Pumpkin Run

by Mary-Kate Thomas

  “Sure,” I said quickly. My stepmother narrowed her eyes at me.

  “Fantastic. I’ll see you at Hollenmeyer’s later this morning,” Vicky replied, then hung up. I laid the phone back down on Drew’s dresser..

  My stepmother pointed the curling iron at me and I danced back a step. She looked furious. “Don’t get any ideas, Cici! Just ride your silly little bike up to the farm and wander around in your pumpkin suit until my interview at nine-thirty. Who knows?” she cackled. “Maybe everyone will want to have their picture taken with you since you’ll look like the pumpkin farm mascot!”

  Drew snorted and cackled right along with my stepmother as I left the room, grabbing my bag. Her voice followed me down the hall.

  “I’ll be watching you, Cici! Don’t you forget it!”

  Oh, I won’t forget, I thought, pounding down the stairs to the back door, then paused. On one of the hooks by the back door where my stepmother hung her purse dangled my cone shell necklace.

  Grabbing it, I clasped it around my neck, then slammed the back door behind me.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  I tried to keep myself from pumping my legs too hard on my bike as I flew up one road and down another, headed out to the edge of Main Street where the city limits ended and the township began. What used to be farms on the edge of Castlewood city limits had slowly morphed into subdivisions, usually one per decade. As I passed the Leaving Castlewood! See You Soon! sign, I let my legs stretch as I coasted downhill and aimed for the right fork in the road that led to Hollenmeyer’s Pumpkin Patch, just east of Castlewood on State Route 44.

  From the crest of the hill, I could spy the red barns, the cornfields, and the assorted fenced areas of the farm. Hollenmeyer’s had once been a dairy farm, but they’d added the pumpkin patch and corn maze years ago to make a little money on the side.

  There wasn’t too much traffic on the road since it was still early. My wheels spun down the bottom of the hill and I pedaled the last quarter of a mile to the entrance and turned into the parking lot, locking my bike in the stand next to a small line of spruce trees that divided the entry lane from the parking lot.

  I pulled my backpack off my shoulders, unzipping it and taking the bag of costumes out. Vicky had given me a gift by changing our interview time until after the race. Now I didn’t need to put on the pumpkin costume until after I finished running the race in the fairy costume. I wouldn’t have much time to change, but I figured the end of the race would be chaotic. At least, that’s what I hoped. All I had to do was find a good hiding spot for the pumpkin costume near where I was supposed to meet Vicky and my stepmother at nine-thirty.

  “Still ugly,” I muttered to myself as I shoved the pumpkin costume to the side and pulled out the fairy costume. I peeked around. There was no one near the bike rack, but I didn’t want to take any chances. I stepped in between the trees where the thick green needles shielded me and pulled the fairy costume on. Tucking my ponytail tightly against my neck, I tugged the mask over my head, then reached high against my shoulder blades and straightened out my wings.

  I didn’t have a mirror, but I didn’t need one. The fairy costume felt light and magical, the skirt billowing gracefully in the soft breeze. I took a deep breath, willing myself to calm down. Grabbing the bag with the pumpkin costume, I touched the cone shell around my neck as I started walking through the parking lot toward the farm entrance.

  I wasn’t the only one. Milling around the entrance to Hollenmeyer’s were crowds of runners in costumes, from superheroes to Rubik’s cubes to crazy animal getups, including a pair of runners sharing a unicorn costume. Music pumped from speakers around the entrance and the voices of all the surrounding people blended into an excited and expectant hum.

  With my free hand, I took one of the flyers being handed out by volunteers at the entrance to the farm. The front was printed with a schedule of events for the day; on the back, I found a map of the farm with the official race course.

  “Perfect,” I whispered to myself, then stopped. My costume might hide my face, but it did nothing to hide my voice. I’d have to just avoid anyone who might recognize me and stay silent until the race was over and I changed into the pumpkin costume.

