by Portia Moore
“Sounds familiar,” I mutter, except I’m not sure if my mom thinks what Martin tells her to or if it’s the other way around. Either way, their thinking never suits me.
We grow quiet, and the music continues to play. We’re both lost in our thoughts when I see a sign saying “State Carnival in Ten Miles.” My eyes widen, and I gasp.
“Oh my God, there’s a carnival going on!” I sound way too excited, but the inner kid in me is trying to burst out.
“Yeah.” He chuckles.
“Carnival. What else is there to say? We have to stop!” I say authoritatively, and he looks amused. “Come on! Games, corndogs, kettle corn, funnel cake.” I feel my mouth water.
“And you say you’re not immature.” He chuckles.
“I will take your insult if it means I get funnel cake.” I display my best sweet pleading girl smile.
He glances at his watch.
“We don’t have to stay long. We’ll make it to my house early enough for dinner,” I say.
He looks at me skeptically.
“Please please, please!” I sound like a six-year-old to my own ears, but I don’t care. Carnivals have the best food.
He rolls his eyes and laughs. “Okay, but you’re buying.”
“Actually, you’re buying because I’m sort of out of money, but I’ll win you something nice, I promise.”
“THERE IS NOTHING better in the world than kettle corn and a cold Coke,” Will says before stuffing some in his mouth.
“Yes, there is. It’s called funnel cake and a root beer float,” I say before swallowing the latter. “When is the last time you’ve been to a carnival?” I steal a piece of his popcorn.
He looks up as if he’s thinking. “Never.”
I frown at him, expecting it to be a joke. “Seriously, never? Not even as a little kid?”
“My stepdad thought a lot of things were frivolous. That children should focus on more important things, like their future, and not the triviality of childhood that is a distraction,” he says, mimicking what I assume is his stepdad’s voice.
“Your stepdad sounds like a major ass-wipe.” Then I remember that I should have a filter on my mouth . . . per Gia’s suggestion.
William’s grin lets me know that slip was okay. “Gia likes him.” He shrugs, and my face scrunches up. “More impressive is that he likes her.”
“Most people do,” I say with a reflective smile.
“My stepdad really doesn’t take to anyone. He hasn’t with me, and I lived in his house for over fifteen years,” he says.
“Does Gia know he’s never taken you to a carnival?”
He laughs and shrugs. “Nah. Me and Gia don’t really talk about my issues with the family. Her stuff always seems like real problems. I didn’t want to seem like a spoiled, grumbling rich kid.
“When I did my student teaching, I did a year in the inner city. It was rough, but it was an eye-opener. Seeing how kids live there . . . some didn’t even have a parent to go home to because they had to work two jobs just to make ends meet. It really makes you realize what’s important and how lucky you are. A lot of kids were smart and had potential but didn’t even consider going to college because they couldn’t afford it, because no one else in their family had gone. They didn’t consider it an option.” He’s so passionate the blue in his eyes seems deeper. “Even with a snob of a stepdad, life could have been a whole lot worse.” He sips the last of his Coke.
With that statement, I really look at Will. His parents are rich, but he doesn’t flaunt it. He wears Levi’s and plain T-shirts like he’s refusing to be what he is—except being beautiful. He can’t refuse that. I can see why Gia fell for him and why she’s skeptical. He’s playful and sarcastic, but behind his eyes, he looks vulnerable. A piece of him seems broken, and it makes you want to fix it.
“So since you’ve never been to a carnival before, that means you’ve never played any carnival games?” I ask sneakily.
“You got me.” He laughs.
“Oh, this is going to be so much fun!”
We play almost every single game in the carnival. We start from the entrance and make our way around. I don’t remember sucking so much at them, but apparently I have amnesia since I’m pretty bad. Will is actually good at almost everything he plays, winning a prize from each. He doesn’t keep them though, with the exception the last game. He wins a cute stuffed bumblebee there, and I think he’s keeping it for Gia. I don’t to tell him that she hates stuffed animals and that when we were younger, she hid all of mine from me.
