AllFreeNovel
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Buying her things pays off quite nicely, I’ve found. Like that dress she’s wearing, for instance. I like to see her in it. And I like to see her face when she gets a new gift. It’s like Christmas. I feel like I’ve discovered something about her. A childlike quality—the sheer joy in getting a present or a cheap little trinket. The gnomes she got at a garage sale. The High C’s swag. That raffle ticket in her bra. My eyes dip down to her neckline instinctively and just as quickly, I tear my gaze away from her entirely and busy myself with the food. That hummus isn’t going to serve itself, after all.
Olive hits it off with Desirée immediately. She’s especially impressed with the mandolin. I hear her talking about how she tried to learn the ukulele once, but it didn’t work out. Desirée, who plays several instruments, offers to teach her and they start in on girl talk and that’s where I kind of check out.
I leave the pow wow to go buy that swag where other members of The High C’s sit behind a table. I’m not sure what Olive would want, so I buy one of everything; a t-shirt, hat, stickers, an 8 X 10 glossy photo of the band, and a canvas tote bag. She’ll love the tote bag. It’s so Olive. The guys selling the stuff are overly appreciative and throw in an extra sticker.
After wandering around a bit, I go back to find Olive, Mom, and Desirée disco dancing to the music of the Abba tribute band. Olive has abandoned her shoes and is bouncing on the grass with bare feet. She’s just jiving and swaying like the free and easy soul she is. She’s the opposite of Shay, or any other girl I’ve gone out with in the past. It’s a wonder my family believes I’m dating a woman like her. I’m beginning to think a woman like Olive is what I’ve needed all along.
The afternoon wears on, everyone snacking the whole time, and eventually the concert ends. People start to pack up and leave, but my parents don’t budge. Dad likes to stay until the bitter end—after all the winners of the raffles are announced and the crowd disperses.
The parks and recreation team is on stage for what feels like an hour but is probably only twenty minutes. They’re making announcements between every raffle draw. My tickets are all duds.
The last raffle is the bike, and Olive retrieves her ticket, holding onto it with both hands. A guy volunteer begins announcing the numbers, and Olive kisses her ticket.
The first three numbers are called. Mom boos. I guess my parents got their tickets earlier than us, because the first three match mine and Olive’s tickets, but not theirs. Then the volunteer calls out the next three numbers painfully slow. The anticipation on Olive’s face is doing strange things to my heart.
“Seven. Four…”
“Ack!” Olive cries. “This is so fun.”
I look at my ticket. Seven five zero. “I’m out.”
The lady parks and recreation rep gets on the mic. “Can we have a drumroll, please?”
Oh, brother. Just announce it already. The Abba drummer gets on his set and trills his sticks on the drum.
The guy volunteer gets back on the mic. “And the last number is—”
The drummer hits the cymbal.
“Nine.”
Olive squeals. “I won! I won!”
She’s so excited, and I’m a little shocked she actually won.
“I’ve never won anything before. I can’t believe it.”
Mom claps her hands. “Go up there.”
Olive hops up, shouting and waving her ticket as she hops in between people to get to the stage. She’s still not wearing shoes. Someone helps her climb onto the stage and they take pictures with the bike for the community website. Olive hugs every single person on that stage.
Mom pokes me in the back. “Are you going to join her or not?”
I get off my butt, compelled to go to Olive anyway—just because she’ll need my help with the bike. When I approach the stage, she waves me up, telling the volunteer that I’m her boyfriend. They all insist I join them on stage, and then they’re taking more pictures, instructing me to put my arm around Olive as we pose with the bicycle. Something stirs in my chest, provoking me to kiss her on the cheek. All the volunteers eat that up, taking more pictures.
We’re finally done with all that, and I thank the guy in the bee costume, shaking his hand before hopping off the stage. I help Olive get down, wrapping my hands around her waist. She slides down my body and I’m getting a Dirty Dancing vibe from this—except I’m no Patrick Swayze and she’s not as graceful as Baby. Her dress rides up to her waist as I lower her, and I’ve never been more thankful for bike shorts in my life. A smile spreads all the way to her ears, and her eyes sparkle as she says, “Hello, handsome.”
I am wrecked.
I also have my hands all over her in front of thousands of people. So I fix her skirt and dip her back, giving her a big smack on the lips. People applaud and awww, and then two volunteers lower the bike off the stage. I take it from them as Olive blows kisses at them all. They wave back in a heartfelt way, having made an instant connection. There’s just something about Olive that people find irresistibly endearing—like those puppy videos on the internet. You can’t stop watching. She already has my family so in love with her, I think they’d trade me for her in a heartbeat.
I’m beginning to hate this fake girlfriend arrangement, but only the part of it that’s fake.
