22. Benji #2
“Nope,” he shook his head like he wasn’t going to tempt fate again tonight. “I’d rather look at the real thing later.”
“Oh, that we can arrange?—”
The song cut off, replaced by the ancient factory ringtone I hadn’t heard in years.
“Ugh, what now? Can’t we get five minutes?” I sighed, peeking at the screen to see it was Gordy.
“You can answer,” he said.
“No, tonight is for you.” I brushed my hand along Sam’s leg to show him that he was going to be my main focus tonight and let the call go to voicemail.
The music came back. “He’ll probably want to hang out at the grove or something.
There’s this girl he’s trying to woo. But he can’t behave like a normal human being without a wingman. ”
Another ring interrupted the music.
I rolled my eyes, pulled my hand from Sam’s leg, and reached for my phone, pushing the side button to silence it.
“His plans must be urgent,” Sam stated, shifting in his seat.
“Maybe. But I’m not turning around anyway.”
The music started up again, but after only three beats, the phone rang once more, sending my pulse through the roof.
“Oh for fucks—” I glanced at Sam. “Sorry. I’ll keep it short.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll pretend I’m not here.”
His words hung between us, the reality of what he had said taking a moment too long to sink in—a moment I didn’t have, because I’d already accepted the call.
For three seconds, the line only crackled like Gordy was still fumbling to get his phone to his ear.
“Ben?”
“What’s up?”
“Fuck Benji, you’re alive.”
“We literally saw each other at work yesterday. Why should I be dead?”
“Outside of work, you’ve been MIA for weeks and ignoring my texts,” Gordy replied. “Are you okay, man?”
I glanced at Sam, who was looking out the window, taking in the desert’s vast nothingness, living up to his promise to pretend not to be here.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” I said. “I’m on my way to Larkfield.”
“Dang. I wanted to ask if you want to hang,” Gordy replied, another rustle crackling through the line. “What are you doing in Larkfield?”
“County fair.”
“Man, what? You could’ve mentioned that! I could’ve brought Alice and—wait. Don’t tell me you’re going there with someone. Is that why you were AWOL for weeks?”
“That’s none of your freaking business, dude.”
“Do tell!”
I sighed, and something in me didn’t want to hide it anymore. “I’m in the car with Sam. And he’s listening right now.”
Sam’s head snapped toward me, eyes wide, like he couldn’t believe I’d just said it out loud without any concern for what Gordy might think.
“Sam?” Gordy asked. “Why are you...?” He breathed so loudly for two seconds that it carried through the phone.
“Oh, I get it. Sam . Right.” His voice dropped, as if he now spoke with his chest instead of his mouth.
“Well, I guess we can talk later.” Three short beeps announced that he had hung up.
The music took over again, trying for a fourth time to finish the song.
“I can’t believe you told him!” Sam said, pulling his lips into his mouth and sucking on them like he had to keep himself from saying the wrong things. “But I doubt he believed I was here with you.”
“That was quite obvious, yeah.”
As the song ended, the car filled only with the hum of the engine and the soft rattle of the windows for a moment, both of us staring ahead at the road.
“You know that it’s okay if you want to spend time with him, too, do you?” Sam asked.
“Are you already sick of me?” I said with a grin.
“That’s not what I meant. I love every second we get. But I don’t want to come between you and your friends.”
“You’re not. Really. I spent so much time with Gordy in my life, he’ll survive a few weeks seeing less of me.” And once Sam moved away, I’d have more time for Gordy than I’d ever want—but that I couldn’t say out loud.
We listened to the synth opening of the next eighties track for a good ten seconds before Sam leaned over and placed his hand back on my leg.
“Maybe we should just throw a big party,” he said. “You invite Gordy, I invite my parents, and when they see us together, they’ll have no choice but to come around.”
“We should totally do that. With a cake that, when you cut it open, says Benji and Sam forever . Or steaks that have it carved into them or something.”
“That would be so weird.” Sam chuckled.
I squeezed his hand, and he squeezed me right back, and we didn’t let go of each other until a sign on the side of the road announced that the county fair was only three miles away.
For half an hour, we gazed at the Ferris wheel, drop tower, and roller coasters from afar before we even reached the gate.
