Hot Dog Girl

by Jennifer Dugan

  G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS

  an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC, New York

  Copyright © 2019 by Jennifer Dugan.

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Dugan, Jennifer, author.

  Title: Hot dog girl / Jennifer Dugan.

  Description: New York, NY: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, [2019]

  Summary: A lovesick teenager schemes to win the heart of her crush at her amusement park summer job, all while dressed as a hot dog.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2018019808 | ISBN 9780525516255 (hardcover) | ISBN 9780525516262 (ebook)

  Subjects: | CYAC: Dating (Social customs)—Fiction. | Love—Fiction. | Amusement parks—Fiction. | Summer employment—Fiction. | Bisexuality—Fiction.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.1.D8343 Ho 2019 | DDC [Fic]—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018019808

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover illustration © 2019 by Jeff Östberg

  Version_1

  For Brody and Olivia, who make every day an adventure

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  CHAPTER 1

  Everybody seems to think the summer after your senior year is the stuff of legends. That it’s two months of pure teenage bliss or something. It’s almost as if there’s this big conspiracy surrounding it, like, sure, kid, throw your cap in the air, cue up that hit pop song you will definitely hate by fall, and then you, too, will be guaranteed the most epic summer of your life. I mean, we all know that’s not how it actually goes down, right?

  Even though I won’t kick off my own senior year for another couple of months, I’ve already witnessed way more than my fair share of post-senior summers. It’s a hazard of attending a tiny school—you can’t really be picky about how old your friends are. But yeah, I think I can conclusively say that frantically searching Target for extra-long twin bedsheets while freaking out about what to major in does not an epic summer make.

  So no, I don’t buy into that whole post-senior-year magic thing. I think pre-senior year is where it’s at, and for me, that starts right here in this tiny breakroom—with a stomach full of butterflies and a brain full of fireworks.

  This is going to be my summer, no doubt about it.

  I take a deep breath and slide my finger down the crisp page in front of me, searching for my name on the corkboard of destiny. Seriously. That’s what we call stuff like this at Magic Castle Playland. It’s not a bulletin board; it’s a “corkboard of destiny.” It’s not a list of job assignments; it’s a “character reveal chart.” I swear to god everything here is about as whimsical as it is rusty.

  I look lower, past the names of the ride operators and the food service people, over housekeeping and maintenance, until I get to the costume crew. I pause at the listing for princess. It’s not my name. Okay, that’s fine, disappointing but fine. I knew it was a long shot when I put in for it. My finger dips even lower, gliding past the prince, and the pirates, and all the furry park mascots, until it hits my name: Elouise May Parker. I drop my head against the board. No, no, no. Not again. I can’t. This has to be a mistake.

  My best friend, Seeley, nudges me out of the way. “What’s it say?”

  “I’m the hot dog.”

  Pity flashes in her hazel eyes. “It could be worse.”

  “Could it, See? Could it really?”

  “Yeah! What if they put you in housekeeping and you were stuck in the bathroom by Swashbuckler Bay?” She shudders, cracking herself up.

  “It’s not funny.” I pout, but technically, yes, that would be worse. I mean, the bathroom crew finishes every shift smelling like mildew and old diapers, so . . .

  Seeley holds up her hands. “Hey, I’m just kidding, but it’s going to be okay, Lou, promise.”

  She’s right. I know she is. This is a minor speed bump. I mean, it’s not like anybody died or there’s a giant meteor about to strike Earth or anything. But still, there are so many things I have planned for these last few months before we’re sucked up in the frenzy of senior year, and playing the hot dog isn’t one of them.

  I glance back at the list, letting out a little humph, and then look back at Seeley with an exaggerated frown. She bursts out laughing, shaking so hard her teal hair tips right into her sun-kissed face. Seeley’s always got it a different color these days, almost like a mood ring. The happier she is, the brighter her hair gets.

  Meanwhile I’m her slightly duller, significantly paler sidekick. My skin doesn’t tan—it just burns—and my hair is this permanent mousy brown color because it doesn’t hold dye. My dad calls it “caramel brown,” which makes me think it’s been way too long since he’s actually seen any caramel.

  Seeley grins and shoves her bangs out of her face as we start to walk toward the main stage for orientation. “Seriously, what are the odds that a vegetarian ends up in a hot dog suit two years in a row?”

  “Shut up. What did you get?” I almost hope it’s something awful like the Scrambler, where she’s guaranteed to clean up tons of puke on the daily. It’s only fair we both suffer.

  “The carousel.” She shrugs, her lips twisting into a smirk.

  “I hate you.”

