14. No Rides, Just Sweet Stuff
14
No Rides, Just Sweet Stuff
Carson
Yeah, there’s no way in hell I’m going on that.
All ten of us are standing right outside the Revenge of the Mummy indoor rollercoaster. The moment I saw the sign, I instantly took a step back from the rest of the group, which led to a lot of complaining.
From the guys, except for Jake, who doesn’t care. He’s probably the only one who knows why I’m not hesitant about avoiding the rollercoaster.
“Carson, it’s in the dark!” Enzo’s been trying to persuade me to go on with them from the beginning. “You won’t be able to see the mummies or anything.”
“There’s still the bugs,” Emma points out.
“That’s not what I’m worried about,” I say. Indoor rollercoasters in the dark are still rollercoasters, and I draw the line at them.
“Well, I’m going on,” Jake tells the rest of the group. “Anyone else joining?”
Everyone hums in agreement, except for Diana. Her head’s tilted slightly downwards at her boots and for the second time today, she looks a little pale. Her beautifully tanned skin went about five shades lighter and is about as pale as I am.
Okay, she’s still tan but metaphorically speaking, she’s as white as the bandages that are probably on the animatronic mummies I don’t ever plan on viewing.
Diana and I stay in place while the others head in line for the mummy rollercoaster. This is the second time we’ve been left alone together, separated from each of our respective friend groups, and of our own choice. The circumstances were different last time but now? She chose not to stay with the group.
But with me.
After a minute of awkward silence that sits between us, Diana finally speaks up. “Why didn’t you go with them?”
I shrug. “I’m not good with rollercoasters,” I answer and leave it at that. The real reason behind that is so damn embarrassing that only Jake knows.
“Me neither,” she says meekly. “So, what do we do know?”
I swivel my head around the area. I’ve visited this park so often in the past twenty years that I should know the entire place with the back of my hand. Somehow, I come up empty.
“I’m at a loss,” I admit to her. “What do you want to do, birthday girl?”
“I don’t know. It’s my first time here.”
My jaw drops slightly. “You’ve never been here? But you’ve lived in LA for a couple of years, now.”
“Not to this location,” she explains hastily. “The Orlando location is a lot different.”
“Right.” She did bring that up in the car ride over.
“Also, can we just not make my birthday a big deal right now?” She suggests. “It’s just a hang out with all eight of our roommates.”
I shake my head, holding back a laugh as we walk farther away from the rollercoaster and toward the center of the lower lot. “I can’t. Diana, this is the one day a year where everything is literally about you. Wait, when is your actual birthday?”
She mumbles something I can’t understand.
“Can you repeat that?”
The mumbles are a little louder but still incoherent.
“Diana—”
“It’s on Thursday!” She finally blurts out and I now understand why.
“But that’s Halloween,” I point out.
She sighs. “No kidding. I hate having it on a major holiday.”
“Me too,” I mutter.
Diana furrows her brows in curiosity and I find myself explaining. “Carly and I were born on July Fourth.”
“That sucks.”
“We’re used to it.” Gesturing around us, I announce, “Well, the park is your limit. And I’m just here for the food and overly-sweet stuff.”
At the mention of sweets, her pretty eyes light up. “Speaking of sweet stuff, where’s Hogsmeade?”
Twenty minutes, two long escalator rides, and a split churro later, we arrive in the Harry Potter section of the park. I’ve only seen the movies but I can tell—based on the bright smile on Diana’s face—that she’s a bigger Potterhead than my cousin Bailey ever was.
“This is just as magical as I remember,” she marvels as she glances between the two buildings in front of us while we wait in line for butterbeer. “I just wish I brought my robes with me.”
“Robes?”
She nods. “My Hufflepuff robes.”
My jaw drops yet again. It doesn’t surprise me that she has Harry Potter robes—that girl goes all out for the things she cares about—but Diana being a Hufflepuff was not on my Diana Blanco Bingo card. “You? A Hufflepuff?”
She snorts after glancing at the shocked expression on my face. “Why are you so surprised? You’ve seen my pajamas.”
I hold my hands up. “I thought they were hand-me-downs.”
“Well they weren’t,” she confirms. “I took that test a long time ago and I was such a different person back then.”
“No kidding.”
“Well, what’s your house?” She asks.
I shrug. “Never took the quiz. Maybe I’m a Ravenclaw.” Finally, we reach the front of the line and order two for each of us. I get the hot version, while Diana orders the frozen ButterBeer—which is just a butterscotch slushy with white foam on top.
“That’s just crazy to me,” she declares as she fishes in her bag for her wallet. “First, you don’t know what Hogwarts house you’re in and now you're trying to pay for my ButterBeer.”
I place my hand over her bag. “I’ve got it.”
“No, Carson. I was the one who suggested we get some so it’s only fair if I pay for it.”
“It’s your birthday, so I insist.”
“So do I,” she says, looking up from her bag to face me. “Trust me, doc. You’ve already done more than enough for me. So the least I can do is pay for your drink. So Carson, whatever your middle name is, Ryder, let me pay!”
My heartbeat quickens its pace and I’m pretty sure people can hear it from inside the Wands attraction near us.
That’s a first for me.
I can’t say that someone has insisted on paying for or doing anything for me in the past. I can’t recall a time when that’s happened. So never expecting anything in return was my normal. If I didn’t know any better, I would have expected Diana to just give in and let me pay but prior experience has taught me that she can be stubborn when she wants to be.
But if her stubbornness means pushing her attention towards me? Doing something for me?
“Are you sure?” I ask.
She pulls out her wallet, curtain bangs falling in her eyes. After grabbing a card and handing it to the vendor—who I now realize has been listening to this conversation, the nosy fucker—she responds without a hint of hesitation in her voice. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
This girl might just be the death of me and it’s an ending I’m just waiting for.