  Following the map, I walked around the big barn that served as the farm store and bakery, then found the path that led from the back entrance and toward the corn maze. In the distance, I could hear the crowd clapping inside the barn where the Pick of the Patch contest was being held. I kept searching for some place I could hide the pumpkin costume, but the only thing between me and the corn maze was a row of portable toilets with a line of people waiting to use them before the race.

  Not near there, I thought, forcing myself to stroll casually past. Too busy. Besides, the thought of trying to change costumes in one of the portables seemed like a recipe for disaster.

  The path curved away again to the left and up a slight hill. I followed it, still moving slowly as I frantically cast my eyes around for a private spot that was big enough for me to hide the bag until I could change after the race. At the top of the hill, I stopped, sweat breaking out on the back of my neck. Up ahead, a huge banner stood over the path that read START on my side and FINISH on the opposite side.

  The path continued for a brief stretch after the spot where the banner hung, but then ended in grass at the entrance to the corn maze. A long, mowed lane of grass bent to the right around the outside corner of the corn maze and disappeared down the side. Several large, orange and white arrows marked the direction of the race course; I could see that I would be running past the maze at the start of the race, along its right side, and then out around the outer edges of the farm.

  Looking at the map, I saw that the course looped back, then entered a marked part of the corn maze at the very end. I’d exit the corn maze, then run a hundred yards or so before coming back under the FINISH side of the banner where the rubber timing mats lay next to a huge, flashing digital clock.

  There were two volunteers at the maze entrance, I guessed to keep people going in the right direction once the race started. Other than them, it was surprisingly quiet at the start line with only a few other volunteers setting up water cups on a table just past the finish line. I peered over at the flashing clock. I still had twenty minutes before the race began.

  The race volunteers at the water table motioned to the two girls at the maze entrance; they looked up from their phones, then slowly wandered over. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I didn’t try too hard to listen. Casually, I moved to my left toward the edge of the corn.

  I’ll just have to hide the bag in the cornstalks, away from the maze entrance, I thought. I couldn’t come up with any other plan; there were no farm buildings back here and the closest bunch of trees had to be at least a third of a mile away around the edges of the farm fields. The only place I could possibly change into the pumpkin costume after the race was in the densely planted stalks of corn that lined the edge of the maze.

  Carefully, I picked up my feet as I passed the water table, whispering a quick prayer of thanks as the volunteers and the two girls kept their backs turned toward me while they set out dozens of empty cups to be filled.

  I stepped across the last bit of grass and between the corn stalks until I was deep enough in that I couldn’t see the volunteers or the water table anymore. Breathing shallowly, I found a dip in the ground between two rows of corn and jammed the bag with the pumpkin costume flat against the ground, remembering to grab my race number from the top of the bag. I crumpled the flexible race bib number in my hand, the stalks whipping at my face as I pushed my way back to the edge of the corn and peered out.

  The volunteers were still pouring water, all four backs to me, and only a few people were milling around underneath the START banner. None of them were looking my way. It’s now or never, I thought, then slid as quietly as I could through the corn until I found a narrow gap a little further down, angling so I would come out just around the corner and as fa
r away from the volunteers as possible.

  I hurried away from the maze, my stride getting longer as I headed back to the barn. It was getting a little easier to see through the mesh and I was glad it was turning out to be a bright morning with a clear sky; the sunlight helped to make the mesh nearly invisible when I looked out.

  The crowds at the side doors of the barn were spilling onto the path, so I headed around the barn, skirting to the left to avoid coming out on the right side where I could hear some of the final cheers from the parents and grandparents for the little kids costume contest.

  As I slid around the corner of the front side of the barn, I squinted, blinded for a split second by the sun as it hit me square in the eyes. Stumbling, I started to trip, my arms flailing until a pair of firm hands steadied me.

  “Whoa! You ok?”

  It was Deke. His hands were covered in green paint.

