Go Jump in the Pool by Gordon Korman

day occurred when the rider, Coach Flynn, sneezed in transit and put the barrel off course. It missed the sand pit, rolled across the lawn, bounced over the ditch, hurtled across the highway where it narrowly missed collision with a sightseeing bus, and came to rest in Miss Scrimmage’s chrysanthemum bed. An enthusiastic Mr. Flynn emerged from the barrel to find, to his amazement, that Individual Effort Day was gone. Had it ended during his ride? He was set straight when Wilbur rushed up, concerned for the safety of his barrel.
    Mr. Sturgeon became annoyed watching his wife and Miss Scrimmage throw dimes into a saucer attempting to win a prize. He nudged them aside. “Here is how it is done,” he said quietly. He threw and missed. Missed again. And again. “I am going to do it,” he said between clenched teeth, “if I have to spend two hundred dollars!” It only cost him four. His prize was a huge gift-wrapped carton which he was obliged to lug around for the remainder of the afternoon.
    They paid fifty cents each to see a puppet show run by two Macdonald Hall boys. It was about a wicked Headmaster who had a swimming pool and a nice Headmaster who didn’t. In the end, the king took the pool away from the wicked Headmaster and gave it to the nice one. The nice Headmaster and his nice boys lived happily ever after.
    Mr. Sturgeon was extremely amused. “The wicked Headmaster is Hartley of York Academy,” he explained to Miss Scrimmage.
    “Oh, and who is the nice Headmaster?” she asked innocently.
    Mrs. Sturgeon bought a sign hand-lettered by a talented associate of Chris Talbot:
    Don’t be a foole
    Support ye poole
.
    The afternoon was drawing to a close and the Sturgeons, accompanied by Miss Scrimmage, began to wend their way towards home, when suddenly the Headmaster remembered his promise to return to the sponge throw. This time Bruno was taking money and Boots was the target. Mr. Sturgeon produced another quarter and picked up the first sponge.
    “Oh, this is violent,” said Miss Scrimmage. “I think I’ll go over and see how the bake table is doing.”
    Mr. Sturgeon wound up and caught Boots flush in the face.
    “Dead-ly!” Bruno cheered.
    Mr. Sturgeon reached for another sponge and took careful aim. Now that he had a reputation to protect, he did not want to miss. He brought his arm forward and let fly just as Miss Scrimmage wandered absent-mindedly into the line of fire.
Splat!
The sopping sponge hit her right on the side of the head.
    Bruno raced out with a towel and caught the teetering Miss Scrimmage.
    “Sir,” called Boots anxiously, “is this considered our fault?”
    “No,” said Mr. Sturgeon with just a trace of amusement in his voice. “I did that myself.” Determined to get his money’s worth, he threw three more direct hits at Boots.
    The crowd began to thin out and the booths began to close. Before the dinner bell rang, Individual Effort Day had drawn to a successful end.
    * * *
    Mr. Sturgeon struggled into the house with his enormous prize. “This had better be something good,” he said sourly. “It cost me four dollars.”
    “Well, open it, dear,” said his wife. “Let’s see what you won.”
    In an attempt to deposit the bulky package on the coffee table in the living room, Mr. Sturgeon lost his grip on it. It hit the floor with a bang. There was movement within the box, and suddenly a voice, muffled by the wrapping, said, “Hi there! My name is Jack!”
    “Mildred, how did this happen?”
    “I knew you hated it, William,” she explained, “so I gave it to the boys for Individual Effort Day.”
    “And I won it,” he said softly. “I won it again.”
    “Yes, dear.”
    “Take it away, Mildred,” the Headmaster ordered. “Put it where I won’t have to see it — or hear it — ever again!”
    * * *
    “Two thousand, eight hundred seventy-four dollars and seventy-eight cents!” exclaimed Bruno Walton to Boots and Elmer as he dropped the last penny into bucket