Chapter 23 #2
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.
Not a gentle give—more like the ground had decided to sigh beneath me. My balance vanished instantly, legs wobbling like they’d been swapped out without my permission. I pinwheeled my arms on instinct, fingers grasping at air, making a small, sharp sound I would deny if asked about later.
Cole landed beside me easily, knees bending and straightening like this was something his body understood. He barely shifted, like gravity had been briefed ahead of time.
“Just jump,” he said, already bouncing lightly in place.
“I’m trying,” I said, feet sinking again as if the mat was actively working against me.
I tried anyway, determined to have fun. To show him that I could have fun.
This time my feet left the surface completely, higher than I’d meant to go, higher than felt reasonable.
My stomach dropped hard, a sudden hollow sensation, and I had just enough time to register the panic before I came down wrong.
The mat shot me sideways, my body tilting off-center, and a laugh tore out of me, sharp and startled, like I’d been caught by surprise by my own reaction.
It punched out of my chest before I could stop it, loud enough to turn a few heads.
Cole’s mouth twitched, quick and satisfied, like he’d been waiting for that exact sound.
I jumped again. Not because I was confident—because stopping felt worse. This one was higher. Sloppier. My arms flailed less out of panic and more because they didn’t know what else to do.
The music pounded overhead, some pop song I only half recognized, the bass vibrating through the mats and into my bones. Kids sprinted past me in blurs of color, shouting to each other, fearless and fast, cutting between trampolines like they’d memorized the terrain.
I bounced again and nearly collided with a kid half my size. He hit the mat, launched backward, and ricocheted away, laughing like it was the best thing that had happened to him all day.
I laughed too, the sound coming easier now, less sharp, more breathless.
Cole backed up a few steps, eyes narrowing in concentration. “Okay, watch this.”
“That sentence never ends well,” I said.
He took a running start. There was a moment where it almost worked—where his feet left the mat cleanly, where his body tilted just right—
Then gravity made a decision.
He came down flat on his back with a dramatic whump, the sound loud enough to echo. The mat swallowed him and bounced once, like punctuation.
I doubled over, hands braced on my knees, laughter tearing out of me unchecked, my chest burning as I tried and failed to get air back into my lungs.
“Oh my gosh,” I managed. “Are you okay?”
He stared up at the ceiling, arms spread like he’d surrendered. “I’ve made a mistake.”
“Several,” I said, wiping at my eyes.
We drifted toward the foam pit next, my legs already starting to protest. I climbed the edge cautiously and peered down at the sea of gray cubes, shifting and settling like they were alive.
“This looks deeper than it should be,” I said.
Cole didn’t answer.
He jumped in fearlessly, cradling his knees to his chest in a cannonball as he fell into the foam cubes.
I swore under my breath and followed before I could think better of it.
The foam swallowed me immediately, cubes pressing in from all sides, stealing my momentum, my dignity, and any sense of direction.
I kicked uselessly, arms flailing, laughter bubbling up between frustrated breaths.
“This was a terrible idea,” I said, trying to find something solid to push against.
Cole surfaced near the edge, already climbing out. He leaned over, extending a hand like this was the most natural thing in the world. “You’re okay. I’m right here.”
I grabbed his hand like it was a lifeline. He pulled, both of us unsteady as I came free, my weight shifting too fast. Momentum carried us closer than planned, bodies angled wrong, balance shot.
For half a second, everything paused. Breath shallow, faces closer than they should’ve been, the noise fading into background static… Then someone shrieked nearby, sharp and sudden, and the moment scattered like it had never existed at all.
We didn’t acknowledge it.
Cole dropped my hand as easily as he’d taken it, already stepping away, brushing foam cubes from his sleeves. I focused on regaining my footing, on the way the mat dipped and rebounded beneath me, on anything that wasn’t the space we’d just shared.
“Next attraction?” he asked, and I swore his voice sounded as breathless as I felt.
I scanned the room, still a little unsteady. My legs felt loose, unreliable, like they belonged to someone who made worse decisions than I did. “What else is there?”
He nodded toward a fenced-off section where kids were hurling soft balls at each other with alarming enthusiasm. A sign overhead read DODGEBALL in glowing letters.