Page 51 of Famous for a Living

“You can’t avoid it, so you all decide to embrace it.” I scan the T-shirt again. “Interesting . . . You all couldn’t go for a barn dance.”

“That’s Saturday. These shirts are mostly for the Thursday event.”

He flips the T-shirt over, and sure enough, below the trash can is a running list of events beneath the words:

Kannery National Park

Official Sponsor of

Kannery Winter Carnival XXIII

Twenty-three years.

These people thought it was a good enough experience standing outside while their eyelashes froze off that they decided to repeat the experience. For twenty-three years.

I’m not exaggerating when I say I can think of fewer things I’d rather do less in my life.

“What’s on Thursday? And actually . . .” I realize I’m holding up a T-shirt. A T-shirt. For an outdoor winter carnival. “These are terrific, but . . . won’t our shirts be covered up with coats?”

Good grief, Kevin.

This group really needs a PR person, stat.

At this Zaiah’s lips twitch. “Oh no, for that they’re perfect. They’re for the polar bear plunge.”

Chapter 8

The Winter Carnival

“The world is selling out of mason jars because of you.”

“C’mon, Serena. You know that’s just an unlikely coincidence.”

“No. You and your little buddy over there brought Cozy Cups into existence, and now the grocery stores can’t sell mason jars fast enough. You two have drawn the wrath of canning ladies everywhere. Farmers are out in the streets rioting.”

I squeeze the wheel and brace myself as the tiny Mercedes convertible falls into, and out of, the giant pothole the ten trucks ahead of me skated over with ease.

Mina yelps, as she does when we hit every pothole, which is about every twenty seconds.

A horn honks over the line. “Do you understand that you’ve brought orange in again? Orange?”

Nobody, and I mean nobody, can exaggerate like Serena.

“Where are you going?” I say.

“At first I thought it was just coincidence,” she says, ignoring me, “but then I was at lunch yesterday with a girl who’s a buyer for Ralph Lauren, and she said she was told by her uppers to buy big in orange. There’s a whole group over there convinced it’s because of you. She even asked me to ask if you could sneak her in an order.”

Mina, who’s been listening over the car speaker, turns her puppy dog eyes toward me, and I shake my head. Absolutely not. I’ve inadvertently ended up acting like her manager here, but the truth is, she cannot handle even one more order right now. I inhale and prepare to respond.

“It’s pretty selfish of you really,” Serena continues. “Just because there’s an infinitesimal chance you’ll end up in an orange suit, you go out of your way to change all the rules.”

“Prison?” Mina hisses at me, her eyes widening.

I wave her down. “Stop, Serena, you’re freaking Mina out. Nobody’s going to jail.” I pull the car into one of the last remaining parking spots. I may lose millions of dollars here, but nobody’s going to jail.

I turn the ignition off and reach for the handle. The heavy, freezing wind whistles as it drives against the door, but with a heavy elbow, I lean in and push. The door gives, and I drop one boot onto the gravel.

I exhale, and my breath turns to icicles as it lifts like an icy balloon toward the silvery gray sky.