Chapter 5
Chapter five
Your eyes can lie to you.
Your mouth can curse you.
Your heart can betray you.
Your brain can fool you.
August 4th, 2013:
I came to understand that moments are like reflections on water—disturb them too soon, and the truth vanishes in the ripples. Looking back, I should’ve waited for the surface to settle. Instead, I threw a stone and watched the image slip away.
The first Sunday of August 2013 marked the final day of our town’s two-month-long carnival.
I had managed to avoid that forsaken funhouse for over a month, dodging Kayla’s and Lucas’s pleas and Jamie’s smooth attempts to drag me there.
I hated loud noises, screaming children, sticky cotton candy, and flashy carnival games.
The funnel cake, however, was the only redeeming quality.
I had been as skillful as a spy in my attempts to dodge this year's carnival, but when August fourth came, my efforts crumbled. Jamie had spent every night at my house the week leading up to that dreaded evening. My parents no longer allowed sleepovers after we turned thirteen due to “hormones,” but Jamie needed an escape from his house. Jamie’s home life was never a Leave It to Beaver reality, but on the days his dad was living at the bottom of a bottle, it was safer for Jamie to be elsewhere.
I never understood why his mom stayed in that house of horrors.
She moved from a Hopi Reservation in northeastern Arizona to Massachusetts with some girlfriends when she was eighteen.
She was a very kind woman, always smiling and baking cookies for school events.
On the surface, she seemed perfect: hair meticulously curled, nails glossy red, dress ironed to a crisp.
You would never know she lived with an abusive, drug-dealing alcoholic in Raymond Hills trailer park.
The week before the carnival closed, Jamie’s dad reached a new level of jackass.
One of his errand runners split with a “package,” costing him the rent money.
Instead of getting a job, Jamie’s dad did what he always did: participated in nightly bar fights and screamed at Jamie’s mom for not working more shifts.
Jamie learned at a young age not to intervene, though it took four black eyes and a gash from a broken beer bottle for the lesson to sink in.
By thirteen, he had stopped trying to protect someone he couldn’t save.
Jamie was always a restless sleeper, kicking and elbowing in his sleep.
But that week, the kicking stopped, replaced by something far worse.
He screamed and cried in the dead of night, his voice raw with pain.
When I finally got him to open up, his words broke me.
Every night, he said, a new terror gripped him, each one ending the same way—with the image of his mom’s lifeless body.
He told me this with tears in his eyes, like he was still there, trapped in the nightmare, unable to wake up.
The sun hung low, casting a golden hue over the carnival grounds.
Laughter and chatter filled the air, mingling with the scent of overcooked popcorn and candy-coated caramel apples, creating a sweet and slightly burnt aroma.
The carnival lights blazed, casting a neon glow over the scene.
I walked between Kayla and Jamie, their chatter blending with the chaos around us.
The Ferris wheel loomed in the distance, its rotating lights mesmerizing as carnival music boomed.
Jamie punched his elbow into my shoulder. “Ready to puke your guts out on the Tilt-A-Whirl?”
I replied with a smirk. “Oh yes, it’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of. Thanks for forcing me into this child-polluted loony bin.” Our feet shuffled on the muddy grass as we continued ahead.
“You’re welcome.” Jamie’s self-enjoyment was palpable. He lowered his head to mine, which just six months ago was at my same level—damn teenage boy growth hormones. “Technically, you’re a child too.” He chuckled.
“I prefer ‘underdeveloped short person,’” I quipped back.
Jamie’s eyes scanned my body, landing just below my chin and above my ribs. With a cocky raise of one eyebrow and a curl to his lips, he tilted his head. “Not so underdeveloped now ...”
I slapped his chest. “Perv! You’re sleeping on the floor tonight.”
“Oh, please.” He rolled his eyes. “You love me in your bed.”
My heart quickened, my tongue-tied, and my stomach flipped.
Jamie and I always talked like this—flirting, fighting, finishing each other’s sentences.
We were an old married couple without sex.
But that summer, his smug smiles were besting me, sending butterflies dancing in my stomach and making my heart flutter.
Kayla’s heels dug into the mud beside me, coming to a screeching halt.
“I’d love to continue this episode of One Tree Hill, but we should probably find Lucas.
” She crossed her arms over her baby blue tank.
Kayla appeared less excited about today than I was.
Lucas had invited his new girlfriend, Becky, and her friends, which was likely what was causing a permanent scowl to stain Kayla’s face.
Jamie shoved his fingers in his jeans’ pockets. “He said he’d meet us at the pretzel stand.”