  “No you don’t.” She laughs. “Besides, would you honestly rather have Marcus or Brynn in charge of the carous
el? They’d have Butters and Racer scratched all to hell from day one.”

  “I would kill them.”

  Seeley crosses her arms. “Exactly. So really, you should be thanking me for helping you avoid a lengthy prison sentence.”

  I snort, running my hand along the rock wall. This is the only time of year I even dare to touch it, the only time when it’s still sort of semi-clean—well, as clean as the filthy old rock wall of a run-down amusement park can be, anyway. But tomorrow the gates will open, and everything will be sticky from the sweat and garbage of our less-than-stellar clientele.

  I drop my hand, smiling at the familiar sight of co-workers finding seats and talking excitedly to everybody they haven’t seen since the last time the cold broke in our unforgiving little mountain town. Most of them aren’t townies like me; some of them live in neighboring areas, and some of them—the lifers, as I like to call them—follow the seasons. They spend their summers up here where it’s a little bit cooler, and the winters down south where the weather is mild.

  You don’t realize how many people it takes to run an amusement park, even an old midsize one like ours, until you try to cram them all into the seats at Mr. Johnny’s Magic Emporium. Even though our little rust bucket can’t compete with the corporate giants, we have some cool stuff here—a couple roller coasters, some games, enough rides to pass an afternoon, and, of course, our namesake: a tiny pink castle smack-dab in the middle of the park—and it takes tons of people to keep it going each day.

  Tons of people who are currently causing a human-shaped traffic jam right ahead of me. I take a sharp right and turn down the lower path to hit up the amphitheater’s side entrance. Seeley follows close behind me, stepping hard on the back of my sneaker, so hard my heel pops out. I glare at her, grabbing onto her arm for support as I fix my shoe.

  “Sorry.” Her voice lilts up like this isn’t an offense punishable by death.

  “Hey, Seeley,” a boy says, nodding at her as he walks by. It’s Nick, because of course it would be Nick when I’m hunched over looking like I don’t know how to operate a shoe. Seeley lifts her hand to wave and nearly sends me sprawling. Thanks for that, universe.

  “Hey, Nick.” I smile, jumping forward as I regain my balance.

  “Hey, Elouise.” He nods.

  “Elle, Nick, call me Elle.” I grit my teeth.

  He clamps his hand on my shoulder, and I praise the gods that I decided to wear a tank top today. “If ‘Elle’ hasn’t stuck by now, it’s never going to. But I applaud your determination.” He squeezes his fingers a little like he’s giving me a massage and oh, okay, no big deal. I’ll just be over here dying because Nick’s skin is touching my skin and that’s—

  “Have you guys seen Jessa?” he asks.

  Oh, right. Jessa. His super beautiful, so-nice-it-hurts girlfriend. How could I ever forget?

  “Haven’t seen her,” I grumble, but then Seeley pokes me in the ribs and I force out a smile. “She might still be checking the list.”

  “Oh, yeah. How’d you two make out?” Nick shoves his hands into his pockets, and I try not to frown from the loss of contact.

  “Carousel.” Seeley grins, which Nick apparently thinks deserves a high five.

  “I’m the hot dog. Again,” I blurt out, which apparently Nick thinks doesn’t. Not that I can blame him. My face burns and I huff out a breath so big my cheeks puff out.

  Nick opens and shuts his mouth a few times, like he doesn’t know where to start. “Another year in the bun? Tough break, Elouise.” He shakes his head. “I’m so lucky I don’t have to deal with random jobs.”

  He is lucky; I’m glad he realizes that. See, Nick’s a diving pirate, which isn’t exactly a job you can just walk into. He swam for his old school, I think, and he made the dive team at ours like two seconds after he moved here. He even got a partial scholarship to Presley University this fall, which I’m pretending doesn’t exist. The last thing I want to think about is him leaving for college. But anyway, yeah, he doesn’t have to worry about being a hot dog because he’s too busy being the absolute best pirate on the planet. No way will Mr. P ever assign him anywhere else.

  Nick brushes his hair out of his eyes. “All right, I’m gonna go look for Jessa and find the guys. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  “Bye,” I say, a little too eagerly, and I swear I see a tiny shake of his head as he walks away.

  “Bye,” Seeley repeats, stretching the word out with a little giggle. It’s simultaneously her best and worst impression of me.

  I wait until he disappears around the corner, then widen my eyes. “He totally just massaged my shoulder. You saw that, right? He was all in.”

  “All in on squeezing your shoulder?” If there’s some kind of world record for highest eyebrow raise ever, I’m pretty sure Seeley just broke it.

  “He massaged it. You witnessed it. It was glorious.”

