“How do you like living in Clarkville?” one of them asked her. Behind him, Mr. Carlson stared at her expectantly. He had a hopeful smile on his face and deep circles under his eyes. Harlow knew he stayed up most nights worrying about Clarkville’s future. Her father would never ride the carousel—or any carnival ride, for that matter—but if he did and he’d made some wishes, every single one of them would have been about rebuilding the factory.
“Clarkville is the best city in the world,” she answered. Then she excused herself and slunk to the back of the booth, where she took out her phone and slid to the ground.
She’d been holding her phone in her hands, staring at the picture for several minutes now, telling herself not to look at the comments. Curiosity was burning a hole in her heart, though, and finally she gave up and scrolled downward. Things were even worse than she’d imagined:
she’s so gross
She looks like a zombie!
Disgusting!
Harlow Carlson makes me sick
I hope she dyes
idiot its dies not dyes
youre the idiot
She’s a giant!
She’s as tall as King Kong.
lol and just as hairy too
zombie girl
nosepicker
Harlow Carlson has a mustache!
That last one hurt worse than the others. Harlow—like a lot of the Carlsons on her dad’s side—had ruddy skin and dark, wiry hair. And okay, yeah, sometimes her upper lip was a little shadowy lately, but so what? Why did that have to mean she was gross or disgusting? Why did other people get to decide that about her?
Harlow touched the top of her upper lip and fought back tears. On and on the comments came, each one pulling her heart a little lower. The picture was everywhere; kids were reposting it on their own accounts. A couple of her classmates had texted the picture directly to her, just to make sure she knew how much everyone hated her.
Her phone buzzed with a text. It was from Grace:
Grace: Thought you should know there’s a nasty picture of you going around. May want to stay offline.
Harlow: Too late. I’ve seen it.
Grace: I’m so sorry.
Harlow: It’s okay.
It wasn’t okay, not by a long shot, but this was the longest conversation they’d had in nearly a year, and Harlow didn’t want it to end.
Harlow: I heard you’re moving tomorrow.
Grace: Yeah. To stupid California. Are you at the carnival?
Harlow paused before answering. She didn’t want to lie to Grace, but she also didn’t want to tell her that “Jean” was really Harlow, so she decided to ignore the question.
Harlow: Really mad about the picture. I’m going to text Erin.
Grace: That’s a bad idea.
Harlow: I don’t care. I’ll text you later.
Harlow punched in Erin’s number, and for good measure, Julia’s, and started a text thread:
Harlow: Erin I saw the picture. That was low.
Erin: Can’t you take a joke?
Julia: I thought your hair looked pretty.
Erin: Yeah, I liked your hair too. I didn’t even realize how the rest of the picture looked until after I posted it.
Julia: You really do have great hair.
Harlow felt confused; did they really mean those nice things about her hair? She pulled up the picture again and . . . actually, her hair did look kind of good. But she’d been on the Clown Faces with them; she knew they’d realized it was a bad picture. That’s why Grace had tried to stop Erin from posting it.
Harlow wanted to scream in frustration. She knew she should put her phone away. But texting with her old friends was giving her a secret thrill. Also, for so long she’d felt like a person who’d been left to starve on a desert island, and these compliments from Julia and Erin were like finding a sugary cake and a cold, sparkling soda—even if she knew she shouldn’t trust them.
“Harlow? Are you still in here?” came her mother’s voice.
“Back here,” Harlow answered. She put down her phone. She’d finish texting everyone later.
“I’m so glad you came!” Mrs. Carlson said. “So far everything seems to be going well. Everyone liked eating at Frank’s, and the gift baskets were a hit, and—” Upon seeing the crushed look on Harlow’s face, she paused. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Just . . . a couple kids at school posted a nasty picture of me on the Internet.”
Mrs. Carlson’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?” she said sharply. “What kind of picture?”
“I was looking out the window at school and—”
“Wait, in one of your classes?” she sounded relieved. “No one spied on you?”
