Sideshow Girl

"How doing?" Voti asked me on Saturday when he once again accompanied my fire friends. We were sitting on hay bales next to a tree near the Bakery Stage.

"All right, I guess," I answered with a sigh. The truth is that there was some drama going on between Scott and me, but I wasn't going to tell Voti. I didn't even want to tell Bik or Asbestos. I was beginning to feel, however, that I would soon have to find a new place to stay on the weekends in Shakopee.

The day was very, very warm. It made me wish I hadn't inherited my mother's black hair, and that I had gotten it cut over the summer like I had planned to. There's nothing quite like sitting around, absorbing nice, hot sun rays. We were in the shade, and I was fanning myself with my pink and black fan made from feathers. I didn't want to use anything battery-powered to keep cool, because it would look out of place. Not that the laser etching shop near the Crown Stage looked normal.

"Hot out here!" Asbestos said, approaching us. He'd just come from a concession booth, munching a pop-over.

"Yeah," I agreed, wiping the back of my neck. Gross. "I feel bad for you and Bik when it's this hot."

"You might want to start carrying a handkercheif," Asbestos recommended while I wiped my sweaty hand on my skirt. "That's not a very becoming, or even very ladylike habit."

"Do you think I care?" I asked, lifting one eyebrow. "Seriously, Dane. I'd welcome an ice cube down my top. Even a pickle."

"You want a pickle down your top?" Asbestos laughed. I nodded, fanning harder. "You'd smell like pickles all day."

"So what? Nobody came to the festival to smell me."

"I came to the festival to smell you," Bik said, appearing out of nowhere. "Pickles smell pretty damn good. I don't know what Dane's complaining about." He closed his eyes. "Mmh, pickles," he groaned.

"Yes, we all know you like pickles up your kilt," I said and Bik's eyes shot open.

"Who's tryin' to stick pickles up there?" he almost squealed. "I gotta start wearing a costume that doesn't allow pickle bandits such easy access."

"What is pickle bandits?" Voti asked, giggling.

"We've got pickle bandits now," Asbestos said. "Somebody call the cops. There are pickle bandits on the loose."

"I don't know about the cops," I said. "I wouldn't discourage calling Bik's therapist, though."

"I think you're a pickle bandit," Bik accused me. "Why else would you want pickles in your top?"

"Because it's hot today," I reasoned. "And the pickles are really cold."

"Oh yeah," Bik said. "Just how you like your pickles. Cold, hard, and juicy." He paused. "Interestingly enough, that's just how I like my pickles, too."

"I don't need to know about your pickles, ya pickle bandit," I said.

"I'll pickle your bandit," Bik growled.

By this point, Asbestos had plopped down onto one of the hay bales, as he was unable to stand up and laugh really hard at the same time. Voti still seemed confused about pickle bandits. I was pretty sure all the events of the day would be coming up pickles, which is a sentence I never thought would enter my mind.

Johnny walked by, waving. "How's it going, everybody?" he asked.

"Pickles!" Bik and I shouted.