Just Your Average Princess by Kristina Springer

She nuzzles her face into his neck and then looks back down at me. “My baby, my baby,” she sobs, scooping the boy out of my arms and into her own. Juniors mother is standing in front of me now, trying to catch her breath. It is one of the popular picture-taking spots here. But year after year he erects it anyway because he says half the crowd comes just to see the tower.

And the hand-painted PLEASE DONT CLIMB THE PUMPKINS sign posted in front of it is pretty ineffective since most toddlers cant read.

I keep telling Dad that while the pumpkin tower looks cool, its way too dangerous. Strategically placing the hay pile here was my idea two years ago when Jimmy Norton climbed the pumpkin tower, causing the first avalanche and my landing to be not quite so pleasant. I bicycle-kick in the air like a high jumper on an all-star track team and land safely on a big fluffy pile of hay, Junior still safe in my arms. This isnt the first time a kid has climbed the pumpkin tower. There are several yells of “No” and “Oh my God” and I can hear a number of women gasp, but I know what Im doing. Without pause, I grasp the little blond mountain climber under my right arm and jump off the back of the tower. I sprint up one side of the pumpkin tower, taking two pumpkins at a time until Im at the top. His arms are out to his sides in a shaky T as he balances on the top pumpkin. I look up into the sunlight at the peak of the tower and my eyes focus on the cause of both the scream and the avalanche. Pumpkins are rolling down the sides of the tower from the top and people are yelping and jumping out of the way as the twenty- and thirty-pounders barrel toward them.Ī woman screams, both her arms extended over her head like shes on a roller coaster. “Avalanche!” I scream, racing for the huge pumpkin-tower display near the entrance to the Patch. It takes me only a fraction of a second to turn, but it feels like everything is moving in slow motion as I take in the full scene. Shes looking at something over my right shoulder. “What the-?” The redheaded woman standing across from me at the checkout pales and her dark brown eyes widen.

Just Your Average Princess by Kristina Springer