Page 7

BACK ON SOLID GROUND

MILA

“Let’s at least make this challenging.” Remi swipes the target off the stand, setting an apple in its place.

Her blue eyes brighten as she whips her face to me. An orange-red lock of hair falls across her freckled cheek.

“And here I thought you would actually make this difficult.” I smirk, narrowing my gaze as I shift into position.

The apple balances on the beam where the target usually sits, with the large panel of wood behind it.

With a quick flip of the wrist, I toss the dagger from my hand. It lands in the center of the apple, pinning it to the wood panel.

“Too easy.” I take a bow.

“Next time I’ll bring something smaller. Like limes.” Remi grabs the handle of the knife, dislodging the tip from the wood with the apple still impaled by the blade.

I laugh as she carries it over to me, held up at her side.

She drops into one of the chairs beside the display, kicking her feet up on another.

The carnival doesn’t open for another thirty minutes, so everyone is either putting the final touches on their acts or practicing.

Which gives me and Remi a moment of relief before the show starts up .

It wasn’t too long ago we would simply help when needed with setting up and fetching the occasional item. My parents preferred we stayed hidden and not cause trouble. Remi and I would hide in the pop-up camper, and we’d play cards or read each other’s fortunes.

When I turned fifteen and Remi sixteen, since she’s a year older, all that changed. My parents considered us old enough to do more than just help out. They wanted us as part of the show.

If Remi’s parents hadn’t abandoned her at the carnival a few years before, they might have argued against it, but it likely wouldn’t have changed anything. The carnival is a business, not a free ride, as my parents liked to remind me. Everyone is expected to play their part.

Remi sets the apple on the armrest of her chair, pushing the knife to slice it through.

“You aren’t going to try and do better?”

“Why prove what we both already know to be true?” She cuts a slice and hands it to me. “Wouldn’t want to get in your head right before the show.”

I roll my eyes, taking the apple slice. But I don’t argue.

We both know Remi is the better knife thrower.

Rumors say she learned how to toss daggers before she learned how to talk.

And while I don’t believe that, I don’t question her abilities.

She taught me everything I know and gave me my first blade.

Since that day, I’ve kept it strapped to my thigh, not wanting to blemish it for a show.

Remi chews a bite of apple, watching the crowd gather in the lot outside the carnival. It’s going to be a busy night.

“What happened to that precollege program you applied for?” She takes another bite. “I haven’t heard you talk about it in weeks.”

“Nothing. I didn’t end up replying to the questionnaire they sent me. Besides, it’s expensive.”

“Isn’t that what you were going to use your grandparents’ inheritance for?” Her eyebrows pinch.

“I considered it. ”

“You should do it. You’re smarter than you give yourself credit for, Mila. And you know it will help you get into college.”

It will. Especially considering the half-ass homeschooling my parents offer through the carnival doesn’t cover everything they’re supposed to. I’ve made up the gaps in research and reading. But if I want to get into college, I need something more.

“I don’t know if I want to go to college,” I lie.

“You can’t just stay here.”

“Why not? You are.”

Remi brushes her hair back, showing off the freckles on her cheeks. “I’m not like you, Mila. This is what I’m good at. What I like. But you… you could do more.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the carnival.”

“There is if it doesn’t make you happy.” Remi frowns. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

I glance around as my parents start making their rounds.

Mom’s dark hair is tied in a painfully tight bun that sharpens her cheekbones.

Dad yells at the new girl working the popcorn stand for not being set up yet.

It’s only a matter of time before they circle around to us and find something wrong with the setup or my makeup or my outfit.

Nothing about this is appropriate for a sixteen-year-old, but they don’t care.

“I’m serious.” Remi nudges my leg with her knee. “Think about it.”

“I will.” My gaze is still on my parents.

Remi must notice. “I’ll deal with them. Go find somewhere else to be before they get here. I’ll tell them you’re using the bathroom.”

“Thanks.” I squeeze her hand, darting off.

I don’t hate the carnival. Far from it.

I love the lights. The excitement.

The friendships.

But more often than not lately, Remi is the only one who makes it bearable. And she’s right. I don’t want this .

The carnival is less threatening with the sun shining overhead. But at night, all my haunted memories mix with the good and rise to the surface. Conflicting feelings about a place I used to call home battle it out, and I hope Patience doesn’t notice.

We walk past the knife-throwing platform, and I rub my hand down my side, feeling for Remi’s blade still strapped there.

She’s been gone almost four years, but I can still hear her laugh in my mind.

She was always the more charming one of the two of us, luring people into our act.

While I was the distraction with my short skirts and glittering sequins.

“There’s no line.” Patience tugs my hand toward the Ferris wheel.

“It’s a swinging Ferris wheel,” I warn her.

“What does that mean?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer before pulling us into a free cage. “Doesn’t everything in this place swing?”

I laugh, climbing in after her as the door shuts behind us. “Not like this.”

Patience and I sit on opposite sides. The grate in the cage stifles the breeze, which helps ease the chill of the settling night. The hard metal seat digs into my ass cheeks, and I grip the lip since there’s no bar in the middle to hold.

When the cage lurches upward, I hold my breath.

“You okay?” Patience’s eyes widen. “I totally forgot you were afraid of heights. Maybe they’ll let us down.”

They won’t. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

“I’m sorry.” She takes a sharp breath through her teeth.

“Just talk about something and distract me.” We move up another few feet. “Anything. ”

Patience drags her teeth over her lower lip, thinking. “Thank you for stopping by to see Alex.”

Maybe I should have been more specific. The last thing I want to talk about right now is something else that makes my stomach swim.

“No problem.” My nails scratch the metal with my tight grip as we move again. “I have a question. Can Alex physically not talk, or is it just that he won’t?”

The slight sway of the cage has my feet desperate to get back on solid ground.

“I don’t know.” Patience focuses on the horizon when her face pales with the next swing. “The doctors said it’s probably by choice. But since he’s refused to so much as try in front of anyone, only he knows the answer to that.”

“He seems to do a lot of reading. There was a whole stack when I dropped that one off. I don’t know why your father made it seem so urgent.”

Patience lets her gaze trail. “Everything is urgent with our father.”

“Did Alex always read this much? Or only now that he’s in Montgomery?”

“More now, I suppose. I never really thought about it. There’s not much for him to do at Montgomery but read or work out, so that’s probably why.” She shakes her head. “Although, if he’s that bored, he could always go to his therapy sessions. God forbid he try.”

“He doesn’t go to therapy? Can’t they make him?”

“Good luck trying to make my brother do anything he doesn’t want to. It’s the one thing he and my father have in common.”

“If he’s not trying to get better, why is he still there?”

Patience stills. Her fingers dig into her jeans, and her face blanches. “Since when are you so curious about Alex? ”

“I’m not,” I say a little too quickly to not seem defensive. “I’m just distracting myself.”

“Okay…” Her eyebrows pinch, unconvinced.

But she doesn’t keep up the questioning.

I glance around, and Patience leans to look down at the ground. I’m queasy thinking about what she’s seeing. We’re almost parallel to the other side. It’s only a matter of time before everything tilts. I really shouldn’t have agreed to this ride so easily.

With a final lift, the entire cage starts to sway, and I’m thankful. Because even if I hate this ride, and it’s testing my every limit to not throw up at the thought of how high I am, the swing will hopefully distract Patience from thinking too hard about how I was asking about Alex.

“What is that—” Her question cuts off in a scream as the entire cage sways, rotating on the oval beam.

The world tilts sideways.