We ride the bumper cars and the Tilt-a-Whirl, which Will doesn’t do great at. He has to sit down for at least twenty minutes, while I tease him mercilessly, but things have gone really well. Will is cool, and I feel like around him I don’t have to watch what I say or think too hard about it. It’s funny since we’ve only known each other a few days and got off on the wrong foot, but we’re comfortable together, or at least I’m comfortable with him. Or maybe it’s easy to be comfortable with someone in such a fun-filled place.
“We should probably be heading back,” he says, glancing at his watch.
“Just one more thing,” I say, pointing at the Ferris wheel. “No trip to a carnival is complete without that.”
We wait in line for about ten minutes before we make it to the front. The ride worker—an older woman, possibly in her fifties—opens the carriage for us with a smile.
“You guys are handsome couple. You’re going to make it for the long haul, I can tell,” she says with a wink as we climb in.
“We’re not together,” I tell her before she closes the gate. I’m not sure if she hears me—a part of me hopes she doesn’t.
We sit on the opposite sides of the ride.
“I had so much fun today. I haven’t had this much fun in a long time,” I tell him.
“I did too. You’re pretty cool, Gwen Dwyer,” he says, squeezing the little stuffed insect in his arm.
“You’re not bad yourself. Gia’s really lucky,” I say, surprising myself with the hint of sadness in my voice.
He gives me a bright smile, then his expression softens. The moment is broken when the Ferris wheel lurches and makes this horrible grinding sound that makes my heart about jump out of my chest. It’s so jarring I end up almost on top of Will, who grips my waist. When the death machine stills, I notice his breath is minty. When did he get gum? I then notice how crystal clear his blue eyes are, how strong and warm his hands are against my skin, how they send a tingling through my entire body. For a moment, just for a moment, I forget he’s Gia’s boyfriend. I want to close my eyes and take his lips in mine. I want him to pull me close and kiss me softly and for him to make it long.
“Are you okay?” he asks quietly, our faces only inches from one another’s.
I nod. Does he feel this? Is it one-sided or maybe just a crazy sugar-induced adrenaline rush that’s playing with my mind, giving me crazy thoughts about taking his face between my hands and kissing him? Neither of us moves. I feel a pull toward him. Our lips are magnets. I swear I see him slowly inching toward me, our walls both coming down, until the lights and the music of the ride come back on and we both snap out of the trance. And the very next moment is the most awkward and most heartbreaking moment I’ve ever experienced. His hands leave my waist, and I push myself to the other side of the ride.
“That was crazy, wasn’t it?” he says, his voice higher than it was a few seconds ago.
“Yeah, real crazy.” I’m not sure if he’s referring to the ride going haywire or if he means the moment that would have been certifiably insane if the ride hadn’t started to move again.
Crazy adj.—definition: wanting to kiss your sister’s boyfriend.
ON THE RIDE back, I try to quit replaying the images of nearly kissing Will in my mind. I ignore the excitement that grows within me each second. But thinking about it also makes me terrified and disgusted. Was it just me? Maybe I imagined it all, but as quiet as Will has been, I assume I did
n’t.
I stop myself several times from bringing it up in the truck on the way home. It’s stupid. It was just a stupid moment—one of the best almost-moments in my life. All the energy surrounding me, the intensity of being so close to a man I know little about and sharing a pull I’ve never felt with anyone else. Even with all the experimenting I’ve done with Zach, I never felt the same pull toward him I felt today with Will. I’ve never wanted to be closer to another person the way I did today. I try to think of the right words to end this awkward silence and remove the images running in my head, the nervousness in my stomach, the guilt that’s occupying the space between us like a real person.
What the hell is wrong with me? I have to shake this. This is stupid. I can’t have feelings for Will. Not Will. They’re not feelings; it’s a crush. There isn’t any chemistry between us. It was just a tense moment—we both thought we might die on a dilapidated Ferris wheel in the middle of nowhere. I am just psyching myself out.
