I heard someone shout “Oi! Watch out!” But I had no idea that this was referring to me until a second later, when ?I crashed directly into someone. Someone who’d been holding a large orange drink, which splashed all over me.
“Oh my god,” I said, getting my balance back and looking down at myself. My dress was now splotched with bright orange stains. It was on my hair, on my hands—sticky and sweet smelling.
“Oh no!” Bryony said, as she caught up with me. She looked at my dress, her expression going grave. “I have a Tide pen?” Her hand strayed toward her purse for a moment but then dropped. We both could clearly see this was far beyond the help of a Tide pen.
“I’m so, so sorry,” I heard a crisp British accent say. I looked up at the guy who’d crashed into me and blinked. He was a few inches taller than me andverycute. He was South Asian, with dark curls, one of which had tumbled over his forehead like he was a character in a Regency romance novel. He looked my age, and was wearing jeans, sneakers, and a green T-shirt that readEXCALIBUR!
“What was that?” I asked, looking at the orange-splotched mess I had become.
“Irn-Bru,” the guy? said with a grimace.
“Irn what?” Bryony asked.
“Irn-Bru,” he said again, louder, like increasing the volume would make things clearer. He glanced at Bryony. “I didn’t get you, did I?”
“No, I’m okay. Just Cass.”
“That’s you? Cass?” Despite everything, I couldn’t help but appreciate the way he said my name. Why were British accents always sogood? “I’m terribly sorry, really. Irn-Bru is a Scottish soda? I was bringing it for Niall, you know, like a peace offering, but…” He stopped and shook his head. “Never mind. I really am sorry. Is there anything I can do?”
I was just staring at him, and I realized this a second later and looked away. He somehow seemed familiar, but I was pretty sure that I would have remembered meeting a guy this cute. Because hereallywas. My heart was pounding hard, and I realized all at once I hadn’t had an instant crush like this in a while. Not since Bruce. “Oh, I mean, it’s groovy. Don’t worry about it.”
There was a sound like a cough, and I looked over to see Bryony widening her eyes at me. I could tell from on?e glance that she had totally clocked that I was crushing on this guy and that she was not about to let me forget that I’d just said the phraseit’sgroovy.
“Well,” he said. He raked a hand through his curls in a way that honestly should have been illegal. “Truly, my deepest apologies.”
Had anyone ever said that outside an Austenian drawing room? It was like I could practically feel myself going into a swoon. “No worries,” Bryony said, when it was clear I had lost the ability to reply.
“I have to go, but—sorry. Again.” The guy gave me a smile, and then turned and walked away, past some shops and a bathroom—in the direction of where I was pretty sure Grizzly Peak was.
I watched him go, then turned to Bryony. “Ohmy god.”
“I’m so sorry about your dress. That sucks.”
“Oh right.” Between the curls and the accent and the Mr. Darcy fantasy that had been forming in my head, I’d forgotten about it. “It’s not that big a deal. Did that guy look familiar to you?”
“No,” Bryony said with a shrug. “But could you havehadmore of a crush on him? My god, Cass.”
“Who knew I had a weakness for British accents?”
She sighed. “We all do. It’s American kryptonite.”
“So, what do you think? Swings?”
“Sounds groovy!”
I laughed, and we headed in that direction, but it seemed like everyone else hadalsodecided at that moment that the swings were a great idea—the line was longer than I’d ever seen it. Neither of us wanted to wait, so we walked farther down the boardwalk section of Pixar Pier.
“Ferris wheel?” I asked.
“Great,” Bryony said, picking up her pace. “Let’s hurry before that gets mobbed, too.”
As we got closer, I could see this wasn’t actually called a Ferris wheel—it was the Pixar Pal-A-Round, which explained why all the cars had Pixar characters painted on the sides of them. There were two lines leading to the ride—one to the right, one to the left. And whereas the left-side line was pretty full, the right was almost empty. “This way!” I called to Bryony as I ran toward it. She laughed and we ran together, around the corner to where the cars were stopping and cast members opened the doors of the cars to let people out and get new riders on. As we got into line, I felt a little smug. What was everyone elsedoing? There were only four people ahead of us, whereas the other line stretched almost back to the entrance.
A red car came to a stop—I could see it had Remy, fromRatatouille, on it—and four people got off, all of them looking distinctly queasy. I shook my head. It may have had a different name, but it was essentially a Ferris wheel—evenIcould handle a Ferris wheel.
The four people in front of us got into their car, and the wheel spun on. A breeze lifted my hair and I felt myself shiver slightly. It wasn’t cold enough to need my jean jacket—not yet—but I was still glad I packed it. I had a feeling I’d definitely need it in an hour or so. “So glad we picked this line,” I said to Bryony as I pulled my bag higher on my shoulder.
“Yeah,” she said slowly as she looked around, her brow furrowing. “I actually think…”
