If It Makes You Happy Page 4

  “And what about your shifts?”

  “I wouldn’t miss those. Not a single one.”

  “That’s a lot, baby. Staying up until two a.m., getting up at five, skulking around my diner all day because you refuse to go outside—when are you going to have fun?”

  “I have fun! This is f-f-fun for me.” I couldn’t even lie straight. Winston would have thought that was hilarious. “And honestly, high school really isn’t how you remember it. It’s way more intense than this. If I can get through that without having a nervous breakdown, I can work and enter the contest. I can handle it.”

  “And that’s why you’re supposed to relax in the summer,” Granny said. “I know exactly how hard you work. You come here to relax and earn some spending money for yourself.” She shook her head. “No.”

  “But—”

  “I said no.”

  And that was that.

  I watched her leave, frowning at the slight limp she’d developed. Her Dr. Skinner–ordered cane must have been collecting dust somewhere in the back of a closet.

  When Granny said no, it left zero room for negotiation space—no light, no hope, like a black hole sucking the joy out of life.

  Kara (Kara Kara Kara Kara) Chameleon

  Kara: Hey babycakes! How did it go?

  Winnie: I’m certain I have no idea what you’re talking about

  Kara: Yikes. That bad? Want me to stop by this afternoon during your split? We could brainstorm before going to the HSR

  Winnie: Stop by? Always. Brainstorm? Ehhhh. Demoralized. I am it.

  Kara: I get it, but you know … I told you so. You know I told you so, right? Because I told you so.

  Winnie: We’re breaking up.

  Kara: Aww! But I already tattooed your name on my shoulder! Don’t make me go get a rose cover-up. Please love me again?

  Winnie: Ha!

  Winnie: Did you really want to go to HSR?

  Kara: YES.

  Kara: Pack your bags and tell the kids.

  Five

  The Haven Central Wednesday Night Street Faire started and ended, and vice versa, at Misty’s gazebo and Merry’s statue.

  That stretch of crowded ground was packed with craft vendors selling customizable flower crowns and spray-painted street art. Food trucks had rolled in from out of town to coexist with the local restaurants and specialty shops, front doors wide open and decorated in brilliant window-marker designs. As part of their fundraiser, the sheriff’s department sold sparklers, party poppers, and the kind of fireworks that were loud and did almost nothing. Dance music from the ’80s, heavy on the synth, floated around us, because according to Shelley Way, the mayor’s wife, that decade had the best music. Even fireflies appeared out of nowhere to twinkle and show off after all the other hell-spawn insects retired to their crawl spaces of evil for the night.

  And Kara had been right. Two camera people from Sana Starlight’s team, dressed all in black, weaved in and out of the crowd, recording everything. A silver curlicue S shimmered on the backs of their shirts as they moved.

  For as packed as it was, I thought I’d see more unfamiliar faces, but had only spotted a few here and there. Part of me wanted to mingle. Maybe say hello to some of the people I hadn’t seen in a year. Like Jenny Randall, the manager at Nina’s, and her new husband. They had commandeered a prime spot on a bench close to the gazebo. Her mouth seemed too busy to say hello, unfortunately. Aloof suited me better than social butterfly anyway. Besides, if they wanted to come talk to me, they could.

  Sam, Kara, Winston, and I hung around the fringes of the fair, sitting atop the short stone wall in front of the library. Far enough away to look like we didn’t care about the goings-on, as was the Murphy-Woodson-Alviar way, but also in the perfect location to witness everything that would go down. Because once the sun set and the dreamy town lampposts turned on, both mayors of Haven Central would stand in Misty’s gazebo together.

  Granny almost never sat with us. She either stuck with the other grannies—I dubbed them the Hell’s Belles—or with Mr. Livingston. Kara had told me about it of course, that she’d seen Granny around town with him more often than not and guessed Cupid had gotten trigger-happy. I never really thought I’d see the day when my granny canoodled with anyone, but the two of them next to the shaved ice cart had proved me wrong.

  Grampy—pretty sure that’s what I’d call him—didn’t exist, and if he did, no one ever talked about him.

