The weather is perfect for the festival.

It's hot, but there's a slight breeze stirring coolly against my skin. That's a good thing since I've been up before the crack of dawn to help my dad with the final set-up for today's activities, and without the breeze, I would've been trying to tear off my skin by now. 

There's no rain predicted for today, which is great too. The festival becomes really messy when it rains... and then it's not my friends and my fault for a change.

Everybody likes it better when it's our fault. Seriously! They do!

I'm having fun working with my dad, doing things like screwing the bleacher structures together, adding the planks and testing them to make sure that they are sturdy. The bleachers run along the top edge of the beach. When the festival kicks off later today, everybody will be on those bleachers being bored to death by speeches.

It's important for people to be bored in comfort and safety on a well built seat.

I usually escape and skate somewhere illegal with Jet and Lurch since there's nobody to tell us not to ride our skateboards where we want to. They're all busy being bored on the bleachers. We get to grind along the edges of stair railings and do Nollie flips over obstacles that we shouldn't be doing Nollie flips over for some stupid reason or another. We never skate anywhere we could do damage to anything but ourselves...

Ah! The damage to ourselves part might be why it's not legal.

This year, I might sit on the bleachers and listen to the speeches and to Mr. Pravin, the head of the historical society, telling the story behind the town as if we don't all know it very well by now. To be fair, Mr Pravin is really getting on in years, and he is having a hard time remembering things, so nobody has ever heard the versions of the story he comes up with when he makes up his own facts.

I don't care because I'll get to hold Kicks' hand the whole time. Listening to boring stuff is a price I'm willing to pay.

It would've been depressing if we were building the bleachers just for dull things, though. People use it to sit on and eat while they watch fun things like the castle trashing competition, the communal brawl and the boat races tomorrow. Lots of people just like to chill on them and take a break from all the games and chaos.

I wish Uncle Joe weren't working this weekend. The stuff he's busy with at work is at that stage where only his laptop and many screens get to see him. I usually have lots of fun with him at the festival. He is sad that he won't be able to join us, especially since he hasn't had a lot of time to spend with Kira lately. It's okay; I'll have fun with his daughter for him. I'll make sure she doesn't feel his absence too much.

Dad and I helped to assemble some of the kiosks in the town square on the other side of the street, running along the beach behind the bleachers. Now we're planting the huge whiteboard on the beach where people meet up with each other and kids go who've lost their parents. It's also very useful to write insults on when you want to tell your buddy that he's a moron and he is ignoring you. It's also fun to draw cartoons on it.

Some people keep on wiping off our fun things, though and write boring garbage like what time some of the competitions are starting and who won what. That's what the person shouting over the annoying sound system is for.

Putting up the board is the last task I'm doing with my dad, and I wish there were more to do because it feels like old times. My dad and I, working with tools, talking shop and cracking jokes and getting told to stop being a bloody nuisance and to quit making the tools talk to each other.

Oh, wait... only I get told that.

My dad hasn't brought up my studies or Hummelton even once this morning. It might be because there are many other people helping, and Dad is not the type to wash his dirty laundry in public.

Actually, he is also not allowed to wash it in the house. My mom said he turns all the washing into different colours because he doesn't sort it properly, so she banned him from the laundry section of the kitchen.

I thought he was just being creative.

It was hilarious when my school shirts were all the colour of puke. Fun times! Deli was less impressed and told Dad that next time he decides to do the laundry, he needs to make sure he forgets only a purple sock in there, no other colours, because she wants her school shirts to be lilac, not... oh... she didn't say puke... she said puce.

I get it now!

I thought that someone puking that shade of purplish-brown probably had serious health issues. Puce... Really? How is that the name of that colour? It should be called Bruise. Maybe someone mispronounced bruise or wrote it wrong.

The reason my dad is not getting on my back, and we haven't had a fight yet might also be because my mom gave us a long speech last night about family outings being few and far between since Dad works so hard, Deli and I have sports, and Mom takes yoga and pottery classes in town.

I told her that doing yoga while doing pottery sounds like a violent sport that could cause her to get hurt, but I'm more than willing to join her in those classes and make sure that she gets all the action without getting cut by pottery shards.

She just gave me that look she often gives me. I call it the 'I love you, but what the hell are you?' look. It's fun helping her find moments to give me that look. Hehe.

She said we're all looking forward to spending time together and having fun this weekend, and the first one of us, Deli and Simon included, that causes a family feud - Mom can be so dramatic - is going to feel her wrath.

