by Dylan Heart
“Right, then.” He pops his door open. “I’ll pick you up then.” He hops out of the car, and then shuts the door gently, peering inside before he leaves. “By the way, what does your dad do?”
“He’s made a career out of lying,” I huff. “He’s a lawyer. Trust me. I’m used to getting the third degree.”
His throat pulls tight, his fingers dancing along the edge of the window. “Awesome.”
I sense it in his voice and it’s something else we have in common—we both hate lawyers.
Chapter Fourteen
My favorite part of the Founders Carnival is the Metallic Monster. It’s a roller coaster that’s only a fraction of the size of thrill rides at amusement parks, but it gets the job done. It sits at the front of the carnival and promises an adventure much more thrilling than it actually is. Behind that beautiful monster is just another mundane carnival.
We arrive about an hour before sunset. Blue is hesitant at first, wanting to avoid another confrontation with his father, I assume. He doesn’t know anything Marvin told me or even that he told me anything at all, and I want to keep it that way—even if part of me wants him to open up and fully let me in. It’s still the beginning of our relationship and I figure in time he’ll trust me enough with his past.
I don’t blame him for withholding. There are things in my past that I’m not sharing, and it would be hypocritical to demand to know all his darkest secrets when I’m still carrying my own cheetah-print baggage.
We’re treated like royalty from the time we hit the front gate. Not only do we get free admission, score, but Blue promises we’ll be treated to free food and front-of-the-line admissions. You already know how much I love thrill rides—especially hastily-put-together roller coasters. And I definitely love fair food even if I hate the extra hours in the gym the following week. It can take up to twenty hours on the treadmill to burn the extra calories, but it’s more than a fair—get it?—tradeoff.
“You know I’m eying the Metallic Monster,” I say to Blue.
“That thing?” He points to the coaster. “You don’t wanna ride that.”
“I’ve been riding it since I was six.”
“I’m surprised you’re still alive.”
“I’ve cheated death more than my fair share of times,” I say. “When I was three years old, I was playing with my baby doll, Lilly, in the road. A trucker was speeding down the road and didn’t see me. So my dad ran into the road, pushed me into the grass, and saved me.” I shrug my shoulders. “At least that’s what he says. I don’t remember it.”
“Didn’t you say your dad was a liar?”
“Yeah,” I say, mildly offended. It’s different when it’s someone else pointing out my dad’s flaws, and there are plenty of them. “But that was before we had contempt for each other.”
“I shouldn’t have said that.” He shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”
And that’s why our relationship works. He can sense when I’m upset without needing signs or without me spelling it out for him with my words. “It’s all right.” I see an opening and take it. “What about your dad?”
He bites into his cheek, uncomfortable. “What about him?”
My hands rub against each other, unsure if I should press on. “What’s he like?”
“I don’t really know him.” His words come out slow and sheepish.
Liar! It angers me, saddens me. This is the second time in three days that he’s lied to me. Why doesn’t he just say We don’t talk or I wish I didn’t. I can’t say anything to him without admitting my own guilt of peeking into his past. We’re going to have a good night, even if it means saving all the bullshit for later.
“I’m riding the Metallic Monster with or without you,” I say, putting an end to the conversation.
“Fine. We’ll ride the monster. But if we start to derail, I expect a kiss before we die.”
“Oh.” I smile. “I’ll be holding you the entire way down.”
“Then I hope we go off the rails.”
My smile turns to a frown. “Why would you say that?”
“Isn’t it obvious? I wanna hold you.”
“I’ll tell you what. If you’re that afraid of a simple carnival ride, you can hold onto me the entire time, whether or not we’re on our way to our deathbeds.”
“I think we’re gonna have a good night.” He nods.
“Going to be a great night,” I add.
He grabs my hand and we begin walking toward the line for the monster. “I wanna talk to you about something later,” he says with a hint of trouble vibrating in his voice. “It’s our fourth date and I have something I wanna show you.”
By his count, it’s four. By mine, it’s two.
The worst part of cutting a line is looking at the faces on all of the children. Blue and I make our way to the front of the line and stand against the gate. Blue shakes hands with the carnie and makes light conversation. I’m too busy scanning the crowd to listen to what they’re saying. In the back of the line, I spot Dillon and Tyson. If Blue and I are going to have a good night, avoiding Dillon is a necessity.
I turn around to shield my face from them, hoping they didn’t see me. Dillon would give me a lecture about how we should be together again. Tyson would want to follow us around, cutting all the lines. I just want to be alone with Blue all evening.
“Roger’s gonna let us get on next,” Blue says, talking about the ginger carnie.
“Is he one of your friends?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “We hate each other, but he owes me.”
“C’mon, asshole!” Roger yells. I turn toward him in shock. There are kids in this line, and then I take a short glance at those kids that we’re ditching. Blue grabs my hand and pulls me through the gate.
I get into the train and pull the harness down over my head, and then look up to see Blue pat Roger on the shoulder. “Thanks, buddy,” he says condescendingly.
Roger gives Blue the finger. Blue responds with a light chuckle.
