“After punching you in the face, the least I could do was save Pepe.” Not sure if it’s too soon to joke about that, but I take Kiev’s smiling as it being okay.
Pepe scoots forward away from Kiev and smells my shoe, giving it a small lick before moving back to his owner. He kind of resembles a dog if I squint my eyes.
Kiev bends down and rubs Pepe’s tiny head. “I think he’s hungry.”
Smiling, I say, “Sorry, Pepe, shoes aren’t food.”
Kiev pulls at the leash that looks like it’s going to fall apart. “I better go in and feed him.”
“Can I watch?” I blurt. Why do I speak before thinking sometimes? Can I haul that sentence back in with a lasso?
He shrugs. “Sure, why not.”
No turning back now. “This should be interesting.”
“Do you want to walk him?”
“Yes!” I’ve never felt so ecstatic about something in my life. I snatch the worn leash from Kiev—my fingers brush his skin, and my heart speeds slightly.
We walk Pepe a couple of houses down, and he does a couple of weird hop movements when we approach Kiev’s house, like he knows he’s about to get dinner. The house is nice: two-story, a sandy color brick, and a large front yard.
Kiev opens the door for me, and it looks really nice inside, too—very organized. A long couch with a chaise on the end and a floral sitting chair surround a huge TV hanging on the wall.
“I like your house.”
“Yeah, Dad likes things neat.”
Scooping Pepe in his arms, Kiev heads up the wooden stairs and motions for me to follow. As I walk up the steps, I see pictures of a younger Kiev and Vienna. Kiev had a mouthful of crooked teeth that have since been corrected by braces—the miracle cure for teeth. I would know, mine used to be a disaster.
Loud music pulsates from a room upstairs. When we reach the top, Kiev knocks on the door where the music is coming from. “Vi.”
“What?” she shouts.
He opens the door—Vienna’s lying on her stomach with her chin on top of her hands. She lifts her head to look at us, and narrows her eyes. “What’s she doing here?”
“Geez, Vi, calm down,” Kiev scolds.
“She needs to leave.” Can she be any more of a brat?
“Did you tell Kiev what happened last night?” I made no promises to keep my mouth shut, and if she’s going to be all ridiculous after we helped her ass out last night, I’m not going to put up with that crap.
She shoots up in bed. “Fine. I got drunk, so what?”
Kiev’s eyebrows fly up.
Well, she sure cared last night when she made everyone waste time.
“O-kay. I’ll talk to you later, Vi.” Kiev shuts the door with a frown on his face. “So, you saw her drunk last night at the party, I guess?”
“Yeah, Barnabas drove her car home because he was worried about her trying to drive.” I’m glad he offered to do that. Who knows if she would have killed herself or someone else in the process.
Shaking his head, he walks into his room across the hall, closing the door behind us.
“I probably should have told you last night, truthfully,” I say.
“She’s been doing some really stupid shit lately,” he says, running a hand through his hair, stressfully.
“I didn’t know this was an ongoing thing. Sorry.” If I had known, I definitely would have said something.
“No, it’s fine. I mean, it’s not fine, but she’s had a problem ever since our mom left.”
“That … sucks.” I want to ask him how he feels about that, but that might be getting too deep.
“Anyway, are you ready to feed Pepe?” Kiev sets the armadillo on the carpet. Pepe immediately cruises over to me and sniffs my shoe again.
“I think he’s readier than anything.” I laugh.
Walking beside his bed, Kiev pulls out a large clear container with black objects inside and places it down on his lap.
His room is organized as well—an already made bed, a side table, a dresser with a TV on top, a small desk, and that’s about it, besides the armadillo cage and laptop on the floor.
Kiev opens the container and pulls out a medium-sized black beetle. He looks up at me and smiles. “Open your hand.”
I don’t know whether to be grossed out or excited, but I open my palm, and he sets the live beetle on my hand. The little legs tickle my skin as it starts to crawl around, and I have to hurry and put my other hand next to it, so the bug doesn’t crawl off.
“What now?” I ask.
“Kneel down to Pepe.”
