With a whoosh, my watermelon rind makes a nice high arc over the railing and hits the ground, stirring up a few pebbles and tumbling a few feet down the steep hill until it stops.
No Points.
With a whiz, my brother’s shoots through the air: over the low branches, between the high ones, perfectly aimed so as to splash into the shallow water neatly.
One Point.
With a slurp, Mom sheepishly takes another bite. “I’m not done yet!”
No Points.
With a roar, Dad rears back and flings his rind with all his might.
I!
AM!
MAN!
But with a surprisingly loud thwomp, it immediately hits the nearest tree trunk with incredible force and explodes, showering us with wet, pink, cold confetti.
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