The plane landed just within view of Tater. First, the plane bounced and settled down onto the grassy area next to the runway, and then drove with ease over to the fuel pumps. The fifteen-year-old class clown wasn’t laughing. Tater swallowed with a gulp as his lunch was flip-flopping in his stomach.
“Come on, it’s your turn.” Tater’s friends pushed him. Tater slowly got up and walked toward the plane. “He’s gonna puke!” a boy yelled. They all laughed. Tater couldn’t think of anything witty. Instead, he grabbed his stomach. He heard their laughter trail off as he approached the plane.
“Ready to go?” Pilot Bill asked.
“I’m not sure.” His eyes watered. “I think I ate rotten food.” He grabbed his stomach.
Pirate Preacher