Winn

Words bounce through my head. My in-progress chorus echoes in a semi-catchy form while my chord progression makes me internally grin.

The baby blue sky sinks into a greener color, pulling the sun down with a more saturated hue. My Chucks tap against the boardwalk, barely audible over the crowd. Passing by white and blue colored canopies advertising ales for nerve pain, I reach ours, a custom bright yellow with an egg and our wonky, exaggerated logo pasted on the sloped top per Kyle's request. The number of inside jokes...

Distant screams fill my ears as I greet the newer Scramble reps, both juniors, with a smile. "If y'all need anything, you've got my number," I say, giving them a double thumbs up as the shorter in the pair reaches for another box of brochures.

Releasing a sigh, I cringe while my brain traces Aaron's previous expression of disgust... and jealousy. Just because I invited Natalie doesn't mean we're dating or involved like that in any way! All I said was, I'm waiting for Natalie. Why would you interpret it like that? Sometimes, you don't seem to have a conscience, Aaron. Natalie didn't miraculously catch the love bug, I'm sure. And no one's got tabs on my love life, not like that's exciting. Unless you count the amount of "girlfriends" elementary school me had or how high school me secretly likes Natalie in a more than friends way, nothing is interesting here.

Who am I kidding? People would lap that last point up like lions to gazelles. Not to mention a push for a public confession, recording the extravaganza for an Instagram, TikTok, or Snapchat reel. Besides, why would I spill my guts now? That'd be selfish. Who wants to hear about death anyways? Who would want anything to do with me? Let's be real. No one knowingly asks someone with cancer to help them with homework.

Aaron's figure waltzes down the boardwalk with Lacey's hand in his. The rest of their friend group, a squad of eight other all-stars, trail behind in clusters of two. Didn't Lacey, I think that's her name, break up with Addy a month ago? God, gossip has been so rich this year.

Skimming the crowd, my eyes finally land on Natalie. Her chestnut hair is pulled back into a loose bun, and her brown eyes keenly survey the grounds. Her gaze drops, she rubs her eyes, and she flips through the magazine of people meandering across the greyish-brown boardwalk.

I shimmy through clans of people and dodge two kids sprinting to the nearest fairground ride. "What's hopping?" My hand rests on her elbow, successfully gaining her attention.

Natalie clears her throat, rolling her peach-colored sleeves up to her elbows. "That child." She motions to a boy about three feet shorter than me, bouncing to reach the height limit for the merry-go-round. "Where's the said group?" she questions, adding, "I saw their cars."

"Doing their own thing." I shrug. "Pretty sure they went to the Ferris wheel at the other end of the walk."

Natalie raises a brow, backing into the railing overlooking the local inland beach. There, people shuffle on hardened sand, avoiding the plentiful invisible jellyfish. "You didn't want to join?" She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, clicking her tongue to the roof of her mouth.

"You would never catch me dead on one of those things." Unless I'm recreating another one of Mom and I's memories, dropping fear off the lift. I release a strained laugh, shaking my head. "Besides, I was waiting for you." I assume the same position as Natalie, feet planted on the greyed cement, arms folded over the railing, and back inclined at an acute angle.

She sucks in a sharp stream of air. "You shouldn't have waited."

"Of course, I waited!" What kind of person wouldn't? That'd be rude.

"Right... and thanks." Natalie bites her lip and tugs at the roots of her hair. "No Ferris wheels for you?" she inquires after a moment, shifting left to face me.

My fingers sweep the back of my skull. "Ferris wheels are a thing of nightmares," I say, miserably failing to drown thoughts that ping off the acoustic tiles assembled along the structure.

"Are Ferris wheels nightmarish because of external media or an internal dilemma of yours?" she questions, voice crisp and nearly monotone. Her jaw slacks, and she curls into herself. "Don't answer that," she blurts, stirring into a stick-straight posture, no longer touching the rail.

"That's actually a good question." I scratch my neck, recalling one of Mom's stories about a Ferris wheel's bolts coming loose and striking someone in the head. God, she was more terrified of heights than I was. Yet, she's the one who took us to the top of the Empire State Building and the one who rode Ferris wheels every time she laid eyes on one of those circular rides.

