Be Rude but Love Me | ✔

CHAPTER 9

"Uh-huh," Ellie says, obviously not believing me.

"Why do you sound jealous?" It's my turn now to raise an eyebrow at her tone.

"I'm not jealous," she sneers at me before turning away and resuming her search for whatever it is that she is looking for. "You've always had a very creative mind, Tracy," she says, purposely giving her back to me.

"And I've also always had a very perceptive eye," I tell her. She stops for a moment, knowing there is truth in my words. However, I don't push her, "Gonna go help around and be a handywoman. I feel like getting my hands dirty today."

I step outside the tent and finally take in my surroundings for the first time since I've been there. Wood planks and metal bars are piled in various corners of the fairground as booths wait to be assembled. Men with yellow helmets are walking around, shouting orders or questions to their coworkers. The whole place is like a beehive buzzing with activity and people.

I watch as men on a ladder are welding two bars together, creating a support for whatever it is they will put on top of it at some point. On one side of the whole area, some booths are almost ready and decorations have begun though I am not sure what booth is going to hold what yet. Marching a little more and exploring, I bypass friendly people with clipboards in their hands just as Ellie and they smile at me, not even knowing me.

That's one of the things I love about being in a small town. People tend to know everyone, yes. But even when they don't know you, they don't care. To them, you're one of them and they smile at you and welcome you with open arms. We don't have that in the city. People bump into you and barely think of apologizing because everyone is always in a rush. You don't see the same people every day and you don't get to know everyone. There are just too many people for that. That's where the sense of community kicks in a small town such as Harlem. Everyone is family.

Staying out of people's way, I observe as they work. Most of them are middle-aged men and women but some of them are also teenagers and young adults, undoubtedly residents of Harlem and nearby towns who came in to give a hand.

Suddenly, I feel happy to be there, with people I don't even know but whom I consider family nonetheless. It fills me with joy and I'm happy that I have decided to come here and spend my vacation in Harlem. There was no better place and no better way to spend those two months.

Spotting Will across from me as he carries wood planks on a distance of about fifty feet, I try to pick up one and, relieved when it's not too heavy, jog slightly to catch up with him.

"Hey, handyman," I say.

He smiles down at me and raises an eyebrow as he sees me carrying the plank. "She signed you up for this too?"

I shake my head. "No, I saw you and thought I'd land a hand. You sure look like you could use some help."

Will nudges me playfully and we soon fall into a rhythm as we walk side by side, carrying wood planks from here to there. And when we're done with that job, we go to the east side of the fairground to help with the construction of the booths. I don't do well with hammers so I simply sit and watch as Will puts in nail after nails once he's checked that the wood planks are perfectly parallel or perpendicular.

"So tell me," I say, wiggling to get comfortable on a pile of PVCs, "how come it's Yann and you that were looking for me and not Ellie?"

They must have known Yann is the last person I would want to see. Why send him looking for me and not Ellie?

"Cause Ellie had to stay and try to get the car to start up." Will explains, "That girl knows how to get her hands dirty."

I smile at his words, knowing he's right. Ellie is no Barbie girl and knows when she has to get down to work. But that's not really what makes me smile, it's the way he says that girl, with something resembling pride in his voice. Could it be pride and affection? Affectionate pride? Does that make sense, affectionate pride? I don't think that makes sense.