Smiling, I lower myself to the ground to Pepe’s level. He scurries to my hand, snatches the dark beetle, and starts to chew it. It’s pretty nasty, yet I can’t look away—kind of like those wildlife shows where a lion rips apart an elk but not as graphic.
A small creak sounds from the bed where Kiev’s pulling the top off a can. “Cat food?” I ask, wondering if there’s a cat somewhere.
“Yeah, it gives Pepe plenty of nutrients. At least that’s what Google told me.” Dragging out a small bowl from the cage, he dumps the food in. Kiev slaps his leg twice, and lets out several high-pitched whistles, like the armadillo is a dog. “Come on, Pepe.”
Pepe runs inside the cage as soon as Kiev sets down the bowl, and he eats the mushy food right away. Gently, Kiev closes the cage, and sits back down. I move to sit on the edge of the bed next to him and watch the armadillo eat the food incredibly fast.
“He’s like a freaking garbage disposal,” I say with amazement, glancing over at Kiev, who’s staring at me. “What?”
“Nothing.” He slides off my Nintendo hat and places it on his head backward. “How do I look?”
The first word that comes to my mind is hot. Because he really looks good with a hat. I immediately snatch it off his head, not needing that thought but maybe to find some soap to scrub my brain of the image. “Not your style.” I lie with a smile.
“You sure?”
I don’t say anything.
“So, why are you always glaring at me at school?” He taps my shoe with his.
“Impossible,” I respond. Do I really glare at him that much at school?
“Very possible.”
I let out a long sigh. “If I have, it’s because I was mad you answered for me when I was asked questions in class. Twice.”
“You mean when I helped you?” He taps my shoe with his again.
“Is that what you thought you were doing?” I ask, incredulous.
“I was trying to take the attention off you. I know with ‘Dead’ Walker, he’ll make you sit there until you somehow magically come up with the answer.”
Is that what he was doing? “Oh. Well, it made me feel stupid.” I tap his foot back with mine.
“You’re not stupid.”
His phone beeps from beside me, and my attention slides to it.
Monica: Do you want to come over?
Crap, I’m in Monica’s maybe boyfriend’s room—alone. Well, there’s Pepe. Kiev doesn’t even move to check the phone, but I leap up from the bed. “So, I’ve gotta go get bacon now.”
His brows furrow in puzzlement. “Bacon?”
“Yeah, the bacon contest is coming up, and my dad’s entering. He needs the bacon real bad, so I better go.” I start toward the door.
“All right.”
Swiftly, I open his door and head down the stairs. He’s right on my tail when I hit the last step. He pulls open the front door, and I grab his bicep for some idiotic reason as in to thank him? I swing my arm back down, as if his skin bit my hand. “Well, thanks for having me over. Tell Pepe and Vienna I said bye.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Lia,” he says, with a still confused expression across his face.
“Bye.” Waving, I turn and dash down the driveway.
Quickly, I walk back to my car and think, Why am I here? The better question is: What was I doing here with Kiev? No. No. No. Do I like him? Why did I get that weird feeling again
with Monica?
Chapter Fifteen
Kiev + Festival
In my bedroom, late at night, I try to fall asleep, but even with my door closed, I can hear the loud music coming from Vi’s room. I’m tempted to confront her and ask her why she got drunk last night. But, no—she’s too angry right now. Besides, I need to find out who she’s spending her time with. Faith’s words come to mind. I’ve seen her talking to that creepy guy who hangs outside the school.
That’s Chris—the Emo dude. I should talk to him and find out what’s going on. I don’t think he’s selling weed or crap like that, because I remember him as this cool guy who didn’t pay much attention in class.
Shaking this thought off, I get out of bed to get a glass of water, but when I open the door, Pepe scurries out.
“Hey!” I shout to him.
Pepe jumps a couple of feet in the air, startled, then keeps going fast until he crashes head-first against the wall. I rush after him and lift his small body. “You shouldn’t run,” I say to him. “You know you can’t see well.”
Back in my room, I put Pepe in his cage. “Don’t do that again,” I scold him.
