Page 11 of The Blackmail of Denise Randall

THE FAIR

The cool night air, the sound of screams, the flashing multicolored neon lights, and the smell of cotton candy and popcorn bring me a certain amount of joy. Our fair is small, but it’s the town’s biggest event every year. When the fair comes to town, it comes alive with excitement and a type of energy that is contagious. Whether you come for the rides, the food, or to socialize, you just go to the fair. Everyone. People who have moved away always return to Lumberton for the fair. Our fair also always falls close to Homecoming. It’s something that’s ingrained in anyone who grew up here. It’s a calling that even I can’t refuse.

I rode here with Samantha, Tiffany, and few other girls from my old click. We’ve been here about twenty-minutes and right when I finally feel like this is going to be a good night, I hear her.

“Denise fucking Randall. Roll out the red carpet, bitches! Look who has returned to grace us with her presence.” Oh God no.

I nudge Tiffany. “Let’s go, please.

Tiffany looks over her shoulder and back at me. “Just ignore her. He said this is where to meet. I can’t leave. You know they only text once with a single time. If you miss them, then you miss them.”

“I really don’t want to deal with her.” I groan as I watch Isabelle approach me.

“If you want to go, I’ll get yours for you. I just don’t want to get on their bad side by not being here.”

“You know, you’re not so perfect. Look at your family, Randall.” Isabelle sneers my last name in complete disgust. Then she raises her perfectly, arched blond brows. “I know you didn’t press charges just because you’re trying to make everyone think you’re so damn perfect and above everyone.”

I roll my eyes, trying to play it cool, but my body tenses with embarrassment. This is what I get for thinking I could come back to town and actually enjoy the county fair. I didn’t think that, six years later, Isabelle Jamerson would still have this vendetta against me. We’re twenty years old now. We’re not in high school anymore. Why can’t she let it go? This is so juvenile. “I wasn’t aware me doing you a favor was somehow going to piss you off further.”She ignores my remark, instead going for one of her go-to slurs. “You ran out in front of me. You ruined your sister’s bridal shower with your theatrics. Isn’t she engaged to her cousin? Borderline incest. My brother dodged a bullet by not keeping that sick bitch around.” She takes another drink of her beer then releases a fake laugh. “Then your brother Trent knocked up the girl who we all thought your other brother was screwing. I mean it wasn’t until later we discovered he had never been screwing her because he was a fag.” She hisses at me and steps closer. “A fag who wanted to start trouble with my brother, probably because he had a major boner for him. So, what happened? A Randall didn’t get their way and threw a fit. He decided to make a stupid move and toss both of them over a bridge, while your weird sister and douchebag brother did nothing but watch.” Her voice is void of all emotions when she whispers, “Only one of them deserved to go over that bridge. Only one.”

Sadly, I agree with her statement. But I’m sure we have a different opinion on which one. She looks me up and down, before taking a step back. “You’re pathetic, just like the rest of your fucked-up family.” Then she leans in so close that I want to gag from the overpowering smell of alcohol, mixed with expensive perfume and hair product coming from her. Then she goes in for the kill, “Did you jump out in front of my car on purpose? Having another one of your weak ass panic attacks?”

My chest rises and falls. A crowd has gathered and are staring. It’s the fair, but it has suddenly become eerily quiet. I keep reminding myself she’s not worth it. She’s not worth getting in any trouble over. Most of what she said were lies anyway. I’m stronger, I can do this. I take a step, walking around her. And then another. I feel everyone’s eyes on me, but I keep my head held high.

She yells out to me, “Fucking coward!” I ignore her and keep walking. I hear her laugh to her friends as she loudly says, “The princess would have to move the stick out of her ass before she’d do anything.” I hear her ear-piercing cackles as I continue to put distance between us.

I’d love nothing more than to remove this stick out of my rear and beat her with it. I do have a stick up my rear, I guess. I want to let loose, but I can’t. I don’t even drink with my friends—I prefer to alone. What if I said the wrong thing while drinking? Most people that meet me automatically assume the worst of me: stuck up, rich, bitch, goody goody, selfish. But I’ve tried my best to give my parents at least one normal child. Not that my siblings aren’t normal, but there’s been so much drama over the years. I’ve tried to keep my nose down and basically be the perfect daughter for them. Aside from my side habits, but there’s no need to mention what they don’t know. Don’t they deserve one easy child after everything? Kidnapping, death, unplanned pregnancy—what’s next? Nothing. Nothing from me, and that’s how it will remain.

I mean—I don’t know why I’m so obsessed with this notion. No matter what I do, I still don’t hold the spotlight in my parents’ eyes. Their attention is always divided between my older siblings, Alice and Trent. Alice, their shiny new daughter who has returned and gone on to become a school counselor for troubled teens in honor of our deceased brother, Landon, and her own experience. Trent, the golden boy. He got a girl pregnant out of wedlock, yet he still came out the chosen one. He really is a wonderful father and works hard to provide for his new little family. It’s difficult for me to look past the attention they get, even though I know they’re amazing people.

I did everything right. I did it all by the book. I could’ve gone down a dark path with the shitshow my family is always putting me through, but I’ve gone above and beyond to be the perfect daughter. Why doesn’t anyone care what ridicule and stress I’ve been put through?

I regret my decision to ever come to the fair. I regret my decision to even come back home. Why didn’t I just tell my parents I was busy with a class project? I stomp around the Ferris wheel and stop to grab a beer at one of the stands. It’s time for a drink. I’m not legally old enough to purchase my own alcohol so I scan the area for someone who might do it for me. There are two guys that look slightly older than me walking so I quickly step in their path.

“Hi,” I smile.

“Hello, to you.” The one smiles.

The other one, looks me up and down like I’m about to be his meal for this evening. “Hi. I must say, I’m blown away by the hospitality we’ve been receiving from this small little town.”

I nod, “Y’all aren’t from around here?”

The two guys look at each other and smile, clearly amused by my question. The first one, in the most ridiculous dramatic Southern accent says, “No, we ain’t from ‘round these parts.”

Insulted, I start to step around them. I can find someone else to get me beer. The other guy that wanted me as a meal, quickly sidesteps to stand in front of me. “Hey, we’re sorry. I’m Dakota. That’s Lamar. We’re new in town, just visiting for the weekend.”

“Welcome to Lumberton, Missouri.” I snip.

“Awe, don’t be like that,” Lamar smiles at me.

“Fine. I’ll forgive you for making fun of my accent, if you go to the stands for me and get me a drink. To show no hard feelings, and officially welcome you to town, I’ll even pay for you two a drink.”

Lamar grins and nods, “You’ll buy the drinks, you just need me to provide the I.D.?”

Dakota narrows his eyes, “How old are you?”

I cross my arms. “Nineteen.”

Both of them share wide grins. Lamar murmurs to Dakota, “Not old enough to buy a beer, but legal enough for you, huh?”

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