donkey until there was a loud, flatulentfermpfollowed by a loudersplat splat splat.
“Oh, shit.”
It was my turn to laugh as Bertha let loose a half ton of donkey shit on the linoleum floor.
Amie Jo lost her grip on Jake. Her arms fluttered helplessly, and I watched in horror as her heels lost their traction on the edge of the shit pile. She slipped and skated, her pale blue eyes wider than dinner plates.
I reached for her from Donkey Ote’s back, trying to catch a fluttering hand, but gravity and karma were faster.
Amie Jo’s feet slipped out from under her, and we watched as she landed in slow motion with another resounding splat. Right on her ass. In the middle of the steaming pile of donkey shit.
Jake had tears of laughter streaming down his face as he offered her a hand. He couldn’t talk, could only shudder in silent hysterics.
Bill fluttered around apologizing and offering to get paper towels. I doubted that there were enough paper towels in all of Culpepper to clean up this disaster.
And in the middle of it all, Amie Jo screamed bloody murder.
The screams and the laughter started to draw a crowd. Which led to more laughter and more screaming. Amie Jo’s cheeks burned hot with humiliation. I handed Donkey Ote’s bridle off to the woodshop teacher and hauled Amie Jo to her feet. Something Jake was incapable of since he was currently trying not to piss his pants.
Bill had scampered off in search of one of the shit shovels.
