Page 74 of The Moment I Knew

I only took half a second to consider it, but then I was sliding my hand in his and following him across the parking lot to the front door of Sky Zone. The closer I got to the building, the more excited I was growing.

A dull, constant roar pressed through the glass—music bleeding into shouting, the rhythmic thud thud thud of bodies hitting trampolines, the sharp whistle of air displaced by something moving too fast. As soon as we reached the door, I could feel it vibrating faintly through the soles of my shoes.

Cole pulled the door open and the noise rushed us all at once, bright and overwhelming, like stepping too close to a speaker at a concert. Warm air hit my face, carrying the smell of rubber mats and sweat and something sweet from the snack counter.

The place was a riot of color. Blue padding wrapped every surface—floors, walls, columns—broken up by flashes of neon green and orange. Walls slanted at impossible angles, curving upward like they’d been bent as an afterthought. Signs glowed overhead, words like DODGEBALL and FREESTYLE mounted so high I had to tilt my head back to read them.

Kids darted across the floor in every direction, socked feet flashing as they launched themselves into the air. Some screamed with excitement, others with mock terror. A boy sailed past us sideways, laughing so hard he could barely breathe before disappearing into a foam pit.

I stopped just inside the entrance.

My body did that thing where it decided “absolutely not” before my brain caught up. Every instinct I had—the ones built on years of being careful, quiet, and observant—started flashing warning signs.

Too loud. Too fast. Too many things that could go wrong.

Cole kept walking for a few steps before noticing I wasn’t beside him. He turned, scanning the chaos, then spotted me hovering near the door like I was considering escape.

“You good?”

I gestured vaguely at… everything. The noise, the movement, the sheer lawlessness of it all. “I feel like I’ve wandered into an alternate dimension.”

He looked around, took it in, then nodded once. “Yeah. That checks out.” He stepped closer, placing both his hands on my shoulders and stared into my eyes. “Imogen Novak just skipped school to come to Sky Zone with a Northerner. You are most definitely in an alternate dimension.”

My lips quirked up, which caused him to smile back too. Somehow that smile was all I needed for the stress to ease. Then he dropped his hands from my shoulders and backed up a step, eyes still locked on mine. He nodded his head toward the counter behind us.

“Come on then. Time to be a kid again.”

And just like that I followed without a backwards glance at the car, all the worries leaving my body as I walked with him.

The waiver station was crowded. Parents hovered nearby with crossed arms and coffee cups, eyes tracking their kids with the exhausted vigilance of people who’d made a calculated decision to let chaos happen in a controlled environment. A woman winced every time a kid landed too hard. A man scrolled on his phone like he’d already emotionally checked out.

I stood at the counter, tablet heavy in my hands, scrolling through paragraphs of small print that might as well have been written in another language. My name looked strange typed out on the screen, like it didn’t belong here.

“This one says they’re not liable if I sprain something,” I said, squinting at the text.

Cole leaned on his elbows beside me, relaxed, like he was waiting to order food instead of signing away his physical well-being. “You won’t.”

I glanced at him. “You said that very fast.”

He smiled without looking at the screen. “Confidence.”

“I don’t like that you didn’t hesitate.”

He tapped the counter when it was his turn to sign, unbothered. “Hesitation ruins the experience.”

The socks came next.

They handed them over the counter like they were ceremonial. I peeled mine open and pulled them on, the fabric tight and slightly scratchy against my skin. Neon blue, blindingly bright, with thick black grips on the bottom that looked like they belonged on industrial equipment.

I stood and immediately felt ridiculous. There was no way to feel cool wearing these. The socks demanded humiliation.

Cole lifted his foot, inspecting his own, then held it next to mine for comparison. “Twins.”

I stared down at them, then back up at him. “These socks are ridiculous,” I muttered.

He grinned like that was the point. “Also part of the experience.” He reached out and grabbed my hand, tugging me gently as he walked to the trampoline. And there it was again, my blind willingness to just follow him. He could’ve walked me right back to school and the principal’s office and I think I would’ve just let him.

The trampoline floor dipped under my weight the moment I stepped onto it.