The Battle of Junk Mountain by Lauren Abbey Greenberg

Author:Lauren Abbey Greenberg
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Running Press
Published: 2018-04-16T16:00:00+00:00

• CHAPTER 18 •

STEP RIGHT UP TO THE FREAK SHOW

“Let’s meet back here at ten o’clock,” Leanne says. She adjusts her straw cowboy hat over her bleached blond hair.

We’re standing at the ticket kiosk at the fair’s entrance.

“Where are you going to be?” I ask.

“Away from you guys.” She laughs as Billy threads an arm around her waist and ushers her toward the main grandstand to watch the tractor-pull contest.

A fireball sun hangs at the edge of the horizon. Poppy stuffs a wad of Admit One tickets for the rides into her pink wristlet. Her bare shoulders glisten with sweat even though she’s wearing a tank dress. The air is still and sticky and smells like a cross between fried dough and a barn. When you’re away from the water, you miss that breeze.

We study a map of the fair and decide to head toward the midway. Tattooed barkers call to us, promising an easy win if we play milk-bottle toss or dart balloons. Oversized stuffed animals dangle from the ceiling, and suddenly I have to have a giant purple monkey. I blow through a bunch of dollar bills until I finally win a prize at the whack-a-mole game: a stuffed banana wearing sunglasses and dreadlocks.

After downing a corn dog and sugary lemonade, I am amped up for a ride on the giant slide. We climb the tall staircase with burlap sacks slung over our shoulders and let a few people go ahead of us until two lanes open where we can sit side by side and race. I keep my hands up the whole time even though the first drop threatens to bring the corn dog back up. Afterward, we hit the Sea Serpent, one of our favorites. It’s a giant swing in the shape of a pirate ship that rocks back and forth. We sit in the back row where the motion feels the most intense and scream our heads off. Then it’s off to the bumper cars where I make it my personal mission to smash Poppy.

By now, the sun is down and the neon lights are up. Families with small children head to the exits while teenagers show up in packs. We walk arm in arm by the deep-fried Twinkies stand when Poppy stops in her tracks.

She grips my elbow. “Gio’s here.”

I twist my neck to see a group of five boys by the fortune- teller tent. They stand in a semicircle, hands stuffed in their pockets and baseball hats turned backward or sideways. Gio, wearing a black T-shirt and camo shorts, is the tallest of the bunch.

“Go talk to him,” Poppy urges.

“No way,” I say.

“Come on, what are you afraid of?”

“I’m not afraid. If you want to say hi so bad, do it yourself.”

Poppy flips her hair off her shoulders and looks deep into my eyes like I’m her personal mirror. “How do I look?”

“Possessed.”

She sticks out her tongue at me before sauntering over to the group. My head starts to hurt. What is she going to say to him? I retrieve berry lip gloss from my purse to busy myself.

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