I'm really interested in that wrath of hers and asked her if I could see a sample so I'll know what it is that we need to prevent. She threw a muffin at me.

That is not the kind of incentive I need to stay in line because it was a really good chocolate muffin with caramel inside. I'm all for invoking (her word) that wrath if it is going to be edible and tasty.

To be honest, my mom didn't have to make lofty speeches with big words and yummy threats. I don't want to spoil our family fun this weekend. I'm hoping that my dad will have so much fun hanging out with me in the mix that he won't want me to go away. Maybe he'll remember that he probably likes me. He used to. I used to like him too.

I'm sure we could get there again.

"Dad, I've got one for you," I tell him, and he immediately knows that I mean a lame but funny joke for his arsenal of Dad jokes. I often give him ammo to fire at Mom and Delia, and they secretly love it. My cousin Hunter and I regularly swap these jokes to supply our dads.

"Yeah? Go ahead," he grins, wiping the back of his hand over his forehead, messing up the blond hair getting into his eyes. He is in serious need of a trim. Mom usually cuts his hair, but he'd been too busy to sit for a haircut. He is starting to look like a really pretty ice hockey player, sporting a cool flow. I don't know if I would trust my dad with a hokey stick, though; I've learned all the mischief I get up to from him, after all.

"This morning, I'd been arguing with the lady selling linen... until she finally threw in the towel."

That's a good one? Am I right?!

Dad seems to think so because he is chuckling while he helps me gather up all our tools and put them in the toolbox.

Our work is done.

Well, Mom is here now; he'll want to spend some time with her, and I need to find my woman so I can help her with whatever task she's busy with. She calls it hinder, though... potato, potaaaahto... whatever... as long as I get to be around her.

Stretching, enjoying the breeze in my hair and the sun on my face, I stroll away from the whiteboard, greeting people along the way and having a chat here and there.

It doesn't take me long to find Kira since I was working near the bleachers, and she is on them, near the top, tying ribbons to it and helping some other people turn the boring grey steel and wood structure into a Christmas tree of colour.

She looks cute (as usual) in her cut-off denim shorts and the funny grumpy cat T-shirt I like so much. She dressed for fun, which is a good sign.

Deli is there too, a couple of levels below Kira and much further to the right. That is not good because Kicks is not alone. Amber is on the step above hers, all suntanned, with golden hair and enough spiteful attitude to tell me she is feeling insecure. Of course she does! Kira is in a league of her own.

Yup! She's all alone in that league. Just her... and me, if she'll let me in. We could get up to so many fun things together in that league.

First, I'll have to save her from Amber because if she's feeling unsure of herself, she's bound to turn nasty, and she probably already has because Kira doesn't look happy.

I can always tell when Kicks is not happy. Her entire body seems to shrink in on itself, retracting from whatever it is that is upsetting her. Right now, that something is the girl hovering over her like a bird of prey.

"Kicks!" I yell, and sticking two fingers between my lips, I give one loud, sharp whistle. The sound always brings Kira's shoulders up, straightens her back and makes her eyes spark with anger. If that look doesn't help to frighten Amber, I know that loud noises scare off all kinds of birds.

Kira turns her head to see me, and there's no way the look on her face will scare Amber. It's scaring me, though, in that place in my heart where I'm starting to believe that Kicks might love me back. It's a good scare. The kind that makes me nervous, and all my organs are trying to do some kind of weird tribal dance of joy.

Kicks is clearly happy to see me!

Hearing the whistle did lift her hanging shoulders and straighten her back, but she's too far away for me to see if her eyes are flashing with anger. I doubt it because she has the most beautiful smile on her face, and that smile is fired at me, all barrels blasting, blowing me away.

"Want some ice cream?!" I shout, and now that smile is even wider. Bummer, she still likes ice cream more than she likes me. Maybe she is, like me, hoping for some sweet ice cream smooching like we did last night.

Something weird is happening with her smile now. It's not quite as joyful anymore. She looks sad. Why?! She was happy two seconds ago! I hope she's not going to tell me the shop ran out of ice cream already!

She turns away when Amber says something I cannot hear. Even if I could hear it, I probably wouldn't have listened because I don't understand what I'm seeing. Kira is wobbling, and Amber is shouting something, her hands stretched towards her.

A lead ball of horror crashes into my stomach when I realise that Kira is falling!

This cannot be happening!