The chains below us pull tight, causing our car to jerk. Blue’s face goes stiff. Knowing that he loves the thrill of roller coasters gives me reason to worry. He knows this ride better than I do. He’s assembled it countless times, so I probably should have listened to his reasonable wisdom earlier.
The train cranks its way up the incline, maybe a hundred feet in the air. We’re in the second seat of the second train, so we’ll have the best of both worlds. At the tip of the ride, you can see everything for miles. It’s a reminder how terribly boring and flat the world around us really is. Above us, storm clouds race against the clock of the setting sun, and I’m hoping the rain holds off for the next minute and thirty seconds.
Blue takes in a deep breath as the car in front of us peeks over the edge and I know we’re at the point of no return. This is it.
The sudden drop is equally terrifying and euphoric. The metal of the train grinding against the metal of the track is reminiscent of a certain horror film involving final destinations. Blue’s hand falls into mine and grasps it as tight as a woman giving birth.
I scream into the wind, my hair blowing in a million directions. This right here is freedom. It’s ecstasy. It’s a drug. Everything inside me floats over the second hill, like an out-of-body experience. I’m far from my own body. Tears begin to well up in my eyes as the wind lashes against us.
There’s a jarring jerk as we come to a winding curve. The train turns onto its side, circling around the track. Angled just enough so that you could fall out, but you won’t. I swear I can hear the hydraulic fluid shooting out the side as the brakes screech against steel. My ecstatic glee is threatened by impending death.
Blue screams, finally letting go and throwing worry away at the most worrisome time. His hands rise into the air, clapping at the peak of the third hill. He tangles one hand with mine, the force of the strong wind unable to break us.
When the ride comes to a sudden halt, the revolutionary idea that we survived is a well-e
arned relief.
The rain comes about three minutes after we step off the roller coaster. We’re standing in line waiting for our fries when it hits. I’m forced to forego the vinegar as we make a mad dash to the arcade for shelter.
It comes fast and hard, like so many other things lately. We barely make it under the thick vinyl tent in time. The rain can be seen racing toward the ground at a pace of about a thousand miles per hour, but the only sound powerful enough to overtake the noise of the arcade is thunder. And it roars.
“I hope the storm goes away soon. I don’t wanna spend all night in here,” Blue says, leaning against a coin machine.
“Jimmy Clay said on the news this morning that there was a ten percent chance of rain showers,” I say, straightening out a dollar bill on the corner of the machine. “But that was the forecast for this morning. Typical,” I huff.
“Who’s Jimmy Clay?”
“My worst enemy.”
Four golden coins shoot out the bottom of the machine, each engraved with the face of a clown. Traumatizing.
I give Blue a nod and he follows me to an old-school zombie shooter. If I had to pick a favorite arcade game, this would be it. Nothing like an old-school shoot ’em up. I load the coins, grab a gun, and prepare for war. Of course, his gun is blue.
He’s much better at this game than I am. I haven’t spent more than thirty seconds in an arcade since I was a teenager. He’s probably spent his lunch breaks for the past ten years in this very tent. There are so many things I want to know about him and I’m getting tired of waiting.
“Blue,” I scream, directing him toward a creeping zombie hiding behind a wine barrel.
“I think you’ve got bigger brains to fry.”
Huh? I look back to my half of the screen to see two zombies throwing axes at me, both connecting with my electronic, first-person point-of-view face. A gruesome image flashes on my screen, rubbing my incompetence in my face: You Died!
“Dammit!” I force the gun into the metal holster. On one side of me, Blue annihilates an onslaught of undead mutants. On the other side, the setting sun peeks from behind the clouds, blinding the entire tent.
It’s arbitrary, but I decide this is the perfect moment to question him about what happened in the club. “Can I ask you something without you getting defensive?”
“Sure.” He squints, taking aim at targets on the screen. “What’s up?”
“It’s about the other night, when I found you on the stairs.”
His eyes level to the side. He adjusts his arm and sinks closer to the screen. “What about it?”
“I don’t like being lied to.” Much more straight to the point than I anticipated. My fingers curl into my palm, nervous about what comes next.
He bites into his lip, non-responsive.
“I just want to know the truth,” I say.
“Fine.” He slams the gun into its resting place. Zombies flood the screen and move in on him. He grabs me by the arm and pulls me out of the tent. I know he doesn’t mean to be aggressive, but the way he’s handling the situation is bothersome.
A shadow hangs over us—the last remnants of the fading sun. The carnival lights all begin to flicker on, seemingly in purposeful succession. I break away from his grip and take a step back.
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he says rigidly. “But I’m not gonna talk about it in there, in front of the rest of the world.”
“As if anyone would be interested in our conversation.”
“That’s not the point.” He scratches his head. “Do you want me to tell you that I lied? Would that make you feel better?”
“Well, the first step to sobriety is acceptance,” I say with sarcasm, then immediately straighten myself out. “Sorry.”
“Yeah.” He shrugs and chews on his cheek. “I was high. I went upstairs and did a line of Molly.”
My body shifts, my feet search for friction. “See, that wasn’t so difficult.”
He angles his eyes at me. “You’re not mad?”
