It takes Mom the full two hours to prepare herself for a fair, one with pie-eating contests and pig races. No one will be dressed for an elegant party...no one except her and Dad. She is the one giving out the town awards tonight, so she must play the role.
I slip into the back seat of Dad's SUV feeling like a child, when I should be riding to this fair with friends—ones I don't have—but nevertheless, people my age who are going for far different reasons than mine. The fair is a place where teens spike their drinks and get high along the outskirts of the central entertainment. Then there's me—the “sick” girl on a leash.
"Some of the girls from the neighborhood will be here tonight. Maybe you can meet up with them," Dad says while pulling into a reserved spot on the lawn in front of the fair's opening.
I'd like to inform him of what the girls from our street really do when their parents aren’t watching them like a hawk, but then he’d know what I do, as well.
I step out of the car, pulling down my oversized sunglasses to hide from the staring people as well as the setting sun. It takes less than a minute for Dad and Mom to get caught up in a conversation with a couple waiting to purchase their admission tickets, leaving me standing awkwardly behind them as if I were nothing more than their shadow.
By the time we make it past the ticket booth, the sun has dipped below the horizon, and I'm no longer left with a real reason to wear my sunglasses, other than to hide from people.
"Haven," a girl's voice calls from across the way. Maryanne trots over to me in a bright-colored sundress and spiked heels that must be miserable to walk through grass in. "I'm so glad you came. The girls and I were just about to go listen to the band warming up. Do you want to come?"
"Go," Mom urges. "Have a good time with the other girls."
Knowing nothing can be worse than standing behind my parents, I follow Maryanne across the fairgrounds, through the hundreds of people and up to the metal gate where the other girls from my neighborhood are standing. "Look who I found," Maryanne tells them.
Three fake smiles zone in on me and I silently join them, redirecting my attention to the empty stage in front of us. "I heard one of the guys in this band was onAmerica's Got Talent," Andrea says.
"What's he doing here?" Kinsley asks through laughter.
"Well, he didn't win, so…" the four of them giggle and I know I should be trying to join in with their laughter, but as always, I feel uncomfortable around them. They all grew up with money and in this lifestyle. They weren't rerouted at the beginning of their teenage years and expected to adapt to something so unfamiliar and real. All of them are a mother's dream, dressed the way Mom would give her right arm for me to look. They have all tried their hand in offering me a makeover or to take me shopping, but it's not me, no matter how long I live like this. I don't think it will ever be me. I will always feel as though I'm pretending to be someone I'm not.
While watching as a crew sets the stage for the band, my eyes settle on the back of a man who's lining up more barriers up front of the stage. He's dressed in a white shirt that appears to have shrunk at some point. The fabric pulls away from the waist of his belted jeans every time he leans over to fix a part of the barrier. The sounds of snickering and whispers from the girls float over my head as I realize they are all drooling over this man.
Our town is small, and options of attractive men are slight, which is why we sneak out to the next town over once or twice a month. It's not that the men are better looking in that town, but at least there are other faces to admire. Everyone knows everyone here, and it feels a little too small. I always thought I'd love the idea of living in an unpopulated town, but it isn't all it's cracked up to be when you’re a teenager. Every person who lives here is proud of this place and speaks of it as if it's the Buckingham Palace of Louisiana, but we're so far from it. The average family makes less than thirty-thousand a year, and then there's a spattering of wealthy people who all fit nicely into one neighborhood made up of three short streets. Most of the townspeople don't like us. They pretend to, but who honestly enjoys living in near poverty while idolizing those who want and need for nothing. It's what confuses me about Dad and the people who treat him like he's God here. Do they like him? If so, why? Or maybe, they just think if they're nice enough to him, he'll help them out? For their sake, I hope they don’t believe that.
As the man tending to the barriers turns around, my heart does a leap into my throat.Raine. I haven't seen him in a couple of months, not since the night in my backyard when I told him I wish we had never met. It wasn't the whole truth, but it was easier than wanting something I couldn't have, all while feeling like a loser at the same time. He saw me in a way I didn't want him to see me. He felt sorry for me, and that's the last thing I want. I feel sorry enough for myself most of the time.
Kinsley hoists herself up onto the flat part of the gated barrier and swings her legs over to the closed-up space where Raine is. What is she doing? I should know what she's doing. Kinsley has gained quite a reputation for herself among the four us who know what she truly does in her spare time. She walks straight up to Raine and places her hand on his shoulder. I can't hear the conversation, but watching the way she curls her hair around her ear, smiling shyly as she peers up at him, makes my stomach twist into a knot. I have no reason to feel that way, though, after telling Raine to leave me alone.
Kinsley is a little older and more of Raine's type, considering his choice of women I've seen him with at the bar. She's definitely more of a handful than I'd ever be, which makes me wonder if I've met a man around this town who would stop and consider the trouble one of us girls could cause them. What Raine probably won't realize is, I believe I am the least likely to cause him trouble.
Raine seems smitten by her until she points over at us. When he spots me, the grin on his face fades. Kinsley is talking his ear off, but the guy isn't paying attention. Instead, he walks away from her while she's mid-sentence and makes his way up to the gate separating us. He's staring down at me with wonder in his eyes, not saying a word, but silently questioning why I would be here in public after making it clear I avoid all situations like this.
For the past couple months, I have kept away from my bedroom window while he tended to our lawn. I did what I said I was going to do—or tried at least. I needed to forget him.
Raine hops over the gate and takes me by the arm, still without a word. The girls’ voices rise in volume, and I can hear the questions floating from their mouths, but I couldn't care less at the moment. My feet are moving quickly beneath me as we move out of the stream of overhead lighting. If those girls cared about me, I think they might be concerned that this sweat-and-dirt-covered man has pulled me off into the dark, but I know that's not the case.
"I don't have your phone number," is the first thing Raine says to me.
"Why would you?"
"So I could call you to apologize for the way things went down that night a couple of months ago."
"What do you have to be sorry about?"
Ignoring my question, his grip loosens around my arm. "Have you ever had something impact your life, leave a mark, and then disappear?"
"Like a bug bite?" I quip.
Raine groans with affliction. "Are you always this damn annoying?"
"Apparently," I say, trying to hide any type of emotion.
"What I meant was, an impact like when you see a sunrise—one that's made up of a dozen colors that you wouldn't normally think would blend together, yet it becomes the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. Then, of course, you go and look at the sky every morning after that, wondering if the same contrasting hues will ever light up the world the same way again, only to conclude that a sunrise will never look exactly alike twice. You finally realize that forever, you'll be comparing every sunrise to the one that took your breath away."
I'm taken aback by his words and description of what I think he may be comparing to me. Raine doesn't strike me as the deep-thought type of man; he’s the man who sits in dirty bars hitting on dirtier women. "That's pretty deep—not something I'd expect to hear out of your mouth," I tell him. "Why, though?"
