Page 61 of Everything She Does Is Magic

He feels the intensity of my stare and clears his throat. “Okay, so when we couldn’t find you, we ran into Grace. She told us what happened. And I don’t know. I just didn’t think you deserved the trouble. I know we kinda bug each other, but really, when you think about it—”

“Hold on,” I say. “Who is ‘we’?”

“Oh. Me and Darcy. She came here to talk to you.” He takes another bite of funnel cake. “Anyway. I was saying that I know we bug each other, but it’s kinda like our deal. Right? Like, that’s just a bit? Like when you pretended you were in love with me?”

I stop him. Put my hands on his shoulders, not very much unlike how his own mother held his face a few minutes ago. “Kyle,” I say, sweet despite my dwindling patience. “Where is Darcy now?”

“Oh yeah. Duh. You probably want to see her.”

“Yes,” I confirm.

“She’s at the Ferris wheel,” he tells me.

I take off toward it. A few steps into my jog, I break. “Hey, Kyle,” I call out. He’s standing exactly where I left him.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

His whole face lights up, the biggest, dopiest grin I’ve ever seen. “It’s no problem. Now go get your girl.”

29

Darcy

The ride operator is about to bring the bar down over Grace and me when Anya runs up covered in fake blood, wearing a frilly Victorian dress I recognize as one of Grace’s Halloween costumes from two years ago. Seeing her here, I know Kyle’s plan has worked as he said it would, and I might just owe him five hundred dollars for it. That’s a problem for later.

For now, Anya is here. She’s okay. And she’s wearing yellow. Which is worth quite a lot.

“Hold on,” Anya says to the ride operator. “I need to get on.”

“Doyle,” Grace says, raising her fists to cheer. “Youare a real one!” This gets a bashful half smile out of Anya, and it fuels Grace to embellish as only she can, telling the story again as if she hasn’t already breathlessly relayed it to me three previous times. “Shecompletelysaved me. Literally sealed me from getting back into the tent.”

The ride operator lets out a grunt of frustration.

Grace says, “Sorry, sorry. I’ll excuse myself.” Climbing out ofthe seat, she pats Anya on the head. “Seriously, Doyle, you’re a legend. That was definitely the best haunted house this carnival has ever seen. The Holtzenbergs don’t understand horror like we do. Twin dark souls.”

Grace winks, and Anya slides into her seat.

We jolt forward and then jerk back, settling into our spots as the Ferris wheel begins to move again.

“Hi,” I say, my voice small.

“Hi,” Anya says back.

The Ferris wheel juts us out over the carnival. Every piece of this place that’s so familiar to me shrinks smaller as we rise, like it can fit into my hand.

“Nice costume,” I tell her.

“I figured it was finally time to show some of that Fableview enthusiasm I’m always hearing about.”

“Not enough of our looks involve fake blood. As usual, you’ve found a way to push our boundaries.”

Closer to the top, it’s so black around the edge of the carnival that it looks limitless, an infinite stretch of nothing. It doesn’t matter that I can’t really see what’s out there. I know it like the back of my hand.

“The creek is over there,” I whisper. I take this as an excuse to lean in to Anya. My finger points west, and I rest my other hand on her leg.

“I hear that’s where all the kids go to be alone,” she replies.