“Well, no. I guess not,” Harlow said.
How could she explain that it felt like someone had been spying on her? That she’d been caught in a moment, lost in thought over the mysterious pumpkin gram, and someone had decided to capture that moment and broadcast it to the entire school. And just as bad, they—Erin—had waited until she was sitting at an awkward angle to take the picture.
“I want to see it,” Mrs. Carlson said.
“Um . . . okay.” Harlow obeyed, but she enlarged the photo so it took up the entire screen. No way was she going to let her mother see the comments.
“Wow . . . ,” Mrs. Carlson said, seeming to search for the right words. “Well . . . that’s just . . .”
“Awful,” Harlow supplied. “It’s okay. You can say it—it’s awful.”
“Well . . . yes,” Mrs. Carlson said finally. “It really is.” Harlow cracked a small grin, and Mrs. Carlson said, “What are you going to do now?”
“Ignore it as best I can.” And hide in here the rest of the night, she added to herself.
Mrs. Carlson scowled as she continued looking at the picture. “Erin Donoghue posted it? I’m going to say something to her mother.” She began tapping at her own phone and Harlow quickly covered the screen with her hand.
“No!” Harlow said quickly. “That will just make things worse.”
“But—”
“Mom—seriously, don’t text Mrs. Donoghue. Promise me, okay?”
Mrs. Carlson sighed and put her phone away. “I promise,” she said, but she didn’t look happy about it.
“Good,” Harlow replied. “You don’t happen to have your laptop with you, do you?” she added quickly, hoping to change the subject. She did not want her mother contacting Mrs. Donoghue; that would be even tougher to live down than the photo itself.
“I think I left it in my car. Why?”
Briefly Harlow explained her project. “I thought maybe I could present it to the investors tomorrow. Give them something visual to see how special Clarkville is.” She pulled up some of the photos she’d already taken. “See? I’ve got some great shots of the town, and the carnival, and I’ve started interviewing people. I just need a laptop to start putting everything together.”
“These are great photos,” Mrs. Carlson said. When she looked back up, her eyes were shining with something that Harlow suspected might be pride. “This is a great idea—I’m going to go tell your dad about it!”
Just as her mother headed for the front of the tent, Harlow’s phone buzzed with more texts:
Erin: Where R U? We’re about to ride the Zipper.
Julia: Are you at the carnival?
Harlow thought long and hard before texting back:
No, I stayed home tonight.
A few minutes later, Mrs. Carlson returned, a bright smile lighting up her face. “Your dad thinks it’s an excellent idea! He’d actually like you to close the meeting with your presentation. I’ll go get my laptop right now.” Just before she left, she turned back and said, “That may not be a great photo of you, but you’re a great kid, and a beautiful girl—you know that, right?”
“Sure,” Harlow said, although she didn’t know that. Not really. Most days she felt strange and awkward and like she didn’t quite fit into her o
wn body. She secretly dreamed sometimes that one day she’d wake up—like a princess from a long, deep sleep—and suddenly feel confident and beautiful and wonderful, all at the same time. She’d thought about wishing for it on the carousel but decided against it.
Some wishes, she knew, took their own sweet time to come true.
19
Audrey
AUDREY GOT OUT OF THE line for funnel cakes and followed the woman in the pirate costume. She never got a look at her face, but she thought she saw a tendril of curly red hair—the exact same shade as her mother’s—pull free from the woman’s pirate hat.
Could her mother be here? In Clarkville and at the carnival? Audrey guessed it was possible; her mother had loved the carnival—it had been her favorite night of the whole year.
She swallowed; but if her mother was back in town, why hadn’t she come home? Didn’t she know how much Audrey needed her?
She followed the woman, pushing her way through the thick crowd, until all at once Audrey couldn’t see her anymore. She came to a stop and heard screaming overhead.
She looked up; the cages of the Zipper were spinning just above her, and she could swear she saw the gleeful faces of Erin and Julia inside as they came bearing down upon her. Audrey ducked, certain she was going to be crushed. Then the cages were snatched away and went spinning back upward into the air.
