Do Over by Emily Evans Page A

“I’ve got some plays to work on. What time are you heading over to the carnival?”
    I glanced at the clock. “I’m assigned to the school booth from 4:30 until 6:30.”
    Dad nodded. “Okay, we’ll meet you by the front after?”
    “Okay.”
    ***
    Six-thirty at night and people still poured through the entry gates. The great weather had drawn large crowds all day and Carla had declared the bake sale an official success. I grinned as I met up with Dad and Aster inside the entrance and told them the news.
    “That’s great.”
    Aster, who’d been touching up her makeup while I talked, snapped her compact shut and offered it to me.
    I shook my head. “No thanks.”
    “You’re so pale. You should consider a spray tan.”
    I got a few steps ahead of them, my eye on the rides. “I’m pale because I’m tired.”
    “The Tilt O’ Whirl can wait, Paisley,” Dad said. “Hold up for Star.”
    I slowed my pace and stopped while Aster pulled one of her stilettos free from a paper hot dog wrapper. Dad offered her his arm and she leaned into him while making the maneuver.
    I’d seen her balance on the ball of one foot while performing a high kick so I wasn’t sure what was so difficult that she needed Dad’s help, but he didn’t seem to mind. I shifted and looked around, wondering how much longer I’d have to hang with them before meeting up with my friends.
    “Hi.”
    I turned at the sound of Trey’s voice.
    He jogged over to greet us wearing a bandage high up on his forehead. Otherwise, he seemed healthy.
    “Good job at the game yesterday,” Aster said. “That was like best first quarter ever--well, until you got taken out.”
    “Thanks.”
    Dad looked him over. “How’s the head? You sure you should be doing these rides?”
    Trey brushed at the bandage absently “It’s fine. I’m sticking to the upright ones.” He turned to me and pointed to a white, wooden, food trailer. “Want to get a funnel cake?”
    A smile crossed my face. I don’t know if I was more pleased at escaping Dad and Aster or the thought of eating a deep-fried dessert. I nodded.
    “Oh no,” Aster said. “You know we’re working on your thighs.”
    Trey and Dad joined me in frowning at Aster.
    My thighs didn’t need work.
    Aster read our expressions and put a hand on her hip. “Fine. But skip the cotton candy.”
    I muttered to Trey while we walked over to the booth. “I’m so not skipping the cotton candy.”
    “Me either.” Trey held up a finger indicating our order to the creepy carnie.
    A black bandana held the carnie’s long hair out of his face. He placed a white, paper plate on the counter, used metal tongs to plop the deep fried cake on the thin paper plate then sprinkled powdered sugar over the top. “Whip cream, strawberries?”
    “Yes, please.” I snagged extra napkins and led the way to a picnic table, letting Trey carry the floppy plate. I scooted onto the tabletop with my feet propped on the bench seat.
    He slid beside me balancing the plate, and bottled waters. “I thought we could do that questionnaire.”
    The first bite melted in my mouth. “Mmm, sure.”
    Trey’s gaze lowered to my lips. “Or after the cake.”
    “No, that’s cool.” I wiped my fingers onto the napkin and dug around in my small purse. “I haven’t done them, but it doesn’t look long. Is your head really okay?”
    Trey took a bite and nodded. Some of the white powdered sugar remained on his bottom lip. He had perfectly shaped lips. I lifted a finger to dust him off. His mouth was soft. So odd on such a hard guy. I wanted to press my finger against his lip again. I wanted more than that. I dropped my hand, shaking my head and turned to the questionnaire.
    Trey unscrewed the cap on the bottled water and handed it to me before opening his own. The cold water helped redirect my concentration. Holding the questionnaire against my knee with my left hand, I smoothed it with my right. “Let’s see. Item number one. Would you rather