Page 57 of Racing Hearts

There’s a long pause, long enough that I listen to Mom downstairs, where she’s singing along to something upbeat on her speakers as she careens around the kitchen. Finally, Adrian’s response comes through. Good point. It only works if it’s something you’ll enjoy.

Any suggestions, then?

You need suggestions on how to have fun?

I stare at those words because, yeah, I kind of do. If I picked for myself, I’d probably end up choosing something that isn’t fully committing. Like…going for a trail run. Or getting a massage. Or reorganizing Mom’s kitchen.

Yes, I enjoy these things, but it’s stuff that I do all the time. Maybe committing means trying something totally different.

Yes. I write, finally. Please.

Adrian’s response is almost immediate. How about I show you instead?

Eighteen

Adrian kills his engine in front of a neon red sign promising FUN, FUN, FUN!

I lean out of the open window. “I didn’t know we were being so literal.”

“I am a man of my word.” He runs his hands in an arc against the steering wheel. “So, you promised you’d commit to this?”

“Commit to having fun?”

He nods gravely, like we’re talking about rehabbing a serious injury, not an amusement park.

I put up my right hand as the video of Camila’s final resurfaces in my mind. “I commit to having fun.”

Adrian grins and yanks open his door.

We drift toward the bright primary colors splashed across the entrance like boats tugged downstream. Beyond the gates, the air is filled with a discordant song made up of whacking baseball bats, heavy clanks from roller coasters powering uphill, and the errant dings from a shooting gallery. Couples in damp T-shirts sprint toward the entrance for the bumper boats and throngs of kids tear at clouds of cotton candy with sticky fingers and pink-stained teeth.

“Wait,” I say, grabbing Adrian’s elbow as my eyes roam over signs for the Fun-O-Lympics and Aim, Shoot, and Fun! “Is this really about helping me? Or are you secretly looking to redeem your string of Skee-Ball defeats?”

Adrian lays a hand on his heart, feigning innocence. “I have no idea what you mean, Parker. I promised fun, which is the primary offering of this establishment. Besides, if there’s one thing I know about you, it’s that you enjoy competition.”

“And winning,” I say.

“That’s too bad,” Adrian says.

“Why?”

“Because”—he fights a grin—“I intend to crush you at everything we play.”

My lips twitch. “It’s cute that you think you stand a chance.”

Over the next few hours, we trade breathless victories.

Milk bottles explode off their stand, clattering in the wake of my projectile like they were hit with a hand grenade. An amply pierced college student throws a petrified glance in my direction. Adrian looks impressed. My heart swoops like I’ve just hit the drop on a roller coaster.

Then Adrian convinces me to get on an actual roller coaster and the experience is far less pleasant. Much more high-pitched clanging and terror than I’d expected. When the safety restraints lift off my chest, I guzzle my first breath of free air and stagger toward the neon exit sign, clutching a handrail for balance.

“Again?” I ask, still panting as we spill back onto the park’s brick walkway.

Adrian studies me with a tilt of his head. “Do you want to go again?”

“I promised to commit to your method.”

He offers me an elbow. “The method is fun, Kath. Whatever that means to you.”