The machine beeped. “Get ready. Three. Two. One.”
FLASH.
“Ow! Wren, your elbow’s in my kidney,” Colt yelled.
FLASH.
I blinked the spots from my eyes. Wren leaned over Brock and planted a big kiss on my cheek.
“Brock, do something other than scowl!” Colt demanded.
FLASH.
Colt tried to throw bunny ears behind Brock’s head. I lifted my hand without thinking, trying to protect the injured shoulder. Brock chose that moment to grab Colt’s face and shove it toward the camera.
FLASH.
"Printing," the robotic voice chimed.
We spilled out of the booth into the muggy night, laughing and untangling ourselves. The machine whirred and dropped a glossy strip of photos into the tray.
Colt snatched it up. “Masterpieces.” He looked over at the guy running the deep-fried butter stand. “Hey, buddy. You got scissors?”
The vendor handed over a pair of greasy shears. Colt snipped the strip in half and pressed one into my palm.
“There,” he said, already turning toward the glowing Ferris wheel. “For your fridge back in Chicago. So you don’t forget your favorite siblings.”
He didn’t wait for a reply, just headed off to argue with Wren about which ride to hit next.
I stood under the neon lights, looking down at the photos. My eyes skipped over the first three frames of cramped smiles and flying elbows before settling on the last one.
Colt was throwing bunny ears behind Brock. My hand was half-raised, and my face was buried in the crook of Brock's neck as I laughed.
For a split second, I saw my apartment back home overlooking the busy city. Then the image dissolved into mornings on the porch with coffee and the mountains, shopping with Wren, sneaking into Brock's room late at night, and the way Colt had just called himself my sibling.
I didn’t want to put this strip on my fridge. I didn’t really want to go back at all.
Wren caught my eye. She glanced between me and Brock, then grabbed Colt by the sleeve of his pearl-snap shirt.
“Hey! Watch the fabric!” Colt yelped.
“I want a hot dog,” she said, dragging him toward the food stalls. “The line’s long, so you’re keeping me company.”
“What? No, I want to go on the Zipper!”
She hauled him into the crowd and threw a wink over her shoulder at me. “You two go ahead. Meet us at the trucks when the park closes!”
They disappeared.
Brock stepped up beside me. “You okay?”
I tucked the photo strip into my pocket. "Yeah."
I looked past him toward the Ferris wheel, its gondolas glowing white against the darkening sky. "Can we go on that?"
He followed my gaze, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You sure? It’s a thirty-minute ride. Moves pretty slow.”
“Thirty minutes?”
