Chapter 21
Saturday afternoon, as Grace got ready, Hae appeared in her doorway. She was a little surprised. She hadn’t seen him all morning, and assumed he’d stay locked away in the pool house the rest of the day.
“You’re leaving?” he asked.
“Yeah, I can’t skip out on two booth shifts in a row.” Grace pulled on a jacket, noting the clouds outside. She hoped that didn’t mean it would rain again.
“Can I come?” Hae asked.
“To the carnival? Why? The portal isn’t there.”
“But you’ll be there,” he said, and she felt her skin heating.
He doesn’t mean anything by that. Don’t let Zoe’s teasing get in your head.
“Um, yeah, sure. Let’s go.”
At the carnival, as they walked down the game booth aisle, Grace noticed the basketball team splashing in the dunk tank, fooling around instead of running the game.
Lincoln was sitting on the dunk seat shouting at his teammate to get away from the button.
But the other guy smacked it with his hand and Lincoln dropped into the water.
He came up laughing, splashing water at his teammates and soaking some innocent bystanders in the process. A woman hurried her two young children out of the splash zone, sending an annoyed glare back.
“So this is what’s considered attractive in this era?” Hae asked close to her ear.
Grace jerked away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She hurried to the ring toss booth, pretending that she hadn’t just been caught mooning over Lincoln.
“So, you don’t have a crush on him?”
Grace shrugged. “It’s complicated. We’ve known each other since forever. He even knew my mom.”
“Ah.” Hae hummed knowingly. “I get it now.”
Grace eyed him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You can’t let go of him, because he knew her too.”
Grace shook her head. “No, that’s not it. He’s my friend. We have history and…you know what, just go ride the Ferris wheel or something.” She shoved a booklet of ride tickets into his hand and pushed him on his way.
Hae shrugged and pocketed them, sauntering off and leaving Grace to stew alone.
A few hours later, Grace was slumped in the only chair behind the counter, fanning herself with a discarded carnival flyer. She didn’t even move when people walked past anymore. Hardly anyone wanted to play, outside of a smattering of younger kids forced to try the ring toss by their parents.
“Hey, bestie,” Zoe called as they sauntered up to the booth. “How goes the unpaid labor?”
Grace leaned forward, eager to have company. “It would be better if I had a friend to share it with.”
Zoe laughed and shook their head. “Gracie, I love you with all my heart. But even that love has limits.”
“Yeah.” Grace slumped back again. “I don’t blame you.”
Zoe leaned against the counter. “You never texted me last night. Did your ‘guest’ make it home?”
Grace sighed. “No, it was a big fat failure.”
“Ah.” Zoe scrunched their nose. “And we all know the perfect Grace Bak can’t fail at anything.”
“Shut up.” Grace punched their shoulder lightly, but they were right. She did hate failing at things, it nagged at her, making her feel like she was the failure.
“So, where’s Hae now, then?” they asked.
“He’s around,” Grace admitted. “Riding the Tilt-A-Whirl or something.”
“Oh, you know what, speaking of hotties, I just saw this girl—”
“Zo! There you are.” Zoe’s mom walked over. She was tall like Zoe, with the same willowy build, dark curls, and warm brown complexion. She still wore the bandana she used to protect her hair when she was painting.
Her arm was looped through Zoe’s father’s.
He had hair salted through with gray and was shorter than Zoe’s mom by a head.
He had an affable smile and sparkling brown eyes and was known as the sci-fi king of Orlando.
He’d written dozens of books that had hit all kinds of bestseller lists.
One of them had even been turned into a movie.
“Hey, Mr. Ortiz, Ms. Acosta.”
Grace loved talking to Zoe’s parents. If she ever started putting people she knew into her stories, they’d be the first she’d immortalize.
“So, how did y’all get Zoe to come to school on a weekend?”
“We bribed them.” Ms. Acosta leaned over the counter to kiss Grace’s cheek.
She smelled like oil paints and sage.
“Oh? How many zeros?”
“Next time Dad goes to New York for a book event, I get to go with.”
“As long as it’s a weekend,” Ms. Acosta clarified.
“Fridays count as weekends, right?” Zoe grinned.
“Gracie, when you’re done with your shift, come find us,” Ms. Acosta said with a wink that mirrored Zoe’s vibrant charisma exactly. Or, more likely, Zoe’s mirrored their mother’s.