  I looked for Dallas, too. His usual group of friends had clustered close to Penny’s Antiques, but he wasn’t with them. It took a bit of squint-searching—because I really needed to get some glasses—and neck craning, but I finally spotted him sitting with his parents on a picnic blanket near the memorial willow tree. I only knew surface-level basics about them. His mom, Madeleine, a quasi-famous Parisian singer. His dad, Rob, a retired but easily recognizable American football star that had chosen Merry Haven as the place to settle down. They loved their only son.

  Madeleine threw her head back, laughing at something Rob said. Turns out a laugh could be both booming and elegant. Interesting. Dallas shook his head in that omg my parents are so embarrassing kind of way, but his entire face turned a wonderful shade of ruddy peach from trying not to laugh. I guess I knew one more thing, too: he loved his parents.

  Even from where I sat, I could see it. You didn’t look at people the way he looked at his parents unless you loved them. You didn’t sit with your parents, fully present and engaged with them, when your friends were fifty feet away, unless you wanted to.

  I struggled with that sometimes. A lot of the people I hung out with back home didn’t like their families for whatever reason. One person, who shall remain nameless, said, “Stop trying to make everyone jealous. We get it. Y’all are the Black Brady Bunch. No one cares.”

  It felt good to see Dallas with his family like that. Validating, even.

  I wish my parents could have come up this year. My mom would have loved this fair.

  Something about Haven Central made me want to believe it might be okay to relax and be my honest self. Might be safe to give whimsy a chance, have a good old-fashioned magical time. Not quite distressed enough to make a deal with a sea witch, but also not in a position to say no to a beggar who would ask me to enter a mysterious cave in exchange for money.

  As long as I didn’t have to ask Granny for permission.

  “I mean, I really don’t know what you expected her to say.” Winston had lined up a row of small pebbles next to him, flicking them into the crowd, one by one. “Obviously, she knew about it. If she wanted you to enter for her, she would have told you to.”

  “It never hurts to ask.” I hated when he got like that. Baby brothers were not supposed to be more pragmatic than their big sisters. That’s exactly why I didn’t tell him about it beforehand. Both he and Kara belonged to the no-chill brigade when it came to rubbing in I told you so.

  “And she really wouldn’t say why?” Sam asked, around a mouthful of ice cream. Earlier, at Meltdown Scoops, she’d made Sascha smash six scoops of cookies-and-cream into a standard-size waffle cone.

  “When does she ever explain herself?” His hardcore frown at Sam gave way to an irritated eye roll. Another one of his pebbles shot forward, nicking Joseph Neddleton in the back of the leg. He leaned down, brushing at nothing before turning back to his cotton candy.

  “I just meant that that’s how it is with my dad,” Sam continued. “If he has to tell me no, he always says why. To make it fair.”

  “Good for you.”

  “All right.” Kara hopped down off the wall, standing in front of Winston with her arms crossed. “What’s your problem, space cadet? You’ve been in a shitty mood all night.”

  I’d noticed it, too. Usually, Winston’s snapping-turtle tendencies were laced with wry laughter and mischievous eye smiles. He liked to ride that line between biting wit and being a straight-up asshole, never choosing one side or the other unless he got mad.

  Wi
nston stared at Kara, his unique brand of unreadable anger out in full force. “I don’t have a problem.” He said it like a warning.

  The music stopped. Feedback whining from a microphone pierced the air as Mayor Way tapped it and said, “Is this thing on?” His voice echoed through the speakers. “Excellent.”

  Mayor Iero had claimed the center spot in the gazebo—the perfect angle for photo ops—and Rush Ballard, the Haven Herald photographer, squatted on the steps below, camera slung around his neck.

  Both mayors had the same stocky build, same sallow skin, same thinning dark brown hair, and faces that resembled the other so much they could have been brothers. They were also Haven Legacy, like Kara’s family, and people had been swearing scandal their entire lives.

  A giant glass fishbowl filled with red half-slips of paper had been set up on a column in the gazebo.

  The tension between Kara and Winston dragged on, neither one willing to back down, but the center had gotten quiet enough that people would hear anything else they said.

