THAT AFTERNOON, WE went to Sunnydale’s Spring Festival. Colorful tents lined the sidewalk of Main Street where vendors sat selling everything from pies to beaded necklaces to hand-carved wooden statues. And the smells. Buttery popcorn, kettle corn, churros, and, of course, hotdogs. It smelled so good; my stomach rumbled. Delilah and I walked around the stands, ate churros, and played some games. When the sun began to set, a chill came into the air.
“Hey Delilah, I’m going to get my jacket from the car. Do you need anything?”
“Nope.” She aimed her air rifle at the balloons and lined up her next shot. “I’ll be here until I win that purple unicorn. It’ll look great on my sofa.” She nodded to a ridiculously large stuffed unicorn at the top of the booth.
I headed to Delilah’s car when a fami