The world is spinning off its axle, disappearing in a haze around me; the only thing in sharp focus is Kira tumbling backwards and to the side, crashing into the level below. If she'd gone straight backwards, she would've fallen further down, possibly landing on her neck. There are too many upsetting facts and possibilities clamouring in my brain, trying to help me make sense of what I see; I don't need more horror stories to clog my mind.

The girl I love is bouncing from the level she landed on and I'm already two levels off the ground, bearing onwards, sprinting up the bleacher seats, more determined than I've ever been to score a try. In rugby, I grip the ball in my arm and keep my eye on the spot where I want to put it, fending off any enemies trying to stop me.

The bleacher levels are the enemy, and Kira's body, noisily crashing into whatever gets in her way, is the goal, and I am going to reach it, even if I die.

When I'm still a level or two below her, I dive forward, using my legs to propel me upwards the way I jump when I need to grab the ball from the lineup. This ball is precious; I love this friggin' ball! This ball can bruise and bleed.

This ball can break her neck and die!

I land on the next level Kira is about to land on, pillowing her fall and, wrapping my arms around her, I roll over, pinning her down. I'm vaguely aware of splinters tearing up my skin, leaving skid marks and grooves on my bare arms.

I don't care!

I have Kira in my arms, and she's not falling anymore. I'm so glad we built these bleachers really solid! She is breathing, and her heart is beating very fast. When I lift myself off her to see how injured she is, there is a sweet, angelic smile on her lips, and her eyelids are fluttering, her eyes losing their focus.

"No!" I tell her. "You can't turn into an angel now! Stay with me!"

"What?" she breathes, and then her eyes slide shut, and she doesn't respond when I call her name.

"Why did you push her?!"

"I didn't, I swear!" Amber is somewhere near us, crying while others talk about seeing her push Kira off.

I'm not sure what I saw, but I don't want to believe that Amber would do that. She's the bitchy kind who lashes out with her tongue. She's not violent. Wendy is violent, but she would also never do something this horrible.

If Amber pushed Kira it would be because of me. Jealousy. The idea is making me feel lightheaded and nauseous. It might also be because I'm hyperventilating. I shove Amber and the voices out of my head, focussing on Kira instead. There are scrapes on the gentle skin of her face. They are breaking my heart.

She's too pale!

"Kicks! Shit, Kicks! Open your eyes! Look at me!" I scream, relieved to see her lashes tremble as if she's trying to do what I ask. "Please open your eyes. Please look at me. Kicks!"

I gently pat her cheek and stroke her hair from her face, but she is not responding.

"Kicks! Please!"

I can hear my father calling me, but his voice is far away, though I think he is touching my shoulder. Someone is trying to pull me off Kira, but I'm holding on.

"Stay with me! Kicks! Please! Please open your eyes! Please... please don't leave me..."

I cannot see her face anymore, or the blood smears my fingers are leaving on her cheeks. I cannot see her because my eyes are a sea of tears getting in the way, and I'm sobbing so loudly that I cannot even say her name any more. I need to say her name. I need to call her.

"No!" I growl, trying to shake off the hands pulling me away from her. I cannot let her go! She has to stay. I have to call her back. I have to... "Kira!"

"Let them work, son. Let them work, buddy," I hear my dad again. Let who work? What work? Delia has reached me, too, and she's wrapping her arms around me, nearly toppling my dad from his seat because he is balancing precariously, holding me in his arms.

"Ian! What's going on?!" It's my mother and my vision is clearing enough to see her running up the bleachers to us.

"We're taking her to the ambulance now." I recognise Robert Lancaster, an EMT. When did he arrive? He is carrying a stretcher with the help of Eliza Beckett, one of the other EMTs on duty and on the stretcher is Kira. She seems so small and lost, just lying there, all scraped up with her eyes closed. They'd hooked her to an IV, which Eliza is trying to hold aloft while they manoeuvre their way down the bleachers.

I break out of the family sandwich I'm in and grab Eliza's end of the stretcher so she can focus on the IV bag while I carry Kira down with Robert.

This cannot be real! This cannot be happening!

My eyes burn with the strain I'm putting on them to keep sight of Kira lying limply on the stretcher. Why isn't she opening her eyes?! Is she still breathing?

This cannot be happening! Please, God?! Don't take the light from my life now.

I'm vaguely aware of my dad directing concerned and curious people out of our way while we hurry across the sand, dragging at our legs, running for the road behind the bleachers, where the ambulance is waiting.

"I'm coming in the ambulance with her," I tell the EMTs when we're at the doors, sliding the stretcher inside onto a gurney of sorts. I make sure that they can see I'll fight them if I have to.

