Flor
After dinner, I went out walking on the midway, then sat down to think behind the candy apple stand. Its green and white lights splashed bursts of color on the grass. I still had Randy’s ball cap. It was sitting on one of my knees, almost like it was staring at me.
Accusing me.
I kicked it off. “She still had time to get back there if she wanted to, you know.”
Probably. If she didn’t get lost on the way. Or stuck in a crowd.
I didn’t know why I cared. Or why I was defending myself to a hat.
I had done everything I could to save the zoo, and then everything I could to save the show.
The thing of it was, I did know why I cared. I cared because now the zoo and the show were in trouble, and I was out of ideas for saving anything.
It was darker. The sun was almost gone, just a warm orange glow like the wild poppies we sped past on the highway.
There was a sign taped to the booth where they had been selling cantaloupe milk shakes all day: SOLD OUT. In a few more hours, after the big main-stage show, the booths would close. The last of our customers would wobble to the exits with sunburned noses and blisters on their toes from walking around all day. The lights would blink out. When morning came, we would pack up all the rides, all the food stands, all the prizes, and all the fun and make our way to the next stop: San Joaquin County. Sixth grade.
“There you are.” Mikey was still carrying around the pink gorilla. Only, he was holding it behind him now like he was giving it a piggyback ride. “Your dad’s looking for you.”
“I found him.”
“So you know about the pig?”
“She’s gone.”
He dropped the gorilla and sat down next to me.
“Too bad you never got to try out that skateboard act. I was thinking, if Barsetti bought some big stuffed-animal pigs for prizes, I could carry around one of those and send people to the games and your show.” He blew out through his lips. “But, Flor?” He hesitated. “Betabel was a mean pig.”
I elbowed him. Softly, though. “She isn’t mean. She just… was not where she belonged. She’s going to a pig farm.”
“Do you think she’ll like it there?”
“Hope so.”
“Maybe she’ll make pig friends. If she isn’t mean to them too.”
I elbowed him again. Not as softly as the first time. “Don’t you have somewhere to be? Aren’t you supposed to be helping your brother?”
He ripped a clump of clover out of the ground and threw it. Little bits of dirt sprayed out behind so it looked like a tiny green comet.
“Nah. Some lady’s about to break a record over at the Hoop Shoot. I can’t get anyone to leave. Johnny’s booth’ll win next week, though. I can feel it.” He patted the gorilla’s head. “How’d your little plan work out? Where’s Randy? Did you get her to eat the deep-fried pickles?”
Just about any way you looked at it—from upside down on the corkscrew coaster, or head-on in the bumper cars—my plan had not worked out very well. “She ate the pickles and she loved them. She’s over at the main stage now. Or she should be.”
“Without her lucky hat?” He pointed at the ball cap, still lying on the grass. “Ah.” He nodded knowingly. “Did you steal it? Was that your plan? Sabotage?”
“I did not steal her hat.”
I picked it up again. It was red with OUTLAWS embroidered on the front in swoopy white letters. The very front edge of the brim was worn thin from her pulling it down so much. Black plastic peeked through red threads.
It did not look very lucky, is what I’m saying.
But Randy hadn’t said it was lucky. She’d said it reminded her of home and of how far she had come.
I had never played on a team before. Not baseball, not soccer, not anything. I used to think I would never belong.
But I belonged at Barsetti & Son, and that was sort of like a team. And teammates rooted for one another, looked out for one another.
I twirled the cap on my finger. Maybe I had come a long way too. Even if I had to leave the carnival, I would know I had friends here. I had more than I thought.
“Mikey, I need to borrow the gorilla.”