¡Nobody guessed correctly! :(

We've always got next time tho, amirite ?

Mit let out a low guttural growl as she recognized the voice as Cisco's, and even felt so more murderous when she looked up to see his amused face.

"Thank goodness, he's fine," he sighed, scooping Edward in his arms. Mit could almost swear that her dog just smirked at her. "Hey there, Mit. We haven't even known each other for long, and yet look at you. Already falling for me."

"Go to hell," she said back, only half joking, reaching for her phone that lay discarded on the floor. Her chest deflated when she saw her screen guard cracked irrevocably in a web-like arrangement, and she wondered briefly if the fall had been hard enough to have affected her actual screen, too.

"You'll have to draw me a map first. I think you'd know, since you allegedly crawled out of there." Cisco winked, then offered a large palm to her. "Come on. I think you've made your declaration of true love clear enough. Let's clean you up, hmm?"

Mit scoffed loudly, but took his ahold of his hand anyway, and the scrape on her knee smarted when she stood. Sharp tingles shot through her butt at the same time too, as if its loss of contact with the ground had heightened its sense of stimulus. She hoped it wouldn't bruise.

Cisco was still smiling when she looked at him again. She froze. Was she really thinking about her butt when Cisco Moratti was right in front of her? Her cheeks warmed only slightly as she contemplated the possibility of him reading her mind.

"Nice dragon you have here. Could have fooled me for a minute," he remarked, observing the add-on tag attached to Edward's collar.

She rolled her eyes, simultaneously inspecting the pet carrier. Thankfully it wasn't cracked in any place, but the latch was beyond wonky. "Don't judge me. I just really wanted to get in."

"You don't have to have a pet to get in," Cisco said, now scratching the area behind Edward's ear. "I came alone. I just paid a little extra."

At this, Mit cocked an eyebrow. "Then why did you come? What are you getting out of it?"

He sent her a clandestine look. "I heard there's a commercial deep fryer here. You can fry anything!" He could barely contain his excitement, his brown eyes expanding in size as he spoke. "That's culinary heaven! I've always wanted to try a fried Oreo. Or what about a fried apple? Pretzel? Cotton candy? The possibilities are endless! It's a dream come true."

"Sounds more like a nightmare for your gastric system to me."

"Haters will hate," he retorted offhandedly, with faux offense. "You just don't understand the cause." He stopped in front of another concessions stand, pressed a crisp dollar bill against the counter, and asked for a bottle of water. The pimple-faced teen attendant, who appeared positively encumbered by the sheer drudgery of simple employment, relayed the bottle before returning to his blank-eyed, zombie-esque default mode.

Cisco took a swig from the bottle first, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat like a floater, before looking at Mit expectantly, swishing around the liquid in the container.

"What?" she asked.

"That scrape," he indicated, pointing to her injured knee. "Aren't you gonna clean it up?"

"Oh um," she started uneasily before taking ahold of the bottle appreciatively. "Thanks."

"All in a day's work." He shrugged, although he continued to look at her with anticipation.

"What?" she asked again.

"Well, clean it then!"

"Right now?"

"Yeah right now! Do you know how fast germs travel in the body?"

"No... How fast?"

"I don't know either but I think it's really fast anyway! You're going to die if you don't clean it! Clean it!"

"Okay, okay!" There weren't any vacant benches nearby so she leaned against the side of the concessions stand and bent her left leg at the knee, trying not to wince, then allowed a steady stream of stinging cold water wash over the abrasion. It wasn't rubbing alcohol or methylated spirit or gentian violet paint, but it made her feel better anyway. She straightened her back, shook her leg, and tossed the empty plastic bottle into a nearby trash bin.

Cisco grinned proudly. "I just saved a life. Wow, I feel so powerful right now." He stared down at his open palms as they clenched and unclenched. "Maybe I can be Batman or something. Anybody can be Batman, right?"

Cisco's mindless babbling was entertaining at the least. He reminded her of a hyperactive rabbit, or a little boy on a perpetual sugar high. Or perhaps a meme? Amusing but not meant to be taken seriously. "Yes, but it's Batman. You don't meet the requirements for the title."

"You take that back!" Cisco demanded, and Edward loudly barked out his approval.

"Not a chance." She laughed, but then stopped short as her feet ground to a halt at the next corner bend. She could see the distinct outline of Marshall's head over a large sign, and turned immediately, pushing her palms against Cisco's shoulders to get them both out of sight. He didn't as much even stagger, but his face did crumple in confusion.

"What?" he queried, reluctantly allowing her to take Edward from his arms. The dog whimpered. Cisco whimpered. Mit scowled.

"I changed my mind about that deep fryer. It sounds really exciting!"

Her voice had sounded fake to her own ears but somehow Cisco bought it all anyway, hook, line, and sinker. His face instantly lit. "See, I told you! Now you understand the cause. Come on, this will be, like, a whole life changing experience for you." When he broke into Aladdin Disney lyrics Mit decided that she was 100% done with this boy. "I can show you the world; shining, shimmering, splendid—"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll catch up with you later. Just...uh, keep my spot or something."