  And they were wrapped around my waist.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I jumped away, and Deke dropped his hands. I saw a flush redden his temples near the edges of his green face paint. He was dressed in a tie-dye shirt, ripped up jeans, and had a bandana rolled and tied around his forehead. His arms and hands were painted green, too. I looked down and saw a bit of his paint smeared on my costume.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said, noticing too. “You looked like you were about to fall. Are you ok?” he asked again.

  Gulping, I just nodded. Don’t talk! I reminded myself.

  The nod was enough; Deke smiled, clearing his throat a little. “I didn’t mean to ruin your costume.” I shook my head and waved my arms wide, trying to show him I didn’t mind.

  “Ahh, ok, is this part of your costume? Full character, no talking?” he asked, tapping the side of his head. “Smart.” He paused, glancing up and down my costume. “You look like you just stepped out of a fairy tale.”

  I shrugged my shoulders, waving my hands up and down. He smiled, and I found myself smiling back, even though he couldn’t see it through the mesh of my mask.

  Pointing to his bandana headband, he laughed. “I should probably be croaking and doing this,” he said, flashing a double V with the first two fingers on both hands. “I’m a peace frog, get it?”

  A laugh escaped my lips, but I coughed quickly to cover it. I swallowed hard as Deke fell silent, his face pensive as he tilted his head, studying my costume again before looking down at the ground. Then he lifted his face and peered at mine.

  “Whoever you are, you should definitely win a prize for most quiet,” he said, the loud CRACK of the race pistol filling the air. I jumped, startled by the sound, and Deke gave my arm a quick pat. .

  “That’s just the ten-minute warning. We’re supposed to move to the start line.” He glanced down at the smears of green on my blue costume again. Lines furrowed his forehead. “Wait. Where’s your number?”

  Oh jeez, Cici, I thought as I unclutched my hand where I’d been crumpling it in my fist. I waved it weakly, then pantomimed pinning it on. Deke shook his head.

  “With what pins, huh?” He asked, his green painted eyebrows raised. He had me. I’d rushed out of the corn so fast that I’d only had time to grab the number. I’d completely forgotten about my safety pins. I shrugged again, hunching my shoulders, but Deke was already murmuring to himself as he reached down to his own bib number.

  “Good thing I used all of ‘em,” I heard him say, then broke out into a fresh round of sweat as he took my race bib from my hand.

  “Hold still,” he whispered. He stepped closer, threading one of his extra safety pins through the top corner hole and into my costume. He quickly did the same to the other side. His eyes met mine through my mask’s mesh eye holes and I gulped, my heart racing and my skin tingling beneath his hand.

  “There!” he said, snapping the second safety pin into place, then dropped his hand. “You’re ready to fly, fairy girl, Lucky for you I always use all the safety pins.”

  He stepped back, then made a show of nodding his head and and raising his hands, palms out. “I know, I know, you don’t have to say thank you. As a fellow citizen of Mother Nature’s realm, it’s my honor to help a magical woodland creature.”

  I laughed softly; I couldn’t help it. But he didn’t hear me. He was already stepping off toward the path that led to the start line. He raised his hand to wave. “Listen, good luck. I’ll look for you at the end if you promise to look for me.”

  I nodded and he smiled and stepped back toward me, dashing back close enough to lean down under my leafy crown and whisper in a rush, “Just look for the green guy who finishes first.”

  Then he turned and trotted away, leaving me weak-kneed, my heart racing like I’d already crossed the finish line.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Deke had already merged into the crowd that was surging toward the start line. The digital clock flashed as the countdown to the official start of the race grew closer. I headed toward the back of the crowd, smoothing my bib number down as I threaded my way through the huddles of people and tried to find a spot somewhere in the middle of the pack.

  Overhead, the speakers were pumping out “Don’t Stop Believing” by Journey and the crowd was singing along, pumped up and ready to rocket out when the starting pistol popped. As my hand smoothed down my bib number, I felt my cheeks flush, remembering the way I’d felt as Zeke had pinned the number to my costume.