“Watch where you’re going!” the carnie operating the Zipper yelled. “Stay behind the yellow line.”
“Sorry,” Audrey mumbled. She stepped away and glanced over just in time to see the woman in the pirate costume duck into an extremely large, red-velvet tent. Audrey hurried over, but just as she was about to enter, a voice said, “Hold it right there.” A carnie with a bald head and a row of eyebrow rings blocked her way.
“I need to get inside,” Audrey said, trying to move past him, but he wouldn’t budge.
“Sorry, no can do.”
“But that woman just walked right in.”
“She works here. You have to have one of these, see?” He flashed a staff badge that had his name and position. He was Stan Axelrod and he was doing security.
Audrey stared at the tent. Could it be that her mother was working for the carnival? She had always been intrigued by the carnies and said it must have been exciting to wake up every weekend in a new city. But when she said it, Audrey figured it was just another one of her spells she was going through, where she’d lie in bed for hours and dream of the other lives she’d rather have than the one she did have: being a wife and a mother in Clarkville.
Had she done it? Had her mother become a carnie?
Audrey spent the next twenty minutes standing by the tent, waiting for the woman to come back outside. But the only thing that happened was that Stan the Security Man just stood there glaring at her.
Ethan passed by with a few of his friends.
“Hey, Audrey!” called Travis McManus. “Your brother puked on the Clown Faces.”
“Shut up,” Ethan said. “Why do you always have to be such a—”
“I saw Mom,” Audrey blurted.
Ethan froze. “What?”
“I saw Mom,” she said again. “She’s here.”
Ethan let out an irritated breath, then turned to his friends. “I’ll catch up to you guys later,” he said. After they’d left, he turned back to Audrey and said, “You didn’t see Mom.”
“Yes, I did. She’s inside that tent.” She pointed and Stan Axelrod glared at her some more.
“Audrey—Mom split. She’s not coming back, okay? Can’t you understand that? She didn’t love us, so she left.”
“That’s not true.” Audrey shook her head. “She did love us. She does.”
“Then where is she?” he spread his hands wide. “Nowhere, that’s where. She’s left us with him.” She knew Ethan was angry at their dad, but the hatred in his voice made her take a step back.
She wished everyone knew certain things about Ethan—like how he used to make sure their mother took her medication every day so she wouldn’t get too sad. That he secretly liked to write poetry and got good grades in English. That he was really sad when Audrey stopped hanging out with Grace and Harlow. But right now he looked exactly like the troublemaker some people in town thought he was.
“I saw her,” Audrey insisted. “I don’t care if you believe me or not.” She glanced at the tent and lowered her voice. “Listen, if you wanted to get inside that tent but it was for staff only, how would you do it?”
He shrugged. “Pretend to be staff,” he said. “But you won’t find Mom in there because she’s not here, Audrey.”
“But—”
She was interrupted when her phone buzzed with an alert. Someone else had reposted the awful picture of Harlow.
“Have you seen this?” she said, showing her phone to Ethan, who made a face.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’ve seen it.”
“Some of your friends have posted really nasty comments about her.”
“So what?” he said, sounding defensive. “It was your friend who posted the picture in the first place.”
“Can’t you make everyone stop?” Audrey asked.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Tell them to stop.”
Ethan rolled his eyes. But he pulled out his phone and posted: All right you guys. This is getting stupid. Leave Harlow alone.
But his words only set off another round of comments:
Do you LIKE Harlow?
dude i didn’t know you liked hairy women
Aww Ethan luvs Harlow
Ethan and Harlow sitting in a tree . . .
On and on the comments poured in, some so nasty Audrey would have gotten in trouble if she’d repeated the words.
“I can’t look at this anymore,” Ethan said finally. “You just can’t win with this stuff.”
No, Audrey thought sadly. You really can’t.
