Tryst Six Venom by Penelope Douglas

WANT TO BET my mother is about to have a meltdown?
I’m sure it’s after nine. She should be home, flushing out any calories she
consumed today, and finishing up step five of her skincare regimen instead of
waiting for me at the dress shop right now.
I’m so late.
Confetti flies in the air, and I reach down, grabbing three more rolled-up
T-shirts out of the bucket as the parade float bounces and sways under us.
“More shirts!” I yell over to Krisjen to restock.
The crowd cheers on both sides of the street, and I jump down off the
step, stopping at the edge as I hold my hand to my ear.
Come on. Let me hear it!
“Ah!” little girls scream.
“Hi, Clay!” tiny, six-year-old Manda Cabot squeals at me like I’m a
Disney princess. “Hi!”
She waves at me as her twin sister, Stella, holds up her hands, ready to
catch.
A comfortable breeze blows through the palms lining Augustine Avenue,
grazing my bare legs in my jean shorts as the potted pink lantanas hang on
the street lamps lining the road and fill the air with their scent.
Just your typical balmy, Florida winter evening.
“We want a shirt!” Stella cries.
I shoot my arm up in the air, my white T-shirt with the word BIG shining
in bold silver letters.
I smile, shouting, “You wanna be a Little?”