“Long time no see.” He closes the book over his thumb to keep his place. “Been hiding somewhere?”

“Not exactly. Hope I didn’t scuff the boots.” I start to pass him, but he stops me.

“You’ve sort of taken off in the other direction every time you’ve seen me this week. Do I need to switch deodorants, or was it something I said?”

“Deodorant. Didn’t want to come out and say it.” I smile to let him know I’m joking.

Devontae’s still seated, putting him right below eye level. Looking down to talk to someone doesn’t happen to me often. Tougher to avoid his eyes this way. “We’re cool,” I add.

“Good,” he says. “Then we should probably get moving on that project. You had any time to brainstorm?”

He looks about to say more, and I hope he’s not going to ask about Dawn. There’s no good way to explain it. She’s probably hunting for me now—I half expect the loudspeaker to blast my name any second. I make myself look at him. “A bit, yeah,” I hedge. “Should be ready to trade lists soon.” Somehow, I’ll figure out how to do that without Dawn.

“Cool. You busy this weekend?”

The question throws me. Does he want to get together for our project? “I’ve got the Fairy Festival with Ale and Tina on Sunday. You?”

“I’m riding in the Setzler Junior Open on Saturday.”

Setzler’s is the local rodeo arena, over on Horsefeathers Road.

“If you’re not busy, you want to come watch? I can get you a free ticket. It’ll be a good show, especially if I get bucked off.” He grins, like he’s sure he won’t get bucked off.

It takes me a second to realize he’s not talking about getting together for our project. I feel a grin about to bust loose, but then my brain starts racing when I remember the setup at Setzler’s. The soft, sandy field. The tiny, cramped porta-potties with the big step up.

“I can’t,” I blurt, more bluntly than I meant to.

Devontae’s face falls. “Oh,” he says.

Shoot. That didn’t come out right. “I mean, rodeo’s cool and all, it’s not—”

Devontae’s on his feet before I can finish.

“Don’t sweat it,” he says in a buttoned-down voice. “Forget I asked. Maybe next week for the project, then?”

He ducks around me and makes tracks out of the library. His book—a biography of someone named Bill Pickett—lies forgotten on the floor beside my right front wheel.

Well, crap.

Should’ve swiped a few more caramels from Ms. Hernandez’s bowl. That all would’ve gone down a whole lot better if I’d glued my mouth shut first.

14

Look Around You!

“Sure you don’t want to stay home?” I ask Dad on the morning of the Fairy Festival. He could probably use the time to study for his class.

Dad shakes his head. “And miss my yearly chance for weird-watching?”

I half turn to punch him, and he laughs. “Just kidding. You look wonderful, Emms.” He finishes zip-tying the stuffed parrot to my chair back and stands up. “There you go.”