Despite the fact that it’s a perfect night with a light breeze and the setting sun leaving a watercolor rainbow in the sky, the carnival sucks, and Reeve is intent on letting me know it.
“Duck pond?” he says as we walk past row after row of colorful game booths. “I had that shit mastered by kindergarten. And what loser can’t figure out how to beat the ring toss? Carnival games haven’t evolved in fifty years, and dumbasses still end up losing a month’s paycheck on them.”
“God, you really are an asshole when you’re in a bad mood.”
“You were warned. But seriously, this shit’s for kids. Look at the High Striker—that nine-year-old just hit the top.”
Judging by the swarms of shrieking, sticky children that keep dodging around us and the giant strollers we navigate past, he’s right.
“Okay, big man. Let’s see you win a prize, then.”
“Ooh, tough challenge. Next why don’t you dare me to throw a ten-yard pass.”
I turn to him. “I mean it. Win a prize for me. Whichever one I want.”
For the first time all night, there’s a light in his eyes. “Tell you what ... you beat me at a game and I’ll make sure you go home with whatever shitty prize your heart desires.”
Now I’m figuring him out. Make it a competition and he’ll agree to anything. “You’re on. Which game?”
“Take your pick.” His smile has never been cockier.
I look around, taking in the options until I spot the one I was hoping for. “That one,” I say, pointing.
“Balloon darts?” He lets out a hoot. “Girl, you must have a real hard-on for public embarrassment.”
I take him by the arm and head for the booth with the wall of rainbow-colored balloons. “Sure, stud.”
“Honestly, I should feel bad for you, but it’s your own fault. If you were any normal Shafer coed, you’d have been watching my games for three years and you’d realize the stupidest thing you could do is challenge me to any kind of throwing contest.”
“Your confidence is admirable but a little premature.”
“You know what?” He throws an arm around my shoulder like I was just born to be his armrest. “You were right. Thisisfun.”
I smile to myself and breathe in the scent of his body. I consider letting him win, because seeing Reeve happy is becoming an addiction. Then I think better of it—it’s high time the president of Campbell Junior High’s darts team showed up an athlete.
Six minutes later, Reeve can’t believe I won.
“It’s rigged,” he insists. “Either that or the carney in the booth is your secret lover.”
“Why not both?” I clutch my prize tighter—a small plush football.
“Seriously, how did you do that?”
“I was the president of the darts club in middle school,” I say casually.
“What?” He laughs. “You dork!”
“Better to have good aim with a sharp object than an animal hide.”
“Animal hide, huh? That reminds me, you hungry?” he asksas we approach a food stand where the warm smell of fried dough hangs in the air.
Suddenly I am hungry. “I don’t think I’ve had funnel cake in ten years.”
“Let’s get one. That used to be my favorite.”
At the fried-food stand, Reeve smiles at the teen girl operating the booth and asks for extra powdered sugar on our funnel cake. By the time she hands it over, it’s more sugar than dough.
We make our way to a small clearing behind some food trucks where bistro lights crisscross and illuminate a cluster of wooden picnic tables. I can’t believe it, but every time a stranger’s head turns to stare at Reeve or someone’s eyes linger on his semifamous face, I feel a little swell of pride to be the girl at his side.
