Erica Spindler - Fortune

“With the principal.” She shrugged.

“It’s cool.” “I’ll think about your advice. Okay?” Chance saw a couple of his bunk mates across the way, and he scowled, not wanting them to see him conversing with a kid. “Now, for the last time, will you please buzz off?”

This time, when he walked away, she didn’t follow or call out. Relieved, he took one last glance over his shoulder, just to make sure. She stood alone, looking out of place in the midst of all the activity around her; she looked lonely.

For a moment he almost felt sorry for her, then he shook his head. If the kid was lonely, it was because she was a know-it-all pest. Let her mother, the witch-Gypsy-fortune-teller worry about her, she wasn’t his problem. His lips curved up at the thought of actually being responsible for a kid like that. Forget sugar and spice, that girl was nothing but piss, vinegar and trouble with a capital T.

The farther away from her he stayed, the better.

The kid did not give Chance the opportunity to keep his distance. For the next week she dogged his steps. Morning, noon or night, it didn’t matter where he was or what he was doing, he could turn around or look up and there the know-it-all little pest would be, grinning at him. Asking questions, giving advice. Offering to help him, no matter what he was doing at the time.

He didn’t know why she was so interested in him; he didn’t care. Besides annoying the crap out of him, the kid was making things even more difficult for him than they already were. He was barely holding his own with the other roustabouts, as it was; now, because of her kiddie crush or whatever it was, he was the butt of their jokes, as well. He had heard the jeers of the other guys as he passed, their snickers, the little ditty they chanted every time he was near enough to hear.

Skye and Chance, sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g, first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes little Skye riding in the baby carriage.

They all thought it very funny. A laugh-riot. He was not amused—not with their ditty or her interest in him. He was going to have to put an end to this. And soon.

The pest in question plopped down onto the picnic-table bench beside him and smiled. “Hi, Chance.”

He didn’t look up. “Go away.”

“Whatcha doing?”

Chance scowled and tossed his fork back onto his plate. “I was eating my breakfast.”

“Don’t let me stop you.” She drew up her knees and propped her elbows on them. “I ate in our trailer early.”

He wiped his mouth with his napkin and stood. “Good for you.”

She popped up. “I’ll go with you.”

From across the tent, he saw two of the sideshow performers watching them, their expressions openly amused. One of them winked at him and began mouthing some words. Chance had a pretty good idea what those words were.

Skye and Chance, sitting in a tree…

He gritted his teeth. “Look, kid, what do you want?”

“I came to help you set up your booth. I thought you—”

“Go help somebody else.” He picked up his tray and carried it to the bus-station.

She scurried after him. “Wait. You know, it’s Saturday, and I thought you might nee—”

“I don’t.” Turning his back to her, he scraped the last of the unappetizing bacon and eggs into the trash then set his plate and utensils in a dish tub, his tray beside it. Without even a glance back in her direction, he hurried from the tent and out into the bright day beyond.

She followed, catching up in moments and tugging on his sleeve. When he met her gaze, she indicated his bruised cheek. “I see those creeps nailed you again.”

“It’s no big deal.”

She shook her head, screwing up her face in disgust. “Those guys make me sick.”

“Yeah, well, life’s rough all over.”

She skipped along beside him. “I tried to tell you before, if you’d just give ‘em a good pop they’ll leave you alone. Or, you could go to Mr. Marvel and tell him.”

“Gimme a break.”

“No, really. You could.”

Chance stopped and glared down at her, exasperated. “Are you enjoying this, kid? Is this fun for you? Ruining my life? Making me the laughingstock of the show? How many times and ways do I have to ask you to leave me alone before you actually do?”

“I’m not trying to ruin your life.” She shook her head, her expression hurt. “We’re friends, and I only wanted to hel—”

“You’re not helping. And we’re not friends.”

“We could be.”

“No, we couldn’t!” Enough was enough. He had tried to be nice, but he’d had it. Hands on hips, Chance faced her, looking her straight in the eyes. “I’m an adult and you’re a kid. We have nothing in common. In fact, I don’t even like you. You’re a know-it-all and a pest. I tell you what, I’ll give you five bucks to go ruin somebody else’s life for a while.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and she took a step backward. She opened her mouth as if to say something, then shut it again without speaking. He muttered an oath, feeling like a total heel. She was just a kid, for Pete’s sake.

“Hey, I’m sorry. I’m sure you’re a perfectly okay kid and all, it’s just that I’m—”

“Well, well…what do we have here, fellas? The farm boy and his little girlfriend.”

Shit, Len and his band of hick-thugs . Chance turned around slowly. The boy and his group stood just beyond the little top, their expressions twisted into amused sneers.

Len placed his hands on his hips. “And just look at the two of them, standin’ there all cozy. Isn’t that too sweet?”

The group of boys howled. Chance took a step toward them, fists clenched. “Go to hell, asshole.”

The group oohed in unison. Len laughed. “I think they make a real cute couple. You like ‘em young, farm boy?”

Skye took several steps forward. “That’s so gross! You guys make me sick. You ought to be ashamed of—”

“Shut up, Skye!” Chance caught her arm and dragged her back toward him. Her help was the last thing he needed; he would never live it down. He faced the group, eyes narrowed. “Get out of our way.”

The boys spread out, circling them, blocking their way in every direction. Len smiled slyly. “Make us.”

Chance felt a flush start at the base of his neck and move upward. Marvel’s rules be damned, he had taken all the crap he was going to from these losers. He wasn’t walking away until they backed down or he’d killed somebody.

“I said, move.”

The group hooted, and Len cocked his head to the side. “She the only piece of ass you can get, farm boy?”

Chance took a menacing step toward the other boy, adrenaline pumping through him. “You want to say that again?”

Len, too, took a step forward. “And if I do?” he mocked. “What’re you going to do about it? Ask your little girlfriend to beat the shit out of me?”

“No. I’m going to beat the shit out of you.” Chance clenched his jaw and waved the boy forward. “Come on. You first.”

Chance held Len’s gaze, unflinching. The other guy was older, bigger and meaner—plus he had three of his delinquent cronies to back him up. Chance didn’t care. He had reached the point of no return. He might go down, but not before he inflicted a little pain of his own.

Len hesitated; Chance waved him forward again. “Come on, asshole. Let’s rock ‘n roll. If Marvel catches us, we’re both out. But what the hell? I’m game.”

He saw the other boy waver, weighing his options. Len might be big and dumb as a stump, but he wasn’t ignorant of his options. If Marvel canned him, Len knew he was up shit creek without a paddle.