Page 12 of Love at Full Tilt

Mason takes in my frustrated expression with a sigh. “Lia, it’s all a facade.” He nods to the park’s central crossroads. “Just a carefully constructed fantasy.” It’s like he can read my thoughts.

Bending down, he plucks a blade of grass from the other side of the fence.

Before offering it to me, he drags it between his fingernails.

When he stops, the tips of his nails are green, and the blade of grass is withered and browned.

“In the summer, when the heat’s too intense to keep the grass alive, they paint it. Every night.”

I jerk my gaze from him back to the carousel. My insides have curdled like sour milk, but I fight to keep my expression even. This is not the version of Fableland I want right now. Not the one I need.

I get my phone and zoom the camera in on the horses as they rise and fall to the rhythm of the organ music. “There’s nothing wrong with fantasy. It helps people.”

I can feel his eyes roaming my face. When I don’t look at him, he turns and rests his elbows beside me on the fence. “Is that why you spend so much time researching this place?”

For once, I’m the one who shrugs. A few minutes ago, I would have told him about my job, my mother and her anxiety, how Fableland gives me an escape. Everything. I was so sure he’d understand. Now, though, I’m afraid he’ll think I’m childish. As silly as he seems to find these parks.

The realization leaves me hollow.

I close my eyes for a second, letting the carousel music wash over me as it reaches a crescendo.

Obviously, I was wrong to think that we shared some secret understanding.

But I don’t need his permission, or Tess’s and Issy’s, to love this place.

I don’t need their support to win this contest. That I love it, that Fable Industry and its magic have saved me more times than I can count, isenough.

I’m enough.

Mason gestures toward the carousel. “Let’s go, before the next ride starts.”

There’s a bunch of people at the FOTL entrance, and I vaguely recognize some faces from the welcome party. Thank God we didn’t listen to Carter and take our time. Who knows how many contestants have already been here?

I look back at Mason, but he doesn’t seem nervous.

The attendant lets a handful more people through the gate and onto the carousel.

A bunch of them beeline for the center circle of horses.

A girl who looks a little older than me, and has somehow managed to maintain a perfect topknot and an even more pristine layer of makeup over her bronzed skin despite the sweltering weather, pushes everyone out of her way to get there first. She doesn’t attempt to apologize when one of the guys she bumps into trips and lands belly-first across one of the horses.

She simply scans the QR code and, with a cheer, runs off to meet the guy waiting for her at the exit.

Mason and I exchange a look. “She seems fun,” I mutter.

He laughs.

I assumed, given the amount of money at stake, I’d run into a few…driven…contestants, but shoving people out of the way on the first day is excessive, and definitely against the rules. May she get stuck behind one of the huge park parades and miss a clue, I wish silently.

The music fades as the carousel slows to a stop. As soon as the current riders vacate the horses, the attendant waves us through.

“Feel free to take a ride if you want after you get the code,” he says as Mason and I pass.

I plan to do just that. Maybe on Casterman’s unicorn if I’m lucky.

I pick my way around the carriages, chariots, and creatures, trying my best not to appear eager even as my feet trip over themselves. My fingers squeeze my phone.

This is it. The last clue of the day. I’m almost there.

The unicorn is tucked within the inside circle of horses.

Its white body shines like marble, as if someone’s sole job is to polish it daily.

This close, I can see each individual sparkle in the silver mane and horn, and how the creature’s eyes are a stormy gunmetal blue, just like Mason’s.

Following the curve of its gold saddle, Casterman’s swooping signature cuts across the unicorn’s flank.

Beside it sits the QR code.

My heart’s in my throat as I bend to scan it.

Before I do, I let my index finger follow the trail of Sam Casterman’s writing.

I picture him in his trademark fedora and vest, sitting in the back booth at some dim, smoke-filled restaurant (it was the 1950s, when I assume everything was covered in a blanket of cigarette smoke), sketching his dreams into reality.

Mason can think whatever he wants. I know these parks are bursting with magic. I can feel it swimming through my veins as I press my hand to the unicorn’s mane.

My phone beeps, registering the code, and then my screen is filled with confetti. Once it fades, a new message appears.

Congratulations! You’re the 20th contestant to complete Day1 of the 50th-Anniversary Scavenger Hunt! Your first clue for Day2 will become available at midnight EST. On Day2, only the first 70 contestants to scan the three codes will remain in the contest.

Heat blooms in my cheeks, and my heart pounds as I read the words over and over. Twenty out of one hundred. Those are odds people could bet on (or whatever it is people do with odds).

And I did it myself. Me, probably one of the only Fableland fanatics who’d never seen the resort with their own eyes until today. I figured out the clues. The only thing Mason did was give us a shortcut to one.

Mason appears beside me, and the same burst of color fills his screen as he hovers the camera over the QR code.

I point to a nearby carriage. “Are you going to ride?”

“No. But I’ll wait for you.” He gestures with his head toward the fence that rings the carousel.

I don’t bother to argue. Forget Ebenezer Scrooge. This boy is Fableland’s Grinch.

I slide onto Casterman’s unicorn and let the organ music wash over me. A grin spreads across my face. I don’t need Mason to celebrate this win.

I survived the first day.

No. More than survived. Thrived.

A realization slams into me like Dudley’s Tailspin as it crashes down the last hill. This isn’t Fableland magic. It’s reality.

I could actually win this scavenger hunt.