The Auction

Chapter 1

This short story was commissioned by Frito-Lay for the Do Us a Flavor contest. My chip flavor was inspired by my little old hometown, Danville, Illinois. This is a work of fiction. 

Enter YOUR chip flavor at www.DoUsAFlavor.com for your chance to win $1 Million! See rules for details.

- The Flaming Popsicle

It seemed like a good idea at the time. Although my parents may not have been able to comprehend how sticking a cow in my old principal's office could have ever seemed like a good idea, I stood by my claim. At the time, it really had seemed like a hilarious and harmless prank-until I accidentally set the place on fire.

"Irresponsible. That is what you are, Elizabeth. Irresponsible." My mom shook her head at me, spitting out the word 'irresponsible' - and I meant this in the most literal sense there was. I actually had to take a step back and wipe my face while she was speaking.

"What were you thinking?" my dad asked. "You're not even a senior. Why would you put yourself in this position for another class's senior prank?"

Honestly, my situation wasn't as bad as he was making it out to be. I had been let off relatively easy, especially compared to what might have happened to my friends had they been caught. They could have lost their scholarships for college. I, on the other hand, had no such thing to lose and had no problem taking the fall for this prank. It had been my idea, after all. Why not take the credit I was due? All I had to do to redeem myself in the eyes of the law was complete 100 hours of community service before I myself could graduate. I had a little under a year to do it, which was enough time, I guess, and it was definitely better than juvy. I just had no idea what my service project was going to be. Community service was all about helping others, and I kind of hated everyone.

"Why would you put yourself in this position at all? Elizabeth, you brought a cow into Mr. Feldini's office, stuck post-it notes all over the room, and set his office on fire."

I should have kept my mouth shut, but I couldn't help myself. I had a big mouth. "I stuck a few on the cow, too, but he must have kicked them off when the fire started. And can I just say that the fire was definitely the cow's fault? That thing was gassy from the moment it entered the building. I think it was the methane in his system that did it."

That was definitely the wrong thing to say. My mom went off into an incoherent tangent about responsibility--specifically, the irresponsibility that was evident in my life choices-and the dangers of my actions.

I was mostly tuning her out, silently debating whether or not I should point out that the cow had left the scene of the crime injury-free and was probably happily munching on some grass in a field somewhere as we spoke, until I heard her mention my aunt and uncle.

My dad disliked his side of the family, so there was only one aunt and uncle she could have been referring to, and they were... well... to put it frankly, they were annoyingly conservative and specialized in the destruction of fun.

"Wait, wait, wait, what? What about my aunt and uncle?" I was pretty sure I stopped breathing for a few seconds. The mere mention of them made my organs malfunction.

"They've never had these kinds of problems with their children," she said. "With any of their children. Maybe we just haven't been able to raise you properly."

"What are you talking about? You guys have done a fantastic job raising me! I mean, look at me. I'm adorable. Come on. I'm a human being. I make mistakes. I drive in the wrong lane sometimes. I score goals for the other team. There's no need to be rash about this."

"You know, Eliza, I think your mom may be right," my dad said, furrowing his eyebrows. Oh, no. Not you, too. Once my dad got on board with one of my mom's suggestions, it was over for me. I could occasionally count on him to take my side and save me from whatever fate my mom had chosen for me, but this was clearly not one of those occasions. "Maybe spending some time with your aunt will help you mature a little bit."

I put my best foot forward, but none of my arguments got through to them. It was admittedly hard to defend my maturity after I had rented a cow from Craigslist and stuck it in someone's office - not to mention the fire. Not that I didn't try, because man, oh, man, did I try. I really went for it. It just wasn't enough to save me from my fate: banishment.

Alright, so banishment was putting it a little harshly. It wasn't quite that extreme - or permanent, for that matter, although it was equally terrible, if you asked me. Why? I wasn't being sent to a tropical paradise for the summer. No, no, no. I was being sent to Nowhere, Illinois. The land of the corn. The land of... actually, I wasn't sure what else they had.

I could tell you what they certainly didn't have: fun.

*** 

"Do you have your phone? Your charger? Your lady products? Your swimsuit? Danville has a pool, you know. You won't be very far from it. Make sure you bring the one-piece, though. You know how my sister feels about two-pieces."

She didn't have to tell me twice; I knew exactly how my aunt felt about two-pieces. Last time we went on vacation with her, she locked me in my room until I agreed to change into something that didn't show "quite so much of my stomach."

"I have everything I need. Except my dignity. And my happiness."

My mom rolled her eyes and kissed the top of my head, an easy feat for someone a good five inches taller than me. I'd gotten the short end of the stick when it came to height, apparently, because both she and my dad were long and leggy while I was short and stumpy.

"Now, you know your dad and I will just be a phone call away," my mom said. I was only half-listening to her as she went on and on about how good this was going to be for me. I had a theory that my parents were actually sending me away so they could go on that cruise they always talked about but couldn't afford if they had to bring me along.

"Can I call home when I'm ready to come back?"

"No. You can call home when you want to talk about how much fun you're having and how grateful you are to your hospitable aunt with the patience of a saint."

"I guess I'll talk to you guys in August, then."

I couldn't say she was amused by my comment. She at least took it as a joke, although in reality, I wasn't joking. I wasn't going to tell her that, though, so I nodded obediently as she continued instructing me on how I was going to survive for the next two and a half months. Once she considered me adequately prepared, my dad and I were off. I felt like a prisoner marching to her cell, only my cell was named Danville, Illinois.