10. Dustin
Chapter 10
Dustin
The thrill of winning the chicken race hasn’t dulled. You’d think I’m a celebrity by the way the townies are treating me. Every person that passes along the sidewalk stops to tell me, congratulations, or they ask, how did you ever think to tell Helga positive affirmations? That was genius. I answer with a quick, I’ve done a lot of research into poultry and how they interact with humans. It’s a bullshit reply I came up with; I have no clue why it worked. Violet told me everyone did it. I was naive to trust her. If we didn’t win, I would’ve looked like a fool. But we did, so there’s no need to dwell on it now.
My phone dings with an incoming text from my best friend, Nolan.
NOLAN
Farmer Dusty. How's it going?
DUSTIN
Great.
NOLAN
Are you missing your apartment yet?
DUSTIN
Not at all.
NOLAN
Good, because you’re not getting it back.
My phone begins ringing in my hand. I pick up on the third chime.
“Hey.” He murmurs through the line.
“I didn’t feel like texting. It takes up too much time.”
“I get that.” I say. Nolan was never one to spend much time thinking about anything other than work.
“I’ve been trying to get ahold of you, but it kept saying message not delivered.”
“We don’t have good service on the farm.”
“That’s unfortunate. Why don’t you hook up a booster or something.”
“Don’t get me started on that subject.”
“Okay, okay. I won’t piss you off. I called to tell you that you are so lucky I could take over your apartment’s lease. But I guess I’m lucky too. It’s nice being closer to the best restaurants.”
Is it crazy that I don’t miss it? The thought comes and goes from my mind.
“Believe me. You’re a lifesaver.”
“Well, I got to get back to work. Keep me updated, Farmer Dusty . Don’t come crawling back to your apartment in a few months, it's mine now.”
“What an asshole,” I grumble.
“I heard that!” he yells and then I quickly press the end call button. I pocket my phone and continue down the sidewalk.
I stop when I reach The String Cheese. I pull out a rod iron chair and sit, waiting for Violet to show up.
The winning team can only get their free meal if they both show up. I want to wipe the sound of Constance’s voice from the confines of my mind. That woman is always up to something. First, declaring me a small business owner after one day. Now, she’s scheming with Violet and I. I’ve gotta watch what I say around her.
Violet comes walking down the sidewalk with Olive at her side, still wearing her competitive getup. She tilts her head back and laughs at something Olive says. Her hair is frazzled and pulled back with a purple band. Her nose crinkles and her cheeks redden around the purple lines painted across her face.
She’s always laughing, it makes me wonder why. Is she really always that happy? It infuriates me. But also intrigues me.
I can’t stand her one bit. And yet I feel myself pulled to her every movement.
After our miraculous, close call of a win, when I pulled her into my arms and swung her and Helga in a circle—there was a moment when I forgot we didn’t get along. It was a flicker of a few seconds. Short and fleeting. Her presence is captivating. I’ll admit it.
Her smile falters when she sees me waiting for her. But I can’t quite read the expression that spreads over her face. Is it loathing? Or something else? I don’t have time to think because she stands in front of me and says, “let’s go, I’m in desperate need of something to eat.” I shrug and follow her into the shop.