He pokes his snout through the cage bars, sniffs, and looks at me with his little black eyes, as if saying, “I like my freedom, Master.”
“Good night, little one,” I say and get back in bed.
The next morning, my alarm wakes me around ten. I groan in disgust as I remember it’s Sunday—festival time. The principal sent an email with instructions—show up at eleven-thirty for orientation dressed in black pants. Just that. I should show up with the pants, and no t-shirt or shoes. Nah.
After showering, I check on Vi’s room again, but I can’t open the locked door. Sighing, I head to the kitchen and inhale a bowl of cereal, then step to Dad’s bedroom and press an ear against the door. I can barely hear him snoring. Which is good since he works all the damn time.
An hour later, I drive north, leaving the city. I spot a sign reading, Piggy Palooza Festival three miles. I wonder about out-of-town visitors—most are the usual championship pig owners, and a few people from surrounding towns. That’s how I remember it—haven’t been there since I was ten years old.
Soon, I reach a wooden arch with a pink sign, reading, Welcome to the Fifteenth Annual Piggy Palooza Festival. A paunchy man dressed like a lumberjack stands by the gate leading inside.
I level my Jetta with him and roll down the window. “Morning.”
“We open at noon.” He frowns—someone didn’t get his coffee today.
I point ahead. “I’m a volunteer.”
He scans the inside of my car. “Name?”
“Kiev Jimenez.”
“Wait.” He steps to a backpack resting against a gate post, fishes out a notepad, and slides a finger down, reading a list. He pushes the gate open.
“Thanks,” I say, driving through it.
He points to my right. “Park there.”
There are some cars and dust, and way in the back, I spot the festival’s Ferris wheel. “This far?”
He shrugs. “Employee parking.”
Welcome to hell, I think, but it is what it is, so I park next to a century-old pickup.
Jumping out of my car, I start a long walk in the scorching sun, where wind pushes dust that covers my face and cakes my lungs. As I stop to cough, a green Ford Fiesta levels beside me.
“Wanna ride, cowboy?” a girl asks.
I turn my attention to the car. “Good morning, Lia.”
Smiling, Lia jerks her auburn head to her right. “Hop in.”
Going around the Fiesta, I open the door and slide in next to her. She’s wearing her usual Nintendo cap, backward of course, but her mandatory black pants seem too tight, showcasing her legs. I’m speechless and cannot take my eyes from them.
“What are you staring at?” she asks.
“They’re great,” I blurt. Dammit! My cheeks burn. “Sorry. I mean, your pants look great on you.”
She gives me a dismissive wave. “These were the only black pants I could find.” She shakes her head. “Mom bought them for me when I was thirteen.”
“Nice,” I say. “I mean, not nice about your legs, but the pants.”
Lia points at my face and squints. “Your nose looks even better today, except for that blue spot.” She touches the top of my nose, sending warmth all over it.
I shrug. “I’ll survive.”
She wrinkles her nose. “I’m seriously sorry about that. Before this gets repetitive with me saying this every time I see you, this is the last time I’ll apologize about it,” she hurries on, “but I am sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too,” I say, and when she tilts her head, I add, “I was just trying to save your ass in class—I didn’t mean to make you feel like that.”
She nods. “Why were you walking in this desert?”
I jerk a thumb over my shoulder. “Mr. Happy Gatekeeper told me to park by the gate—employee parking. Why didn’t you park there?”
Lia starts driving toward the festival. “Volunteer parking is up ahead.”
“What an idiot,” I say through gritted teeth. “Not you—him.” I want to stomp on his foot or something.
“Shit happens.” She smirks.
We reach the volunteer parking next to the festival entrance and get out of the car. Another huge pink sign welcomes everyone to Piggy Palooza. We step to the woman in a pig costume guarding the entrance—tail and all.
She gives us a wide smile. “Welcome to the best festival in West Texas, y’all.” She extends a hand, palm up, as if expecting admission tickets or a bribe.
Lia pushes her backward cap down, as if it’d became loose with the walk. “Volunteer orientation?”
