Page 37 of Left on Read

It can’t end like that again. I can’t go through that again.

Hayes holds the study-room door open for me. It’s a completely unnecessary gesture. It would’ve stayed open on its own. As I pass through, I let my hand drift over his shoulder, barely touching his chest again. I feel the brush of his sweater with my fingertips.

I’ll try again. But if he disappoints me, it will really, really hurt.

Hey, can we switch our project topic? Hawthorne seems cool.

I will not be justifying that with a response.

You just did.

I was kidding.

Unless …

On page 685: “The Minister’s Black Veil” by Nathaniel Hawthorne

We take his car. This would be fine, except it’s his car. It’s very expensive and pristine and has that new-car smell. (I assume that’s what it is; I’ve literally never smelled a new car before.) In ten silent minutes, we reach the fairgrounds, and he parks at the edge of a gravel lot that’s completely full. It seems like there are thousands of people, because this is the one remotely exciting thing that happens around here, but I know there aren’t that many.

Despite being firmly ensconced in the American South, I’m not the county fair’s target audience. I don’t love giant crowds ofpeople or hastily put-together thrill rides. I don’t particularly want to feed random animals of unknown origin. I’m not the biggest fan of fried foods that shouldn’t be fried. Like the possiblytooNorth Carolinian delicacy of deep-fried Pepsi.

We exit the car and join the long queue waiting to get in. I can’t believe I’m here. I might be sweating. Overhead, the sun is starting to sink.

“Are we doing that?” Hayes asks, pointing at a ride towering over our heads. We’re still slowly moving through the lines at the gates, but up above us, a bunch of screaming people are in a metal capsule doing a complete-360 spin through the air.

“Absolutely not. I’m not dying in a tin can.” I shiver as the capsule zooms past above us, the rush of wind and collective terrified roar raising goosebumps all over my arms.

“I’m sure no one dies.”

“But are youpositive?”

He smirks.

That smirk. Thatsmirk.I think this is what people mean by an adrenaline rush. The heat and the shivering and the way my stomach feels like it’s lodged just below my heart.

People are starting to get testy with the wait. Someone bumps into my shoulder from behind, then someone else steps on my toe as I shift my balance. Hayes grabs my hand. He’s like an anchor as we navigate the press.

We eventually get through the gates, the crowd fanning out into all the fair has to offer. I look up, and I realize that we’restanding at the base of the Ferris wheel. Around us, stadium lights and neon signs about funnel cakes are flashing. The flashing is a little too intense for me. I close my eyes, but the light still bursts behind my lids.

Hayes squeezes my hand. I hadn’t realized he hadn’t let go.

There’s a twinge somewhere between my right eye and my brain. It’s familiar, of course, but I tell myself that pinprick stab doesn’t mean what I think it means.

“You okay?” Hayes asks. My eyes are still closed, but I can feel him step closer. It’s nice. Just enough sensory input to be comforting. Not enough to add to the onslaught I’m feeling.

“Yeah.” I force my eyes open. Back to the onslaught. “Yeah. I’m good.”

I try to smile, and those muscles tensing up makes my ears pop. The pressure in my skull is already mounting, but I ignore it. I want to savor this moment.

“Hey!” Luke cries, crashing into Hayes from nowhere. They both almost topple over, and I briefly question if Luke is drunk. Then I see his artificially blue-tinted lips. So, not drunk then. Just sugar high.

“Here,” Piper says, handing Luke a nearly empty plastic bag of blue cotton candy. “You left it on the Ferris wheel.”

Her lips are just the slightest bit blue too. Interesting. I wasn’t expecting her to be here, and I definitely wasn’t expecting her to be here with Luke. She looks happier, though. Even when she smacksLuke with the plastic bag because she’s tired of carrying it. As if it isn’t basically just a bag of air.

“Hi!” We hear a high-pitched yell from just above us. I strain my neck looking into the setting sun. Shouldn’t have done that.

“Is that Esha?” Hayes asks. I don’t know; she’s too far up, and my eyes are too far gone. She’s my best friend, so I should be able to recognize her in the dark or in the middle of a vision lapse or whatever, but I can’t.