When I see my hometown’s welcome sign, something I’d dreaded earlier, I perk up a bit. At least now I can take my mind off of what it’s been focused on for the past three hours. I think of what I’ll say to my mother, how pissed she’s going to be, if she’ll play nice since we’ll have company. Maybe she’ll send me to my room. Hopefully more attention will be on Will than on me. They’ll be grilling him, observing him to see if he’s good enough for my perfect sister. The limelight won’t be on me tonight. Its seven thirty, and dinner will most likely be served at eight sharp. That’ll give us both time to shower and clean up before my mother’s guests arrive.
“Are you nervous about seeing your mom?”
His voice jolts me. I haven’t heard it for the past few hours other than him asking me about a turn here or there, and even then it was low and distant. Now it sounds more like the one I’d gotten used to earlier.
“No. Are you?” I ask, trying to sound casual.
“A little more than I thought.” He glances at me with a weak smile.
“I’m sure all her ill feelings will be directed at me,” I say, trying to make him feel better.
We pull up in front of my house. I let out a deep sigh before getting out and walking up our porch, Will not far behind me. My mom opens the door, a frown already on her face.
“It’s about time. Where have you two been? Gia said you should have made it hours ago,” my mother says, dramatically eyeing me without as much as glancing at Will. She’s in full-on dinner-party mode, wearing a white Liz Claiborne dress suit. Her manicured hand taps her gold watch, and her dark hair’s swept up in a bun.
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Garten. It was my fault. We got lost on the way in.” Will’s voice is smooth, his words more articulate, and they seem odd coming from the man I’ve been with for the past few hours.
My mom’s frown instantly perks up as her eyes survey him, searching for flaws. William has virtually none. I can see my mom envisioning what a great addition he’ll be to our family portrait. I should be thankful he’s soothed her wrath and taken her scrutiny from me, but I can’t help feeling annoyed. I’d somehow thought Will and I were kindred spirits, the rebels of our clans. But I guess this isn’t Will; this is William.
“Please forgive my manners,” my mother says, her voice warm as she extends her hand.
Will takes it.
“It is so nice to meet you,” she says.
“It’s nice to meet you as well, Mrs. Garten,” he says in William’s voice.
“Please come in.” She moves from in front of the entrance so that Will and I can pass, but before I follow him, she puts her hand on his back so that they can walk in front of me, of course. “Come, come, sit. I can’t imagine being in such a cramped space for so long.
She doesn’t even glance at me, but I actually prefer her silent treatment.
“It wasn’t bad. Gwen was a great road trip companion,” he says with a fake laugh.
I think it’s fake anyway. I roll my eyes, and my mom shoots me a sharp glare.
“You’re so handsome. My Gia certainly has my taste,” she says jokingly.
“And she’s inherited her beauty from you,” he says.
I want to gag.
“Oh stop,” she says, lightly hitting his hand. “Martin and I have been so anxious to meet you. You have to tell us everything.”
“I’d be glad to. I was hoping to freshen up a bit before dinner if possible though,” he says, sounding foreign to me. I’d never thought of him as a guy who would say “freshen up.”
“Of course! Let me show you to your room so you can get settled. We’ll get acquainted at dinner. I hope you like salmon. Marta’s salmon is to die for,” my mom exaggerates.
Marta is the housekeeper-slash-cook we inherited when Martin became our stepdad. Having someone cook and clean for us seems so pretentious. When my dad was alive, we shared chores, and he and I cooked. Now Marta controls the kitchen as if it’s her own personal kingdom.
“I love salmon,” William says enthusiastically.
We follow her upstairs, and she shows him the guest room and points out the extra bathroom he can use. She also tells him there’s a phone so he can let Gia know he’s made it. He thanks her before we leave him, and as soon as his door shuts, my mother scowls.
“We have much to discuss, young lady, but I won’t let you ruin this night. I laid out a dress for you on your bed. I expect you to be on your absolute best behavior tonight.” With an agitated huff, she walks past me and down the stairs.
