Page 122 of Stolen Harmony

Kyle handed us each three plastic rings with the solemnity of someone distributing sacred objects. The bottles were arranged in a perfect triangle, just far enough apart to make landing a ring seem possible while being mathematically improbable.

“You first,” I said.

Elias took his time, weighing the first ring in his hand like he was calculating physics equations. When he threw it, the ring sailed in a perfect arc and bounced off the center bottle with a satisfying clink.

“Rusty,” he said, shaking his head.

His second throw was closer, the ring spinning around the bottle's neck for a heart-stopping moment before sliding off. The third hit the back wall without coming close to anything resembling a target.

“Your turn, hotshot,” he said, stepping back with theatrical flourish.

I picked up my first ring, trying to ignore the way he was watching me with amused attention. The weight felt wrong in my hand, too light, like it was designed to fail. I threw it anyway and watched it sail wide, missing everything by a foot.

“Warming up,” I said.

“Sure you are.”

The second ring actually hit a bottle, bouncing off with enough force to make Kyle wince. Close, but not close enough. I hefted the third ring, feeling the pressure of Elias's expectant gaze, the weight of proving something I couldn't quite name.

I threw it harder than necessary, and it ricocheted off the back wall, bounced off two bottles, and somehow, impossibly, settled around the neck of the center bottle.

“Holy shit!” Kyle shouted, then immediately looked embarrassed. “I mean, we have a winner!”

Elias was staring at me with something that looked like genuine surprise mixed with admiration. “Lucky shot.”

“Skill,” I corrected, trying not to let the pride show in my voice.

“Pick your prize,” Kyle said, gesturing grandly at the top shelf of misshapen stuffed animals.

I studied my options with the seriousness they deserved. The purple elephant was truly disturbing, the maybe-dog-maybe-cat looked like it had seen things that couldn't be unseen, and the giraffe-horse was an affront to nature. But tucked in the corner was something that might have been a bear if you squinted and were feeling generous.

“That one,” I said, pointing.

Kyle retrieved it with unnecessary ceremony, presenting it to me like I'd just won the lottery. Up close, it was even worse than I'd thought. Brown fur that felt like steel wool,mismatched button eyes, and a smile that suggested it was planning something unpleasant.

“It's hideous,” Elias said.

“It's perfect.” I tucked it under my arm. “What should we name it?”

“Something that matches its personality. How about Nightmare?”

“Too obvious. How about... Herbert?”

Elias considered this. “Herbert works. He looks like a Herbert.”

We moved on to the next booth, where a woman with elaborate makeup was challenging people to knock down milk bottles with baseballs. The sign promised that it was “EASY AS PIE!” in letters that screamed insincerity.

“Three throws for three dollars,” the woman called out. “Knock down the pyramid, win a prize!”

“Your turn to embarrass yourself,” I said.

Elias paid without argument, accepting the baseballs with the same careful consideration he'd shown the rings. The milk bottles were stacked in a perfect pyramid, gleaming white under the string of carnival lights that had flickered on as evening approached.

His first throw was a thing of beauty, a fastball that caught the bottom corner of the pyramid and sent bottles flying in every direction. The satisfying crash drew applause from nearby festival-goers, and Elias took a small bow like he'd just performed at Carnegie Hall.

“Show off,” I said.

“Natural talent.”