20
Grace
SO FAR AT LEAST ONE of Grace’s carousel wishes was coming true: She hadn’t received any irate texts from her mother telling her to come home, which meant she was still out with her book club friends. Was it too much to hope she’d stay out really late so Grace could make it to the Ferris wheel? Grace had been trying not to think too much about the pumpkin gram stuffed in her pocket, but now she was starting to wonder: When she went to the Ferris wheel, who would be waiting for her?
“Let’s go on the Fun Slide again,” Erin was saying.
“The Fun Slide always hurts my butt,” Lulu said.
Grace was quietly listening to everyone argue about what to do next while she checked her phone. They still hadn’t been able to find Diego—a huge relief to Grace—so they’d ended up riding on the Zipper instead. Grace was hoping Julia had forgotten all about him.
Her phone lit up with another comment on Harlow’s picture, but Grace wasn’t as worried now. Harlow had texted Julia and Erin and said that she wasn’t coming to the carnival—and even though Grace had secretly really wanted to see her tonight, she figured it was probably best now if Harlow stayed home.
A text came in then. It was from Diego:
I have something important to tell you. Are you at the carnival?
“No, I don’t want to ride the Ferris wheel,” Julia was saying.
“Why not?” Lulu said. “That’s your favorite ride. You said so yesterday.”
Grace’s heart pounded wildly as she stared at Diego’s text. Was another one of her carousel wishes coming true? And what important thing did he have to tell her?
Yes. I’m here, she texted back.
His response was immediate: Can we meet?
Before Grace could reply, Lulu suddenly leaned over and shouted, “Julia, ohmigosh! Diego just texted Grace!”
Julia whirled around. “What did he say?” she demanded.
“He says he has something important to tell her,” Lulu answered. “And he wants to meet her somewhere!”
“Let me see.” Julia held h
er palm out, and Grace felt she had no choice but to hand over her phone.
Julia took it and began tapping at the screen. “What are you doing?” Grace said.
“I’m coming up with a plan,” Julia answered.
Grace swallowed. “What did you text him?”
“See for yourself.” She turned Grace’s phone around so they could all read her message:
Yes. Meet me at the kissing booth.
Grace wanted to die, right then and there. Was this her wish, coming true? Or was it all spinning away from her, blowing away like dandelion fluff?
“Wait,” said Lulu. “I don’t get it. Won’t he think Grace wants to kiss him?”
“Be serious,” Julia snapped. “Of course he doesn’t think Grace wants to kiss him.”
Why not? Grace said, only to herself.
“What’s the plan, then?” Erin said.
Julia beckoned everyone closer. “Come here,” she said.
They huddled up like a football team; the music, the laughter, and the lights of the carnival whirling all around them. Julia was their quarterback, calling the play. And the play was this: Grace would meet Diego at the Kissing Booth and hear what he had to say. The rest of them would hang back a bit. Julia had no doubt that the important thing Diego wanted to discuss with Grace was Julia herself, and the pumpkin gram she’d sent him. Grace was to listen to him and then call for Julia, who would seemingly appear out of thin air.
“Like a vision,” Erin said in a breathy voice.
Or a ghoul, Grace said, but only to herself. Out loud, she said, “Then what do I do?”
“Then you can leave us alone,” Julia said.
“Gee, thanks,” Grace said, this time to everyone, but she said it so softly that no one heard.
They broke out of the huddle and made their way to the Kissing Booth, passing monsters and mimes and puppeteers and stilt walkers. Grace felt the night was taking on a grotesque tone. She had wished to kiss Diego at the carnival, and now she was headed to meet him at the Kissing Booth—so Julia could see him. Things felt inside out and upside down and all kinds of weird.
And most important of all: Would Diego and Julia actually kiss?
It seemed Julia hoped they would. As they walked she fluffed her hair and whispered to Erin, “Get a good picture—right as our lips lock. Take a bunch, too. I don’t want to post one where I look gross,” she said, which made Grace so mad her fingernails bit her palms.
The Carnival of Wishes & Dreams Page 8