I SHOWER AND look at the baby blue dress my mother has laid out on my bed. It’s her favorite color and the girliest, primmest dress I’ve seen in a long time. I wonder if this is a test, if she’s trying to break my resolve. Maybe she wants me to crack. I bet she wants to send me away to some bad behavior camp or boarding school so I can be out of their hair. She doesn’t trust me to just sit and not cause problems. I guess I’ve done so well at causing them she thinks I couldn’t succeed at anything else.
Well, tonight is the night I prove her wrong. I’ll show her I can be well-behaved and as prim and uptight as she could want me to be. She’s not going to ruin my chance to get the hell out of here and live with Gia when summer hits. I’ll be the perfect Stepford daughter. I blow-dry my hair and pull it onto the top of my head in a Audrey Hepburn-style bun, and I put on the stupid ugly dress. I have to fight the urge to put on my black leather boots with it, not that I really want to. They’re not really comfortable, but they would piss her off and annoy Martin. Instead I slip on a pair of stockings, which she always nags me to wear, and white Mary Janes. I glance at myself in the mirror and practice a fake wide smile.
“Dinner was wonderful, Mother. I had the most excellent time with William, Martin. I almost made out with my sister’s boyfriend, everyone,” I say into the mirror with a pageant smile. Instead of feeling a smug satisfaction with myself, my stomach feels sick. I let out a sigh.
I open the door and head downstairs, the stench of salmon hitting my nose before I round the corner to the kitchen. I wonder if my mom chose salmon since it’s my least favorite fish. When I enter the dining room, as if on cue, Martin and Will stand. My heart sinks when I see him. His hair is no longer deliciously untidy but is now combed back. He’s wearing a navy dinner jacket, white button-up, khaki slacks, and a tie. He looks like a Ken doll, so different from the rugged, jean-jacketed, tattooed guy with the amazing blue eyes. He looks like William Crestfield, not Will Scott. Then I realize I look like Gwendolyn Garten, not Gwen Dwyer. Once I enter the room and our eyes lock, I think he can read my thoughts because his eyes drift to the table and his face turns red.
“You look beautiful, Gwendolyn,” Martin says, his eyes lighting up when he sees the picture-worthy stepdaughter he’s always imagined.
“I picked out her dress. It’s perfect on her, isn’t it?” my mother says with a pleased smile as I stand behind my chair across from Martin and my mother and next to William.
“It is,” Martin agrees.
> William, which I’ve decided to call him for the rest of the night, pulls out my chair.
“William was just telling us about how fulfilling his job as a teacher is,” my mom says, sounding impressed.
I have to bite my tongue to keep from snickering. Thankfully Marta brings out the appetizer.
“Marta is a fantastic cook. You’re in for quite a treat,” Martin gushes.
“You’re too kind, sir,” Marta says in the monotone that never deviates from bored and displeased.
My mom couldn’t stand her and complained incessantly to me and Gia when we moved in, but Marta had had a place in this house long before my mother. I think Martin told her Marta wasn’t going anywhere in the passive-aggressive way he does when he refuses her something, which doesn’t happen much.
“Gwen cooked for Gia and me. She’s amazing. I couldn’t believe she’d made lasagna from scratch,” William says, and I suppress a small smile.
“Gwen hasn’t cooked in ages,” my mom says, mildly enthused.
“It was really fantastic,” he says.
I feel my face heating up.
“You’ll have to make us some sometime, Gwen,” Martin says.
Marta displays a blatant frown before she leaves us to taste her dish.
“So, William, are wedding bells in your future with Gia?” Mom asks.
“Whenever your daughter says yes,” Will says charmingly.
“Oh, how exciting. When are you going to ask her?” She beams at William.
My eyes widen, as do William’s. My mom looks genuinely interested, which means Gia hasn’t mentioned to my mother that Will has proposed. Will, who has been cool, poised, and collected, looks caught off guard.
Martin notices and tries to step in. “Honey, that’s nothing to spring on the boy.” He laughs, making light of the situation.
“It’s just a question, Martin,” my mom says charmingly.
William’s face turns beet-red. Gia didn’t tell Mom that he proposed. Why wouldn’t she tell her? His eyes are downcast now, the charming grin gone. The tension in the room has become downright awkward.