The woman gives us a once over. “You’re just kids.”
I’m tempted to reply that the principal forced us to volunteer, and how she looks five-hundred years old. Instead, I say, “Not really. We’re seventeen.”
She scans us again, then rolls her eyes and jerks a thumb over her shoulder. “Trainin’s in the Pig Shack.”
“Thanks,” Lia says, brushing past her.
I join Lia inside. “Your relative?” I ask.
“Nope.” She adjusts her cap and looks at me intently, the way you concentrate on a cute puppy. “Yours?”
Is she flirting? No, my brain’s playing tricks. I shrug. “Who knows?”
She points ahead to a round house made of dried leaves. “There.”
“The Pig Shack,” I say, reading the sign on its wooden door.
“You’re such a genius, Captain Obvious.” Lia paces toward it.
I follow her, passing game stands—ring-a-bottle, catch-a-ball, spin-da-wheel, and so on. They look exactly the same as the last time I was here years and years ago, just a bit rustier. Soon, we enter the shack. Folding chairs of the cheapest-I-could-find kind line the circular wall.
A rat-skinny man with a thin mustache stands in the back. “Don’t be shy, piggies.” He waves us over. “Oink, oink.”
“Did he just oink us over?” Lia whispers in my ear.
“Who’s being Captain Obvious now?” I whisper back.
She glares at me before turning her attention to him. “We’re here for volunteer orientation.”
“I’m your guy,” he says. “Come here.”
Once we join him, he rubs his hands like a cartoon villain. “All righty. What are your names, piggies?”
Once we tell him our names, he produces his phone and slides a finger over its screen, then looks up and nods. “My name is Mr. Ham. Ham comes from pigs, get it?” He guffaws at his own pun.
Lia and I exchange a “that’s so lame” glance.
“All righty.” He pads to a cardboard box lying on the floor, where he digs out t-shirts and headbands.
“Is that what I think it is?” I whisper to Lia.
“Yep.” She glances at him, then whispers back, “I don’t want to wear that crap.”
Mr. Ham trudges toward us and hands us
the pink t-shirts. I hold mine in front of me and look at the pig image with a sign reading, Go Piggy at the Palooza!, then flip it around to find the festival logo plastered on the back—a pig family walking over a bacon-covered road that leads to a big pork ham. I forgot the logo screams savage, but that’s how the tumbleweed rolls down here.
I show the t-shirt to him and become Captain Obvious, asking, “Do we need to put them on?”
He taps his forehead. “My bad—I didn’t tell you they’re part of your uniform, along with these.” He holds a headband on each hand and offers them to us. “Wear your volunteer outfits proudly.”
I reluctantly take a headband, while Lia just glowers at the other, as if Mr. Ham were holding a dead lizard by the tail. After an excruciating minute, she snatches it.
“All righty,” he says, pointing at a little door in the back. “You can change down there.”
“Ladies first,” I say to Lia, smirking.
She frowns. “You go first.”
I bow. “I insist.”
Lia clutches her t-shirt and headband against her chest, curling her fingers. “Fine.” She marches to the back like a soldier, opens the door, and closes it behind her.
Mr, Ham lifts a brow. “Is…” He checks something on his phone. “Is Ophelia your girlfriend?”
“Shh.” I press a finger to my lips. “She dislikes her full first name. And, no, we aren’t dating or anything.”
“You two sure behave like a couple.” Mr. Ham winks at me.
I give him a “whatever” shrug.
A minute later, Lia steps out of the room carrying her baggy t-shirt. “Where should I put my shirt?”
Mr. Ham points to the wall at her right. “In that box.”
She puts her t-shirt away and heads in our direction. I look in disbelief at her body-hugging pink t-shirt. No, it isn’t that tight, but, man, Lia is hot. Something hovering over her head catches my attention, and I stifle a laugh when I realize it’s the headband over her backward cap. I mean, the headband features pig ears.
When she joins us, she puts her hands on her hips. “What are you looking at?”
My recently-punched nose reminds me to stay silent, but I can’t stop myself from admiring her hot figure.
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