The Great Renaissance Faire Disaster

My first weekend job at the Renaissance Faire seemed like it would be easy money. I was wrong.

"You're on poop patrol," said Tyler, shifting his weight in his ridiculous velvet jerkin. He'd been working here three weeks and already acted like he owned the place. Total bull.

I stared at the empty spinach salad container I'd brought for lunch. My mom's idea of "quick energy food." Meanwhile, Tyler and his crew were grabbing funnel cakes like they'd never seen carbohydrates before.

"Don't look so nervous, new girl," called Mara, who was dressed as some kind of fortune teller. She was gorgeous in that way that makes your stomach do flip-flops, and she'd actually spoken to me. "Just wait until you meet the sphinx."

"The what now?"

"The sphinx." She grinned. "Mr. Henderson's pet iguana. He dresses it up and makes kids answer riddles. It bit Tyler last week."

Tyler scowled. "It was a nibble. And I wasn't the one who cried when that fox stole their turkey leg."

"That was literally a wild fox," I said, because someone had to defend Mara's honor. "It's not like she could've predicted that."

Mara flashed me a smile that made my face feel way too warm. "Exactly. Besides, that fox had better taste than Tyler."

By noon, I'd scooped enough poo to last a lifetime, sweated through my peasant blouse, and discovered that Mr. Henderson's sphinx was actually named Sven and had a serious attitude problem. But when Mara started a water fight during the break and accidentally sprayed the scariest teacher from our school, I didn't even hesitate. I grabbed my own water balloon and nailed her right in the shoulder.

We ran for it, laughter bubbling in my chest, leaving Tyler behind to explain why we were all soaking wet. Some jobs suck, but finding your people? That's worth all the spinach in the world.