The decision to wear cutoff denim shorts and a pair of red cowboy boots to the fair is purely strategic; I don’t want to stand out like a sore-thumb-city-slicker in my smart-casual khakis. My lime green cast cannot be helped, but my mom curled my hair and suddenly, I’m Jessica Simpson circa 2001. I know I’ve done well when I arrive at the fairgrounds and garner a few second glances from the FFA cowboys. Yes, boys, these boots are definitely made for walking.
I’m confident my booth will be a hit. Sure, I’m still slightly hungover from the night before, and sure, the fair organizers have stuck me in no man’s land between a deep-fried Twinkie stall and an elderly woman hawking bedazzled dream catchers, but I won’t let that hinder me. After I tell Dr. McCormick that hundreds, nay, thousands of people lined up to get their blood pressure checked by moi, he will shower me with praise before looking ruefully at Lucas. What has he done for me lately?
I brought props with me: a small poster outlining the importance of heart health I peeled off an exam room wall and some branded pens I found in the bottom of the storage closet. They are dusty and the ink has dried out in most of them, but they’re better than nothing.
The scent of freshly fried Twinkies wafts over and for a second I doubt myself. There are already a dozen people in line for them, and they have yet to give my booth even a cursory glance. There’s a slight chance I overestimated fairgoers’ enthusiasm for preventive medicine. A corner of my heart health poster comes loose and curls down.
And then I see him, just as I turn to fix the sign: Lucas Thatcher.
What the hell is he doing here so early?
The note I left for him specifically said: Booth 1933, 6:00 PM
But there is no booth 1933 and the fair ends at five o’clock.
“Good morning,” he says, pleased with himself for disarming my trap.
“Lucas.” I nod, assessing him. “Glad you could make it.”
His black baseball hat and matching t-shirt are both printed with the McCormick Family Practice logo. He looks like an A-list hollywood actor we paid to be the spokesperson for our practice. On his shoulders rest two heavy duffel bags. He drops them on the table and my pens get pushed to the side.
“Easy, jeez. Are those bodies?”
“No, but this booth does look like a morgue.”
He looks at the dozen scattered pens like they’re trash. Then, he zips open the first duffel bag and starts to load our booth up with real swag—the good, expensive stuff. Adorable mugs that say “Keep Hamilton Healthy” in a scrolling designer font. Extra baseball hats. Fitted t-shirts.
“A few local businesses agreed to sponsor raffle prizes,” he says, pulling out a roll of raffle tickets. “To enter, fairgoers just have to get their blood pressure or BMI checked with us. They’re going to announce it on the loudspeaker.”
It’s a brilliant idea, but I don’t tell him so.
“Yeah, well you’re cluttering the booth with all this stuff, so if you could just—”
“Oh those mugs are so cute!” the elderly dreamcatching gypsy cuts in.
I want to tell her to mind her own booth, but Lucas is quicker. He takes one of the mugs and hands it over to her. “Thanks. If you have time later, we’re doing free blood pressure checks.”
She smiles at him with adoration and cradles the mug to her chest like she’ll cherish it forever. My breakfast threatens to make a second appearance.
In a matter of minutes, my booth has been taken over by Lucas. It’s now colorful and inviting. We’ve already had four people stop to enter the raffle and the fair hasn’t officially started.
“I brought an extra t-shirt for you,” Lucas says, holding it out. It looks to be my exact size.
I yank it out of his hand and after I’ve changed, we’re transformed into two matching, smiling doctors. We’re soon to be the most popular booth at the fair, but for reasons neither of us could have imagined.
“Lucas Thatcher and Daisy Bell?!” One of our classmates stops and stares between us. “Is this real? Are you two actually working together? Hey BARB! You aren’t going to believe this.”
Barb does not believe it, but when she sees it, she does tell Amanda who tells Sam who tells Ryan. Soon, word has spread throughout the Hamilton Founder’s Day Fair. Though I’d assumed Lucas’ raffle would attract the most people to our booth, in the end, people line up to gawk at the greatest side show of all time: Daisy Bell and Lucas Thatcher manning a booth together without coming to fisticuffs. To so many, it’s unimaginable.
“So you and Daisy, huh?” Ben, another classmate, asks while Lucas positions the blood pressure cuff on his arm.
“What?” Lucas asks.
“Are you two really together? You two couldn’t even get through high school algebra without Mr. Lopper seating y’all across the room from one another.”