Chapter 6
DARCY
It was a beautiful spring evening,and I had just finished getting ready for the festival. I was wearing a long floral skirt with my favorite sweater—the one with the hole in the sleeve—and a pair of white tennis shoes. I looked in the mirror, dabbed on a little red-tinted Chapstick, and straightened out my thick eyebrows. These were the same eyebrows I used to hate as a child that I now loved about myself. When I was younger, they seemed to overtake my entire face and were always the butt of jokes in middle school. If I had a dollar for every time someone called me Eugene Levy, I would be rich. Then, during the thin eyebrow era, I was lucky my mother would have grounded me for life if I had touched them, because now, they were a huge part of what made me...me.
Moms really did know best sometimes.
I met up with Lettie and Tuck at the festival, and after buying fifty tickets for the prize basket, Tuck looked at me with disappointment written all over his face.
“Darcy, did you really just spend that much money on a chance to win the basket? It’s not even worth that much money.”
I scoffed. “As if! Listen, Tuckeroni, that basket is worth all the money in the world to me. I need to win it.”
“Why don’t you just come to the bakery, and I’ll give you donuts and mini pies?”
“It’s not about what’s in the basket! It’s about winning!” I shook my head as we continued to walk through the square.
Tuck turned to Lettie, and I heard him whisper, “Is this still about Marcus?”
“Yes!” I exclaimed. “I was robbed of that basket. I dropped my ticket. I was actively looking for it, and Marcus just held it up like it was his. And then he won. That was my ticket!”
Lettie punched Tuck in the bicep. “Way to go, Tuck! You know how heated she gets about this.”
Tuck shook his head. “I’ve never met anyone who holds a grudge quite like you, Darcy.”
“Thank you,” I replied proudly.
“That wasn’t a complime—”
“Honestly, I wouldn’t even still be mad if Marcus would just apologize. It’s not that hard,” I replied as we continued to walk.
“He was twelve. It’s been like twenty years.”
“People don’t forget.” I pointed to the ring toss booth and headed toward it. “Let’s go play.”
Lettie crossed her arms over her chest. “Now, Darcy, what are you going to do if you win a fish? Do you even have a tank?”
I shrugged. “I never win at this anyway.”
I won a fish.
I won a goldfish in a plastic bag.
“What am I going to do with this?” I said, holding up the bag full of water with an orange fish swimming in it. “I want the basket, not a fish! These things die in a day.”
“Not true,” Tuck said, stuffing his face with a corndog. “Remember the fish Beau won? You guys had him for like three years.”
My twin brother, Beau, Tuck, and I grew up together from the time we were babies, and Lettie had joined us the summer we graduated from high school. My brother moved to California shortly after and married a girl he had known for two weeks, but even though I’d told him he was dumb and it would never work out, it had. I’d never been happier to be wrong in my life.
“Oh my God, Pinky!” I exclaimed. “I forgot about him.”
“Pinky? You named a goldfish Pinky?” Lettie asked.
“I was six; don’t judge me,” I replied, still looking at my fish. “I really don’t want to take care of this thing for the next three years.”
“He kind of already looks dead,” Tuck said, and Lettie, Tuck, and I turned our heads to the side to examine the upside-down fish.
“Oh my God. Is he? Lettie, you’re a vet...is he dead?” I kept walking, examining the fish more closely and realized he was moving. “False alarm! He’s fine. Look!” I was showing my fish to my friends when something ran right into me, and I lost my grip on the bag, sending it flying into the air.
“Mr. Fishleton!” I yelled, running to pick up the bag.
“When did you name him?” Lettie asked. She turned to Tuck. “When did she name him?”
Tuck merely shrugged, and I yelled as I picked him up, “It just came to me. He looks like a Mr. Fishleton.”
A familiar voice spoke out. “I am so sorry! Is it okay?”
I peered over and saw none other than Penn, standing there in a green, hooded sweatshirt with a jacket over it. “You.” I narrowed my eyes. “You! You killed my fish!”
“You didn’t even want that fish,” Lettie said, and I shushed her.
“You killed Mr. Fishleton.” I held the bag up to his face, shaking it so he could see the damage he had done. The pain he had inflicted on the poor, defenseless fish.
“Well, if he wasn’t dead before, I have a feeling he is now. You just shook that thing like he was a maraca.” Penn raised one eyebrow and tilted his head at Mr. Fishleton.
I shoved the bag behind my back and scrunched my face. “Listen, Danica Patrick, what is your problem with me? Is it like your life mission to injure me? To make me suffer?”
Penn’s face softened, and I felt irritated at what looked like his concern. “Why would I want to make you suffer? I don’t even know you.”
Lettie moved a little closer to the two of us. “You could always get to know—”
“Don’t you dare!” I cut her off. “I have to go. I need to give Mr. Fisherman a proper burial.”
Penn crossed his arms. “I thought it was Mr. Fishleton?”
Damn it. It was.
“Mr. Fishleton’s nickname is Mr. Fisherman, okay! I nickname the ones I love. Ask Tuck, he’s Tuckeroni, and Lettie is...” I paused. I hadn’t actually nicknamed Lettie anything, but I wasn’t going to let that stop me. “Lettie is Freckles.”
“No, I’m not,” Lettie whispered, and I jabbed her in the ribs.
Penn ran his hand through his hair, a sideways grin developing on his thick mouth. “Is that why you’ve got so many names for me then?”
A low grumble formed in my throat as I rolled my eyes. That had certainly backfired, and I realized then that Penn Murphy had an ego bigger than all of Aveline.