“Yep,” I say. He hands me a stack of rings, and Wren cuts her eyes in my direction.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“Thought you could use some friendly competition.”
“Don’t you dare distract me,” she warns, taking her time setting up her aim for one of the glass milk jugs. “I really want to ride the bumper cars next, and I’m not going to let you keep me from winning.”
“Can’t perform with an audience?” I ask, right as the ring leaves her hand. It bounces off a bottle and clatters to the ground.
“Stop it,” she says, flipping toward me, placing her hands on her hips.
“You see, I really want to ride the pirate ship, so I think I’m going to have to show you how it’s done.” I confidently throw a ring towards the bottles, and it ricochets off the glass and bounces back towards where we stand.
“Isthathow it’s done?” she asks, giggling. “Because I thought the point was to get the ring on the bottle.”
“Ha! It’s harder than it looks,” I say, throwing another ring, but I miss again. “I’m just warming up. I’ll get it.”
“Oh, right. I was just warming up too,” she says, trying to toss another ring. She comes close, but doesn’t make it. “Shit, maybe we should have picked a different game.”
“Quitting already,” I tease.
“Never,” she says.
Ring after ring, we both attempt to hit our target and fail. I’m down to three rings, and it looks like Wren only has two left. I glance toward our friends, and it doesn’t look like anyone has lucked into a prize, so there’s still time. We both toss a ring at the same time, and they bounce off.
“Dammit,” she curses. I watch as she moves her feet and attempts to get into the perfect ring tossing stance. She carefully aims for a bottle in the front and misses.
“Better luck next time,” the booth worker says. “Want to play again?”
“No,” she says, disappointed. “I think I’m gonna go try the balloon-a-rama game with Donovan and Enzo. Want to come?” She looks at me.
“You aren’t gonna watch me win?” I ask. “I have two more rings.”
“You could have fifty more rings, and there is no way you’d win,” she taunts. “I’m pretty sure it’s rigged so that no one wins.”
The worker behind the booth snickers at her statement.
“Come on, have a little faith ,” I say, throwing a ring. It circles the rim of the jug, and then bounces off.
“See. It’s impossible,” she says. “Let’s go play something else.”
“Which one is your favorite?” I ask as she turns to walk away.
“What?” she asks, looking over her shoulder.
“Which stuffed animal is your favorite?” I glance up at the rows of stuffed animals and toys lining the ceiling of the booth.
“What does that matter?” she asks.
“I’m just wondering. Indulge me.”
“Um…” She looks up at the display of prizes. “I guess the unicorn or, no, the cheetah,” she says, pointing to a little yellow cheetah hanging from the top of the booth. “Yeah, I like her.”
Rocking back and forth, I extend my arm in a practicing motion, lining up my aim. I toss the ring, and it connects with the bottle, slipping around the neck.
“No way!” she exclaims. “You won!”
“Winner!” the operator yells, ringing a loud bell.
