Just Your Average Princess Read Free Page B

my school friend; I don’t bring her home too often. I think Dad just doesn’t like me having fun.
    â€œWhy don’t you take Milan with you guys, honey? Show her around Average.” Mom walks back into the room, slipping on her sea-foam-green apron with tiny blue flowers around the edges in preparation to do the dishes.
    I look at Milan. “Sure, that’d be great.” Spending some time together outside the house and away from my parents will loosen Milan up a bit and give us a chance to talk about old times.
    Milan looks like she ate a bad bean.
    â€œUm, that’s okay, Aunt Julie. I should probably unpack. Or something,” she says.
    â€œPlenty of time for unpacking tomorrow,” Mom replies, carrying the last of the chicken from the table.
    â€œYeah, you should come. It’ll be fun,” I say once we’re alone. I start thinking about the places in town I want to show Milan.
    Milan pointedly looks from one of my pigtails to the other and I self-consciously reach up and touch one. What, is she worried about my hair? Is there still hay in it? I forgot to check it when I came in. Or is it my pigtails? It’s not like I won’t do my hair before we go out. All of the girls at the Patch put their hair up. Well, those doing physical labor do, that is. It’s sweaty work out there. You don’t want your hair sticking all over your face.
    Milan chews on another green bean and swallows. “What do you do on a Friday night around here anyway?” she asks, looking the teensiest bit intrigued.
    â€œUsually we cruise the strip. You know, the main drag through town. Everyone does it. You get to see lots of people.”
    â€œSo, you just drive? Do you ever stop anywhere or is that all there is to it?” she asks.
    â€œWell, no. We mostly drive around. But sometimes when we’re really bored we’ll drive out to the cornfields and turn our headlights off. It’s so crazy.” I shake my head and chuckle. “There are no lights out there so you are literally driving in pitch-black.”
    â€œCrazy,” Milan says flatly.
    â€œUm, and sometimes, we’ll stop and gather a bunch of ears of corn and then drive back to the main drag and chuck the corn at people out on the sidewalks.” Milan gives me an alarmed look. “Not to hurt them of course,” I quickly add. “I mean, we don’t actually hit people, we just throw it sorta near them. You know, to scare them. To be funny…” I trail off.
    â€œYou’re telling me,” Milan says slowly, “that you people throw produce at each other? For fun?” She pushes back from the table and heads for the guest room. “What freaking planet have I landed on?” I hear her mumble under her breath before she shuts the bedroom door behind her.
    I stamp the last of my potatoes on my plate with my fork. Sheesh. What’s with the “you people” stuff? It’s not like we’re throwing cucumbers and cabbage at each other. It’s only the corn. There’s loads of it around here. And it isn’t like we do it all the time. Just when we’re really bored. We don’t hurt anybody. It’s silly. And it’s usually Sara’s idea anyway. She’s the one who throws the corn. I’m always driving. Geez, this is sounding more and more stupid, even to me.
    *   *   *
    An hour later I pull up, alone, in front of Sara’s white two-bedroom house with the peacock-blue shutters and dove-gray door, and tap on the horn three times, my signal to let her know I’m here. Sara’s mom peeks out from behind the living room curtain, her hair in pink foam rollers, and waves to me. I return the gesture. Mrs. Erickson is so dependable. Every night by 6:30 she’s got a head full of rollers and is sitting at the small table in the window reading Soap Opera Digest . While I do love my soaps, I don’t touch that magazine. I