He shrugs. “What other way would you answer?”
“I could lie to your face and you wouldn’t know,” I hum. “But I won’t. Honestly, I would be eating a lot of cherries.”
Carson arches a brow. “Cherries?”
I smile nervously. “My mom and I were obsessed with cherry-flavored anything and since our birthdays were close to each other, we would buy up half the cherry supply at Publix and watch our favorite movies.” She would joke that we kept all the cherry harvesters in business.
“She sounds fun,” he muses.
I nod, trying to keep my composure because talking about my mom makes me a little too emotional for public display. “She was,” I mumble, mostly to myself.
Carson takes the hint and drops the brief subject of my mother. “Cherry-everything, though? Isn’t that a lot?”
“Hey,” I chastise. “Don’t knock it until you try it.” To get a rise out of Carson, I take a piece of loose cilantro from the taco—the only good thing about it if you ask me—and pop it into my mouth like I would with popcorn.
“Never mind.”
I lift my chin in victory.
16
Sweet Suffering Lips
Carson
“Why?” Enzo and Ronnie approach me by the first—and largest—maze entrance. “Just why?” Enzo repeats his question, eyes stuck on the minion in my arms.
Diana’s arm got a little sore after holding onto Bartholomew (yes, I’m sticking with the name) for a while so I offered to keep an eye on him while giving her arms a break.
“Why not?” I counter with. “I won it fair and square.”
“It’s pretty funny. You look like a proud dad,” Ronnie adds. “What did Diana name it?”
I smile proudly. “His name is Bartholomew.”
“No! I didn’t pick that!” Diana shouts, causing the two guys in front of me to burst out laughing.
“You know,” Ronnie quips. “I genuinely thought you wouldn't make it out of those tutoring sessions alive. Guess I was wrong.”
“All of your limbs are intact,” Enzo points out cheerfully.
I narrow my eyes at the happy couple, squeezing the minion in my arms. “Very funny, guys.”
Ronnie shrugs. “I thought it was. Anyway, are you going to enter the maze?”
I look up at the entrance in front of me. Maybe I’m going crazy but I swear I can hear lightning and it’s not even raining. My list of fears does not consist of the superficial, common childhood frights—zombies, werewolves, clowns—but that maze looks like the beginning of the end.
And not theStairway to Heavenkind of end. Like every still ofThe Walking DeadandThe Last of Uscombined into one, megamind obstacle course.
“I might,” is the response I settle with. “Maybe not alone.”
“Well, you’re not going with us.” Enzo backs up and since he’s holding onto Ronnie’s hand, his boyfriend follows.
What happened between the time Diana and I left them and when we met up hours later for Horror Nights?
Just as my mind would have it, my head swivels behind me, where Diana and her roommates were. Past tense because now they don’t occupy that space.
Dammit. There goes my chance to ask her.