  “Good morning runners!” Coach Z’s voice boomed from the speakers overhead as the song finished. “I’d like to welcome everyone to the first annual Pumpkin Run 5K this morning!”

  “I SAID, GOOD MORNING RUNNERS!” Coach Z repeated, as I scanned above and around the edges of the crowd, trying to locate him. On top of the race trailer, my eyes fell on a figure who was a silhouette in the morning sun, a bouncing, microphone-wielding silhouette of Coach Z in full form. In his other hand, he held a starter pistol. Guess he’s the honorary race marshall, I thought.

  “GOOD MORNING!” rose the shouts of hundreds of voices around me as the crowd roared in reply.

  “YES!” Coach Z shouted back, holding his arms overhead, fists pumping. The crowd went nuts, fist pumping right back at him.

  “Now that we’re all awake, I’d like to personally welcome each and every one of you to the first annual Pumpkin Run 5K race!” With a quick sweep of the microphone under his arm, Coach Z began clapping and the crowd around me erupted in applause.

  Whipping the microphone out again, Coach Z continued. “All proceeds from today’s race entry fees, concessions, and apparel will be donated to help with the recent water damage at Castlewood High!” Coach Z fist pumped again.

  “Race rules are simple: make sure you have your race bib pinned on the front of your shirt. Your bib has a small chip to record your official time, so if you’re running to win, you need it. We have a crew of dedicated race volunteers who will be manning water stations at the one, two, and three mile marks if you need hydration. Medical teams will also be at the water tables if you need first aid assistance. The course is well marked with red arrows going out and white arrows for the return portion, and we have teams of race volunteers at critical points to make sure you’re going in the right direction.”

  Coach Z paused, catching his breath as the crowd counted down with the clock as it closed in on the last ten seconds. “The race starts on the sound of the pistol!” he shouted into the microphone, before raising his arms overhead, the starter pistol an outstretched silhouette against the bright sun, and counting down with the crowd.

  As the runners around me chanted, “FIVE! FOUR! THREE-,” I caught a glimpse of unmistakeable red hair.

  Dressed in Wonder Woman costume that couldn’t hide her bouncing red curls, was Emma, pushing through the crowd toward the very front as Coach Z and the crowd together shouted, “ONE!” and the starter pistol erupted with a bang in the crisp morning air.

  Around me, runners were moving, some jogging slowly, some from behind me jostling and elbowing as they tried to sho
ot through the slight gaps between groups of costumed runners and make a break toward the front of the pack.

  Up ahead, I saw Emma’s cape, red and blue and trimmed in gold, fluttering behind her as she moved to the outside of the pack to give herself room to move up without a crowd cutting her out of legroom to maneuver. Keeping her in my sights, I angled out to the left side of the crowd, too, threading myself through gaps that grew larger and larger as the early sprinters began to gasp and clutch their sides, their faces grimacing against the cramping pain.

  I ran on, the first mile feeling easy. Emma and I were only separated by a few small clumps of running partners. Whether I won the race or not, it was becoming clearer and clearer that I would finish with the front runners.

  I passed a few more guys in good shape and found myself at the back edge of a group of serious women runners. Emma still held a nice lead at the front, but there were a few single female runners and a couple of pairs, pacing each other, all with the gritty look on their faces that told me they were timing their move and calculating their pace as they quickly glimpsed down at their race watches for their split times.

  The long lane we had run out to the back edge of the farm disappeared into the trees and I could see the shapes of the male runners at the very front appearing and disappearing through the gaps in the trees as the course turned left. Emma’s cape waved high above her head as she held her spot on the left and slipped into the treeline, blasting past the race volunteers that stood on either side of the race lane, both waving red flags back toward where the course moved into the trees.

  The course wound through the treeline, the path becoming narrower. It was hard to see the runners ahead through the thick leaves. I was focusing hard on landing my feet safely on the rough ground when I heard a cry up ahead. After two more turns, I found her.