Three lanes funneled cars into the parking lot, where at least thirty people in yellow vests tried to keep order, yet it still crawled.
And then—twenty bucks. To park on a patch of grass that wasn’t even meant for cars.
(I wasn’t about to let the insanity of the cash grab overshadow our night, but still—twenty dollars!).
At least, once we handed it over, the attendants waved us into a spot within a minute.
After walking two more minutes to the main entrance and another minute to get our tickets scanned, we finally made it in.
Inside, it wasn’t nearly as crowded as the thousands of cars had suggested. The rides and booths were spaced far enough apart to move freely, even during rush hours.
Sam stepped into the shade of a parasol in front of a mouse-themed fun house. His gaze drifted through the aisles full of carnival rides to our left and right, then toward the grandstand that was reserved for monster truck rallies and demolition derbies, with all the food booths tucked underneath.
“So what do you recommend?” he asked, his eyes squinting despite the shade.
“Everything,” I replied, which earned me a crumpled face for being unhelpful. “There’s also an agricultural exhibition in the back, although it should close in about an hour, I think. So if you want to look at the pigs, we should do that first.”
“Sounds good,” Sam said. “I love pigs.”
“Yeah, they’re funny. Always oinking and stuff.”
I led the way through the crowd to the permanent stables. Ten white buildings with green roofs in a row drew in a mixed crowd: parents with their kids, young and old couples, and the usual loner in a comic tee who’d strayed a little too far from his friends or family.
The pungent smell met us at the first stable. To our left and right, pigs dozed, cuddled against one another, blinking awake only for every tenth person who peered over the fence. The air under the roof was thick, the ceiling fans barely moving it, just pushing the stench around.
It took me straight back to the time when my parents thought enrolling me in a 5-H club was a good idea. The fifth H stood for harmony, or so the counselor preached on my second day, when a lanky kid with long, golden hair was teased for being "too girly."
“Let it go,” she told him as he cried, as if it were his fault. I spent forty-five minutes arguing with her about what a bunch of crap that was, and afterward, I was kindly advised never to return.
“Oh, this one has babies,” Sam said, pointing to the third stall on the right.
A pig with a reddish mane and black spots lay pressed against the wood, three black piglets snuggled against its legs, all of them half-asleep.
Sam leaned on the fence, his arms dangling inside as if he hoped the piglets might come to him.
He dipped into his knees, looking like his excitement was about to launch him right into the pen.
“They’re so cute. I wish I could pet them. ”
I leaned my back against the door and arched over the fence, so my face lined up with his.
“Who’s cuter, them or me?” I asked, watching his eyes alternated between the piglets and me. “And by the way, you’re not supposed to take so long to answer.”
“It’s a tough decision! Them, I want to pet. You, I want to...” His head turned around searching for prying eyes, and he blushed as a Grandma walked right past us, even though she didn’t acknowledge us in the slightest.
“Come on, how can you not want to pet these cheeks?” I pointed at my dimples as I leaned back over the gate.
With a playful grin, Sam leaned in closer, pursing his lips—but instead of kissing me, he flicked the visor of my cap down over my eyes.
I gasped. “Come here, you.” My reflexes took over.
I grabbed his wrists and pulled him toward me.
Our laughter filled the stable, mingling with the overhead fans that rattled like singing cicadas.
I wrapped my arms around him, hauled his weight against me, the two of us wrestling like we’d done a hundred times before.
Then came a crack.
It was faint, but sharp enough to cut through our laughter.
I paused, and before I could react, the stall door gave way and swung open.
We stumbled back, Sam luckily stable enough to keep me from falling onto the pigs.
I clung to him, pulled myself upright, and, by some miracle, didn’t end up in the muck.
The piglets squealed; their mother jolted up with a furious grunt.
My hands flew to the door and yanked it shut before they could escape, but the commotion had already drawn every pair of eyes in the stable.
“What are you doing?” voices shouted from several directions.
Sam’s face went crimson, his eyes bulging, and both hands clapped over his mouth.
“Hey!” another voice barked from behind.
I checked the latch once more and then, without thinking, grabbed Sam’s hand and pulled him after me, running toward the exit. I kept my head down, hiding behind my cap, tossing a breathless “sorry” over my shoulder as angry voices followed us, though I couldn’t tell who they belonged to.