Chapter Eight #2
After a short walk, we reach the fairground, which has been set up on a patch of grass just down from the main quad.
Dozens of white tents have been set up, as well as a few different food trucks.
Workers or volunteers, I’m not really sure, are staffing the booths and standing in front of the food trucks, giving out free samples.
We approach a stall where a woman in a navy-blue shirt with the Point logo on the front is standing next to a big prize wheel.
“Want to try?” she asks.
“Do I?” asks Zarmenus.
Seems like enjoying stuff for free is something humans and demons have in common; Zarmenus is clearly hyped.
“You first,” says Zarmenus.
I spin the wheel. There are a lot of prizes on offer, but the best is a Point T-shirt. For a moment it seems like the wheel is going to stop on that, but then it ticks over, landing on TOTE BAG.
“Here you go,” she says.
It has the Point logo on the front, and inside is a branded pen and notebook, as well as some flyers for events planned throughout the week. Not bad, considering it was free.
“Wait,” says the woman. “You’re Zarmenus.”
“I am.”
“Oh my God,” she says. “My sorority is having a party on Saturday, you have to come.”
“I’ll think about it.” He spins the wheel, and I notice him concentrating. Just when it seems like the wheel is slowing down, it picks up speed, only to stop on the free T-shirt space.
“Did you cheat?” she asks, her eyes narrowed. “I don’t give prizes to cheaters. Even cute ones.”
“I’d never, I promise.”
“Fine. You’re lucky you’re cute. What size?”
“Owen, what size are you?”
“Medium,” I say.
She hands him a medium shirt, which he then hands to me.
“It’s yours,” he says. “I could tell you wanted it.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
“Wait,” says the girl working the desk. She turns back, writing something on a piece of paper, then offers it to him.
“It’s my number,” she says. “In case you want to come to the party. It’ll be fun, I promise.”
He puts the number into his pocket. Then the two of us go farther down the fair.
“Does that happen a lot?” I ask.
“People giving me their number?” he asks. “I’ve only been on Earth a few days, but I’d say it happens fairly frequently.”
“Do you ever get sick of the attention?” I ask.
“Never.”
Almost everywhere we go, people are openly staring at us. Or, not really us. They’re staring at him.
“For the record, I did cheat to win you the shirt. You’re welcome. Ooh, hot dogs. I love hot dogs. Do you want one?”
He takes off, heading toward a food truck. We reach it, and he stands in front of the window. I check the time on my phone. It’s not even nine thirty in the morning yet, which is way too early for a hot dog. They are not, nor will they ever be, a breakfast food.
“Want one?” asks Zarmenus. “My treat, they accept meal plan swipes.”
“I’m good, thanks.”
He approaches the truck. “One mighty meat lover’s hot dog, please.”
The guy working the stand blinks. “There will be a little wait for that one, we only just opened. Is twenty minutes okay?”
“That’s perfectly fine.” He turns to me. “You sure you don’t want one?”
“I’m good.”
Zarmenus pays, then comes over to me. “Why did that man act like me ordering from his shop was a strange thing to do?”
“It’s because it’s so early,” I say. “Most people don’t order food like that until, like, lunch. He was probably expecting you to order a coffee or a breakfast wrap or something.”
“You humans sure do love your rules. Like a food is any different if it’s eaten later in the day.” He swings his arms. “Well, we’ve got time to kill. Should we explore?”
We make our way through the tents. As we browse, I think it might be a good idea for me to join a group, if I can find one that sounds fun.
“Any of these interest you?” I ask Zarmenus.
“Not even slightly,” he says.
We go around a corner, and I see a tent that practically screams out to me. They’ve got a rainbow sign reading GAYMERS, and everyone who’s working the booth is wearing a black shirt with a rainbow across the chest. I approach the tent, and a girl with blond hair smiles at me.
“Hi!” she says, her voice bright and sunny.
“Hi,” I say back. “So what’s this club?”
“We’re Gaymers,” she says. “Most of us are a part of the LGBTQ+ community, but we welcome all, no matter how you identify. We play video and board games and have meetings once a week. Are you a gamer?”
“Big time.”
I fight the urge to wince at myself. Did I really just say “big time”?
“Board games or video games?”
“Both,” I say. “But only if the board game is cooperative. My parents never fight but if you bring out a competitive game the night always ends in tears.”
“Trust me, we mostly play co-op games for that very reason. If you’d like to join, you can sign your name here. We’re having our first game night on Thursday. You’re welcome to come.”
“I’d love to,” I say.
“Excellent. I’m Madison, by the way.”
“Owen.”
I start writing my details on the sign-up sheet.
“What about you?” asks Madison as she turns to Zarmenus. If she’s ruffled by meeting the prince of Hell, it doesn’t show. “Would you like to join?”
He seems like he has been caught in headlights, and that he would prefer to swallow a rusty nail than attend.
“No thanks,” he says. “That sounds like torture, but I’ve got my hands full at the moment so I’ll have to regretfully pass.”
“Fair enough. Well, nice meeting you, Owen and Zarmenus.”
I like her already. I feel a sort of glow from within my chest. I think I’ve found my people.
We do another lap, but none of the other groups appeal to me even slightly as much as the Gaymers.
In fact, I’m already excited about the first game night.
And I’ll be honest, I’m excited about being friends with Zarmenus.
Walking with him right now feels a little like I’m walking with a celebrity—people keep doing double takes as we pass them.
I’ve never experienced anything like it, and I actually don’t mind the attention, probably because it’s not directed squarely at me.
Zarmenus doesn’t seem to mind the attention, either. If anything he’s reveling in it. Whenever he catches someone watching him he smiles a huge smile, or winks at them.
After we finish the lap, we go back to the hot dog truck, and Zarmenus’s hot dog is waiting for him.
He takes it, and I feel a twinge of hunger.
Maybe he’s right. Maybe the rules we humans have about when to eat certain foods are a little ridiculous.
Wasn’t breakfast for dinner a big trend a little while ago?
Why can’t dinner for breakfast be a thing?
“Fine, I’ll get one,” I say.
I reach into my pocket and pull out my wallet. Zarmenus’s whole face lights up.
But then his features drop.
“Die, foul demon!”
A second later a crossbow bolt embeds itself into the wall of the food truck, inches from his head.