“We need this framed,” I declared, grabbing the photo from him. “It’s going on my wall when we get back.”
I was always the friend capturing every little moment like it might disappear if I didn’t. It was how I remembered the good things, how I held on to them. I wasn’t a professional by any means, but I was a sentimental person.
Speaking of…
“Wait!” I said suddenly, digging into my purse and pulling out the tiny camcorder I brought along. “I forgot to film when we got here. I was too distracted by your face.”
I clicked the record button and pointed it at Logan. “Okay, rate that ride. One being it sucked balls, ten being the best ride of your life.”
Without skipping a beat, Logan played along, tapping his chin thoughtfully as I walked backward toward the next attraction, the camera pointed at him the whole time.
“I’m gonna give it a solid seven point five,” he said with a slow nod.
I flipped the camera and held it above us, angling it so we were both in the frame.
“Logan Walker is a tough sell,” I said, grinning. “I’d give that an easy nine. The actors were legit.”
“I can’t give out tens this early in the day. We’ve got a whole lineup ahead of us.”
I tilted my head back and forth, mock-considering.
“Well,” I said, lowering the camera slightly. “I guess that just means we have a lot of work to do.”
Logan slipped his arm around my shoulder as we strolled down the paved walkway, weaving through a line of creaky, worn-down game booths. Workers in character stood at the booths, instructing kids on how to play the games. The sun beat down hot and relentless, and the air between bodies felt thick and almost unbearable. Normally, I would’ve pulled away—Logan’s body heat soaking into mine would’ve had me sweating—but instead, I stayed tucked close to his side, content to let him shield me from the chaos around us.
The booths were made of weathered wood, with chipped paint and crooked signs barely hanging on. Then the crowd thinned, and one booth sat slightly apart from the others like it had been forgotten on purpose.
“Come on over,” the worker called, flipping a ball in the air and catching it again with a smirk. I ignored him at first, but then he pointed directly at me. I blinked, pointing at myself with a skeptical head tilt.
“Yeah, you.” He grinned slowly, nodding.
Of course, now I wanted to go over.
“You sure about this?” Logan muttered from the corner of his mouth. “Pretty sure this is how every horror movie starts, the pretty blond walks toward something she definitely shouldn’t.”
“Well, it’stwopretty blonds walking toward something we shouldn’t,” I shot back with a smirk. “Because you’re coming with me.”
I grabbed his hand and tugged him forward. I could’ve sworn I heard him gulp behind me, but he didn’t resist.
“Want to play?” the guy asked, voice low and eerie—part of the act. Pale gray makeup dusted his face, the tangled mess of hair adding to the illusion that he, too, had been left behind in this haunted amusement park.
“He does,” I said quickly, tossing a thumb back at Logan, who stood stiff behind me, arms crossed, posture screaming protector mode.
The guy laughed and reached into a bucket, pulling out five balls.
“All right, big guy. Five bucks for five tries.” He held out a hand with dramatic flourish.
Logan groaned but pulled out his wallet and slipped a crisp bill into the guy’s palm. I knew I was awful at these types of games with no hand-eye coordination to speak of, so why embarrass myself when I could get a good laugh watching Logan instead?
He stepped up to the red spray-painted line on the patchy grass and tossed a ball in the air like he was warming up for the World Series.
The game’s objective was to hit the stack of bottles perched on a stool.
Logan’s first pitch missed entirely.
The booth guy let out a long whistle, tipping his invisible cowboy hat. “I reckon you’ve never hit a target in your life.”
I burst out laughing. Logan rolled his eyes.
