Page 102 of Book and Ladder
Then a woman steps up to the mic. She must live outside town. I don’t think I recognize her. She’s wearing a gingham checked dress. She opens with a “Soo-eee,” then shifts into a soprano trill that carries all the way to the barn, threatening to not only call pigs, but probably some bats and field mice in the mix. Three pigs lift their heads and trot her way before the MC calls time. She bows with flair, and the pigs plod back to their slop.
Next up is Dustin. He takes the mic off the stand, glances over at us and then starts to rap, “Uh soo soo soo, uh soo soo eee.” He’s spitting and making pft noises between his nonsensical words. “Hey hey. Hip Hop Bibbity bop. Pig don’t stop. Soo eee.”
I’m laughing so hard my entire costume is shaking. Even Greyson cracks a smile. Not one swine moves. Dustin walks off voluntarily.
“A for effort, Sir Pigsalot,” Cody says, snickering.
With the help of my friends, I step onto the platform and approach the mic. My wing flaps back and smacks Cody in the face.
I lean in toward the microphone and start making guttural oinking and squealing noises, throwing in a random “Soo-eee” when I feel it fits. To my shock, pigs start drifting my way. Two leave the trough. I keep snorting and oinking, and soon all six are crowding the spot just below where I’m standing. One heaves its hooves onto the platform but can’t make it up. The next tries, and a third scrambles over another’s back,managing to hoist himself next to me. He roots at my fluffy dragon feet with his snout until a second pig joins him. Now both are squealing and snuffling against my calves like I’m their long-lost friend.
“I think we’ve got a finalist!” The MC says.
Some teens dressed in muck boots and jeans come over and coax the pigs back off the stage. I walk over to my crew.
“Let’s hear it for the hog whisperer!” Dustin says while Cody grabs my elbow to help me down the step. “Didn’t know you had that kind of animal magnetism.”
“Ha. Ha,” I deadpan.
Greyson takes the stage while I explain to the MC that I can’t come back for the next round, so I’m forfeiting to the other contestants.
“Big plans?” Dustin asks. “Meeting up with Babe for a romantic spin on the Ferris wheel?”
“I don’t rub snouts and tell,” I say with a chuckle.
The only one I want to ride the Ferris wheel with is M&M. At least, I think I do.
“Could have fooled me with that public display of affection,” Dustin says.
“I’m going to find my nieces and go on a few rides with them.”
I head toward the carnival games where I spot Maeve, Walker and the girls. I spend enough time with them to satisfy everyone and then I finally head toward the corn maze.
Dusk is falling over the property. Strings of Edison bulbs and fairy lights wind along booths, poles, and fences, flickering to life. The fiddle contest has given way to a bluegrass band. Later, the wide-plank floor in front of the stage will pulse under boots as couples two-step to country music.
I approach the corn maze. A lone figure is standing just to the left of the entrance. She’s unmistakably dressed asButtercup in the farmgirl scenes. As I approach I notice her dark brown hair. Not blond, like Buttercup’s. And then I see everything. Her golden brown eyes, darting here and there, searching for the man who is supposed to meet her. She’s holding the book. And pursing her lips. Those lips. I’ve kissed those lips, brushed the stubble of my jaw against her cheek.
I stop dead in my tracks and her eyes land on me.
Daisy is M&M. Irony doesn’t merely knock—it barges in, kicks off its boots, and laughs itself breathless. Of all the people, it had to be her.
I’ve been spotted. It’s too late to take a U-turn and disappear into the crowd.
Every part of me wants to rip off this ridiculous dragon head and call her by her username—lay the truth between us like an open book. But if I do, her smile will fade. She’ll think I tricked her. Daisy’s already convinced my family’s steamrolling her, and she’s not wrong. I can’t bear the idea of being the source of another one of her disappointments. Wanting her doesn’t give me the right to hurt her all over again.
I stride over to Daisy—as much as a man can stride in a dragon suit.
She watches me approach and her face lights up with a smile I’d have given anything to have earned. Only I’m me—Patrick—the man she wants, but also the man she’d do anything to avoid.
The closer I get, the broader her smile grows.
“Waiting for someone?” I ask, even though I know.
“Patrick?” She recognizes my voice immediately.
“Yes,” I admit.
“What are you … Why are you … You’re dressed like a book dragon.”
