Zayne smirks. “Come on. I’m not so bad. I introduced you to the world’s best pumpkin patch, remember? And this apple cider.”
I lift my mug in a toasting motion. “True.” When it’s our turn to launch pumpkins, I grab one and situate it atop the sling. “Watch how it’s done,” I tell Zayne before promptly launching the tiny pumpkin straight onto the ground no more than three feet from us.
Zayne chuckles. I shoot him a death glare, and he tries, unsuccessfully, to make his grin disappear. “Try again,” he says.
I put another pumpkin on the sling. Stretching it back as far as I can, I launch it clear past the target altogether this time. “I think this is rigged,” I state.
“Step aside, sunshine.” Zayne grabs a medium sized pumpkin off the stack of available ones to smash. I briefly wonder who determines what makes a pumpkin worth smashing or selling. Zayne stretches the sling back and aims for the target. When he lets go, I expect his pumpkin to fall on the ground like mine did. Maybe land a few feet from the target. But no. Of course, it smashes right into the bullseye, leaving me gaping in disbelief. He dusts his hands off before picking his mug of cider back up. “Yeah, you’re right. Most definitely rigged.”
“Not fair. You’ve probably practiced hitting that target a million times.”
He shrugs, a pleased smile still on his mouth. “Maybe. Maybe not. You’ll never know.”
An employee with a gold smile rakes our smashed pumpkin guts out of the way for the next people. He motions toward a shelf full of stuffed animals. “Go ahead and pick a prize,” he tells Zayne.
Zayne plucks a stuffed honeybee off the shelf. As he walks back, he hands me the bee and says, “Let’s ride the Ferris wheel.”
“Okay.” I stare at the stuffed animal and something in my chest expands. It’s a familiar feeling. One I used to experience every time I’d think about Carlton. It’s alarming that I’m having it again, but it feels too good to analyze in this moment.
We make our way over, standing in line briefly before stepping up to ride. A short guy with curly hair and glasses marks our wristbands with a black marker.
“Hey, Jude.” Zayne cocks his head at the boy.
He nods. “Zayne.”
We hop into the next seat and the ride begins. “You know him?”
“He goes to our school. He’s in the crew for drama club.”
“Ah. I should have known. Because apparently, every high schooler in Massachusetts goes to Fallbrook and cares about theater.”
He snorts in amusement at my sarcasm.
As the tiny car we’re sitting in rises up, the cool wind stings my cheeks. I stare at the landscape below. The sun is an orange haze, just beginning to dim near the horizon. The inside of the corn maze is visible from this high up, and I spy a few bloody-looking scarecrows tucked precariously throughout its random nooks and crannies.
I point to the maze. “Have you ever done that?”
Zayne blows out an amused laugh. “Oh, yeah. Plenty of times. My mom volunteered me and Lenny to work it one Halloween, even.”
“What?” I stifle a laugh. “Zayne and Lenny Silverman, undead brothers?” I grin. “I’m sure Lenny had afieldday. Ha. Get it?”
Zayne closes his eyes, but a smile spreads across his lips. I can tell he doesn’t want to laugh. But my joke is so bad,it’s practically impossible. “He kept calling us ‘The Salvatore Brothers’ actually,” he says. “You know. FromThe Vampire Diaries?”
I burst out laughing. “I bet Lenny was Stefan. He’s much too nice to be Damon.”
“I don’t remember who was who.”
“That’s such a lie!” I point my finger at him. “You’re lying.”
“I’ve chosen to forget all about it.”
“Well now that I know, I’m going to bring it up as often as I can. Come to think of it, I demand to see photos of this event.”
He shakes his head. “That’s nothing compared to the time Mom and Mimi made us dress up as cowboys and then forced us into a photo shoot.”
“Wait. I think I’ve seen that photo. It’s hanging on your wall.”
He nods with his lips pressed together. His shoulders slump. “Yes. Yes, it is.”
