23. August
Colorful lights illuminate the old horse field; music surrounds us with a steady beat, and people happy-scream as their stomachs drop suddenly on the roller coaster. An introvert’s worst nightmare.
Tiny stuffs her face with cotton candy. “I love carnivals. And carnival food. And games. And—”
“Overpriced neon chaos?” I offer.
She shoves a giant bite of cotton candy into her mouth. “Cynic.”
“Optimist.”
“There.” She points a sticky finger toward a stall that reads Balloon Pop, where Ella and Leah throw darts. Derek and the Amber look-alike shoot hoops at the next booth over.
Justin announces our arrival with, “Everyone’s favorite cousins!” as we approach, giving Tiny a high five and me a fist bump. Amber’s eyes brighten when she sees me.
Ella and Leah, now finished with their game, join our circle.
“You’re just in time,” Amber says.
She slips a flask from her purse and takes a swig, offering it to me.
I put my hands up. “Driving.”
Amber rolls her eyes. “Lame.”
She passes it to Tiny, who lifts the canister to her lips. Her performance is convincing, even though I know she’s faking that sip—we can’t do our job tipsy.
“I think I peeled off some of my throat with that stuff,” Tiny says and passes it to Justin.
“Bourbon,” Amber replies with a sly grin. “My dad buys it by the case. Never notices when I swipe some.”
I know she meant it as a positive, but I frown. My mother wouldn’t notice if I took alcohol, either, but I don’t consider that a good thing. Amber, Leah, and Tiny start up a conversation, and my attention drifts to Justin and Ella.
“Yesss!” Justin says, after a swig. “Babe?” He offers the flask.
“Can’t,” Ella replies.
“Can’t?” he repeats. There’s a slight edge in his voice, like this isn’t the first time they’ve had this conversation.
“I have to finish my blog in the morning,” she says, and he groans in response.
“Yeah, but you’re here with me now. Don’t worry about your blog.” He offers her the flask again, not even subtle about pitting himself against yet another thing Ella values.
“Justin, I won’t be able to write if I—”
He wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her in. “Just one easy shot. No big deal. For me.”
Just like Kyle. My hand clenches and unclenches involuntarily.
Ella sighs her agreement. “One shot. That’s it.”
He grins at her and hands her the flask, releasing her waist. Ella takes a sip and passes the flask to Leah.
“Time for me to crush you all at basketball,” Justin bellows.
Amber turns her attention to me, touching my arm. “I was wondering who was going to win me that giant stuffed bear.” She points to the basketball booth prizes and gives me a sultry look. “And now I know.”
I give her an apologetic smile. “I think you’d have better luck with Mia. She’s way better at these games than I am.”
Tiny/Mia grins. She loves a compliment, even when it’s over something as trivial as carnival games. “Truth. He sucks.”
“Why don’t we pop over to the Ferris wheel,” Ella suggests to Justin.
Justin hesitates.
Before Justin can answer, Tiny says, “Who’s in for a friendly bet on winner of basketball toss? Five bucks maybe?”
“You’re so on,” Justin replies, squashing Ella’s Ferris wheel offer.
“I’m in,” Leah says.
Ella looks momentarily disappointed. That’s two times in three minutes he’s chosen himself over her. Selfish prick.
Justin picks up Ella and makes a show of twirling her in the air. “I’m winning you that bear, babe.”
“Awww,” Amber says.
Everyone makes their way to the basketball booth, and Justin and Tiny pull out their betting money.
“How’s the blog coming?” I ask Ella, who’s lingering behind.
“Better once someone wasn’t talking my ear off.” She smiles in a teasing way. “But I still have a full day of work tomorrow.”
“Well, if you need any help, I’m offering,” I say.
Now she laughs. “You think you can write my blog? Thanks, but no thanks.”
“Not even remotely. But as it so happens, I’m excellent at hashing out ideas, and I’m not bad in the coffee-buying department, either.”
She looks at me sideways. “And why would you give up your day to hash out blog ideas with me?”
“Because you’re interesting and what you’ve created is interesting,” I say matter-of-factly, and while I have no love for astrology specifically, I mean what I say. She’s a lot like Tiny and me, the way she’s driven, and her commitment is admirable.
My words must ring true for her because even though she’s not obvious about it, her eyes brighten at the compliment.
Justin and Tiny hoot as they both make their first basket. Amber, however, keeps glancing our way. And I get the sense that if I don’t act fast, Amber will walk over here, negating the opportunity Tiny so artfully gave me.
“Will you do me a favor?” I say, looking out at the carnival. “Tell Mia to text me when she’s done being macho.”
Ella follows my gaze into the crowd. “You’re not staying?”
“I’m gonna check out the Ferris wheel,” I say and walk away. This is how I do my job. I don’t tell people what to do—I give them choices and let them decide for themselves.
