to stop, and I say quickly under my breath, “Let’s fucking get out of here. Right fucking now.” My eyes dart to camera phones.
So many fucking camera phones. Carnival attendees are recording us, but our families have always been the spectacle. Bodyguards are barring the audience from physically reaching us. So I can focus on Jane as her eyes pop out.
“Why?” She speaks hushed.
I’m burning, and it pours out fast, “I opened my big fucking mouth. That’s why. I told Kits and Banks they’re really fucking hot and they make me feel safe and comfortable, and that if I never have another boyfriend in my entire life, then it’d be cool to lose my virginity to one of them.” I nod forcefully. “Yep, and I thought they’d take it like pals, you know like buddies. But they were fucking silent!” I wave a hand. “So I ran, but then I ended up in the mirrors and I got lost and they were looking for me…and oh my fuck.” The funhouse.
Akara and Banks are jogging out of the funhouse.
I’m not ready to meet their condolences. Their, it’s okay, Sulli. We just don’t like you that way.
“We’re going,” Jane tells me. “Right now. Let’s go. Charlie?”
Oh fuck, what’s wrong with Charlie? Thatcher is keeping him upright. Charlie seems to be favoring his leg, the one he hurt in the car crash a while back.
“I’ll leave with Jack and Oscar,” Charlie says. “You go ahead.”
“Are you positive?”
“Yes.” He stands on his own.
Jane hugs her brother. “We’ll meet you at the hospital.”
The hospital?
My attention is pulled in seven-hundred different fucking ways. To Charlie and Jane. To Akara and Banks. To Jack and Oscar. The carnival attendees. The phones. The blinking lights.
Screams off of thrill rides.
Pinging of games.
Laughter that feels too close. Like I’m the butt of a joke.
I’m the joke.
My chest rises and falls heavily.
Run.
Run.
“Right in front of you, honey,” Thatcher says to Jane as he starts leading us to the parking lot. Everything is a fucking blur.
I end up at Jane’s baby blue Land Rover. I can’t speak. Seeing Jane with Thatcher—her bodyguard-turned-boyfriend who she’s now engaged to—is like another pie in my face.
Romance with a bodyguard—not for me.
Friendship with a bodyguard—did I just fuck that up?
Did I just ruin it all?
I made things weird.
Fuck.
Fuck.
And I run.
I hear my name from more than one person, but I don’t stop. Legs pumping beneath me, my feet and strength carry me through the graveled parking lot. Knots in my chest try to loosen. I pick up speed.
Bolting past the $5 for Parking sign, beyond the carnival entrance, I sprint onto a dark empty road out in Pennsylvania. My hair spills out of its bun. Flying messily, wildly around me as I push and push to go faster.
Farther.
Muscles searing.
Angry, frustrated tears slip out of my eyes and catch the wind. Angry with myself. Frustrated with myself.
And then, footsteps pound the concrete.
Someone is running towards me.
I don’t look back because they’re fast. Easily, they reach my side. I can feel them keeping exact pace, exact step in line with me.
And I turn my head to see my dad.
My dad is running beside me.
He never tells me to slow down. He never tells me to stop. He sprints on the deserted Pennsylvania road in the middle of the night. No words, no fucking questions asked.
We run together.
We push harder.
Air fills my lungs. With all my training, with every morning run with my dad, I don’t think about inhaling and exhaling. I just do.
I feel like I’m flying.
One hundred and fifty miles per hour.
The knots unwind. Bursting. Whatever rattled inside me is being set free. For a moment, anyway.
And when I finally skid to a slow jog, then to a walk, breath comes easy and my muscles ache from not stretching. I glance painfully at my dad.
His darkened, concerned expression says, are you fucking okay? He’s already bringing me into a hug. I hug tighter.
“I’m a fucking idiot,” I mutter.
“Hey,” he snaps, pulling me back to meet my eyes. “Don’t fucking talk about yourself like that. Your mom would say—”
“Be kind to yourself,” I nod. “I know. I fucking know.” I exhale, and I notice the bright beam of headlights. A car crawls towards us but maintains distance.
Bodyguards.
Maybe it’s just my dad’s bodyguard, but with how tonight is going, it’s probably Akara and Banks.
I focus back on my dad. “I made things so weird.”
His face hardens. “How?”
“I’m bad at friendships, Dad.” I outstretch my arms, then set my hands