I don’t want to go all the way up to the corn stand again,” Penny complains. “It’s too far to carry our prizes.
We’re almost there,” I tell her. “Stop dragging. We can’t be late.”
Just a little farther up the hill. Then Lewis and I will speed straight to adult baking on our own. I’ll get there before my dad does, fix the pie problem, and finally, finally my worries will be over. And at six, I might be off Pest patrol for good. I blow out a big breath. Lewis nods from behind his flip-out screen because he knows what I’m thinking.
“Here’s the youth exhibit!” Andrew shouts. “I want to see my mini go-kart.”
“Yeah!” my sister says. “I want to see my painting, and my doll blanket, and my pear butter, and my—”
“Look, we can’t stop now,” I tell them. An idea bursts into my brain. “Tell Dad you want to go to the youth exhibit, and he’ll bring you right back here the minute we meet up with him.”
And he won’t be able to head over to adult baking. Brilliant! Lewis makes a thumbs-up sign for my eyes only. I stride across the Fair path and along the wooden storm fence to the corn kitchen. Our blue backpack is leaning against a hay bale just inside the fence, and I reach over to retrieve it. Lewis and I let the air out of the blow-up crayons and stash them with the rest of the prizes in the backpack—even the fish, who have lots of air in their bags and will probably be much happier resting in the shade. Penny and the others make fangs out of bits of hay.
“We’re here, Dad,” I call.
He’s hunched over another spread of appliance parts.
“Thanks, Miller. But hey, I’m sorry,” he says. “I’ve got to get this thermostat up and running. I can’t take time off right now.”
“But Dad!” I burst out. “Come on! I need to—”
“And … cut.” Lewis kicks the side of my foot. I shut up.
“It was only a five-minute break, anyway,” Dad says. “I promise you’ll be off on your own at six. Just another half-hour.”
My whole body sags. This has to be the most unfair Friday in the history of the Holmsbury Fair.
“Oh!” Dad looks up. “Andrew’s mother called back. She asked you to meet her at the youth exhibit at six. I’ll come down, too, so you and Penny can just wait for me there.”
“Okay,” I say.
“I’ll come straight there. Unless”—Dad wiggles his eyebrows at me—”you want to meet me at the adult baking exhibit so we can see my pi—”
“Youth exhibit’s good,” I say quickly, glancing at Penny. She’s not paying attention. Close one, I think.
I come up with one last, desperate plan. As soon as Dad gets to the youth exhibit I’ll tear straight up the hill to adult baking. I have to get to the judges ahead of him. It’s my last lemon meringue hope.