Page 80 of Savored Sins
If I thought my body couldn’t get any more frozen, I was dead wrong. As soon as I hear those words—winner of our competition—my jaw locks up and my knuckles go white where I’m clenching the security bar. Next to me, Autumn’s face is panic-stricken, but at this second I don’t have the wherewithal to cover the phone and let her know that nobody died.
So I just concentrate on Josh’s voice. On words. Onansweringthe poor guy.
“Holy shit,” I blurt out. On the other end of the line, Josh laughs. “Hot fucking damn.”
“That’s pretty much the reaction we had when we watched your footage,” Josh says, chuckling. “Like, I won’t lie. We had somereallywell produced entries, but yours wasraw.Emotionally, conceptually. The fact that you can see and, well, judging from some of the parts you appeared to edit out—” Here, Josh coughs, and I know exactly which parts he’s referring to. “—interactwith ghosts is mind-blowing. Your vibe is fresh, and that’s exactly what we want.”
“Wow. I mean, thank you, obviously—butwow. That’s… I wasn’t expecting this.”
Autumn’s eyes are fierce, and she’s waving her hand vigorously in front of my face, mouthing questions at me. I grab her hand and hold it tight, trying to calm her down while I listen to the rest of what Josh has to say.
“It’ll take us a bit to get things rolling,” Josh continues. “And we’ve still got to get our schedules ironed out, but we’re shooting to start with filming in about three months. Do you think that’s doable? Are you in?”
Three months? I’m surprised I haven’t passed out with excitement. Three months will give me time to wrap up a couple projects with Carter. If I bust my ass for the next ninety days, I can get every video campaign I promised him shot, produced, and perfected, and quit with my head held high, our rapport intact.
“That’s absolutely doable,” I say. “And you bet your ass I’m in.”
Josh chuckles again. “Awesome. We’ll be in touch.”
He’s barely ended the call before I’m on my feet, slamming the security bar into my hips and whooping at the top of my lungs. The whole ferris wheel car is swinging like crazy.
“I wooooon, bitcheeeees!” I holler, not even caring if little kids are around. “I fucking WON!”
“You what?!” Autumn gasps. She’s been trying to tug me back down in my seat, but she stops when she hears those words. “Whowasthat?”
“Some dude named Josh from SyFy. I won the pilot competition—and filming won’t start for another three months, which buys me time to peace out on Carter without being an asshole!”
“Daaaang!” Benji yells from the next car. “That’s amazing, little bro. You’re gonna be the next Bill Murray!”
“I amwaybetter looking than Bill Murray,” I point out, unable to help myself.
“He is, though,” Trey agrees. He shrugs as Benji shoots him a look.
We’re on the way back down to the ground, the wheel carrying us smoothly toward the platform. My entire body feels electric, and it’s all I can do to stay in the car as we descend. I’ve got half a mind to jump out and swing down like Spiderman. With this superhuman energy I’ve got coursing through me, I really think I could do it.
But for Autumn’s sake, I stay in the car until the safety bar lifts and we hop on out. Benji chokes me in a bear hug, and Trey claps me on the back, both grinning like fools as Autumn kisses me full on the mouth. They’re all as high on the news as I am.
“We gotta tell Phoebe,” Benji says immediately, searching the crowd for his twin. “And Will and Lydia—they’ll want to know, too.”
But I don’t want to tell the others. I mean—I do. For sure. I want to see Will try telling a TV star he’ll blow away in the goddamn wind.
But not just yet. Right now I want to celebrate. And the way I want to celebrate… let’s just say I doubt my siblings will want to be around for it.
My eyes scan the rows of booths and tents lining the side streets. They’ve got everything from baked goods and cheesy Americana home decor to hand-drawn maps of Hawthorne Bay throughout the years.
But I’m not looking for a freaking map of Massachusetts. I’m looking for a photo booth. I saw it on the way over here, one of those portable ones with a roll-down door, and immediately clocked it as a possible place to, you know, get down and dirty should the need arise.
And I amseriouslyon a roll today, because as soon as I spot the photo booth—on the other side of the taco truck we just saw Patrick at, no less—I also see there’s no one in line for it, no one manning it. Instead, someone’s scrawled BE BACK SOON onto a sheet of paper and pinned it sloppily to the side.
Well, fuck me sideways, folks. It’s my lucky day.
I tip my head ever so slightly toward the photo booth, meeting Autumn’s eyes. A sly smile creeps across her face, and she nudges Trey, tells him that we’re getting snacks and to go on ahead. When she turns back to me, I grab her wrist, breathing in the warm, coconut scent of her hair, and all but run toward the booth, yanking her after me.
We duck inside and roll down the door. And the dumbasses manning this both definitely donotcome back soon, lucky for them—and even luckier for us.
epilogue
AUTUMN