I only make it three stalls down before she calls, “Wait up,” falling in step with me. “Care if I join?”
“Not at all.”
For a couple of seconds, we walk side by side through the noisy carnival, my hands in my jeans pockets and hers pulling her long hair into a ponytail. Her coconut shampoo once again wafts in my direction, reminding me of the beach—suntan lotion and sun-warmed skin.
“Can I ask you something?” I say.
“Depends.”
“Where are you going to college?”
She half laughs. “That’s your big question? What am I doing with my future?”
“I mean, yeah,” I say as we join the line for the Ferris wheel. “I just noticed how serious you are about your blog and wondered.”
She’s close enough that I spot a handful of freckles on her upper left cheekbone—as though a star constellation embossed itself there.
“I want to be a travel journalist. Badly,” she says.
“Travel journalism...” I consider it even though I already knew this about her. “An international school then?”
She presses her lips together, and her shoulders tug slightly inward. “Funny... that used to be the goal.”
“Used to?”
She hesitates. “I got into London School of Economics. They have one of the best programs in the world. But I just don’t want to be that far from home, ya know?” She says this like she wants my agreement, needs it maybe.
“You want to stay near your family?” I ask even though I know that’s not the reason.
“Are you kidding? My parents would be overjoyed if I went to London.” She pauses. “And the Shakespeare. Oh my god. I’d be at the Globe like every week.”
While I’m all set to continue my college questions, she’s caught my attention, and I take a quick detour. “You like theater?”
“Love,” she says. “I know everyone says they love Shakespeare, that I’m not winning any originality awards, but I really do. Romeo and Juliet is the most perfect love story ever. In all its iterations. Even bad high school renditions where you know the actors have no idea what they’re saying. My favorite, though, is that stunning Leonardo DiCaprio movie.”
This subject is one I feel pretty strongly about, and I, August, can’t resist telling her what I actually think. “I absolutely agree with you about Shakespeare. I mean, the guy added more than two hundred words to the English language. But I’m not totally convinced about Romeo and Juliet. They both die at the end.”
She shakes her head like I’ve got it all wrong, and her ponytail swishes with the movement. “The story is about two people who love each other so much that they literally cannot exist in a world without one another. It’s beautiful.”
In a way I envy her and Tiny and the way they see the world with so much possible love in it. “So if London has one of the best journalism programs and Shakespeare, how come you’re not going?”
She dips her head and rubs her arm. “It’s just that Justin and I decided to go to Boston University so that he can intern with his dad’s company during his junior and senior year.”
I give her a questioning look.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That look definitely wasn’t nothing. You were judging me,” she says.
“Not judging.” I pause, but the fact that she’s self-conscious about it means on some level there’s doubt. I can work with doubt. “I just never took you for the type of person who’d give up on your dream school for a boyfriend.”
Her eyes widen. “I’m not.”
“Okay,” I say, but my tone betrays my opinion.
“That’s not what happened,” she says, more adamant, and I can tell she’s trying to convince herself as much as me.
Des was strong willed and confident like Ella, but that’s the thing about larger-than-life, controlling people like Kyle and Justin: they slowly wear you down, making you change little by little. And when all your friends rally behind them proclaiming them perfect, it’s easy to lose parts of yourself.
The line ahead of us starts moving.
Ella looks out into the sea of people like she’s not convinced this was a good idea.
So I change tactics. “Who’s your best friend?”
She gives me an “are you serious?” look. “First question’s about my future, and now about my best friend? Are you sure you’re not secretly forty-five?” But she’s no longer staring at the crowd like she wants to walk away.
I smile. “Because I’m so mature?”
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
“You think I’m different. I’m good with that.”
“I think you’re ridiculous,” she says, but the way she says it makes me like the word.
“Tickets,” a scruffy man says to us without feeling, and we hand them over. In most instances, I’d offer to pay out of politeness. But Ella would look at me askance, like I just tricked her into a date. And I don’t have those intentions.
We climb into the metal seat, and the ticket guy secures the bar over our laps.
“You never answered my question,” I say, as we jerk a few feet into the air.
She looks at the swaying seat above us like it might give her the strength to deal with me. But her expression edges toward amusement. Humor and disdain. “You already know my best friends—Leah and Amber.”
“How long have you guys known each other?”
“Since we were five,” she says easily. “Who’s yours?”
“What a weird question.” I fake shock as we lift higher. “Are you sure you’re not forty-five?”
“Ha ha... very funny.”
“Mia,” I say.
“Wait, your best friend is your cousin?”
“Yup.”
“Did you two grow up together?”
“We did. Right next door,” I say, telling an unplanned truth. But Tiny and I often do this, mix the truth with the story to make it flow. “I spent a lot of time at her house.”
