Happy Families by Tanita S. Davis Read Free Book Online Page B

sidewalk, and booths for political candidates. The crowd noise is a dizzying assault, but I ignore my urge to run away and dive in, putting my head down and pushing, getting further from Dad and closer to the madness. Near the center of the action, I smell hot sugar, and my mouth waters. Ysabel appears beside me, and we exchange a look. Street-fair food. Funnel cake.
Dinner
. Suddenly there seems to be something worthwhile to the day. I pick up the pace and join a line a little way ahead of us. I don’t care what they’re selling. It smells like sugar and grease, and I know I want some.
    Dad hesitates in the midst of the crowd, obviously torn between staying with me and keeping up with Ysabel, who has drifted toward a fast-moving line for some kind of pastries. In minutes, she’s digging in her pocket for cash and threading her way purposefully across the road to meet me.
    Impatient minutes later I meet her halfway, clutching a grease-spotted plate of crispy-hot funnel cake, covered with drifts of powdered sugar. Ys is juggling a paper container of something cinnamon-sprinkled and deep-fried. Dad, meanwhile, is approaching with a bottle of water and an expression that’s half amused and half squeamish. I ignore him and take another bite of my cake.
    “Whatcha got?” I mumble around a mouthful of sweetness.
    Ysabel sucks in air to soothe her scalded tongue. “Gravenstein apple fritter,” she says, and chews rapidly, her mouth open to sip in cooling air. “Apples, sliced, battered, and deep-fried.” Ysabel dances in place and puts her hand over her mouth. “Hot!”
    “Good?”
    She nods emphatically, bouncing on her toes, and I roll my eyes. I envy my sister; like Mom, it seems she can section off her brain and be totally happy in a moment of food bliss, no matter what else is going on. Unfortunately, I’m too aware of my father hovering in the background to enjoy my funnel cake, which is a waste of really good fried dough.
    “I don’t know how you two can eat like that,” Dad says, shuddering as Ysabel snitches a bite of my funnel cake, and I eat the last of her apple fritter. My father digs out his wallet and flips it open. “I’ll make a contribution to the cause, but I hope you eat something that resembles real food instead of that sugar and grease.”
    “Don’t need money.” Even though I could use the twenty he’s holding, I resist taking it from between his fingers, feeling my stomach clench at the idea of accepting anything of his.
    “We don’t need real food, either,” Ysabel adds, licking herfingers as she shrugs and Dad puts his wallet away. “We need nachos, and peach rings, and lemonade.”
    “I don’t see nachos,” I say, scanning the row of booths. “There’s chili dogs, though.”
    “No.” Ysabel frowns. “They’ve gotta have nachos. You can’t have a street fair without orange liquid cheese squirted on tortilla chips. It’s just not possible.”
    “You make it sound disgusting,” I tell her. “And the peach rings? Are foul.”
    “Nobody asked you to eat them.”
    “Look, why don’t we split up?” Dad begins, moving so he can see both of us at once. “I’ll go pick up some produce, and if I see nachos, I’ll text one of you. That way—” He breaks off with a grin, waving at someone. I turn to see a tall blond woman making her way through the crowd toward us. I begin to back away.
    She’s very tall.
    “I’ll find the nachos,” I announce, feeling dread tighten around my throat.
    She’s too tall. I know women can be tall, but she’s as tall as Dad. Is she a transperson? I’m not ready for this
.
    “Wait, Justin. Let me introduce—”
    “Justin!” Ysabel hisses, her expression indignant, but panic is driving me.
    “Be right back,” I promise, and dive into the crowd.
    Over my shoulder I see the woman shaking Ysabel’s hand, probably giving her that “Your dad has told me so much about you” line. As I escape, Dad’s eyes meet mine.
    I know that look.