  Sam stepped up. “I bribed Ms. Wendy with two hours of free babysitting for a last-minute entry.”

  Winston took the bait. “Aww, how cute and totally unexpected.” His gaze rolled in her direction. To her credit, Sam didn’t flinch when his war-stare landed on her. “I never would have pegged you as the Summer Queen type. That’s just so unlike you.” He returned to focusing on lining up a new row of pebbles.

  “It’s a shock to us all,” I said with a full smile to soften Winston’s harsh teasing. “You’d be perfect, really. They’d waste no time getting your pictures on the website and printing new brochures. No one should be as photogenic as you are.”

  “They’ll probably put you on the postcards, too,” Kara said, jumping back onto the wall next to me.

  “You think so?” Pretty as she was, Sam still needed me to say yes, because that was the way of things. So I did.

  “Yeah. Absolutely.”

  “Better be careful what you wish for. The curse might get you,” Winston warned. “Married at eighteen with a baby on the way? Yeah, your dad would love that.”

  As with all great things in Haven Central, the HSR came with a fantastical upside—or downside. The first HSR couple ended up dating, and later, getting married. So did the second. And the third. After the fourth go-round, the people of Haven Central accepted what the universe was clearly attempting to tell them. They’d struck divine matchmaking gold.

  Side note: nobody talked about how the seventh go-round blew all the way up.

  Mayor Way plunged his hand into the fishbowl. He took his time, shuffling and swirling the red strips of paper. Dramatic music kicked in—that was new and probably Shelley’s doing to impress the Starlight crew.

  “And so it begins.” Kara laughed. She hated romance for herself, but could never resist a good somebody-else’s love story.

  I leaned toward Sam and whispered, “May the odds be ever in your favor,” and got a sly grin in return.

  Thing was, I could totally see it. Mayor Way would read the slip and nod in approval before passing it to Mayor Iero, who would shout Sam’s name into the microphone because that would be just oh so necessary.

  Sam would then look at me, mouthing, “Me?” for confirmation because that’s what she always did. The clapping would start, followed by whoops and aws and more than a few disappointed death stares. Sam would blink away her surprise, hand Kara her ice cream, wipe her hands on her cut-off shorts, and bound toward the gazebo, hair bouncing in a metaphorical manifestation of her internal giddiness. Her strangely familiar amethyst sunflower earrings would catch the spotlights just right.

  Winston would say something snarky. Kara would halfway agree but smooth it over somehow. Sam’s bright smile would light up the night. And I would sit, split into warring parts—happy for Sam and ready to cause bodily harm to any inappropriate volunteers wishing to be paired with my sixteen-year-old cousin—and concealing it all under a blanket of whatever, it’s cool.

  Haven Central had a tendency to look the other way. I sure as hell didn’t. Neither did Granny or Winston. We’d burn this place to the ground for Sam if anyone tried anything.

  “Winnie Woodson?”

  My head snapped toward the stage as the crowd began to turn. Searching for, and then finding, me.

  Six

  Me.

  Not Sam, who wanted this. Not one of the people who had been looking forward to this all year. Nor anyone else who had voluntarily written their name on that small slip of red paper.

  I did not enter the HSR. I did not write my name down. I did not hand my slip to Shelley to place in the bowl. Mayor Iero got it wrong. He read it wrong. It wasn’t me.

  It couldn’t be.

  Mayor Iero cleared the question from his voice. “Winnie Woodson.” He used his hand like a visor to cover his eyes, searching the crowd. “Is she here?”

  “But I didn’t enter,” I whispered, unmoving. “I didn’t.” The words, stuck in my chest, escaped when I exhaled. Awake and breathing, but too much and too fast. The dreamy summer lights became harsher, sharper, searing into my eyes.

  Kara jumped up and down in front of me. “Why didn’t you tell me!?”

  “What am I supposed to do?”

  “Go up there,” Sam said, at my side. She tugged on my hands, urging me to stand up before turning and yelling, “She’s here! She’s coming!”

  “No.”

  I stood up to make Sam stop before she pulled my arm out of its socket.