“Will do.” Grace was looking forward to the end of her shift even more now.
“What would you like to do, my progeny?” Mr. Ortiz asked.
“Let’s have a rematch at the balloon dart game,” Zoe declared. “I still call foul from last year.”
Grace laughed as she watched them walk away.
A perfect family unit literally walking toward the sunset casting an orange glow over the carnival.
Zoe’s mother leaned in to whisper something into her husband’s ear, and he gave a raucous laugh that echoed back to Grace.
Her heart squeezed just a bit at the sight of something she’d never had. Or at least never remembered having.
You had Halmeoni, she told herself. But instead of being a comfort, it felt like a reminder of another thing she’d lost.
“Hey, Grace, you got change for a twenty?” Mia bounced up to the counter.
“Let me check.”
“Where’s Eli?” Mia scanned the small booth, even though it was obvious Grace was alone.
“Called out sick.”
“Um, I saw him like an hour ago on the Ferris wheel with Cece Martin.”
“Of course you did.” Grace couldn’t find the energy to care. She counted out the bills in the box and winced. “Sorry, Mia. We’re about five dollars short of twenty here.”
Mia whistled sadly. “Wow, that’s like five dollars more than we made yesterday.”
Grace let out a mix of a laugh and a sigh. “Good thing the profits from the games are split evenly among the clubs.”
“Yes, something I heard the dance team complaining about.” Mia nodded at the most popular booth, a water-gun racing game.
Every student club and sports team had wanted that game. But Griffin had said that Heather Duncan expected the dance team to get it like they did every year. It had sounded more like a demand than a request, and Grace had known it was easier to just give in than put up a fight.
“Let me help out, at least give you a break,” Mia said.
“Oh, you don’t have to. My shift is over in an hour,” Grace said, though she also hadn’t heard from the sophomore who was supposed to take over the booth.
“Matt can handle the rubber duck pond alone. It’s almost as dead as this booth.”
Grace gave in. “Thanks. I’m going to grab something to eat—want anything?”
“Nah, carnival food is not a healthy dinner. My mom made me eat lasagna before I came here.”
Grace yearned for the days of someone feeding her home-cooked meals. But she put on the cheerful smile she used as a shield. “Well, I’m weak for hot dogs.”
Grace ducked out of her booth as a low rumble of thunder echoed in the distance. She saw Griffin standing by the dunk tank, laughing as he shook his wet hair toward Piper Calloway and Heather Duncan. Both girls were dressed in their orange-and-black practice uniforms.
Grace considered giving them a wide berth but noticed the racing game booth was unmanned.
A group of middle school kids were glancing around, dollars clutched in their hands, before they gave up and wandered away.
The dance team members, oblivious to their lost customers, flirted with the members of the varsity basketball team, who’d similarly abandoned the dunk tank.
Grace stepped over. “Um, excuse me?”
The girls ignored her. “Hello?”
Still no response.
Lincoln wandered over, toweling off his hair from his last round at the dunk tank. “Hey, you’re up, Dan.” He slapped one of the other guys on the back.
“Off to serve my country,” Dan said with a salute.
The girls giggled.
Grace caught Lincoln’s eye, giving him a hesitant wave.
“Hey, Gracie, what’s up?”
Heather glanced over, an annoyed expression twisting her lips as she sidestepped away. “Heard of personal space?”
“Sorry,” Grace said automatically. “I just, uh, wanted to make sure someone was watching the booth?” She hated the way it came out like a question. Zoe always told her to talk in declarative sentences when she wanted to project authority. Of course, that was always easier said than done.
“Yeah, we’re watching,” Piper said, rolling her eyes. She’d been in Grace’s homeroom last year. She’d never been friendly, but Grace didn’t think she had any issues with her. Until now, at least.
Grace bit her lip, glancing over at Lincoln to see if he’d back her up. But Griffin had pulled him into a side conversation.
“Okay, well then, good. Thanks.” As she walked away, Grace winced. Why did she thank them? They hadn’t even listened to her. No, she had to assert herself. She was in charge of the game booths. She had to make sure they were doing the basics of their job.
Grace started to go back, to insist someone actually man the booth, when she heard Heather’s mocking laugh.
“Can’t believe she thinks she can try to tell us what to do,” Piper said.
“Yeah, like she has any right after she freaked out last semester,” Heather replied.
“And then she pretended to have a seizure or something. Probably faked it.”
