Out of Luck by Julie Steimle (to read list .txt) 📕

dance if it weren’t for Dawn. She loved it, but she had a hidden shy side that said she wouldn’t dare perform without me. I only liked it for her sake. My performance was fine. It just didn’t take any arm movement, somewhat backward to baton twirling.
We met the team behind stage.
“There you are,” Dawn said, coming over to me. “I thought you ditched.”
“I’d never ditch,” I said. And I meant it. I’d hate to leave her all alone on stage. She gets really nervous right before performances. “Mom made a bring the cake for the raffle.”
Dawn nodded, drawing in a deep breath. “Get your shoes on. We’re up next.”
I did as she said, setting my duffel bag down and unzipping it. It would be clogs first.
As soon as I had my laces tied, I lined up with the rest of them. Tabby McMahone was twirling her curls so they would take shape like Dawn’s. In fact, ever since Valentine’s Day, she’s been mimicking Dawn’s style. Personally, I think I created a monster with Tabby McMahone. All I wanted to do was keep her from being humiliated at the Valentine’s dance. Now she struts and primps, and her parents don’t know what to do with her. I suppose having a dork like Bobby as her boyfriend does things to a girl. I got in between her and Gwenneth Wrede who made a face like always simply because she hated standing near me.
“Is it time yet?” Jennifer Daily asked with a whine to her voice. She whined a lot. She was twelve.
“No. Patience.”
You know, it always annoyed me how our coach spoke more motherly to everyone else but me. I suppose Coach Sheehan had to put up with me, but I would have preferred more civility. She rarely withheld any scathing remarks about my dancing if she could help it. In a way, I’d say it was unfair that she was so nice to everyone else.
Beyond the wooden barrier, we could hear the announcer call for applause for Clan Celt. The Flannery family climbed off the stage, and down the stairs, grinning at each other as they lugged their cello and other instruments with them. The announcer’s voice continued like an echo, calling for the audience’s attention as yet—how did he put it? Oh—yet another ‘promising group of performers’ came on stage. Whenever people talk like that, so condescendingly, I want to cringe. It basically says that we are all still amateurs.
Well, despite all that, we marched onto stage, and I won’t bore you with the details, but we gave a marvelous performance.
Ok, so we are amateurs. But you don’t go around telling people how immature they are when they are already insecure about themselves already. It’s like a butterfly picking on a caterpillar because it hadn’t grown up yet. For pity’s sake give us some time.
But anyway, we weren’t all that precise. Our dancing could have used some improvement. Tabby looked flushed the entire time and Chantel kept stepping slightly faster than the rest of us. As for me, I have to admit I wanted to move my arms. I hated this whole stiff-arm thing. I think I’d be more talented at regular tap dancing than this stiff neck, stiff arm, stiff leg sort of deal anyway.
Yeah, I know. Cop out. But you try having all those critical eyes on you, rating you against Riverdance as if everyone should be an automatic professional.

“I’m glad that’s over,” Dawn murmured as she walked off the stage after our soft-shoe performance.
Several of the others nodded. I agreed, though I thought it was wise not to voice it. Our coach was watching me with a slight glare the entire time. I suppose she heard I was planning on being the next majorette. Megan’s her niece.
“Eve!” the coach snapped at last.
I turned, waiting for it. Dawn did also, remaining behind as if preparing to get into a fight.
“Yes?” I inspected the expression on Coach Sheehan’s face.
“Don’t get cocky,” she said. And she turned, gathering towels and the rest of her paraphernalia.
Don’t get cocky? What was that supposed to mean?
Dawn nudged me, grinning. “That means, you did good today.”
I blinked. “I did?”
My sister chuckled, resting her backside on the back of the stage. She glanced over where the Scottish dancers were walking up the steps. “Yep. You did. And I think she hates you for it.”
She took off her clogs and stuffed them into the bag she had brought. I did the same, sitting next to her.
“So, what are your plans until tonight?” Dawn asked, taking out her tennis shoes.
I drew in a breath to think. Nothing came to mind.
“I dunno. Look at the booths. Find Jane. Hang around with her,” I said. It was the usual fare. “Maybe I’ll watch the baseball game. It’s too late to go surfing. I’ll burn.”