  My heartbeat vibrated in my throat and in my head. My lungs would start flirting with hyperventilation, and any second I’d start wheezing. I could feel them staring at me. Boring holes into my skin, muscles, organs, and soul with judgment. And disgust. Everyone would start talking about me in barely disguised whispers and bold proclamations. To my face.

  They would say, “Oh.”

  “Ew.”

  “Not her.”

  They would be silent. No one would volunteer for me.

  They would giggle and laugh and point and—

  “Come on.” Winston placed a hand on the middle of my back, between my shoulder blades.

  My eyes were hurting—burning, dry, and scratchy—and I realized I hadn’t been blinking. I’d felt the tears forming and had been holding them in by sheer force of unconscious will. “I can’t.”

  “You can.”

  I wasn’t like my brother—cool, calm, confident. I flailed, lied, and hid my way through life, shrinking myself down to fit in the smallest of spaces that thrived behind the scenes. He knew how hard things like this were for me. How frantic and desperate to run they made me.

  That traitor pushed me forward anyway and I almost tripped over my feet.

  Almost falling jump-started my self-preservation mode, forcing me to take an unsteady step. I refused to fall. On top of everything else, I didn’t need them to see me collapse so they could really point and laugh at me.

  Winston stayed by my side as the crowd parted to let us through. No one cheered. No one clapped. My stomach revolted, churning my dinner and threatening to send it back up.

  Before my next exhale, a camera appeared on my left, matching our promenade pace.

  I swallowed hard, acid burning all the way back down.

  A high-pitched whine filled up all of the extra space in between my ears that hadn’t already been taken over by the voice shouting, Run! Run! Run! Get out now! I focused on the ground, hand reaching out and finding the hem of Winston’s shirt, squeezing it for dear life.

  All too soon, the white gazebo stairs that led straight to my doom appeared.

  “Ah, what a gentleman!” Mayor Way said. “Escorting your sister, definitely a welcome first!”

  I scooched closer to Winston, shoulders hunched against the outside world, turning into his loose embrace.

  Winston nudged me again. One step on autopilot led to another and another, until I made it to the center of the gazebo, slowly turning to face the crowd. My broth
er hadn’t moved. He stood tall and perfect in my line of sight like a bodyguard, arms crossed and feet planted. The tiniest of tiny smiles ticked at one corner of his mouth.

  Rush glared at him. Winston was ruining his shot. Shelley’s outstretched hands reaching for my head made me jump to the left, fists ready to punch the next thing that got too close to me.

  The tiara. Shelley smiled at me, holding up the tiara, saying, “It’s okay. Don’t be so nervous, dear.”

  My tiara.

  Because this was happening. Awareness slammed into me—the people, the smells, the sounds.

  Clapping. Cheering. Polite and not at all enthusiastic, but it existed! And farther back, I heard the irrepressible shouts of Sam and Kara, chanting my name, louder and prouder than any two people should have been.

  Shelley’s momlike laugh drew my attention back to her. The kind of laugh that said, You’re ridiculous and l love it. She motioned for me to lower my head. The tiara weighed almost nothing. I touched the cool metal and jewels to make sure I wasn’t imagining any of this.

  I’d really just been crowned Misty’s Summer Queen. That was a thing that happened, was still happening, with the vast majority of Haven Central watching me—the dizzy spell struck me upside the head, and I had just enough time to brace myself so I wouldn’t sway into a full-on faint.

  “And now that the queen has been crowned,” Mayor Way said, stepping into the limelight, “do we have any volunteers to rule by her side?”

  A heartbeat of silence. I squeezed my eyes shut.

  “ME! OH, ME! MOVE OUT OF MY WAY! MOVE, DAMN IT!”

  I should have known. How could I have ever worried for one second that I would be alone?

  Kara pushed her way toward the front, yelling the whole time. She took the steps two at a time and pushed Mayor Way to the side when she got to the top. “Hi! It’s me! I’m Kara, but y’all know that. She’s mine, though, and you didn’t know that, so ha!” She spoke rapid fire to the crowd, beaming as they laughed. “I’m ready! Give me my crown. Where’s my Merry crown? Gimme, gimme, gimme—”