Chapter 1: A New Arrival

The rumble of the motor from below shook Polly Parker awake. Tiny bursts of color in the upholstery exploded point-blank before her eyes.

The field-and-barn scenery that dominated the trip had passed, not that she felt bad about it.

Stretching out her stiff neck, she heard a clear crunch and crack as things corrected themselves.

“Good morning,” the man across from her nearly sang.

Dressed in a plain gray suit with a bow tie, he was hard to read. Coming across as either an honest conservative or a rebel dressing like a 1940s banker ironically. It wouldn’t be the strangest thing she’d yet seen in her 22 years.

“Yes, thanks. How do I look?” she asked.

“Perfectly lovely, in my humble opinion.”

The call came for her station, and there was no time to check. Her sleep position probably played merry-heck with her carefully applied makeup.

Polly stepped down onto the pavement and a new life. Carrying little more than a spiral notebook full of hand-written recipes, two-hundred bucks, and a dream.

The Day-Glo green hair-band keeping the candy red mass in check, Polly strode to the doors of the station, her head held high.

It hit like a brick, the bus station bustling with people, each one with somewhere else to be. Dropping to a seat, out of the worst of it, Polly caught her breath.

With a moment to check, Polly got out her compact and examined her make-up in the mirror built into the lid.

“Crap,” she cursed.

Digging into her patent leather purse, proudly bearing the band logo of Rocket From the Crypt, Polly unearthed her 1st generation iPod.

Scrolling down the motions on the dinky screen, Polly popped earbuds in place and landed upon the perfect song.

“Since You Are Dead” filled Polly’s head as she tended to her Passion Cherry Red lipstick. A little smudged on the left, from when she smooched the bus seat in her sleep.

“Much better.”

Her bag was back on her shoulder, and the iPod shuffled over to Misfits, and she set out in search of food. Polly’s belly growled like a hot rod without a muffler.

Relief was found close at hand, the bus station in a convenient part of town. Scanning the businesses that lined both sides of the street, the hardest part was deciding which place would be best.

“Crepe Expectations,” Polly said, her Passion Cherry lips in a gentle smile.

Every business she saw had a similarly punny name, Polly knowing in her bones she’d chosen the right place to move.

“But where to go?” she asked herself.

Closing her hazel eyes, Polly extended a finger and solved the problem the

old-fashioned way.

“Eeny, meeny, miny, moe…Ras-poutine, okay then.”

Waiting for the lights to change, the drabs of traffic halted before her awesomeness as Polly Parker strode along the rainbow-colored crosswalk.

Pushing through the door, an old-fashioned bell jangled over Polly’s head, announcing her arrival.

“Welcome to Ras-putine,” beamed the clerk behind the counter.

The way she said it almost made the shop’s name sound like ‘Rasputin.’

“Thanks.”

“If you have any questions, let me know.”

“I have one.”

“Sure, shoot,” the clerk said.

“What’s poutine?”

The clerk took a deep breath, Polly sensing a spiel coming on.

“It is fries.”

“Like New York Fries?” Polly asked, remembering them from the mall back home.

“Kind of. They are different.”

“Different, how?” Polly asked.

“For starters, it’s Canadian.”

“Vancouver?”

“Other coast, hon, Quebec.”

“That explains the French-like pronunciation,” Polly said.

“No kidding. Apparently, the owner went to New York for vacation and decided to check out Montreal while he was there. He was so taken with the dish that he decided to start his own shop when he returned.”

“That’s brave,” Polly said.

“More money than sense, I think, is the phrase,” the clerk said, “then again, most people who try it really like it.”

“Well, I’d better give it a try then,” Polly said.

Finding a table, Polly sat by the window to watch the city go by, getting more used to it all the time. Her hometown had a total of ten roads. Five named streets one way, five avenues going the other in a grid system. The obsession with order extended all the way to town planning.

Traffic picked up down the main road as more commuters joined the trip home. The first wave of rush hour building to its peak. The picked playlist ended, and Polly fiddled with the pod to make the music come again.

Reverend Horton Heat played in her earbuds just as the poutine came.

“Fries, you said?” Polly asked, looking into a bowl.

“With gravy and cheese curds,” the clerk said, “try it, it’s good.”

Polly breathed deep, not smelling anything really offensive. Picking up the fork, she gave it a try.

“Wow!”

“I know right?” the clerk asked.

Going in for more, Polly took another heaping forkful, the flavors combining in a way she never could have imagined.

Stuffed full of calories and carbs, Polly set out back onto the street of her new hometown.

Through all the pandemonium, given a fitting soundtrack by The Cramps on the pod, fate gave pretty Polly a nod.

“Victory Cupcakes,” she said aloud.

The place was perfect. Everything a boutique bakery should be, in Polly’s humble opinion.

Waiting for the walk signal, not too keen on dying her first day away, Polly strode across the street with all her passion and pride.

It smelled heavenly there. The way angels in heaven ought to smell, in a truly good and just universe.

“This is great,” Polly said.

“Thanks, we like it,” said the cute Pastel Goth behind the counter.

Hello Kitty appeared more than once on her accessories, the name tag pinned to the front of the clerk’s pink and black sweater read ‘Tuesday.’

“It’s just—wow—”

“I know, right?” Tuesday asked, “we’ve even caught the attention of Declan Perry.”

“Who?” Polly asked, coming back to earth.

“Never mind. What can I get you, sweetie?”

“A new and wonderful life?” Polly blurted, overcome with the wow of it all.

“I’ll ask the manager,” Tuesday said.