“But she should. People should always make time for family.”
If only it was that easy.
I really don’t feel like spending the night talking about my fucked-up family, but I don’t have it in me to switch the subject. Staten means well. She’s genuinely interested in getting to know more about me. This is her way of making an effort.
“Mine is a little unconventional, if you haven’t noticed.”
She nods, running her thumb along the rim of the paper cone. “Mine is too. My dad, well, he left when my mom found out she was pregnant with me. It’s just been the two of us ever since.”
God, what a pathetic excuse for a father. Seriously, who does that? Who just up and leaves because they can’t take responsibility for their own actions? Who devotes their body and time and love to another human being just to rip it away? Staten didn’t deserve to be abandoned. Her mother didn’t deserve to raise a child all on her own.
Anger—the kind that’s grown teeth—steamrolls over me. “He left? Jesus, Staten. I’m so sorry. What a fucking piece of shit.”
There are a lot of other insults I have for him, but I don’t think Staten told me about her past to watch me blow my top.
She flaps her hand dispassionately. “It’s alright. I think my life would be worse if he was in it, honestly. Anyone who dips at the first sign of trouble and rescinds their love isn’t someone I want to associate with.”
I think back to the conversation I had with her during one of our many tutoring sessions. She’s always been so guarded with her emotions—so hesitant to let people in. The pieces are finally starting to fall into place.
“Temporariness,” I recall.
“My greatest enemy. That and a Costco-sized bag of pumpkin-shaped Reese’s,” she says with a chuckle.
Harlan’s voice, unfortunately, pulls me back to the present. It seems as if they’ve returned from their detour. “Hey, you guys want to ride the roller coaster next?”
An undertone of fear makes itself known, and Staten taps her foot against the ground like she’s studied the anatomy of her anxiety extensively. “Thatroller coaster? You mean the one that looks like it was jerry-built on toothpicks and dreams?”
“I’m sure it’s just for aesthetic reasons,” Merit says.
Staten scoots closer to me, as if I have the power to protect her from someFinal Destination-esque death sequence. “I’m, uh, not big on roller coasters. But you guys should go ahead! Yeah, I can wait here. I’m good with waiting.”
With Mr. Cuddles still riding on my shoulders, I use my arm to pull her into a side hug, trying to provide a safety checkpoint for her and her fairly rational fears. “Staten is just being nice and covering for me. I hate roller coasters,” I lie.
When she looks up at me, the gratitude in her eyes makes the heavy stone in my belly lighten. Gratitude reminiscent of a castaway finally finding land after days adrift.
The truth is, I’m a thrill seeker through and through. I love shit that’s dangerous. It makes me feel alive, you know? It’s probably why I’m so inclined to test all these limits between me and Staten, because I have no sense of self-preservation.
Crew tilts his head in confusion. “But I thought you liked?—”
My voice jumps to a prepubescent, pitchy squawk. “NO! No. I…nope. I’ve always hated them. Something about the drops and stuff. They mess with my stomach.”
Crew, Merit, Harlan, and Irelyn all stare at me like I just admitted to murder. Good to know that I can’t rely on any of them if I ever need help disposing of a dead body.
“O-kay then. We’ll just meet you guys back here once we’re done.”
Still squeezing the life out of Staten, I adhere my fakest smile and wave my friends off, my whole body sagging with relief once their silhouettes vault into the night.
She breaks free from our weird side hug, then whips around to face me, eyes squinted. “Did you just lie to cover for me?”
“What? Of course not.” I feel like she’s cornered me into a kill zone, and I’m on the other end of her rusty catch pole.
“But—I?—”
Before she can finish her sentence, I think fast and drag her toward the funhouse a few feet away, clamping down on Mr. Cuddles’s leg to keep him from flying off from the momentum. She yelps and falls into step behind me, clinging to the cone of her cotton candy with the headstrong ambition tonotwaste my perfectly good five dollars.
“Where the hell are we going?!” she shrieks.
“It’s a surprise! You’ll love it. Or hate it. Who knows!”