"Okay, okay!" he gushed out, nearly sprinting away in the opposite direction.

Mit let out a silent breath of relief once he was out of sight. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy Cisco's company. He was one of the few nice people she'd encountered that shared social circles with Aimee, but she had a mission at hand concerning Marshall, and Cisco would be ultimately obstructing that mission.

She didn't think that either of them knew that the other was here, and intended to keep it that way. She didn't doubt for a minute that Cisco, combined with the overbearing presence of Haley and Sam's cavernous stomach, would hog all of Marshall's attention, leaving none for her. They could always talk some other time. Maybe at school, their homes, the boys' locker room; wherever guy friends talked. But this was her chance and she was determined not to screw it up.

"Where have you been?" Marshall queried once he saw her approach him, his right arm now labored by the weight of his little sister whom was hoisted against the side of his hip. Where did her friend go? Hm.

"I went to...look for the toilet then got lost along the way." She cringed inwardly at the fact that she'd just uttered the word 'toilet' to Marshall Andrews. Toilet. "But I see you held up pretty good."

"Yeah, I guess," said Marshall, sounding pleased with himself. Haley's chameleon clung to the fabric of his jacket on his shoulder and slowly started to brown. "I'd thought we'd wait for you before we go on any of the rides, but Sam's had one too many corndogs and I don't think he can manage well without throwing up."

"We can go without him!" shrieked Haley, her button nose scrunching. "We don't need Sam!"

"Simpleton!" said Sam, pointing an accusing finger.

"Your face is a simple ten!" Haley defended eloquently.

"Oh God, they're fighting again." Marshall looked so downtrodden that Mit almost felt guilty for abandoning him to deal with the kids. Goodness, she'd make a bad mom. 

"Sam don't call her a simpleton," Mit attempted to intervene. "It's not nice."

Sam fixed a sharp glower on his sister's face. "Whose side are you on? The side of justice or of evil?"

"She's just a kid, Samir," Mit said, taking a page out of Anne's Angry-Mom-Handbook. "Look at that face. She's harmless."

"Why do you think she has a pet chameleon?" he hissed, folding his arms tightly across his chest. "They're the same. They have different colors. Right now she's all innocent but in school she's Satan."

Mit's voice mellowed in concern. "Does Haley bully you in school?"

He thought for a moment, tapping his dry corndog stick against his chin. "No, not really. But she talks too much. And she's loud. It's annoying."

"Sam—"

"Hey guys how about we ride the Ferris wheel? It's not a fair if we don't ride the ferris," Marshall interrupted, already stalking towards the large rotating wheel.

Grabbing Sam's hand, Mit skipped up to catch up with him. She didn't mind riding the Ferris wheel at all; the chick flicks had also claimed that Ferris wheel + girl + boy = blooming romance. She decided to initiate conversation, "What's the point of calling this a pet 'picnic' anyway? It's basically a small, toned down animal themed carnival."

"It's all about the acronyms, Mit," Marshall answered with one of his heart-stopping grins. "'PPP.' Smooth repetition. They probably thought it'd sound better. No one really cares about specifics."

"It sounds like 'pee, pee, pee.' Like they're egging on someone to pee," Sam commented casually. "No one wants to be reminded of pee."

Marshall laughed and leaned to ruffle his hair.

"Then it's too bad I have to see your face almost everyday," Haley sighed, peering at Sam from behind Marshall's head.

"That's not nice," Marshall reprimanded, although he failed to look intimidating in any way, especially when Haley's chameleon began its ascent up his head. "Apologize to him."

Mit had already known what Haley's next words would be even before the girl had opened her mouth. "You're not my Mom!"

"Well 'your mom' put me in charge of you, so you have to do what I say."

"You know, Marsh. I hate it when you get so difficult." Haley's tone was patronizing, almost condescending. "Nobody likes uptight people. Don't be like this."

"I'm not uptight."

"Yes you are! You're a big fat grinch! Santa hates you!"

He sighed. "Haley don't..."

Mit tuned out of their argument, wondering how Marshall handled living with this girl when merely being in her presence gave her fatigue.

She'd hoped to get into the same carriage with Marshall but had her plans totally rearranged when Haley adamantly refused to be within breathing space of Sam. "I'll die!" she'd proclaimed dramatically, pressing the back of her hand against her forehead. Haley had commenced a downslide from adorable to annoying in a matter of minutes. "I don't want to die!"

So there Mit sat, stewing in anger and sadness beside her younger brother (who was slowly beginning to take on a green tinge) and pet dog. She stared at the fair below through the mesh lining the top half of the carriage and wondered if Cisco was still wandering there somewhere below. The guilt was instantaneous, and her desolate emotions only heightened when Sam finally threw up on the floor.

The carriage jerked and stopped repeatedly as the passengers were being let off, and when it finally came to Mit's turn, she took ahold of Sam's arm and Edward's carrier and raced out of sight before the ride attendant could see the pile of vomit in the metal cage. He was an old, tattooed beanpole of a man, who appeared to be most likely suffering from night blindness or astigmatism from all his exaggerated squinting, but she wasn't going to take any chances.

