1
Pepper
I plop down on my best friend Leslie’s bed.
“You’re always so dramatic.”
“It’s hot outside!”
Leslie laughs. “We were just in the pool, silly.”
I grimace.
“Yeah, but the walk from the pool to here was torture. Sometimes I think you’re trying to kill me.”
My best friend shoots me a meaningful look.
“If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it by now.”
I sit up and stare at her. “No! You’d never.”
Leslie laughs.
“You’re right because I need to keep you around. Who else would I hang out with?”
“Exactly,” I say with a satisfied smile on my face.
Leslie starts going through her closet while I get cozy on her down comforter. I changed into dry clothes before climbing onto the bed and let out a sigh. My Bermuda shorts and tank top are much more comfortable than my one-piece bathing suit.
For the millionth time, I take in Leslie’s bedroom. Right after we graduated high school, she moved into her parents’ pool house instead of staying in her childhood bedroom. She lives here rent free, of course, and it’s amazing. This place is supposed to be a smaller off-building, but really, it’s so fancy that it’s like a regular house. It has two bedrooms, a full kitchen, a living room, and a dining room. There are more closets than I could ever imagine filling. Leslie always finds a way, though. Growing up rich will do that, and she’s been collecting clothes, trinkets, jewelry, and pretty much any type of knickknack since birth. I stare at a ceramic dog with a bone in his mouth. Incredibly, the head is able to waggle like a bobblehead, even though it’s made of ceramic.
“I can’t wait to get a slice of strawberry pie,” I say, unable to take my eyes from the dog. What breed is that? A spaniel? Or a retriever of some kind?
Leslie’s voice comes from inside the closet. “I know, girlfriend. You talk about strawberry pie all year.”
I laugh.
“It’s not my fault Mrs. Bayberry only makes them for the Corinthian Fair! I’ve begged her to give me the recipe but she refuses. I can’t make it as good as her, anyways, so I need to get to her stall asap.”
After all, it’s a tradition of ours. Leslie and I go to the Corinthian Fair together on opening day every year, and it’s fun. The fair always starts the weekend after the Fourth of July and lasts for two satisfying weeks. When we were kids, Leslie and I went nearly every day. Now that we’re adults, well, we still go nearly every day.
Plus, the fair is really awesome. People from all over Kansas and the surrounding states come to show their livestock, play games, participate in silly competitions, and enjoy the many fried foods our town has to offer. It has such a great atmosphere, and reminds me why I love my state.
“Are you going to try a pie eating contest this year?” my friend asks.
I chuckle. “As if. You know I like to savor my food.”
“Yeah, but you get free pie out of it!”
I pretend to think.
“True. Maybe I should give it a shot.”
“We talk about it every year and you never do. This is the year, girlfriend!”
I make a face.
“But it’s too hot to eat pie quickly! Or anything for that matter.”
She laughs.
“Fine. But we’re going to play carnival games this year. I want to win myself a stuffed animal, hopefully a big teddy with floppy ears. I’ll add him to my collection because my mom made me give away all my old stuffies. Can you imagine? My mom is seriously sadistic.”
I laugh because Leslie’s mom is the nicest person ever, and besides, my friend had a mountain of stuffed animals left over from childhood.
“That we can do.”
Then my friend fixes me with a look.
“Do you remember the first time we got to go to the fair by ourselves?”
“Of course, I do. It was my favorite day.”
Leslie and I had just turned thirteen and our parents finally decided we were old enough to walk to the fair ourselves. We spent the entire day eating our weight in fried foods and playing games. Leslie even convinced me to go on the rickety roller coaster made of wood that can’t possibly be safe. My teeth were clacking together for days afterwards.
“I can’t believe that was almost ten years ago. We should do something fun next year to celebrate the anniversary. Like enter the pie-eating contest!” my friend giggles.
“That would be perfect. We would’ve entered that first year if we’d been old enough.”
“And we would have won, too!”
That may be true because Leslie can clean her plate in minutes when she’s in a hurry. But I prefer tasting my food to scarfing it down. What’s the point of eating if you don’t get to enjoy it?
Plus, it’s crazy to me that I’ve known Leslie for as long as I have. We met in kindergarten but don’t remember it. In fact, things didn’t really click until sixth grade when we decided banding together was better than facing middle school alone. The memories still make me shudder to be honest. It was absolutely awful, but at least I had Les.