like I’m going to throw up. I feel like I’m actually going to heave not only the food in my stomach, but my entire stomach as well. Spleen, liver, kidneys, everything!
How are we still going? How are we still rising? Does this thing ever stop?
Just as the thought enters my mind, I feel a shudder and the world jerks to a halt.
“Oh God. This is it, isn’t it? It’s broken. There’s a screw loose. We’re going to die up here!”
“Ellie,” Owen whispers next to me, his hand still firmly clasped in mine. “We’re not going to die. Open your eyes.”
I shake my head obstinately. “No. I’d rather die with my eyes closed.”
He chuckles. “No, you wouldn’t. You’re not that kind of girl.”
“I think I’ve somehow managed to fool you into thinking I’m someone I’m not.”
There’s silence next to me, and for a minute I consider opening my eyes just to check that Owen is still there. That he hasn’t slipped out from under this bar and plummeted to the ground. He could easily slide right out from under this thing. He’s skinny, you know. Well, at least he used to be. Before he totally bulked up over the summer without telling me.
Then I realize I’m still holding his hand. He’s still there.
“I know exactly who you are,” Owen says, but I can tell he’s not looking at me when he says it. His words get swept up by the wind.
I open my eyes and my heart hitches.
It’s breathtaking up here. So beautiful. And quiet. And terrifying.
We’re so high. It’s like the world is nothing but a scale model. One of those 3-D re-creations you see in museums. The lights of our little town are twinkling far below. I can even see Providence Boulevard, the main road that leads to the fairgrounds. I follow it with my eyes—one, two, three, four stoplights—then I turn left, and another left.
“Look!” I release Owen’s hand and point. “I can see my house.” I backtrack three streets. “And there’s yours!”
Owen chuckles at my enthusiasm. “Pretty cool, huh?”
“It’s like we’re gods or something. Even the air is different up here.”
“Gods,” he repeats, trying the word on for size. “I like it. I’ll be the god of wit and frivolity.”
I snort. “That’s not a real god.”
“Yeah, because realism is what we’re going for here.”
“Fine. Then I’m the god of classic rock.”
“I thought that was Jim Morrison.”
“You’re right. I really can’t take that from him.”
“Besides, you’re clearly the god of Mondays.”
I groan. “Don’t remind me.”
“How many has this been again?”
“Five.”
“And you still haven’t managed to watch the season finale of Assumed Guilty yet?”
“I’ve been busy.”
“That’s a load of cobblers.”
I snort. “A what?”
“It means a lot of rubbish.”
“Right.”
“I’m telling you,” Owen says righteously, “you have to watch that episode. You’re missing out.”
I peer over the side of our car at the carnival below. “Actually, I don’t think I am.”
I can see the ring toss game and the bumper cars and even the concession stand where Annabelle and Dr. Jason Halloway shared their milk shake. It’s all there. Everything on my little fantasy date checklist. I suddenly feel silly for thinking I could re-create a night I witnessed between two strangers six years ago. Who has a fantasy date checklist?
Is there anything less romantic than a checklist?
It’s like I became so obsessed with doing things right, I forgot to enjoy them.
Feeling bold, I lean forward in my seat, trying to view the rest of the carnival, but the bucket starts to tip. I let out a yelp and grab Owen’s hand again, bolting upright.
He laughs. “Don’t worry. It’s supposed to tip.”
All of my former confidence has vanished. “I don’t like the tipping.”
“But the tipping is so fun.”
I shake my head. “I swear, if you rock this thing on purpose, I will kill you in your sleep and make it look like a mafia hit.”
I smile as soon as I realize I’ve stolen his own words and used them against him.
A far-off look crosses his face. It’s almost as though he can remember the words. The entire conversation. Maybe all the conversations. Like some distant reverberation through space. A ghostly echo through time.
But of course that’s impossible. He can’t remember those other conversations. Those alternate versions of us. They live somewhere else. In another universe.
And we live here.
In this one.
He squeezes my hand. “Don’t worry. I won’t let you fall.”
My gaze drifts to him. “I thought falling was the best part.”
His laughter has faded but the amusement still lingers in his