We barely slow down all morning, watching performers, getting into character, and poking through the pop-up shops that are full of weird, wonderful things. Trinkets and treasures and unbelievable costumes. Ale and I even get a few ideas for things we could make to add to our own shop.

“Check that out,” Tina says, looking at a guy a little older than us wearing an unbelievable steampunk Peter Pan costume. Under the glittery makeup, his dark brown eyes and confident grin remind me of Devontae and I feel a tiny prick of guilt, remembering how our talk ended on Friday. I wonder how his rodeo went yesterday, and how we’ll work on a class project together if we never speak to each other again. Why couldn’t he have suggested going someplace a little more wheels-friendly?

Then Ale steps in a gopher hole as we’re taking a shortcut to the back of the street of shops. “Ouch!” She grabs her ankle, hops around, then topples over.

There’s no cell service down here, and Dad’s nowhere in sight, so Ale sits on the ground, and Tina runs to the first aid tent. While we wait, Ale starts grilling me about Devontae.

“Why are you both acting like fools?” Ale’s never been what you’d call subtle.

“Shouldn’t you elevate your leg?” I dodge the question.

Ale wriggles over and props her leg in my lap. “Seriously, though? First you spend half the week avoiding him. Then after school Friday, he looked like he couldn’t get away from you fast enough. You’re both being weird, chica.”

Thankfully, Ale’s lecture is cut short as Tina runs toward us, followed by a zombie fairy pulling a little red wagon. A sparkly sign that says YE OLDE FEY AMBULANCE is taped to the side.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Ale groans.

Turns out the bloodstained zombie fairy is a nurse. She pokes at Ale’s ankle, then holds out her hands. “Up you go.” She boosts Ale onto her good leg. “And in you go.” She points at the wagon.

I try at least medium hard to keep from giggling as Ale is squeezed into ye olde ambulance, and Tina and I follow as the nurse trundles her to the medical tent.

Ale covers her eyes with her antennae. “I feel ridiculous!”

The nurse smirks, making her zombie makeup look even creepier. “Look around you!” she says, and waves a hand at the dressed-up, made-up, merry misfits that surround us.

She has a point. Nobody’s paying us any mind. One thing I love about the festival is that pretty much nobody pays attention to my chair. It’s almost like it’s part of my costume—like those people riding in the wooden troll wagon or bouncing around on their spring-loaded stilts while telling fortunes. Everyone blends right in.

Ale sees the humor, and we all crack up. Her ankle’s only twisted, and the nurse ices and wraps it for her, entertaining us with stories about all the weird injuries she’s dealt with today.