Page 55 of The County Fair Queen

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The next morning, Brenda/Carole and her crew picked us up from Fletcher Family Vineyard in the sprinter van. After that, we dropped by Tallulah Primary to jailbreak Beau. Aunt Lurlene had advised me that after a particularly gruesome flu outbreak, she'd been placed on the pre-approved list of contacts who couldsign Beau out for the day. Apparently, Rivers and his mother had been infected, and Lurlene was the only person who returned Rivers' call.

We left Mr. Papadopoulos at home, but Fudge rested in Beau's lap on the ride over. He stared up at me, occasionally oinking out what I could only assume were terroristic threats meant solely for me.

We pulled up to the square shortly after noon. When the van's side door slid open, an endless plume of custard-scented water vapor poured out, giving us a cinematic entrance. Being the leading man, I was the first to emerge from the sweet-scented fog. Spotting the crowd standing in front of the courthouse, I gasped, inhaling Brenda/Carole's exhaled vapor.

On the lawn, just past the Tilt-a-Whirl, a group of forty-some-odd citizens stood in front of a small barricade. I wasn't sure who'd invited them, but with that many people standing just outside of his office, there was a one-hundred percent chance Rivers already knew something was amiss.

"Alright, Phillip," Brenda/Carole said, pointing at two small wooden stools resting on the courthouse lawn. "That's where we want you and the kid. We're going to have him hold the pig while you give your speech." She grinned at me, wide and wild, with the slightest hint of a sparkle in her eyes. "This is going to be great. We can upload the video tonight. I'll make a few calls. Try to get it spread around on social media. I have some friends on Bookstagram that might help, because they live for a queer man acting like an outlandish queen. I've also got a connection at a local news station in Winawana."

"Winawana-what now?"

She rolls her eyes. "It's a small town in Washington. I'm sure one of them knows someone in Seattle. Hopefully, we can make the footage go viral. Jesus, they're going to eat this shit up back at the office." She led Beau and I toward the stools, pullinga small, orange pill bottle out of her pocket. She grabbed one of the pills and held it out for me. "Your eyes are looking a little puffy, and I heard you sniffling the whole way here. I'm not having you getting sick when we're on the homestretch. Swallow."

"What is it?"

"Just a prescription-strength antihistamine. I keep a steady supply of them coming in. They work wonders," she said. After I'd swallowed the pill, I turned my attention back to Brenda/Carole. She was staring at the label on the bottle, her eyes growing wider by the second. "Listen, kid, you're probably going to feel a little woozy after a while. That may have been a Xanax. I'm not entirely sure. We should probably get the show on the road before it kicks in."

My eyes bulged. "You just drugged me?"

She swiveled around without addressing her error, pointing at the courthouse. "There are already people staring out of the windows behind us. It's only a matter of time before someone clues Mayor Lake in. Chop-chop, Philly."

As I tried to ready myself for a vicious, drug-induced downward spiral, I spotted Jordan. He was standing directly beside the cameraman, pulling out his phone, just as we'd rehearsed. After a moment of pause, "Angel" by Sarah McLachlan filled the silent street around us.

"Hello," I said, staring into the camera. "I'm Friendzone's Phillip Firecracker, and I'm speaking to you today on behalf—"

"Cut!" Brenda/Carole shouted.

"I was just getting going," I said.

"And we'll be finished before we even begin if Joshua doesn't turn off that damn song."

"You know my name is Jordan."

"You can't just play a song on a PSA without getting approval. And Sarah McLachlan, of all people? Sarah-fucking-McLachlan?"

"What's wrong with Sarah?" Jordan asked. "She loves animal charities. She's a philanthropist."

"Whatisn'twrong with Sarah McLachlan? Tell me something, cupcake; have you ever worked with Satan herself? Because I have, and let me tell you, that woman would sooner drag you through decades of endless litigation than shake your hand. I'm not getting caught up in her web. Not again. Not after last time."

"The fuck's she talking about now?" Preston said.

"Jordan," I called out, "press play."

"The second you press play, she presses charges. I swear to God, Sarah McLachlan—"

"If you don't shut up about Sarah McLachlan, I'm going to press your face through that stained-glass window." I flicked my thumb behind me, motioning toward the courthouse. On the first floor, displayed proudly—ridiculously—was a piece of window art I'd never truly understood. Not as a child, nor as an adult. On it, there was a hideously designed doodle of George Washington (Carver) standing in a boat, holding a jar of Jiff crunchy peanut butter. To his side, a slew of men rowed him proudly across the Delaware. "We need to get this done before—"

"What the heck is going on here?" a familiar voice called out from behind us.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit-shit-shit.

"Hello," I blurted into the camera. "My name is Phillip Firecracker, and I'm here to ask for your peanut butter—" I scowled. "Shit." I'd rehearsed this speech at least a dozen times the night before, and each time, Sarah had been crooning out that damn song of hers. "Jordan, sing the song." I faced the camera. "Hello, I'm Phillip Firework—fuck. Firecracker. I'mPhillip Firecracker." Peering over my shoulder, I watched in horror as Rivers slowly walked toward the small crowd gathered around me. His hand was above his brow, shielding his eyes from the sun. "The song! Jordan, sing it."

"You're in the arms—"

Brenda/Carole covered his mouth with her hand, eyes bulging. "I'm not kidding. The woman will verbally, physically, and financially ruin you. Don't do this, Phillip."

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