"Wouldn't have it any other way," Robert assures me. "You drive," he tells Eliza, "I'll take care of them." I don't blame him for being afraid that I'll turn violent and wanting Eliza out of the way.

I don't really feel violent, though. I'm starting to shake as the adrenaline that drove me up the bleachers ebbs away, and dread starts to build in my veins.

"Turn on the sirens and step on it, please," I ask Eliza because I will not just go cruising to the hospital as if Kira is already dead and there's no hurry. Her hand is so cold in mine when I sit down beside her, as directed by Robert, but I can feel her fingers curling around mine.

"We'll meet you at the hospital," my dad tells me, and then Eliza closes the door, locking us in the space filled with fear.

"Kicks, please," I sob, resting my forehead on her hand. Eliza starts the ambulance, its sirens blaring ominously when we take off, and now I regret asking her to turn them on.

This is too scary!

"Ethan, she's going to be okay; I promise," Robert says, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. "We did a quick check, and she doesn't seem to have any serious injuries. It's not uncommon for people to pass out after a fall like that. She likely has a concussion, and the doctor will see her right."

"Why is she not waking up then?" I ask, struggling to follow the words deflecting from my mind, unable to enter and make sense. I cannot believe the day filled with so much promise has suddenly turned so dark, cold and empty. Kira's hand is too small in mine. I wanted to hold her hand today, but not like this!

This cannot be real!

And yet, here we are. Kicks is tied into a stretcher on a bed with wheels locked in place, the sirens are blaring, and Robert is trying to look at my bleeding arms while I'm trying to hold onto Kira's hand. I can feel her slipping out of my life. I'm sure that if I open my hand and let go, I'll lose her.

"An ambulance? Why?"

Those are the most beautiful words I have ever heard because they are spoken in Kira's voice. It doesn't quite sound like her voice, though. It is weak and croaky, but it's hers. I turn my head to see her more clearly and yank my arm from Robert's hands again so that I can grasp Kira's hand with both of mine.

I'm trying to speak to her, to ask her where she's hurting. I want to ask her questions and hear her voice again, but I'm blubbering like a kid who dropped his ice cream, and then a dog ate it. My face is oozing with snot and tears, and I can do nothing about it.

"We shouldn't play in the ambulance; it's for injured people," Kira informs me in the same voice she uses when she tells me not to use the old, discarded shopping trolleys to race my friends down the hill next to the shopping centre because they don't have breaks and we'll crash. Most of them are falling apart too.

She also uses that voice later when she calls me an idiot and tells me to hold still or she'll get iodine in my eye while she's cleaning the cut above it, I got from racing Jet and Lurch down the hill in those old abandoned shopping carts.

She's awake, and she's looking at me with watery eyes, not quite the right colour, but she is clearly seeing me. She even smiles and tries to lift a hand to touch me... or slap me, but then she winces, looking at her arm, blinking with surprise.

"What? Why do I have an IV?" she asks, giving me an incredulous look, and now I'm worrying about things like amnesia. "Ethan?" she gasps, looking panicked when Robert leans over to take a look at her, and she recognises him.

"It's okay, Kicks," I soothe, running my fingers over her forehead, brushing the hair out of the way. I want to say more, but I'm going to cry again, and that's not going to help at all. She already looks completely freaked out. I don't need to add saltwater for flavour.

"Just lie still and relax, Kira; it's all good," Robert assures her. "You got knocked out for a bit, and we're just taking you to the hospital for a check-up."

"With the sirens blaring?" she asks, not convinced.

"Yeah, it's boring if the sirens don't blare," Robert grins. "Ethan insisted, and he's got more muscles than I do, so..."

He chuckles, checking her eyes with a medical flashlight, making her flinch away from him. "Everything looks pretty good as far as I can tell, but better safe than sorry, right?"

We make it to Silverview General Hospital in record time, which is pretty cool. I'm sure cars made way for us, and we didn't stop even once. I couldn't see any of it, though. There are no windows in here and all I wanted to see was Kira anyway.

When the ambulance stops and the doors open, I help Robert and Eliza slide Kira's gurney out. I hate letting go of her hand, but there's no choice when the EMTs hurry to wheel her to the doors of the ER.

Anger and relief fight for control of my heart while I listen to Eliza and Robert joke with each other about some TV program or another I don't know. I'm relieved because if Kira were in danger, they wouldn't be making jokes. I'm angry because Kira might be dying, and they are making jokes.