Kayla rolled her eyes. “We’ve been here, what, five minutes? And I’ve already seen seven pretzel stands.” Her hands shot to her hips after flicking her blanket of braided hair over her shoulder. “This is why the girls plan the outings; boy brains can’t handle fundamental details!”
I glared around the crowd. “Just listen for the sound of air leaving somebody’s head.”
Jamie’s eyes scrunched up. “What? Why?”
“Oh, there you silly geese are!” An ear-piercing voice cut through the crowd like a manic baby bird. Becky’s red curls bounced as she skipped over, her fingers intertwined with Lucas’s.
“That’s why,” I said to Jamie.
“What does silly geese mean?” he whispered. The brush of his lips against my ear sent shivers down my spine.
“It means she flunked English.” I chuckled.
“At least I’m not the only one.”
Jamie could take apart a truck engine and rebuild it in an afternoon, but when it came to school, he was a fish out of water.
“You didn’t fail. You got a D. There’s a difference.”
Jamie’s mouth was dangerously close to mine. “I only got a D because I sat next to you.”
I turned slightly closer to him, the heat of his breath gracing my face. “And you were smart enough to cheat. That qualifies you for at least a C.”
Kayla stepped forward to meet Becky. “Hey, glad you made it too.” Her voice was sweet yet carried a bite.
Becky’s porcelain face twitched like a smiling robot short-circuiting. “Oh, hey, Kayla. Lucas didn’t mention you were coming.” Yes, he did. I heard them arguing about it on the phone last night.
Kayla’s cheeks flushed. “It’s Kayla, actually,” she snapped. “Really?” Becky tilted her head. “It sounds like a misprint.”
My spine stiffened. “Hey Becky, I like the new red hair color.” I turned my attention to my brother. “I didn’t know you had a thing for Woody Woodpecker, Lucas.”
Lucas flinched. “Alex. Be nice.”
Jamie almost choked on his laugh. “That’s a tall order. Lower your request.”
Lucas’s jaw clenched. “How about being less hostile?”
I shook my head in response. “You know I can’t make any promises regarding bodily harm.”
Lucas stepped toward me, but Becky laid her hand on his chest. “It’s all good, Lucas. Us girls are just joking around.”
“Oh yeah, I’m a real Heath Ledger,” I mocked.
Lucas wrapped his arm around Becky’s waist. “Let’s go meet everyone else before the hair-pulling starts.”
Becky’s group, the theatre kids, awaited us. They were loud, obnoxious, drama-possessed, and believed every day was a play and they were the stars. Thanks to my lovesick brother, I had to spend the night with them.
As we followed Lucas through the carnival, lights flashed, music pounded, and children giggled. Finally, we reached a row of tents featuring stuffed animals and games.
The aroma of sugary funnel cakes and motor oil from the bumper cars filled the air.
Becky’s group stood by the Dunk Tank, imprisoning a depressed-looking clown: Brandon was a quiet guy with blonde curls and freckles, while Carter resembled a pocket-sized Peter Parker.
Then there was Meghan, the drama teacher’s daughter, who always landed the lead role and the lead guy.
We scattered into mini-groups, each drawn to a game.
Lucas and Becky headed to the Balloon Pop, while Carter and Meghan went to the Basketball Toss.
Kayla dashed off with Brandon to the Water Gun Race.
I chose to hide by the Whack-a-Mole. The solid grip of the mallet in my hand, combined with the tuneful thud of plastic mole-beating, created a unique blend of delight.
“Remind me never to let you own a bat.” Jamie chuckled. “I’m gonna grab some food. Want anything?”
“Funnel cake!” I grinned like a possessed doll as I bounced the mallet from target to target.
Jamie grinned. “I told you you’d have fun.”
I pointed the mallet at him. “Careful, boy, I’m armed.”
Jamie laughed. “Those are two words that should never come out of your mouth.” He backed away, disappearing into the crowd.
I continued smashing moles until a tap on my shoulder made me swing around, mallet in hand.
“Whoa, careful,” Megan squealed, jumping back.
I put the mallet down. “Do you need something?” Politeness was wasted on Megan.
“Are you and Jamie a thing?”
I couldn't stop my eyes from widening. “No.”
Megan leaned against the Whack-a-Mole machine. “Are you sure? You two are always together. Everyone assumes.”
Every school has a girl who talks in backstabbing riddles. Megan was that girl.
“Tell anyone who cares that Jamie and I are the poster children for Platonic Friendships.”
“Oh, good,” Megan perked up. “I think Jamie’s cute. I was going to ask him out, but didn’t want to step on toes.” Her breath hung on mine as if my discomfort were a drug to her.