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Jim Kirk stopped before the sign attached to an auditorium on the Academy’s campus.

“Pie contest,” he read.

His best friend, Leonard “Bones” McCoy finally caught up to him as Jim read the words out loud. Bones had been lagging behind per usual.

“Ooh. I could do a pie eating contest.” He patted his belly. “Now that’s the kind of Harvest fun I can get onboard with. None of this other stuff like a carnival. Do you know how dangerous those old rickety rides are?”

Jim smiled. “Not a pie eating contest, Bones. A pie baking contest.”

“Baking? Oh forget it.”

He shook his head and laughed. “My mom used to make a mean pecan pie.”

“Mean, huh? Did it bite you? Forget it. You don’t want to enter. Maybe we could sign up to be judges.”

“What qualifications do you have to judge pies, Bones?”

He patted his stomach again. “I know how to ‘em. What other qualifications do I have to have?”

“Well—”

“There you are, Jim.” Spock came up behind them, hands clenched behind his back. “Doctor.”

“Spock,” Bones returned.

“I hope you were not waiting long,” Spock said.

“No, just got here. Was thinking about the pie contest. Bones wants to judge.”

“I believe I heard they had all the judges they required.”

Jim smiled. “Spock’s on the Harvest planning committee.”

“Reluctantly.” He eyed Bones. “I believe they are still looking for volunteers for the dunking booth at the carnival.”

“Harty har har. No thanks.”

“Also someone to dress up as a clown in the funhouse.”

Jim grinned as they started walking. “You’d make a good scary clown, Bones.”

His friend snorted. “I think I’ll stick to being a guest. All that greasy makeup messes with my beautiful skin.”

“Maybe I’ll be a clown.”

“You are a clown.”

Jim just laughed and caught up with Spock’s long strides, leaving Bones behind.

“Lunch?”

Spock’s lips quirked upward. “Indeed.”