Heather stuck out her arms and shook like she was being electrocuted.
They all broke down in laughter. Grace could feel the buzzing in her chest start up. The swarm of anxiety becoming agitated.
Griffin nodded with a low laugh. “Yeah, she’s totally Bakshit.”
“And she practically stalks Link,” Heather said.
Lincoln shook his head but didn’t dispute the claim, and it was like a dagger to Grace’s heart.
Her hands curled into fists, her muscles clenching so tightly, they became numb. Her breath came in short gasping spurts.
The laughter stabbed into Grace’s confidence, shattering it as she fled.
Her legs tingled now and she could barely feel her toes, but she couldn’t let herself stop moving. She had to find somewhere private before she started hyperventilating. And after hearing Heather mocking her, she could not let that happen in the middle of the entire carnival.
The panic attack filled her chest, a thousand angry wasps pushing against her lungs. Keeping her from pulling in enough air.
Don’t let it get to you, she told herself. You’re better than them.
She tried to remember what Halmeoni had always said, that some kids were mean because they were insecure themselves. But it was hard to see all sides of things right now. Not when she was mentally spiraling out of control.
This was a confirmation that the gossip about her hadn’t died down but had just gone underground. Talked about behind her back, but still talked about.
It had been her second week back at school after her halmeoni died.
She’d hated the pitying looks, mostly from the teachers.
The soft questions asking if she was okay, if she needed to take more time.
They’d given her special allowances to delay taking tests or turning in assignments.
But soon she’d started to notice the annoyed looks from her classmates.
The ones that made it clear they thought she was faking or exaggerating her grief.
Like she was trying to capitalize on her halmeoni’s death to get special treatment.
And that’s what she’d hated the most. The idea that her grief and sadness made people uncomfortable, even angry. It had made her self-conscious.
So she’d decided she would move on. She’d prove to everyone that she was better. That she could take care of things without the special accommodations.
She’d taken on everything she could. School newspaper, National Honor Society, all AP classes, after-school volunteering. She functioned on four hours of sleep every night—which worked out for her, because she wasn’t sleeping well anyway after Halmeoni died.
The final proof that she was not only better but thriving despite it all would have been winning junior class president.
She’d been ready for the election debate.
More than ready. She’d practiced for days with Zoe, and had her talking points written on index cards.
She was sure that she’d eviscerate Griffin Reed.
He might be ahead in popularity points, but Grace was more qualified to be class president, and she was about to prove it.
Then she’d gotten to the stage and seen that she’d brought her study flash cards for Pre-Calc instead of her talking points for the debate.
The entire junior class was watching her. It all seemed to catch up to her at once, the overwhelming exhaustion. The stress from feeling like she had no idea what she was doing. And the fear that everyone knew it.
She’d started to hyperventilate. She could barely hear Vice Principal Ross’s questions beyond the ringing in her ears.
She stuttered, trying to find an answer, but instead it came out as a small mewling sob.
She’d heard the first echo of laughter from the crowd, and her mind had gone completely blank.
But that hadn’t been the worst part.
The worst part was when she tried to cover her mistake. The more she’d tried, the more frantic she became. And the more they’d laughed. A sound that even now seeped through the ringing in her ears. The mocking looks from her classmates she could still see.
Finally, her legs had given out, and she’d fumbled for something to hold her up. Except the something she’d latched on to was Griffin Reed. And she’d taken him down like a linebacker tackling a quarterback.
She’d scrambled off, stuttering a choked apology.
She’d heard Vice Principal Ross telling everyone to settle down.
The laughter reached a crescendo as she began to hyperventilate, the swarm of anxiety engulfing her.
Grace didn’t remember much else after that until she woke up in the nurse’s office with Zoe sitting next to her.
But she’d put that behind her.
It was five months ago. She was better now. She’d shown that she was better.
Except the world spun once, twice, as her breathing turned shallow.
Anxiety flooded her lungs, her chest, her heart. The swarm had grown too big, too unwieldy, to stop.
No no no, not now.
Despite her silent pleas, tears burned in her eyes, blurring her vision until she stumbled into a waste bin, earning her confused stares from a family of four passing by. She gripped the edge of the bin but could barely feel it as her tingling fingers became numb.
Grace worked on pulling in a deep breath, but her throat constricted. Stars exploded behind her eyelids. She knew she was about to pass out.