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CHAPTER5
The Coconut GrovePassion Fruit Arts Festival, which took over several streets along Biscayne Bay, much to the chagrin of locals, was one of the best events of the season. Sylvie clicked on the fan positioned at the corner of her rectangular booth and stood in front of it to dry the perspiration that had accumulated in the hour she’d spent setting up. Even in the early morning and with the breeze off the bay, it was already stifling.
“How much do you have to pay to make sure you end up next to me?”
Sylvie turned toward the sound of Lauren’s voice. With the most deadpan expression she could muster, Sylvie sighed. Part of her wanted to pretend Lauren hadn’t spoken. To treat her like she didn’t exist, but she couldn’t control the sneer that tugged at her upper lip.
“I signed up for this last year,” Sylvie snapped defensively. “You’re the one who followed me to Pride.”
Lauren laughed, sending Sylvie’s blood pressure soaring.
“That’s how you remember that?” Lauren’s shit-eating grin dimmed as she rolled a cart into her booth. “What’s it like to live on your planet?”
Sylvie crossed her arms over her chest and forced a sarcastic laugh. “You mean Earth? It’s great. You should try it sometime.”
Unperturbed, Lauren, her dark hair falling in waves down her back, turned away. Even her silence was agitating.
Sylvie checked on the fresh bread she’d stored in the warming drawer. The crowds would start trickling in soon, and she couldn’t let Lauren’s nonsense distract her.
It wouldn’t be easy to ignore her considering they were only separated by two folding tables. The permeable walls to their temporary kingdoms.
As Lauren set out her inferior offerings, Sylvie’s irritation grew. Merely existing near her was too much to bear.
When they finished, Lauren rested her hands on her hips and peered over at Sylvie’s booth. She made a sound. An indecipherable, nasally puff of air that seemed to ask that’s-what-you-brought?
“What?” Sylvie’s exacerbation broke through like a chain snapping off a bike.
“Nothing,” she replied with exaggerated innocence. She tucked her hands in the back pockets of her denim shorts. “I was just wondering how you don’t get bored making the same guava and cheese pastelitos. The same ham croquetas.”
Heat spiked up Sylvie’s back and wrapped around her face. “Oh, you mean how do I have respect for tradition? I can see how that would be confusing for you considering your need to bastardize everything.” She nodded as if expressing empathy.
Lauren flared her nostrils. She was a bull stamping the ground with one hoof, even as she tried to maintain an aura of smug indifference. “Creativity must be very mystifying. It’s easier to follow someone else’s recipe than to take a risk with your own ideas.”
Every word Lauren said was a punch to the gut. It was like she knew exactly where to strike for optimum damage. A byproduct of having been stuck together since pre-school.
“We’ll see how much energy you have to run your mouth next Sunday.” Sylvie tossed the barb as she prepped the espresso machine for an influx of customers.
“You mean the game your family has lost three years in a row? Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’ll have plenty of gas in the tank to point out your inadequacies on the field.”
“Oh, you mean the games you’ve stolen by cheating because that’s the only way you people operate?” Sylvie’s pulse danced in her neck as her attention darted over her shoulder to where Lauren was still standing. Lauren, who was trying to appear nonchalant despite being obviously chock-full of chalant.
“Cheating?” Lauren laughed, her irritating dimples on full display. “How are we cheating at a charity event exactly?” She crossed her arms over her chest, feigning ignorance.
Fire blazed up Sylvie’s belly and spread into her chest. “Isn’t that pathetic? That you’re so desperate to win that you’ll find a ringer to feel artificially superior?”
Lauren’s dark eyes gleamed as the sun broke through the clouds, shining a light on Lauren like a Noir detective grilling her for the truth. She was unrepentant. “Ringer? Do you mean my little cousin who plays high school baseball?” She smirked, endlessly amused. “He’s not Jose Canseco. He’s a kid.”
“You’re unbelievable.” Sylvie shook her head as she re-arranged the pastries she’d already organized to avoid looking at Lauren. “Are you physically incapable of fessing up? Confession is good for the soul. You think you would’ve learned that after twelve years of catholic school.”
“What do you want me to admit, Sylvia?” The name sounded harsh on her full lips. “That we have a sixteen-year-old child on our team who plays for his school’s team? Okay.” She held her hands out. “You got us.” She rolled her eyes.
Sylvie forced a faux smile. “If that’s how you want to paint it to make yourself feel better, go right ahead. It’s not the first time your frail ego led the charge on your decision making, and I’m sure it won’t be the last.”
Memories of a night fifteen years ago clouded Sylvie’s mind. She couldn’t let it linger when Lauren probably didn’t even remember it happened.
“I don’t even know what that means.” Lauren scoffed. “But how is him playing any different than us playing? We played softball in high school. Unlike him, we even made it to the state championship.”
Reacting to her sore spot being poked, Sylvie ignited. “We didn’t play. You stole my position.”