“Like you are this summer?”
“Exactly like that.”
“And your parents?” she asks as we move upward again.
“Not much to tell. We’re different.”
“What about your sister?” she asks, and my heart nearly stops. I’ve never mentioned Des in a case before, much less talked about her like I did that day at the pool. Ella must be able to read the discomfort on my face because she doesn’t wait for my answer. “Sorry, you don’t have to answer that—”
“No, it’s fine,” I lie, and this time our seat moves fluidly and doesn’t stop. “I’m just... not that good at talking about her.” Another truth.
Ella watches me, and the open-air seat suddenly feels confining.
But instead of being awkward or spewing platitudes, she says, “I get it.” And for a few seconds we stare out over the glowing lights of the carnival, quiet and contemplative. “I lost my grandmother a year and a half ago.”
Now I look at her. How did I not know this? Her parents never said anything, and there was no hint of it on her social media.
“It’s funny,” she says, stretching her slender fingers around the cool metal bar. “When you asked me who my best friend was, she was the first person who popped into my head. Stupid, right? To have your best friend be your grandmother who isn’t even here anymore?” She looks up at me, and her expression is one I haven’t seen. She’s not her showy, popular self or her combative, humorous self; she’s raw and vulnerable, carefully handing me something important she hopes I won’t crush.
“Not stupid at all,” I say, finding my voice. “Do you still talk to her? I mean—”
“I know what you mean,” she says, relief in her voice. “And yeah, I talk to her all the time. Do you? With your sister?”
“Yeah,” I admit. “More than I want to, sometimes.” My thoughts immediately flit to my line drawings, which were the kind of thing I used to leave for Des with a note or slipped into one of her books when she wasn’t looking. She loved them and used to gush when she found one. She dubbed them our little secret and declared them her favorite gift ever. Which is why I now hate them, even the imaginary version, because every time I think one up, I’m reminded there is no one to give it to.
As if to torment me, my mind begins doing the one thing I wish it wouldn’t.
“Alone isn’t a location, it’s a feeling,” I say to the clouds, but no one answers.
“Like something good happens and she’s the first person you think of?” Ella asks, and I’m relieved to have a distraction from my own thoughts. “Or something bad happens and you want her advice?” Her voice catches at the end of her sentence, and I feel it in my own throat.
“My sister was four years older than me,” I say. “In some ways she was more a mother to me than my mom.”
Again, we fall into heavy silence, wordlessly rotating.
She stares at her hands on the bar before looking up at me. “Do you think it ever gets easier?”
“No,” I say, and she sighs like I gave her the answer she was looking for, like someone finally told the truth. And for a long second neither of us breaks eye contact.
“Nonna’s actually the one who encouraged me to create my astrology blog,” she tells me, and I know by her tone that this matters. “She drew my birth chart when I was a little girl, and she’d spend hours explaining all the bits and pieces to me.”
It makes me feel oddly good that she’s confiding in me. “Sounds like she was a pretty great grandmother.”
“She really, really was. She made everything fun. And she always listened. My parents... not so much. I mean, don’t get me wrong, they care, but they never had time for me the way Nonna did.”
For a moment August overtakes Holden, and I hand her a piece of my world in exchange for hers. “My mom was the one who taught me how to paint. She’s good. Exceptionally so. But when I’d give her a painting, she’d talk to me about technique, teach me a new skill. Des never cared about that.” And while I made the conscious choice to tell her something real, the sound of Des’s name on my lips startles me.
“Des...” she says, considering my sister’s name like she recognizes it for the fragile piece of my heart that it represents. “I like that.”
I can only nod.
Ella leans back, relaxing into the seat. “Sometimes you just need someone who hears you.”
I press my lips together. I know I should be talking, agreeing with her, but I don’t trust my own voice.
“Oh man,” she says, like she realizes we crossed into heavier territory and is trying to pull us back. “Are we having a heart-to-heart on a Ferris wheel? Can you get any cheesier than that?”
“A heart-to-heart in a canoe under the stars?” I offer as a joke, happy to be on sturdier ground.
But instead of laughing, she looks at me like she’s seeing me for the first time. “Holy crap, you’re a hopeless romantic.”
“What?” I choke, the August side of me taken by surprise.
She laughs. “You are. You claim not to understand Romeo and Juliet, but no one who wasn’t a romantic would even think something like that.”
“Wrong and also wrong,” I say, not even sure why I decide to argue. What does it matter if she thinks Holden is a hopeless romantic?
“Then why are you blushing?”
“Heat,” I say.
“Uh-huh.”
I scratch my eyebrow. “So, how long do these rides usually last?”
She laughs and I laugh, too. And even though I’m making a show of wanting to escape, I genuinely wouldn’t mind a couple more minutes up here.