  “Oh my god, Lou, it finally happened: you’ve lost your last remaining marble.” I try to elbow her, but she grabs my arm, laughing.

  “Hey, guys.” Angie Martinez appears out of nowhere right then, giving Seeley a little nod as she skirts around us. Her black hair is pulled tight in a ponytail, which bounces against her light brown skin as she walks down the hill to the Emporium. Angie’s a year ahead of us, like Nick, and she runs the Ferris wheel. I’m 93 percent sure she’s got a thing for Seeley, but I’m also about 100 percent sure Seeley is oblivious.

  Seeley tugs my arm, snapping my attention back to her. “Come on, Lou, let’s go find a place to sit.”

  CHAPTER 2

  We find a spot in the middle of the theater, our butts sticking to the metal seats as we sit shoulder to shoulder with every co-worker we’ll have for the next few months. Seb and Marcus plop down next to us, chattering away about their job assignments. Seb’s in the rabbit costume again—now I’m wondering if Mr. Prendergast just copied the costume list from last year—and Marcus got the water park since he’s already CPR certified.

  This is Seeley’s and my second year, but only the first one that I’ll be considered a full-fledged member of the team. Yet another hazard of having an August birthday: everybody else in my grade got their driver’s licenses and upgraded working papers way before me. Luckily, my dad has been doing Mr. P’s books since the dawn of time, so even though the official stance of the park is you have to be sixteen to work here, Dad fixed it so I could start last year when Seeley did. There were tons of rules about what I could and couldn’t do, but at least I was with my best friend.

  And okay, I definitely hoped for a cooler job assignment this year, literally and figuratively, but whatever. I can work with this. No matter what, I’m still determined to make this the absolute best, most carefree, oh-my-god-remember-the-time-I-can’t-even-believe-you-did-that summer ever. But first, I gotta survive Magic Castle’s orientation.

  Seeley looks over to the side, and I follow her line of sight, scanning the crowd for familiar faces. Angie waves from across the way, and I wave back, even though she probably really only means it for Seeley. I notice Nick and Jessa off to the left, along with a group of the other pirate divers home from college. Jessa says something I can’t make out and they all laugh, because of course they do; she’s funny and perfect and gorgeous and will probably still be cast as the park princess even when she’s 57,000 years old.

  “You’re staring,” Seeley whispers, leaning into me. “Young loooove.” She giggles, ducking her head. Good thing too, because I was about to flick it.

  Feedback from the microphone screeches loudly across the audience, cutting me off before I can respond. I glance at Seeley to let her know this isn’t over, but she crosses her eyes and sticks out her tongue so I know that it is.

  I turn my attention back to the stage, my eyes glued to Mr. P and the way the straps of his suspenders strain as he steps out and bows. He taps hard against the mic in his hand,
which sends more thunder roaring across the crowd, followed by a jolt of screaming feedback.

  “I guess this is on.” He chuckles, his mustache twitching under his nose. “Welcome back for another great year.” This is followed by an obligatory round of applause. Only some of us mean it. I, for one, definitely do.

  “It’s going to be a great year here at Magic Castle Playland. A great, great year,” he snuffles. “And also, a very special year—”

  Seeley gives me a look and I give her one right back. We heard this same speech last year, and we’ll probably hear it a thousand times more before we’re totally grown.

  “—because this will also be our last year here at Magic Castle Playland.”

  Or maybe not.

  I can’t even hear what he’s saying anymore, my focus narrowed to a tiny pinprick of screaming inside my head while I stare at Seeley. Places like Magic Castle Playland don’t just close. That’d be like Disney shutting down its whole operation overnight, or rather a small, super run-down, beat-up, falling- apart, probably-wouldn’t-pass-any-sort-of-official-inspection version of Disney. But still.

  A bunch of voices clamor at once, everybody talking over each other and drowning one another out. Mr. P makes a downward gesture with his hands, urging us into silence. I look around wide-eyed at everybody else, confusion and disbelief twisting our faces into caricatures of ourselves.

  I swallow hard. “This is a joke, right?”

  Seeley shrugs.

  “I’m sure you all have questions, and we’ll get to those later. For now, we need to keep our focus on opening day,” he says, as if he didn’t just cause a nuclear explosion among his staff. He keeps talking, rambling on about team meetings and schedules like everything’s fine, even though it definitely isn’t, while I sit here trying to hold it together.

  “Okay, guys, it’s our last year here. Let’s go out with a bang,” he says finally, dabbing the sweat off his face with a rag. “Metaphorically speaking, naturally.”

  And then he’s gone, and I’m stuck in place with my jaw hanging open trying to figure out what just happened.