She puked every time.

"Only one in nine million die from fixed Ferris wheels in the U.S.," I state my Google fact, releasing a long breath of air. "It isn't that Ferris wheels are scary. They're just bolts and bars of metal. It's all the 'what if' questions."

Natalie places a hand on my shoulder. "A mere eight percent of imagined fear comes true according to Penn State," she informs. Her voice tips, edging into softer tones. "You don't want to talk about this, do you?"

I gulp and move my hand to my shoulder, grasping hers. "I'm pretty sure only zombies know I'm scared of heights, but I don't mind talking if you don't mind asking. I'll literally answer anything anyone asks." I shrug, swinging her hand off my shoulder, our fingers still interlocked.

"You look uncomfortable." Her gaze dashes about the grounds, landing behind me. "You don't have problems with motion sickness, do you?" She tilts her head, brown eyes piercing through mine.

Do I get motion sick? There's only one way to figure that out. "What are you thinking?" I question, not daring to move my digits. Her hand encases mine, warming my chilled fingers. Why hasn't she let go?

"The scrambler." Natalie gestures to the ride with her free hand. "Also, your hand is cold."

I shrug as Natalie releases my hand and treks to the ride. "I'd put gloves on, but it's almost seventy degrees out here," I say, stuffing back a laugh. And yet, I'm wearing a long-sleeved flannel.

Natalie nods and presses her lips into a thin line. "I've got a few extra tickets if you don't have one," she says, producing three punchable pieces of paper. Huh. She bought tickets? Well, maybe those are leftovers from Thursday when she was with her siblings.

"I bought like thirty." Her brows spring up, jumping like a startled rabbit. "No, not like I'm going to use them. I'll probably dump them on an unsuspecting kid."

She snorts, bringing her hand to cover her mouth. "You say that like you're going to mug a child."

"Does it sound like that?" I question, causing Natalie to chuckle.

We stand in the ring among a crowd of incoming passengers. Most are little kids no higher than my ribcage. Our footsteps clink against the metal ride, my stomach churning in giddy glee. Snap. This feels like a date. I open my mouth and repeat the phrase, watching Natalie's face contort into a familiar grimace.

Natalie presses her lips into a flat line. "What does a date feel like?" Her eyebrows raise like an octave in a scale, ascending and descending in fluid beats.

The scrambler lurches forward and swivels its three arms in a loop. "It's weird," I mutter. The pungent memories of all the blind dates Kyle set me up on and all the dates I've agreed to mindlessly attend clutter my mind. "But it's all about intentions. You may not kiss on the first date, but you're trying to build a relationship romantically. The thought is there somewhat attraction-wise," I explain.

Natalie's eyes form slits, scrutinizing me. "Is that your-"

I exhale, gripping the flimsy bar tethered to my lap. Natalie bashes into me, sliding across the flaky red seat and into my side, her elbow jabbing my ribs. Immediately, her eyes widen, and she extends her hand to the opposite end of the bench. "Sorry, Winn!" she exclaims, grappling her side as the cart tilts again, spinning, spinning, spinning... Snap. I swallow. A vile taste nips in the back of my throat, threatening to implode the ticking time bomb that is my reflux.

"You good?" I murmur, holding my mouth in a familiar clenched slash, not breathing position. Colors of golden yellow and orangish pink meld in my vision, rendering my eyes useless torture devices to further irritate my brain.

Her shoulders go rigid, and her expression hardens. "Are you okay?"

Sucking in a shallow breath, my eyes dart about the grounds. There isn't a bathroom in sight from what little I can tell, only a thrash can a few feet away from the ride. "Nope," I choke out. My lids squeeze shut, and I force in another breath, guiding my brain back to earth.

