Ditch Her at the Fair

A short story set at the Minnesota State Fair. (Repost)

You are sixteen at the State Fair. It’s already dark. The red and amber lights on the Ferris Wheel flash against a black sky. Climb into a car with your friend, Jenny, who is holding her jean jacket closed with both hands. Slide in behind the safety bar and wait. Breathe in the blend of fried batter and roasted corn that coats the air. The Ferris Wheel rises slowly and the people below begin to shrink. When your car reaches the top and is out of sight, Jenny opens her jacket and hands you a can of beer. She knows someone who works at one of the sausage stands. He tossed her two cans out the back window when no one was looking.

Pull up the tab and drink it fast. It needs to be gone by the time your car reaches the bottom again. So what if it tastes like dish soap? Make it disappear. The beer sloshes around in your stomach but it makes your head lighter than cotton candy, like you could just float away and not feel a thing. 

When the ride ends, you and Jenny stumble off, giggling, hiding the crunched-up beer cans in your jean pockets. 

“What now?” you ask. You’re hungry. A pair of older women walk by holding slightly-scorched ears of corn and you know exactly what you want to do next. But don’t mention this to Jenny. Let Jenny be the one who mentions getting food, or she’ll think you’re a fat pig. 

It’s better to let her think she’s the fat pig. 

“That bitch Hannah is here,” Jenny spits. “With her stupid 4-H sheep. Let’s go tell her how much it sucks.”

Play dumb. You don’t want to get into a fight, especially not after the beer. You don’t want to spend senior year in a reform school. 

“Hannah who?” you ask.

“The one who called me a fucking donkey,” Jenny says, spitting again, like she’s trying to get the taste of beer out of her mouth.

Don’t say this out loud unless you want to fight with Jenny: you were there, and you remember that Hannah said that “jenny” meant female donkey. Jacks and jennies. Maybe Hannah did say it in kind of a mean way: Did you know that female donkeys are called jennies? But that’s not the same as calling someone a donkey.

“Oh, her,” you say. Make it sound like you can barely remember who she is. 

Jack-ass, Jenny-ass.

“The Sheep and Poultry barn. That’s where we have to go.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s where Hannah is with her stupid sheep.”

“The judging was hours ago. She might have left by now.”

Jenny cuts her eyes at you. “What are you? Chickenshit?”

Let her grab your wrist and pull you through the crowds. You pass stands selling taffy and lollipops and inflatable neon toys. Fake smoke pours from the windows of the haunted house. You can hear a recorded voice keening -- a trapped ghost in the attic. The smell of fried cheese makes your mouth fill up with spit. For a second, you contemplate ditching Jenny and running off to the Food Building but she’s your ride and you don’t want to take the bus home. 

You walk through the dark fairgrounds but somehow you can’t find the sheep barn. Jenny makes up her own shortcuts. You follow her through the Horticulture building where the fresh apples release a sweet perfume. You follow her through the Creative Activities building where the ribbon-winning cakes are behind glass and growing mold because they’ve been in there for four days but the basket-weave patterns in the frosting still look pretty to you. 

Your stomach rumbles. Ditch her. There are deep-fried Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups over there. 

By the time the Sheep and Poultry barn comes into view, your feet throb and your wrist is damp from Jenny’s sweaty grip. She finally releases you and you rub her sweat off on your pants. 

“I still think she’s probably gone,” you say. 

She ignores you. Wordlessly, you both walk into the barn. Hours ago, the barn aisles would have been packed, full of parents and kids and strollers all jockeying to get close enough to pet a wooly head. Now, the barn is minutes away from closing down for the night and the aisles are almost deserted save for the overnight workers forking dirty straw into rickety aluminum wheelbarrows. 

“There she is,” Jenny whispers. She points to a stall in the middle of the row. Hannah is slumped down in a lawn chair with her feet splayed out in front of her, dozing. There’s a guy on the other side of her, but his back is turned. 

Jenny walks up to Hannah and kicks her chair leg, hard. “Hey, cuntface,” Jenny growls. 

“What the hell?” Hannah asks groggily, half opening her eyes. The guy turns around. A forelock of dark hair falls into his electric-blue eyes. He has broad shoulders and chest muscles that show through his shirt. You remember a scene from a romance novel that you read (while hiding in the closet) and cast him in it. You star opposite him, but you don’t get naked. Not yet. 

“Messing with my sister?” he asks.

Watch Jenny’s face as her eyes widen and her jaw drops. Notice how all the color seems to go out of her lips. 

“No,” Jenny squeaks. She grabs your wrist again and drags you out of the barn. You look over your shoulder at Hannah’s brother, who winks at you.

Outside, in the dark, Jenny grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks. The searing pain in your scalp makes your heart thunder with rage. Make a fist and drill her in the ribs until she crumples and lets go of your hair. 

“What the fuck? What was that for?” you shout at her. 

“You’re my friend,” she says, the blue veins in her neck showing through her sunburnt skin. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“What did you expect me to do?” you ask, but she doesn’t answer. She folds her arms across her chest and looks away. A patrolman on horseback rides slowly by, the horse’s hooves softly hitting the pavement. 

“Forget it,” you say. 

Ditch her. Turn your back and walk away. 

“Where are you going? I’m your ride home!”

Shout back, “I’ll take the bus.”

“Fine, you fat ugly bitch,” Jenny shrieks.

Turn around and plant your feet. Stare her down. Scream at her: “Jenny-ass, Jenny-ass, Jenny-ass!”

Leave her in the dark. On Monday, you’ll sit next to Hannah in homeroom. Angle for an invite to her house so you can meet the boy with the blue eyes. If you’re still mad, leave a note inside Jenny’s desk that says Jack-ass, Jenny-ass.

As you make your way to the gate where the buses pull up, make a list of all the stops you’ll make on your way across the Fairgrounds: roasted corn, cheese curds, cotton candy, root beer.

Author’s note: The Minnesota State Fair starts today, so I’m reposting this story in honor of it.