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Sub page 2. Since then, he has published over fifty short stories and 10 novels.

Giant Water Balloon Boy

He blogs weekly about technology, education, and other matters. He now lives in Oregon with his wife and two children. He has a son and a daughter. Book Review - One of the things that I felt Carter did well on was that the book was always action-packed. You are commenting using your Twitter account.

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Notify me of new comments via email. Notify me of new posts via email. Filed under: Fiction , Realistic , Young Adult — hilariouslibrarian am Tags: adventure , booktalk , bullying , coming-of-age , friendship , Oregon , Oregon Book Award , road trip. Like this: Like Loading Leave a Comment. Leave a Reply Cancel reply Enter your comment here Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:.

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The bell would ring any moment, and that door was so far away. It was like in another time zone. Harkin said. Being a doctor is a good calling. I know your father is a doctor.

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Or a dentist. You know that. You just keep on doing well and great things will happen for you. I had maybe five seconds before kids starting spilling into the hall. The room doors were opening. I turned to go, but Mr. I mean, sorry sir?

The Last Great Getaway of the Water Balloon Boys – Scott William Carter

The level of mortification I had reached in that moment, the pure and utter humiliation that filled every cell in my body knowing that the rumor about me and Tessa had reached even Mr. Harkin, who truly was the last person in the school to find out about anything, was so great, so overpowering, that I literally could not move for a good ten seconds.

Looking back, those ten seconds may have made all the difference. Kids filled the hall, streaming around me. Laughter and voices echoed off the tiles. Finally, I snapped out of it and bolted for the door. With so many human obstacles in the way, it took forever before I finally pushed through the doors and made it outside. The sky was a strange shimmering color of blue, like the color of our dish detergent, and the air felt cool and moist. The way home was across the parking lot and down the steps to the track field, and then to the other side and Warren Street.

I thought I had a pretty good head start, but I was just across the parking lot when I heard a shout. I looked over my shoulder and saw him standing on the steps outside the school—him, Parrot Pete, and two football-type guys who could each probably squash me with their pinkie fingers. There were maybe three or four seconds when we just stared at each other across the glistening asphalt, the predator and the prey, the bully and the abused, the football star and the grade A geek, and then finally Leo grinned and the spell was broken.

I ran. With lots of whooping and hollering, they ran after me. I knew there was absolutely no chance I could outrun them. I knew it, and yet I ran, anyway, just like the rabbit runs. Me, I was all about flight. Down the stairs. Tripped at the bottom. Scraped my hands on the concrete. Back up, running like a madman across the rust-colored Astroturf track, my sneakers like wet sponges. Now onto the grass in the center. Squish, squish, the grass was wet. Halfway across, I glanced over my shoulder and saw them at the bottom of the stairs.

Faster, faster, lungs burning. Had to keep pushing myself. Run, rabbit, run. Then tragedy struck. My foot came down in a bald spot in the grass, and because the ground was wet, the mud acted like a suction cup on my shoe, pulling it clean off. I took a couple of tumbling steps before finally crashing. Wet grass went into my mouth and up my nose. I heard laughter. Then I was up and running, leaving the other shoe behind. I managed only a couple of steps before going down again. This time the laughter was closer. I struggled to my feet, but someone gave me a hard kick on the butt and I went down face first in the grass.

More laughter. Shadows fell across me. The two other guys offered up something equally memorable. Everybody was pulling for me to get up, my own private booster squad. I opted for playing dead, lying there facedown.


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I heard it sometimes worked on bears. He gave me a swift kick in the gut. I saw sunbursts on the backs of my eyelids. I rolled onto my side, in the fetal position, hugging myself. All I could manage was a groan. My vision was blurred with both water and tears, and I blinked, trying to see. Leo was nothing but a streak of black hair and a Cheshire cat grin.


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My side throbbed. He punched me in the gut. This one knocked the wind out of me, and I doubled over, coughing. At least I think he hit me in the face. The next thing I knew, I was on the ground. I felt a trickle in my nose, and I tasted blood in my mouth. My ears rang like church bells. The goons lifted me up again, and this time I hung limp, defeated, knowing that he was just going to pummel me until there was nothing left of me but a pulp.

Charlie Hill, the human pulp. It was going to be brutal. Slowly, I lifted my head. He was smiling with glee.