Miranda
My legs wobbled like strawberry jelly, and my jaw ached from screaming, and I could’ve stayed on the Gravitron for another ten turns.
The operator would’ve let us stay on, at least for a third ride. I could tell by the way he held his arm out like a challenge as we followed the other riders toward the exit. Flor must not have seen him, though. She pushed me right out the door.
For a little while, when the ride was spinning the fastest, it almost felt like being onstage, the music thumping, all of us floating, my voice getting all jumbled up with everyone else’s. Junior and Ronnie would have loved it. Well, Ronnie would have pretended like she didn’t. She would’ve complained about her hair getting tangled, or people stepping on her toes or something. But she would’ve loved it. She would have lined up to ride again. Dad would’ve never gotten on in the first place, but more than anyone, I wished he had been there. Maybe he would have seen that sometimes the best thing you can do is lean back and let go.
“Amazing,” I said again and again as we stepped, blinking, back into the bright afternoon. My voice sounded far away. Hollow, and a little scratchy. I hoped it was just my ears readjusting to the quiet.
“Hey, does my voice sound weird to you?”
“Weird how?”
“I don’t know,” I said. I stretched open my jaw. I cleared my throat. “Like… hoarse?” I was going to have to be more careful if I wanted to have any voice left that evening.
“You’re not losing your voice, are you? Was it from the screaming, do you think?” Flor looked over my shoulder, back at the Gravitron, as we walked away from it. “Maybe we should get on again, I mean if you liked it so much.”
“Probably shouldn’t.” The words sounded sandpapery rough at their edges.
“Well, then what do you want to get on next?” she asked. “Bumper cars? Log Jammer? You don’t mind getting a little bit wet, do you?”
I didn’t mind at all. My head was baking under my ball cap, and any makeup still left on my face after I’d washed earlier had definitely melted down my cheeks by then. A spray of cold water would have been perfect. Perfecto. I looked up where Flor was pointing and watched a log-shaped boat tilt over the edge of a steep chute of fast-running water and drop.
Everyone inside screamed—it sounded like birds twittering from where we stood—as water splashed over the log.
Still. Discipline, I heard Dad say. Sacrifice. I shook my head. No more screaming. My voice needed rest. “Does anyone sell hot tea around here?” I looked around for a booth that wasn’t candy-colored.
Flor wrinkled her nose. “There’s always a big pot of coffee in the cafeteria tent. It’s hot, but it smells like a burned-out campfire, and Mamá always says it’s as thick as mud. Later on, when the sun goes down, some of the food stands will start selling hot chocolate. But no hot tea. Not in the middle of summer.”
“Didn’t think so.” She was still thinking, though, like it really bothered her that there was something the carnival didn’t have.
“Iced tea, though, I know where you can get iced tea. Any flavor you want. They sell mango iced tea at the Barbecue Pit, or passion fruit over at Paradise Grill. If you want plain iced tea, we can get that pretty much anywhere.” She looked like she was about to take off again to prove it to me, so I stepped in front of her.
“No, that’s all right,” I whispered. I touched my throat. “Maybe… maybe I should just go back to my motor home. But can we stop at your petting zoo on the way? I want to say good night to Chivo.”
Flor looked away, but I couldn’t tell what at. Her bangs had fallen in her face again. She bit her lip.
“No, you don’t want to go yet,” she said finally, swiping the hair out of her eyes. “It’s too early. If you want to see some more animals, I know where we can find more animals. Lots more. Goats too. Let’s go.” She was off, leading us away from the crowded midway and toward a rectangular building near the back of the fairgrounds, right behind the side stage. The black letters painted over the entrance said EXHIBITION HALL. Flor paused, one hand on the door, and waited for me to catch up.
“We can cut through here.” An air-conditioned blast blew into our faces as she pulled it open. The exhibition hall was just as packed as the midway, only inside, voices rose up and echoed against the walls so all I could hear was a low, mumbling hum. Every now and then, a snippet of conversation, like a favorite lyric, cut through the noise.
“I don’t believe I’ve ever come across a dahlia with such a large bloom before, have you? It’s the size of a pie plate!”
“Did you get to taste the strawberry-rhubarb jam? Exquisite.”
“You know what I could go for right about now? Nachos.”
