it seems to penetrate the surface. When we reach the top, the Ferris wheel stops and our little car begins to sway from the momentum.
I try not to look down, but for some reason my eyes are drawn to the ground.
Drawn to the people I left behind.
They’re so small from up here. Indistinguishable. I can’t make out any of their faces. And that makes me want to cry.
“Looking for something?” Tristan asks, peering over me.
I shake my head and focus my attention back on him. On this. This was my fantasy from the very beginning. A romantic night at the carnival with the boy I love, ending in a moonlight kiss on the top of the Ferris wheel.
I glance up.
There’s the moon.
I glance to my left.
There’s the boy.
It’s everything I wanted.
So why does it feel so anticlimactic?
“Ellie,” Tristan says, pulling my attention back. His voice is suddenly serious. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”
My stomach drops. Here it is. The reality of this moment. The reality of every single Monday I’ve lived through.
Tristan isn’t here to share some romantic moonlit kiss with me. Tristan is here for the same reason he’s always here: To end it. To crush my fantasy. To break my heart.
“Yeah?” I ask, my throat suddenly bone dry. I close my eyes and wait for the words I’ve heard countless times. The same vague speech that leaves me feeling frustrated and so terribly empty.
Tristan takes a deep breath. “I woke up this morning feeling like something was wrong. I couldn’t put my finger on it. Everything just felt … off. I didn’t know if it was our fight last night, or something else, but I quickly realized that this feeling wasn’t new. It’s been building and building for the past five months.”
Wait, what?
This isn’t the speech. This sounds nothing like the speech. I almost want to interrupt him and feed him the right lines, put this night back on track, but I stay silent.
“I came to school thinking I was going to end it,” he goes on. “You and me. I couldn’t see any reason for us to be together anymore. I didn’t really know why. It was just a feeling. It was like we were broken somehow and I didn’t know how to fix us. But then something happened today. You were … I don’t know how to explain it … you were so different. You were … radiant. Everything about you. And I realized, maybe the problem was, I just couldn’t see you before. I couldn’t see how much you shine. All on your own. But now I do. I see it. I see you.”
I wait for him to say more. There has to be more.
“Hold on,” I say, confused. “You mean you’re not breaking up with me?”
He laughs. “No. The opposite. I wanted to tell you how happy I am that we’re together.”
A thrill ripples through me.
I can’t believe it. I did it. I actually did it. I stopped Tristan from breaking up with me. I didn’t need any tricks or how-to books or fishnet stockings. I just needed to be me.
I suddenly feel like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, who had the ruby slippers on her feet the whole time. She was just too focused on other things to notice.
I turn to Tristan. He’s wearing that irresistible smile that’s pulled me in so many times.
He rests his palm on my cheek. He guides my mouth to his. He kisses me. The way only Tristan can kiss me.
Six days ago, this was all I wanted.
Six days ago, this was my fantasy.
But a lot can happen in six days.
For the past five months, Tristan has been the music I couldn’t live without. He’s been the song stuck in my head, playing over and over again. I’ve spent this entire week trying to keep the music going. Trying to keep him in my life.
But now, when I kiss him, I no longer feel the lips of the boy who wrote a song for me. Who shouted the lyrics from a stage for the world to hear. I only feel the lips of the boy who told me goodbye six times. Who broke my heart night after night. Who wanted the music to stop.
It wasn’t until I showed him who I really was that he decided to stick around.
I couldn’t see how much you shine. All on your own. But now I do. I see it. I see you.
But there’s someone down there who’s