I rub my tongue against the back of my teeth and attempt to level my breathing with the exaggerated clenching and unclenching of my fists. The cease of the ride and the beacon of approval to exit cause me to lunch myself from the scrambler and sprint to the thrash can in anything but a fluid motion. My fingers clench around the rim of the plastic, grey bin, twisting the black bag in tight wads. I release my jaw, let the burn rise in my throat, and allow myself to cough. The contents are greenish-yellow and taste more bitter than the wild cucumbers that grew in Gran's backyard.

Relief, that's all I can think. It isn't red. For all Natalie knows, I'm motion sick. No one can pin me for a guy to host a pity party or start a GoFundMe page for. Really, I'd rather attend someone else's and turn it into a mad celebration.

The vomit isn't red. A wide grin pulls at my face and I have to restrain a hysterical cackle that tries to escape my lips. The noise, if released, would likely be accompanied by a torrent of tears, screaming a nonverbal "I'm done with life". There isn't blood. My mouth parts as I cough a strained laugh.

"Winn." A hand tugs my elbow, guiding my mind to a more stable location. "I got you some water." Natalie offers me a bottle, sporting an incredulous gaze. "You should sit down," she murmurs, her eyes skirting across the street. "Unless you're not finished here." Her eyes drift back to the infected trash can.

Clutching the bottle, I take a swig of the cool liquid, letting the water slide down my throat and rip over the tainted reaches of my mouth. "Thank you." I bob my head in an unenergetic motion, barely moving. "I really appreciate it." My gaze skims the bottle.

"You don't like soda, correct?" Natalie questions, releasing my arm.

My lips maintain a wild curve, easily keeping the look in check as people glance our way, especially as Natalie and I shuffle to a metal table outside a local pizza joint. "I thought you'd be the one coaching me about not drinking coke," I say with a chuckle.

"Call it a lame attempt to crack a joke." As if Natalie's participating in an internal debate, she nods before opening her mouth. "Why do you call soda both coke and pop? You flip between the two."

"You noticed that?" The skin on my forehead seems to fold in as my head gallops off into no man's land, disappearing forever.

Natalie noticed.

I let the thought circulate. Natalie noticed. If I knew for sure, and I mean for sure, that I wasn't going to expire, I would ask the golden question that has fizzled in my head since November, that same fateful month. But I don't know. And maybe it's a gigantic mistake that I'm hanging out with her in the first place. This completely violates my original game plan.

Don't get people hurt. You never hurt anyone if you're never close to anyone, right?

Instead of an affirmative response or even a nod, Natalie's face blanks are her eyes linger on a space behind my head. My sight travels to the area in search of the person or thing subject to her intense glare. Finally, after skipping across the sea of people, I land upon a woman in an orange-flowing dress. The woman clasps her hand in a guy's, brings his hand to her neck, and she kisses him. With that, Natalie recoils.

I tug her elbow, stretching her peach-colored sleeves. "You good?" I question her. Natalie jumps, tenses, and squeezes her hands tighter, eyes still flickering behind me.

The orange woman grins and plants her lips against the guy's once more, much like I would imagine any other Scramble-mated couple would. Again, Natalie shrinks into her chair, holding her jaw stiff.

"No, I'm not good." Natalie doesn't peel her eyes off the scene. "My brain is remembering memories I'd rather forget." She lets a harsh breath pass through her lips. "You must think I'm incredibly weird," Natalie states with a dry laugh.

"We're all weird in our own right," I mutter, with a brief pause, I continue, "Do you want to talk about anything?"

Natalie's chest ceases like the calm before a storm of waves or music, making my shoulders tense in anticipation. "I want to... talk," she whispers, choking on her words. Clearing her throat, she locks eyes with me. "You see her." Natalie jabs her pointer at the orange woman. "That's my mother," she reveals, cracking a crazed smile. "That's her," she continues in shaky tones, "in the flesh and blood."

Her mother? Didn't she tell me she was out of her life forever? Like because of cheating or something? Her eyelids pop up and down rapidly like she's trying to wipe her vision with the motion. Gulping, I let myself smile despite the unease that creeps through my system. I don't smile because I want to escape my brain's thoughts or because I'm crazy. When I smile, I know I'm helping, even if no one knows it, yet.

That's where I insert feel-good emotions.