The cuts on my arms are starting to hurt. There is one that is particularly bad, and I have to hold some gauze Robert gave me in place over it. He was going to bandage it when I heard Kira's voice and turned my attention to her, taking my arm from him.

"Ethan?" Kira says, and I grab her hand, trying to smile, while I jog to keep up with the gurney. I hope my smile isn't as wobbly as it feels. "It's all good, Kicks; you're going to be fine," I assure her, trying to believe it myself.

Sister Adelaide Chambers, the head ER nurse, a middle-aged woman with a somewhat warped sense of humour and a heart of gold, joins us before the EMTs have even cleared the doors with the gurney. She listens to Robert's summary of events and turns to Kira with a wide smile, which I've seen too often in my life while visiting the ER with an injury.

"You're in luck," she tells Kira. "You're our first customer for the festival."

Silverview General Hospital is always fully staffed when there is any kind of festival in the district. During festivals, there are always people drinking too much, getting sunstroke or taking competitions with their friends a little bit too far. We... uhm... they tend to keep the ER in business over the festival weekend.

Sister Chambers is about to take Kira for some scans when I hear running feet, and then the ER doors burst open, and my parents, Simon and Delia, charge into the waiting area, hurrying to our side. Mom and Delia are crying as much as I did in the ambulance, relieved to see Kira conscious and looking at them.

"I'm sorry, I yelled at you and called you slow and incompetent," my dad tells Robert and Eliza, and his eyes are glazed with unshed tears while he shakes the EMTs' hands. I'm surprised to hear that he'd lost his cool that much. I thought he only ever lost it with me.

"That's not the worst thing we've been called," Eliza assures him with a chuckle.

"Yeah, shocked people have interesting word choices when they're trying to get us to hurry to the scene of an incident," Robert laughs. "It's all good."

I look at my father's face again, and I can see how stressed he is. If my parents look like this, how is Uncle Joe going to take this scary news? I promised him I would look out for Kira. I've done a stellar job so far!

My girlfriend is in the ER! I hate this!

I stare after the gurney leaving us, my legs unable to carry me to the seats where we were told to sit and wait. My father is also staring after the gurney as if his life is rolling away with it, and I suddenly worry that I haven't understood what Robert and Sister Chambers said about Kira's condition.

Is it worse than I think?

My mother wraps her arms around my waist and tells me that the nurse on duty wants to look at my wounds. I'm only vaguely aware of her faffing over my cuts and abrasions now that she knows Kira is taken care of and noticed my injuries. She is shaking like a leaf in a strong wind, and I don't know how to comfort her.

I'm numb.

Off to one side, Simon has his arms around Delia, stroking her head while she clings to him, her eyes on the doors that took Kira away from us.

"Ethe," my father suddenly says, stopping me when I'm about to follow my mother to a treatment cubicle where a nurse is getting ready to bandage the cuts, splattering everything in range with blood because I've lost my gauze.

"I don't want you to go," my dad says, wrapping his arms around me tight enough to make it hard to breathe.

Maybe I cracked a rib.

"I have to," I tell him, patting his back, trying to soothe him. "I'm getting blood on everything."

"To Hummelton or Thunder Ridge," he sobs. "I don't want you to go."

He's crying! Just how badly is Kira hurt?!

"You cannot leave. Just stay here with us," he says, pulling away to look into my eyes. His eyes are swimming in tears. I have only seen my dad cry a few times in my life. When his sister died, and his mother had a bad stroke, placing her in a wheelchair, and when Kira's mom died... 

Shit! Kira?! 

"You're right," he says, making my heart drop.

"Kira is going to die?!"

"No, buddy, no. She'll be fine. I just realised when I saw her get hurt... when I saw you get hurt... I realised that I was focusing on the wrong things. I love you! I'm not ready to let you go. I was wrong," he says, his voice breaking and I'm finally understanding his words blowing my mind. "The university at Silverview is excellent. You're right; they have the same degree available. We can figure the future out later. There's no reason to decide it all now. Finish your degree here. Stay with us. Stay with the girl you love. I was wrong. Just..."

I don't know what else he is saying because I'm crying now too, and I think I'm about to pass out from blood loss or something. My legs are wobbling, I can barely see my surroundings, and my ears buzz loudly. All I'm sure of is my father's arms around me as he walks me into the cubicle and helps me lie down on the bed.

I hope this part of the nightmare I'm living through is really happening. I hope I'm really going to stay in Egret's Rest with all the people I love... with Kira.

"I love you too, Dad," I mutter, and I can finally smile. I'm happy, even though everything around me is fading to black.

♂♀