Sparkle

Inside the candyfloss pink ticket booth, Mavis—that’s what her name tag said—shifted her massive cardiganed breasts off the counter and looked out the customer window to see if there was anybody behind us.

“Now, it’s not her usual thing,” Mavis said when she’d decided we were alone.

“But.”

Behind me, James tensed. I figured it was going to be some kind of sales pitch for Splash Country, Dolly’s water park nearby. James and I did not want to go to Splash Country. It was November, and it was raining. Mavis looked me square in the face.

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Leah Hampton is a fiction fellow at the Michener Center for Writers. Her work has appeared in storySouth, Still: The Journal, North Carolina Literary Review, and elsewhere. She lives in Haywood County, North Carolina.

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