Page 61 of Home of the Brave

“It’s mentally––”

“Shut up,” she cut me off and grabbed my wrists and dragged me back up to sitting. “You’ll regret not going.”

“I can promise you, I will not.”

“Don’t you want to be able to tell your friends and family that you were there?” She let go of me to point out the window.

I shrugged, “No?”

“You’re going to make me go alone?”

“You know just as many people here as I do,” which is to say, a lot. “You just went out with a friend.”

“They left,” she rushed out. “I’d be all alone.”

“With the other people we see every day. The ones we spend hours with, eating, chatting, and hanging out with between practices.”

She’d hardly be lonely.

“I’m asking you.”

“No, you’re telling me.”

“Well, now, I am. Please,” she batted her lashes. “Please come with me.”

I cringed.

“I’ll buy you a funnel cake.”

I didn’t respond.

“Caramel apple?” she tried.

Nothing.

“Kettle corn?”

I blinked.

“Deep fried Oreo?”

I grimaced.

“Fair, okay, how about cotton candy, or a corn dog?”

I had a stomachache just thinking about it.

“Turkey leg?”

“Gross.”

“Okay, I’ll get you an iced coffee?”

I rolled my eyes. “Fine, I’ll go with you, but I’m not staying for the festival.”

The parade was scheduled until noon; then there was a huge festival on the National Mall until tonight’s fireworks. I’d commit to an hour or so, but I was coming back to enjoy my day. Here. Alone.

“Deal,” she beamed. “Now, hurry!’