Natalie tenses, shuts her eyes, and leans her face in her hands as if she's cleaning her face with a rag. "I haven't told anyone this." Her voice rings in a barely audible tune. "Not even my siblings."

My chest springs in uneven beats. "Take your time. I'm listening"

Natalie rocks forward and backward, opening her mouth and then closing it. Finally, she clasps her hand to her chin, propping her head there. "Short story, my mother is back to haunt us, swinging parental kidnapping like a sparkler on the fourth of July." Natalie presses her forefingers to the bridge of her nose and audibly inhales. "That's why I won't be available on the tenth."

"Parental kidnapping?" I question. Kidnapping? What the heck is going on here? Is she okay? Maybe I should start a war against her mother, whatever her name is. Or maybe her dad. Did he kidnap them? "Is she trying to open that case because y'all moved here from Pennsylvania?" I ask, forcing back a long string of questions.

Natalie squeezes her eyes shut. When they reopen, they're moistened. Though, her expression looks like nothing near a person about to cry. "That's the only root she has to win. Like I've told you, they've been divorced for seven years." She heaves a heavy sigh. "Custody seemed irrelevant until now, or at least Dad made it seem that way."

Wait. Didn't her mother have no custody? Actually, Natalie never said that. "What do you mean?" I inquire while crushing the plastic water bottle. "My mother was supposed to get us every other weekend." She pauses, clears her throat, and moves her gaze to the dimming sky. "She never picked us up the first time or the next, and Dad eventually stopped calling her about it... us." She rubs her face, hiding her expression in her hands. "Mom's-" she cuts herself off, "-our mother's sister eventually told us that shipped herself down to Texas. And Dad never pursued any changes with custody."

"Isn't that-" I start.

"Deranged. Yes, I know. He wasn't in a good headspace." Natalie positions her arms across her chest, and her lips form a frown.

I scratch my neck. "I was going to say stupid on your mom's part."

Natalie clears her throat and bites her lip. "Any questions?" Her face hardens, relaxed into a loose array of nothing.

This is insane. My brain strains to run after everything, barely hurdling the information in. Snap. This is what she's dealing with? How the heck does one focus? Let alone accept a job offer? Or deal with school gossip and bullying?

"I don't want to force you to talk about anything you're not comfortable with," I say while my brain flows up and down like a middle schooler who just learned how to play a scale. "But thank you for telling me this. It must have been tough for you."

God, I know it's tough. Parents divorcing at least, not the parental kidnapping part...

"I want to talk. Ask any and all questions." She swallows, placing her hand over her heart. When I don't speak, my face still frozen in a gape, Natalie continues. "It's complicated... I want to believe we have enough evidence and time of no pursual, but like you, 'what if' questions are hard to resist."

"Did y'all get a notice in the mail for the court date?" I inquire, placing my hand over hers. She doesn't flinch or pull away, so the attempt at moral support works, I guess.

"No. Much worse." What is any worse than being called to court? "She showed up on our doorstep with her boyfriend." Okay, that is worse. "Caleb and Lindsey didn't recognize her. I barely did. She's different. Not just appearance-wise, but something changed. And I just." Natali stares at the purple-slash-blue sky, shaking her head. "I just want don't want her here. She's going to break their hearts."

"Wait. They're around her and you're not?" My mouth drops, and my brows furrow.

Her hand shivers despite being warm temperature. "They don't know about the case or exactly why they're divorced." She catches my eyes, answering before I can ask, "A truth told with bad intent beats all the lies you can invent as William Blake said. I try to keep that in mind, mostly." Natalie clears her throat, moving to stand. "It's pretty late almost nine."

"It's been that long?" My eyebrows shoot to the top of my forehead. "I guess we should leave then. Do you need a ride?"

She pauses, nodding. "Yeah, I could use one."

A burst of warmth encapsulates my chest, undying as we reach my batmobile. I shouldn't feel this light and unguilty around her. I might not make it. Besides, I've given her horrible matches, not intentionally, and I can't even remember who the third one is.

Obviously, I'm not doing good enough.