It was now evening, the fact evident with the pewter color that the once blue sky had drained into, and the sluggish, tired movements of at least 1/2 of the PPP's population. Haley wasn't included in that 1/2.

"I want a stuffed bunny!" she screamed, dragging at the hem of Marshall's jacket with small hands. "Win me one!"

He lowered his head to give her a pointed look. "Ask nicely."

Haley crossed her arms indignantly, her lips drawn into a stubborn pout. "NO."

Marshall shrugged and made to continue on towards the general direction of the exit, and his little sister shredded every ounce of pride she'd harbored before and latched onto his leg. "PLEASE! Win me a stuffed bunny, please?" Her owlish eyes stared pleadingly at him, the long lashes framing them batting continuously.

He smiled appreciatively and patted her head. "There you go. Okay."

"Manipulation," Sam whispered furtively to Mit, and she couldn't muster enough energy to do more than feebly agreeing with a silent nod. All she could think about were the comfortable mom jeans in her wardrobe that she'd abandoned in lieu of the shorts she was wearing. Or her equally neglected sweater.

Marshall seemed to be having second thoughts about contesting for the rabbit. His tired eyes narrowed at the red ball the booth attendant had placed in his palm, then at the bottles arranged at the back of the booth in pyramidal sequence. With his exhaustion obviously impairing his hand-eye coordination, he was no match for the likely-to-be-rigged game. He sighed, placing the ball on the ledge. "How much for the stuffed rabbit?"

The attendant smiled slyly from behind his overgrown mustache. "Twenty-five."

"What the hell? Are the stitches gold?" Marshall complained, nonetheless passing five dollar bills emblazoned with Abraham Lincoln's bearded face over the ledge in exchange for the furry toy.

Haley leapt immediately to snatch the rabbit from her brother, much too occupied with harassing it with suffocating hugs to even utter a simple "Thank you."

"Don't go too far!" he yelped when she started off on a sprint towards the exits. She stuck out her tongue at him, but obeyed anyway.

Mit heard him sigh from beside her, and then Edward release a small whine from his carrier. He was probably getting hungry again, despite having eaten his way through the small ziplock of dog treats that she'd packed for him. She couldn't remember if it was medically acceptable to feed a dog corn dogs, and wasn't about to take any chances, so he'd just have to thug it out until they got home.

"He didn't choose the thug life but the thug life chose him," Mit muttered thoughtfully.

"What?" Marshall said.

"What?" she parroted with wide eyes, not having expected him to have actually heard her. Hashtag: Embarrassed.

"You said something."

It would probably not be a good idea to inform Marshall that she sometimes recited overused memes to herself, so Mit said instead, "Oh that was just a sniffle."

"Are you cold?"

Hashtag: Excited. "Uh, yeah."

"You can have my jacket," Marshall said, taking it off. He didn't drape it around her shoulders like in the chick flicks, instead offering it up with an outstretched hand, but Mit was satisfied either way. He helped her carry Edward while she donned the overgarment, and she didn't know whether it was due to forgetfulness or gentlemanliness that he didn't relay the carrier back to her.

She wasn't complaining though.

"Where's your ride?" he queried once they were outside, having finally gotten Haley under reins. Marshall's black Chevy was parked adjacently to a Toyota on the left, but the spot on the right was empty, leaving enough space for turning out of the tightly packed lot.

She almost missed the question because she was too preoccupied with surreptitiously sniffing his jacket. "I don't have one," she said. "We'll just use the train or something."

"Don't worry. I can drop you guys off. Just give me an address."

"Oh, you shouldn't have offered," Mit schmoozed, making sure to layer on just the right amount of bullshît, an art that every schmoozer should be conversant with, but backed up right after, just in case, "But since you insist."

"I call shotgun!" Haley shouted, racing to the front passenger seat with her blue rabbit tucked under her arm, its long ears flailing helplessly.

"You're not old enough to ride shotgun, Haley. We've talked about this."

"Urggghhhh," groaned Haley eloquently, the sound alike to that of a working blender with something stuck inside. Reluctantly, she made her way to the backseat and plopped down there, making a silent pact with herself to not interact with anybody else in the car for the duration of the ride (and they really weren't complaining, either).

It wasn't until Marshall had dropped them off, said goodbye, and Mit had showered off the dust and grime of the day, that she remembered:

1. She still hadn't replied to Finn's message.

2. O my God, what if Cisco is still waiting? He's not that gullible, is he?

3. Marshall had forgotten his jacket with her.

She padded her way to her bed, only half asleep, then taking her phone off of her night stand to send Finn a text back. The sight of her cracked screen caused a deep grimace to paint her features, one that only deepened when she thought of the thirty dollars she'd have to pay for a new screen protector.

Just as she was about to reopen a chat with 'Pumpkin🎃', a new notification waved over her screen from an unknown number. She clicked on the text.

The grin on her face was instant, as was the odd, fluttery feeling that promptly erupted in her abdomen. But how did Marshall get my phone number? Her silent query was answered soon afterwards with a text from Paris wording, 'I got your back😉'

Needless to say, she slept happy that night.

Happy (belated) Father's Day! And here is a picture of Gregg Sulkin looking daddy af