Max laughs. “Hand me a flag, then. I’m officially joining guard.”
We make it to the front of the line. I order a slice of pizza and Max orders nachos, of course. When we step out of line with our food, he holds out the plastic container to me.
“I think we can both agree you deserve first dibs tonight.”
These aren’t nearly as impressive as the ones we made together before our first D&D game, but the hot nacho cheese sauce smothering the chips still looks pretty tasty. My eyes rove around the pile, and I find one on the edge that looks pretty good.
“Nope.” He plucks the chip from my hand. “Not one of the sad nachos. Take the one at the very top.” He gazes at melike he’s imparting real wisdom. “Top Nacho, Hazel. Never forget you’re Top Nacho.”
His words are silly, but butterflies flutter in my stomach, nonetheless. It’s dangerous how much I’d rather eat mildly stale nachos with him than do anything else in the world.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Saturday I’m scheduled to work a shift at the Glen Vale High food stand at our county fair. The fair is abigdeal around here, and we make most of the money we need for the rest of the year from the proceeds, so shifts are pretty nonnegotiable.
Despite the fact that it’s late September, it feels like July. It’s in the mid-eighties and sunny, and no place in the fairgrounds has air-conditioning. When I arrive, I’m happy to see that Max is also working the same shift as me and Nova. She and I are given positions as servers, so it’s our job to pick up orders at the back counter and then take them out to the tables. It’s not a hard job, and people are always happy to get their food, but I’m sweating within minutes. I shouldn’t complain, though, since it’s nothing compared with Max’s job.
“Ahh!” he cries, not for the first time. I lean over the counter toward the back kitchen.
“How are you holding up in there?” I call to him through the little window that separates the serving station from the cooks.
“What iswrongwith this doughnut baller! Every time I make a new batch, I end up burning myself!”
“At least they taste good?”
“That’s probably because each order comes with a small shard of my soul,” he mutters. “And my skin.”
All the seniors know to stay away from the doughnut baller. It’s a countertop deep fryer that makes mini doughnuts very quickly, but it’s tricky to use without a lot of experience. Usually a parent will unwittingly volunteer, but none of the adults argued when Max asked to do it. Plus, all the cooks with hair more than a few inches long have to wear a hairnet for food safety. Since Max’s hair is long enough to cover his eyes, he got that supercool accessory as well. I’ve already taken a dozen pictures of him on my phone—secretly, of course. We’re friends, but it never hurts to have blackmail material just in case.
“Three more orders, Max!” calls Nova’s dad from the cash register with a smile that’s a bit too big.
Usually my parents try to sign up for the same shift as me, but this year they’re caught up with 4-H, which is an organization that helps kids connect with the community and learn practical skills. I did it when I was younger, and now Kelsey is involved, which means that—of course—Mom volunteered to be the adviser for her local 4-H club. It keeps her busy all year, but during fair time it might as well be another full-time job. Both of my parents are practically living at the fairgrounds—which isn’t unheard of if you’re showing farmanimals—and I have no idea how they’re doing it all. Luckily, they haven’t roped me into any extra activities for the afternoon.
Nova comes up next to me. “Still struggling?” she asks with a nod toward Max.
“He’s not very happy.” There’s another yelp before I can say more.
She chuckles. “You didn’t think to warn him?”
“And take away his bragging rights? Now no one can say he isn’t part of Glen Vale.”
When we’re released at the end of our (very long) three-hour shift, we walk out onto one of the main thoroughfares lined with carnival games and food stands and pull off the Glen Vale Knights shirts we’re required to wear over our clothes. Max rips off his hairnet with pure glee.
“How do I look?” he asks me with a serious expression and shakes out his hair. I want to tease him, but the reality is that he looks so hot right now it’s hard to pull my eyes fromhim.
“Stop fishing for compliments,” Nova tells him. “Everyone knows you’ve got great hair.”
“I’ll stop fishing when you stop giving.” He runs his hand through it like he’s a model. “And people say you’re rough around the edges.”
I shake my head in warning. “Don’t make her mad.”
“I’ll sic Zelda on Axolotl tomorrow if you aren’t careful,” Nova says.
Max laughs. “I’m gonna be honest with you, I’m not too intimidated by Zelda. Or Zoinks. The worst I’m likely to get is dog saliva on my face.”
“We’ll see what the dice say,” she retorts without heat. “Should we walk around?”
I’m happily surprised that Nova’s including Max. She and I have been to the county fair every year since we met, and over the years, we’ve perfected our routine, including stops for lemon shake-ups (the ratio of lemon to sugar needs to be just right), the perfect fries (thin, greasy, and covered in salt), and our favorite sandwiches (Italian sausage and peppers from the stall at the entrance to the Dairy building).