Be sure you go to Carolina’s Cantina, I wanted to tell them. Ask for the bucket. But I couldn’t tell who had said it. The way sounds bounced against the walls in the hall, whoever it was could have been standing right next to me, or they could have been on the opposite side of the building.
We walked by a collection of quilts draped over wooden racks. One, with a red prize ribbon pinned to the corner, showed a sun setting behind craggy mountains. It looked like a painting, only it was made of fabric scraps: purples and blues and oranges and grays. On another quilt, pink-and-yellow pinwheels tumbled across a pale green background.
I ran my fingers across shelves stacked with cans of peaches, cherries, and plums. Grape jelly, strawberry jam, orange marmalade, lemon relish. I imagined one of Junior’s cans of Spaghetti-Os up there and smiled. And then I realized they were all probably wondering where I was and when I’d be back.
We made our way to the far end of the building, where judges were sampling bites from five different apple pies. We didn’t stay to see who won.
Instead, Flor led us through another set of doors, back outside, and onto ground that was damp and squishy. The air smelled green and… mucky.
I pinched my nose. “What is that?”
“Livestock,” Flor said. She inhaled deeply. “But first, let’s see the poultry.”
Hens were clucking. I read the labels attached to their metal cages. An Orpington shook out her gold-brown feathers before settling down with a quiet cackle. Dominiques—those were black and white—scratched at the sawdust that lined the bottom of their cages.
A boy dressed all in white, except for the green scarf around his neck, lifted a rooster with silky black tail feathers out of its cage. He popped open a bottle of baby oil and rubbed a little of it on the rooster’s comb and feet.
I yanked on one of Flor’s sleeves. “What is he doing?”
“He’s probably getting ready for showtime.”
“Showtime? It’s an act? All these people—they aren’t with us, are they? With the carnival?” I knew I hadn’t been paying close attention to what happened off the side stage, but I didn’t think I could have somehow missed a traveling barnyard.
Flor opened her mouth a little, like she wasn’t sure I was serious. Then she laughed.
“Hey, don’t laugh!—I’ve never been here, remember?”
She stopped. “Sorry. No, it’s not an act. It’s sort of like… a contest. All these kids are from here, from Dinuba. They raise their animals and they bring them to the fair to compete for prizes. The oil helps make the rooster’s comb all shiny. Judges look for little details like that.”
Farther down, on the other side of the aisle, a girl in the same white uniform cleaned her bird with what looked like a diaper wipe. Still another girl crouched with a turkey held tight against her leg. I jumped back. Until then, the closest I had ever been to a turkey was at Thanksgiving dinner. This one was bigger and a lot more…alive.
“Don’t worry,” Flor said. “She trained it. That’s part of the competition.”
The girl spread out the turkey’s wing, flicked away some wood shavings that clung to its feathers, and tucked the wing back in. The turkey held its head high. It gobbled like it was proud of itself. “Buena suerte,” I whispered. “Good luck.”
Past the chickens and turkeys were larger pens with goats and lambs. Kids reached underneath them with clippers to trim their hair. They swabbed the insides of their ears with damp washcloths. There were parents around, but they weren’t working. Some were reading, or knitting, and some napped on camp chairs.
Inside one of the pens was a lamb with a baby-blue blanket spread over his back, and white gym socks on his feet.
“Look at you,” I said, crouching in front of him. “Look at your little socks.” I reached out to scratch his nose, but Flor put her hand in front of mine to stop me.
“I was just going to say hello.”
“But look: Someone must have just finished giving this lamb a bath. They probably wouldn’t want anyone to mess with him. That’s why he has the socks on—so he doesn’t get all dirty again before the show.”
“You sure know a lot about this stuff.”
Flor dropped her head, and her bangs fell over her eyes. “You think that’s weird? The kids at school used to say all I ever talked about was animals. They thought it was weird.”
“My friends said all I ever talked about was singing. I don’t think it’s weird. I just think you know a lot, that’s all.” I stood up. “Lo siento, oveja. Sorry, sheep. Stay clean.”
Then my ears caught a rumble of energy and excitement from somewhere close by.
I’d know that sound anywhere.
Applause.
“Where’s that coming from?” I asked, turning in a circle. “Is there another stage back here? A concert? A magician?”
“No,” Flor said. “That’s the auction.”