Sketchy Behavior by Erynn Mangum

maternity leave and she was about your size.”
    “Before or after the maternity part?” I asked, wondering if I should take a more proactive approach to my workout routine.
    DJ rolled his eyes. “Before, Kate. Please don’t tell me you are like other girls and all uptight and overly concerned about your appearance.”
    “I’m sorry, have you seen my yearbook picture?” I said.
    He grinned.
    “What yearbook picture?” Officer DeWeise asked.
    “The one that’s headlining everything they ever say about me,” I groaned. “I look like this.” I squinched up my eyes at him.
    He tilted his head. “Actually, yeah, that does look kind of familiar.”
    I sighed. “Anyway, I think I have some small right to be a little bit concerned about my appearance now.”
    DJ conceded with a shrug. “Whatever. Did you at least bring sunglasses?”
    I brought them in my purse, which I’d stuck below my feet on the passenger seat. “Got them. Think I should put them on right now?” The road ahead was pretty shaded for the first mile.
    Officer DeWeise shook his head. “Just wait. Practice smiling with your eyes open for the first little bit.”
    DJ thought that was hilarious.
    Our police force employed a regular lineup of comedians. I shook my head. The governor and his wife were climbing into the front seat and Mom waved at me.
    “Smile pretty!” she said all happily. She loved the parade, so I was imagining she was just excited to get Dad out there without major arguments about how it wasn’t even a real holiday.
    “You listen to the cops,” Dad told me. “And pay attention. Keep your eyes open.”
    “Yes, sir,” I said.
    “Don’t worry, sir, I just told her the same thing,” Officer DeWeise said.
    The governor started up the car and we lurched once, nearly throwing all three of us into the backseat.
    “Whoa!” The governor said. “Sorry about that, folks. Forgot the clutch was on. Here we go!”
    We started chugging along Main Street, and I have to admit, I was amazed at how many people showed up to this kind of stuff.
    People were milling around and everywhere I looked, I kept seeing foot-long corn dogs.
    My stomach growled.
    “You cannot be hungry,” DJ said. “We just ate.”
    “Those corn dogs look really good,” I said.
    “Don’t forget to wave, Kate!” Patricia, the governor’s wife, told me.
    I nodded and lifted my hand as we came to a section where people were actually lined up to see the parade, not just to flaunt their foot-long corn dogs.
    The squad car in front of us was keeping a nice casual pace of five miles an hour, so I got to get a real good look at those corn dogs. A few people saw me and started waving.
    “Kate Carter!” one lady yelled. “It’s Kate Carter!”
    “Thank you, Kate!” a man hollered from the other side of the street.
    Soon there were probably a couple hundred or more people gathered along the sidewalk, and a chant started.
    “Kate is great! Kate is great! Kate is great!”
    I just waved and focused on smiling with my eyes open. Though, I have to admit, I liked that chant better than the one that Sean and Kyle Prestwick yelled at me in the second grade. They were twins, and they were both evil. They would always say, “Kate, Kate, Gator Bait!” every time I passed by them.
    This was especially traumatizing because I believed then that there were really alligators in the Mississippi River, which is fairly close to South Woodhaven Falls. We took a field trip there every year from kindergarten to the fifth grade. And every year we looked at the same portion of the flood wall and heard how high the river had gotten in years past. And every year, the Prestwick boys would pretend that they were going to throw me in while I screamed and pleaded for my life.
    I was not sad at all when they up and moved to Kansas City.
    I blinked back to the present right as someone threw something large at the car and I ducked, squealing.
    DJ caught it and laughed. It was a bouquet of