Page 4 of The County Fair Queen

Chapter Two

COTTON CANDY WAFFLES

On our way to Tallulah's town square, we drove past Fletcher Family Vineyard. I debated hurling myself out of Rivers' pickup and escaping into my childhood home, but he was going well over eighty-miles-per-hour. Being a delicate little thing with an aversion to agonizing pain, I quickly kicked that idea to the curb.

Jordan had mentioned they wanted to film a scene at Minnie's diner, a local hotspot catering to early-bird seniors and waffle-loving youths. The crew had left the airport fifteen minutes before we did, telling us they needed to set up the shot for our arrival. Rivers had agreed to take the long way into the city, but the scenic route only tacked another ten minutes onto the trip.

When we pulled into the town square, it was like being transported back to my youth. The road was made of red bricks. It was a stunning, Hallmark-like sight, but it made for a terribly uncomfortable ride. They'd been there since before I was born, each one higher or lower than the last. As we jutted and joltedour way down the square, I noticed volunteers swarming around like honeybees, setting up game booths and food trucks.

There were carnies erecting rides on the north side of the square, and an old favorite of mine stood out amongst the rest. The Tilt-a-Whirl. I didn't know what it was about the ride, but the constant thrusting and jerking around always made my stomach feel like it was doing somersaults beneath my skin. Next to it, there was a half-constructed Ferris wheel. I made a mental note to remind Jordan that I would sooner shove my tongue down Rivers Rivera's throat than step foot on it. Me and heights just didn't mix. Not after that nasty little mishap on Friendzone's farewell tour.

Do you know what it feels like to nosedive into a crowd of thousands of screaming girls after your safety harness snaps? Brian O'Hare does, and I love that about him. Still, the sight of his flailing arms spinning like a windmill was a sight that had never left me. High places had been a no-go for me ever since.

As Mr. Papadopoulos hissed at Jordan through the pet carrier, I continued gazing out the window, ignoring Rivers' unending and unrequested monologue. Small periwinkle paper lanterns decorated the light posts that squared around the courthouse, meant to emulate a muscadine grape.

"Tallulah is home to the world's largest muscadine orchard," Rivers told Jordan, who was leaning forward and hanging on his every word.

"It is?" Jordan said, dreamily.

We would be having a very serious discussion later. I refused to allow my best(only)friend to be seduced by my arch-rival.

"Yes, Rivers. We're well aware of my family's business."

Across from the courthouse, there was a string of stores. The first to catch my eye was a karate dojo. A man stood in the display window, wedging a Muscadine Madness shirt over a sparring dummy's body. Next door at Foote's Feet—a God-forsaken shoe store which seemed to specialize in women's orthopedic heels and hideous Jesus sandals, per the display rack in the window—Evelyn Foote was putting the final touches on a disastrous, oversized paper-mache business pump. Behind me, Jordan made a sound like he was choking, and when I turned around to scold him, he was staring at Minnie's diner with wide eyes.

Apparently, Minnie had assumed the role of the city's one-woman welcome wagon. In front of the diner, she'd strung up a jumbo-banner with my one-and-only solo album cover on it. Considering the entire project had been a colossal failure, I wasn't sure how she managed to get a copy of the artwork. I'd only sold a grand total of seven-hundred and seventy-three copies… in Saudi Arabia.

The picture was blown up so large you couldn't even make out my pixelated face, much less the wordsPHILLIP FIRECRACKERorMETHODS TO MY MADNESS. I'd been reduced to a square blob of pinks and silvers, and the words'Welcome Home'in Comic Sans font.

Rivers pulled into a parking space directly in front of the diner, letting the truck idle as he unbuckled his seatbelt and swiveled in my direction. Outside, Brenda/Carole was barking orders at the sound guy as she drew unnecessarily long plumes of vaporized nicotine into her lungs.

Jordan, being the absolute worst assistant this side of the Mason-Dixon line, hopped out of the backseat—almost tripping and breaking his neck thanks to the ungodly height of Rivers' pickup—leaving me alone with my childhood archnemesis.

"Phillip, I—"

"Thanks for the ride," I said, unlocking the door. The second I clicked the button, the lock swiveled shut. I slowly turned toward Rivers and glared. "Did you just lock me in your truck?"

"Listen, Firecracker. Before you go, I just wanted to say…" The surety which had filled his voice ever since our uninvited reunion had left him, and a rush of red heat flooded his cheeks. "I'm really sorry about that night. I never should have—"

No.Because hell no, we weren't discussing this. Not in his ridiculously cliché Ford F-150, not on the uneven red brick road, and absolutely not while I still had my mic pack turned on for the entire crew to hear. Again, I attempted to unlock my door, only to be thwarted by his quick fingers.

"I mean it. I'm sorry—"

"Don't worry about it," I cut him of, reaching over him and unlocking the door from the driver's side for emphasis. I regretted my choice of exit strategy almost immediately. With only inches separating us, his hand brushed against my chest, and his lips scraped against my stubble. I jerked away from him like he'd just slapped me.

"Phillip," he said, his voice shaking. "I just want—"

"I said, it's fine." I didn't give a damn what he'd wanted. The topic was not up for discussion. Not back then, and certainly not now. "It's not like you stuffed the ballot box." As soon as the words were out, I launched myself out of his truck.

I met Jordan at the door to Minnie's, where Papadop was already out of his carrier, staring inquisitively into the diner window. Wrapping my arm around Jordy's waist, I pulled him in for a side hug.

"You okay?" he whispered.

"I will be. I just didn't expect to see him."

He pulled away, but not before giving me a quick peck on the cheek. "There's a story in there. I won't pry, but if you need to talk about it, I'm here."

"I know." I squared my shoulders and plastered on another camera-ready smile. "Papadop, come." Patting my shoulder, Ibraced for impact. Once again, Papadop climbed me like a tree, perching himself on my shoulder.

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