Page 71 of What We Brave
I watch his shoulders climb toward his ears. That stubborn set to his mouth. He's not having fun anymore—he's proving something. To himself, to Blake, to me. I'm not sure which.
His last ring bounces twice and lands on the ground.
"Tough luck!" The woman smiles sympathetically. "Want to try again?"
Oh, please no.
Before Reid can answer, Blake steps forward. Pulls out a five. Takes the three rings without a word.
"Blake—"
"Just watch." Something in his voice makes my stomach drop. It's just a game, it's not a big deal.
At least it's not supposed to be.
His first throw is almost lazy. Easy arc, gentle spin. It drops over a bottle neck with a little clink.
The woman claps. "Winner! Pick any prize from the bottom row!"
Blake doesn't even look at the prizes. Just throws again. Another perfect landing.
"Oh! Two in a row! You can pick from the second row now!"
Reid's expression has shifted to a careful blankness that looks all kinds of wrong on him.
Blake's third ring lands with the same effortless precision. The woman actually gasps.
"Three for three! You can pick anything from the top!"
Blake turns to me, and for a second his mask slips. There'ssomething almost desperate in his eyes—not showing off, not competing. It's something else. A hope maybe. Or desperation. I can't look away.
"Pick something," he says.
Yeah. This is going to be bad. And I'm right in the middle of it. Blake put me there. I should pick something small. Something that doesn't matter. Something that won't make this worse and let us all move on.
Instead, my eyes find a ridiculous oversized penguin near the top. The kind of thing you win at state fairs. The kind of thing that sayssomeone tried really hard to impress you.
Blake follows my gaze. Nods at the woman.
"The penguin."
She hands it over. It's almost as big as my torso.
Reid is already walking toward the basketball booth.
"Reid—" I start.
"I'm getting you something bigger." His voice is light but his jaw is set.
Oh no.
Blake watches him go. Something tightens in his face—not guilt exactly, but recognition. Like he just realized what he did and can't take it back.
"I shouldn't have?—"
"No," I agree. "You shouldn't have."
But I'm clutching the penguin anyway, and we're both following Reid to the next booth, and somehow this stupid carnival competition feels like everything that's wrong between us condensed into stuffed animals and plastic rings.
