ship. Sayonara, baby. Isn’t that right, Tristan?” I practically spit his name.
He opens his mouth to say something, but only a stutter of air comes out.
But I’m just getting warmed up. “Well, I’m sorry. Sometimes life is dramatic. Sometimes relationships are dramatic. You go out with all these girls and then you end up dumping them for the exact. Same. Reason. Every time. They’re too crazy. They’re insane enough to actually want your undivided attention. What a novel concept! Here’s a hint for you. Girls don’t like it when you Snapchat with other girls! Girls don’t like it when you flirt with other girls right in front of them. This is not rocket science. We are not rocket science! Did it ever occur to you that maybe you bring out the crazy in these girls? Did it ever occur to you that maybe they’re dramatic because of you? No. Of course not. You’re too busy picking them apart, finding reasons not to be with them anymore, and then trying to pass those reasons off as ‘feelings’ so you can claim to just be ‘staying true to what you feel.’ I’d be willing to bet that if you actually dated the kind of girl you think you want to date, you’d get bored with her in a matter of minutes and dump her anyway. So how is this, Tristan?” I raise my voice another few decibels, shouting for the whole carnival to hear. “Is this dramatic enough for you?”
Tristan eyes the growing circle of nosy eavesdroppers around us. “Uh,” he falters, “I’m sorry, Ellie. I really am.”
“Yes, I know,” I tell him, “and this is how much I care.”
I turn, grab the first guy I see—I think he’s actually a freshman at my school—and plant a big, wet, sloppy kiss on his lips. By the time he unfreezes from the shock and starts to kiss me back, I’m already pushing him away and disappearing into the crowd.
What a Wonderful World
8:33 p.m.
There’s a funny thing that happens when you have all the time in the world. Theoretically, you would think there’d be no rush. You can slow down. You can take a thousand steps to reach a destination that’s only ten steps away. But it’s actually the opposite. When time is on your side, you suddenly have this burning desire to make the most of it.
When I find Owen loitering next to a popcorn cart, I grab his hand and don’t let go.
I walk fast, dragging him behind me, not looking back until we’ve reached the very front of the line. I pull every last dollar bill I have out of my bag and thrust it at the short female carnival employee. “We want to get on this thing now.”
She doesn’t even bat an eye. She pockets the wad of cash, yanks on a lever, and an empty car slows in front of us. “It’s all yours,” she says, gesturing to the two side-by-side seats.
My stomach is on spin cycle. I’m squeezing Owen’s hand so tightly, I’m sure his fingers are white.
“Ells, you don’t have to do this,” he says quietly.
“No,” I tell him. “I do. It’s exactly what I have to do, and you’re the exact person I have to do it with.”
I draw in a long inhale—a breath I’ll probably hold until my feet are back on solid ground—and plop myself down on the seat. Owen sits next to me, watching my reaction carefully as the carnival employee lowers the safety bar and locks it into place.
That’s it? That’s all that stands between me and certain death?
A flimsy metal bar.
Relax, I command myself. It’ll all be over soon.
“What was it you said to me when I wouldn’t climb the telephone pole?”
Owen is rigid beside me. Nervous about how nervous I am. “I told you that falling was the best part.”
I watch the employee yank on her death lever and we jerk backward. I scream and squeeze Owen’s hand tighter. He squeezes back.
“Something tells me that same piece of advice doesn’t apply here,” I squeak.
Owen laughs. “No, it doesn’t.”
The Ferris wheel continues to move. We’re sailing backward and then up. The platform is no longer beneath us. Now there’s only air. I watch the ground get farther and farther away beneath my dangling feet.
“I can’t!” I shut my eyes. “Oh my God, Owen. This was a bad idea. I can’t do this.”
How did I ever think this was romantic? This is about the least romantic thing I’ve ever done. I feel