[center][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PyJpzZdPpFU][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/019eb24c-3367-76dc-b36b-11363b23cc36.webp[/img][/url][/center]
[center]
[color=B31212]▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅[/color][/center]

[center]The last time Zoey went to the Fourth of July festival, she was escorted out of the fairgrounds in the backseat of a squad car. The only reason she hadn't spent that night behind bars was because no one really wanted to do the paperwork for what amounted to little more than a charge of [i]intent[/i]. Sure, her backpack had fireworks in it, sourced from the finest roadside shack off the freeway near state lines, and sure there were cans of beer and she had been underaged, but if teenagers spent a night in jail for drinking before they were twenty one there would hardly be any teenagers walking the streets. Back then, the night she got arrested and removed, was more proactive than anything else. Zoey had been Trouble then, and her presence threatened the enjoyment of others. At the time, Zoey just wanted to see the fireworks and maybe visit those hack fortune tellers and ask when she'd get her first kiss and she didn't understand why she wasn't allowed to be part of the festivities. She understood now, of course, but the one difference is that in the years following she deliberately avoided going just out of spite; that had evolved into Zoey deliberately working shifts at the Waffle House on the night of the festival. It had earned her a lot of goodwill with her coworkers whose shift she covered, but it had done little to ingratiate herself with the community that she was so desperate to be part of. 

And she still wanted to ask a fortune teller when she could expect that first kiss.

Zoey, as usual, didn't really plan on going to the festival. It would be crowded, there would be folks from out of town (the irony was lost on Zoey), and she could see fireworks just as well by laying in the back of the truck in the front lawn of her grandparents house. Hell, she wanted to be working. The job was thankless and after three days of overtime in the power-lacking Pines Holler on top of overtime once the power had come back, Zoey was legally required to be anywhere other than at work. It was just a bad stroke of luck that that mandatory time off coincided with the biggest event of the summer other than the All Star Game and Home Run Derby. Her plan for the evening had been to be at home, on the couch, watching the Reds surely lose, while enjoying a single beer and maybe a personal pizza. But her grandfather had encouraged her to not spend her day off in isolation. Martin Frye was old, retired, and his wife still remembered her favorite song by title if nothing else, and though he wasn't as educated as some, being a former miner, he was socially intelligent enough to know that his granddaughter needed socialization. It wasn't right for Zoey to not have a best friend or, hell, a boyfriend. Girlfriend? Martin didn't understand it, but it was a different time now and that was what some people were into. It was Martin who practically coerced Zoey to going to the festival while he stayed behind and made sure his wife wasn't alone with what remained of her thoughts. 

For a good seven minutes, Zoey stood outside the entrance to the festival as if stepping through onto the fairgrounds proper would immediately summon the police. She didn't have a backpack full of fireworks this time, but she could see kids running around with sparklers and that had Zoey place her right hand on her left arm, which despite the near ninety degree weather was covered up by her red and black flannel jacket. Her Cincinnati Reds cap was, of course, on, with her hair spilling on either side of her face. Why was she wary? Creatures of habit sometimes found it difficult to break that habit. Or maybe it was because she assumed someone would be upset about the fact that in her pocket, next to the crinkled twenty dollar bill her grandfather insisted she bring, was a bag of garden salsa flavored Sun Chips which was sure to be cheaper than any food sold at the festival. Some events had staff that were fucking assholes when it came to outside food or drink. Somewhere under the baseball cap, Zoey knew she was stalling. Even here, looking at the festival, she could see what she wasn't. Pairs. Couples. A group of friends were laughing, there was a couple playing rigged games and demanding a prize be won, kids ran around while exhausted parents forced a smile and sat with other parents, exchanging anecdotes and becoming acquaintances. And here was Zoey, with her closest companion back at home, the frequency still tuned to sports broadcasts. 

What would people say? What would they think? Here comes Trouble? They probably wouldn't think anything of it, not anymore, but the same part of her that refused to go see a movie in the next town over because she'd be by herself now made her hesitate walking onto the grounds. It was easy to busy herself with work. When she was serving up waffles and making small talk for tips, she was in her element. That was a depressing thought to have and if she lingered in it she might well have just turned around and found an empty bench to disassociate for a while. And just when that seemed like such a good use of her time, her body lurched forward as a kid no older than seven bumped into her from behind after not looking where he was going. That little cry of apology before he was back and running to find a sparkler or a popsicle ahead of his family calling after him was enough to have Zoey move forward. Take that first step. Sometimes people needed a little encouragement. 

The first one was always the hardest.[/center]