Dawn made a face at me. “Be more creative. I’m going to win as many stuffed animals as I possibly can. You had better plan something or your nerves are going to be shot at the baton twirling competition tonight.”
I smirked at her. My nerves were not as frail as that. I knew she wanted me to have fun, but what she was really saying was I ought not to dwell on the competitive and hostile nonsense I would get until then. Of course I had to keep occupied. If more people were like Coach Sheehan, then St. Patty’s Day was going to stink like Valentine’s Day always did.
So, I went to find Jane as soon as I packed up my dancing shoes.
Jane found me.
“You were great!” Jane grabbed my bag and lugged it over to the parking lot so I could put it into her mom’s car.
The drunk man was still sitting in the clover, but he had quit his singing. In fact, he looked entirely sober. I suppose it had been an act, but what idiot would hire a man to act drunk in our park. No one around us seemed amused. In fact I saw one of the policemen coming around to talk to him. I suppose that was why he sobered up so quickly.
“What do you want to do first?” Jane asked just after she closed the car door.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I was thinking about watching the baseball game, but if you have something better in mind, I’d like to hear it.”
Grinning, Jane took me by the arm and led me into the fair. “We’re going on the rides first. Shopping next, and then a few contests. And after that we’re going to make you next year’s majorette—but somewhere in between we’ll get lunch. Sounds like a plan?”
I shrugged again. “Whatever. Though I think the baseball game sounds more exciting.”
“Come on.” Jane led me away from the baseball field before I considered it more seriously.
She took me straight through all the booths. We stopped once at the charm shop, and she bought for me and herself a pair of clover-in-epoxy necklaces, then we were off again to the rides. Right before the rides was the large display of cakes and other donated goods for the raffle. She pointed up at the top row.
“There’s your mom’s cake,” she said in a whisper. “They think my mom made it so they set it up top.”
Looking dryly at her, I wondered what that implied.
“You know,” she continued. “Lately the Ladies Aid Sweetness Society has been on your mom’s case. If they knew that cake was hers, they probably drop it.”
“Lucky for my mom then that you came along,” I said, chuckling.
Jane nodded with a smile. “I’m afraid so.”
We bought one raffle ticket each. Mrs. Davish, who was selling them, gave Jane a pleasant smile, and then she recoiled when she saw the money in my hand. Gingerly taking it, she managed a grimace for me.
“Thanks,” I said with a polite grin.
And Jane and I skipped off to the first ride we saw, the roller coaster.
Ok, so it was a wimpy kid’s version of a rollercoaster. It was nothing compared to the ones we rode at Six Flags, or even to the Disney Land Pirate’s ride that has no loops. In fact, I’d say it was like going around in an amoebic circle, sloppy, floppy and rather dizzying. I suppose there just wasn’t space to make a real roller coaster fit in the east parking lot. Still, we rode it three times.
Then the bumper cars.
Then the reel-o-wheel.
Then the swinging pirate ship.
Then, when we were feeling rather dizzy, we got on board the chair swings. By the time we were done, we were staggering around like that drunk man, giggling and searching for a bench. I think then we decided that a little more walking around would be good for us both.
“I love those chairs,” I said when we stumbled off the last ride.
“Is that what flying is like?” Jane asked me as we picked up some large frozen chocolate custard waffle cones.
I shook my head, taking my cone with a smile to the seller. He just shrugged, knowing that I was frequent customer to the shop in town, so he did not find me so disturbing.
“Not exactly,” I said, taking a lick. “I mean, you have the rush of the wind and all, but I rarely go in circles like that, and I don’t hang from my seat.”
Jane broke into laughs, nearly dropping her cone. She caught it and we sauntered over to the nearest booth to watch the game going on inside. My cooking teacher was tossing rings over wine bottles, or at least trying to. She got one, and received a consolation prize.
“Let’s try it,” Jane said, fishing out the money.
The booth keeper grinned, handing over five plastic rings.
Carefully eyeing the bottles, Jane tossed them one by one. Clink, clank, and whatever. She got nothing.
“My turn.” I handed over my cone for Jane to hold. Digging into my pockets, I pulled out some change and slapped it onto the booth counter.
The man smirked and took my money, passing to me the five plastic rings.
There is a trick to everything. First of all, not all the bottles had the same size neck. Secondly, the rings were just barely big enough to go over the tops. Pick the narrowest bottle top and match the ring,