“I was, but not because of the drugs. There’s a long list of things I can take, but the last thing I’ll deal with is a liar.”
“You have nothing to worry about with me. I’m not a liar.”
My lips purse. “Really?” I ask, with no need to present further evidence.
“I don’t mean to lie, but when you ask me these questions, I feel like you won’t like the answers. And I like you too much to lose you over something so stupid,” he says. “So how about we don’t call them lies? Let’s just say I have a tendency to stretch the truth.”
“I think that’s kind of the same thing.”
“No more lies, then.” He steps closer. “I promise.”
Let’s test that out. “How well do you know your dad?”
“Where did that come from?”
This whole no lies thing should probably apply to me as well. I hesitate, fearing his reaction. “You remember our first date?”
“Our second date?” he corrects me, smiling.
“When we stopped here before and we went to the quarry?”
“I remember.”
“Marvin told me some things about your family and about your past.”
“That stupid mother—”
I hold my hand up to him. “Don’t be mad at him. He was concerned for you.”
His face tightens. “What did he tell you?”
My turn to stretch the truth. “He just said you and your dad weren’t that close.”
“You know, earlier today I thought you were upset and I guess now I know why. It’s because you knew I wasn’t telling you the truth about my dad, wasn’t it?”
“There are a million and one things that I still don’t know about you, but I want to know everything, and it’s frustrating because you’re the furthest thing from an open book.”
He huffs, but it’s more of a chuckle. “We have the rest of our lives for all that. Can’t we just take things page by page?”
“That depends on how many more pages we have.”
“An infinite amount, I hope.” He leans in and kisses me softly. The noise of the carnival fades away. The only sound left is of some lucky gamer hitting the ticket jackpot. If they don’t snatch up the life-size giraffe, then they’re an idiot. “Any more questions that need to be immediately addressed?”
“Just one,” I say. “During your time on the circuit, did you ever run the game booths?”
“The worst four years of my life.”
“Would you mind putting those skills to use? I’ve been lusting after an oversized stuffed animal since I was four, but the odds were never in my favor.”
He shakes his head. “The odds aren’t in anyone’s favor. Those games are rigged more than a Vegas casino.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“All right.” He pushes my hair behind my ear. “I think you’re a little too old for a stuffed animal.” I push his chest. He laughs and grabs my hand. “C’mon. Let’s go make your childhood dreams come true.”
They kind of already are.
We come out of hiding, out from behind the tent, and merge into the midway crowds. Across the way, carnival rides are in full swing, their lights blurring against the sky. It reminds me of a beautiful puzzle nobody has thought to cut up yet.
This carnie has no idea what’s about to hit him. Blue says he must be a local because he’s never met him before. Poor sap.
“I don’t think this game is winnable,” Blue tells the carnie, tapping his fingers against the booth.
“Here,” the carnie says. “I’ll show you that it is.” The carnie moves to grab a ball, knocking over the three old-school milk bottles in the process. “Shit.”
Blue turns to me with a winning smirk as the carnie reassembles the bottles into a three-piece pyramid. With the ball in hand, the carnie approaches us, prepared to jump over the counter and prove just how winnable the rigged game is.
“You know what,” Blue says amusedly. “Ne
ver mind. We’re in a hurry, so I’ll just throw the ball.”
The carnie jerks back. “It’s okay, man. I’ll just show you real quick.”
Blue nods, then wrestles the ball out of the carnie’s hand as he hops the counter. He quickly squares his shoulders with his feet and throws the ball with force, knocking all three bottles off the stand and onto the ground. A little too excited, I jump up and down, clapping.
“We want the pink bear.” Blue points to a thirty-pound stuffed bear. The carnie grimaces, knowing full-well he just got played.
“Fine,” he huffs and hops back over the counter.
“I really don’t feel like carrying that thing around all night,” I say to Blue quietly.
“Actually, can we just pick that up later?” Blue asks the poor sap.
“I don’t know—”
“Thanks, buddy.” Blue smiles, and then grabs my hand and we walk away.
We travel down the midway, past an assortment of mouth-watering concession stands. From behind the cotton candy booth, the stench of weed billows out. Probably not the smartest place to indulge, with cops regularly patrolling the midway. I shake my head at the ignorance and Blue’s grip tightens around my fingers.
“Something wrong?” I ask.
“I don’t know. Are you sure you’re okay with the Molly thing?”
“Where did that come from?” I stop and face him. “I’m sure.”
“Absolutely sure? Because I’ll stop.”
My tongue swishes against my cheek. “Is it a problem? Like an addiction?”
“No,” he says firmly. “It’s just recreational.”
“Then I’m not going to judge you for something I’ve never tried, as long as it doesn’t become a problem.”
He nods and his entire face goes blank. His eyes shift back and forth, scanning mine. I can’t read what he’s feeling. “You really are the perfect woman.”
Hyperbole. “Look, we’ve all got our vices, Blue. You’ve got your Molly and I’ve got you.” I place a hand on his chest, wanting to be close to him, but not expecting to feel his heart. Not like this. It’s fast and furious, like it could beat out of his chest.
