93 Sampler (6 page)

        
My parents are both working all weekend and unable to come to the carnival with me as we’ve done every year for as long as I can remember.

I’m here but not with Sof
, I send back.

You’re alone? That’s sad, honey.

I know my mom is teasing, and I laugh aloud at the message.

I’m on a date
, I respond.

The dots let me know she’s answering me and her next message quickly comes through.

YOU’RE on a date????????

I decide not to answer just yet and shove my phone back into my jeans pocket. At this moment, Carter finally gets here. She’s wearing a thin, white cotton dress with a light denim jacket over it, and pale brown sandals. This is the most relaxed I’ve ever seen her look. I figured she
slept
 in business suits. Her long red hair is blowing in the gentle breeze and she beams when she sees me.

        “Hey,” I say.

        “Hello,” she responds. “Have you been waiting long?” There’s a slight frown on her face.

        “No, just a few minutes,” I lie, even though it’s been closer to ten. I shove my hands into my pockets and rock back on my heels. “So,” I start, “how are you?”

        “I’m good,” she says. “You?”

        I nod. “I’m good, too.”

        We stand in silence for a moment.

        “Do you wanna go in?” She asks at the same time that I say, “we should get some cotton candy.”

        Carter and I share an awkward laugh and she pushes a strand of hair behind her ear.

        “Well, I guess we have to go in to
get
 the cotton candy,” I say. I hold my arm out to her and she hesitantly links hers through it. We step past a family with at least four unruly children and enter the carnival.

        There are games, concessions, face painting stations, bounce houses, and many other activities all around the field. Every year Hill County has a carnival to celebrate the emerging autumn season. “My parents used to bring me here and we’d carve pumpkins,” I tell Carter.

Her big brown eyes glance up at me. “Really? You did that?” She asks.

I chuckle and rub the back of my head. “It’s not that uncommon for families to carve pumpkins together, Carter,” I point out. I see something in her expression falter but she’s recomposed herself fast enough that I think I just imagined it.

The corners of her mouth lift. “That sounds nice,” she says quietly.

“It was,” I answer. We’re approaching the cotton candy stand and I take out my wallet.

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” Carter says, reaching into her jacket to take out her own money. I put a hand over hers to stop her.

“Let me pay, I want to be a gentleman.”

“There’s something I’d never expect
you
 to say,” she teases but I notice she’s still got her hand trying to get her money.

“I mean it, Carter,” I tell her, “let me pay.”

“But-” she starts to protest but I hover my index finger over her mouth.

“It’s the least you could do after making me wait ten minutes for you.”

She scoffs and playfully smacks my shoulder. “I thought you said you only waited a few minutes.”

I’m at a loss for words after being caught fibbing, and I can feel my face starting to heat up. “Anyway,” I announce loudly, “which flavor do you want?”

“Um,” she bites her lip and looks over at the guy manning the stand who looks mildly annoyed with us, “I don’t know. Which is the best?”

I arch a brow at her. “Which one do you normally get?” Carter lowers her gaze and doesn't say anything. Realization dawns on me. “You’ve never had cotton candy before?” I cannot believe this.

“Nope,” she says. A few things start to click in my head. She's never had cotton candy and she thinks it strange that families carve pumpkins together. I’m starting to think that Carter may not have had the best childhood. It’s only our second date, though. Far too early for me to ask questions about the deep psychological trauma of her formative years.

“Are you two gonna order anything because there’s a line behind you.” The rude, and apparently annoyed, cashier’s voice pulls me from my thoughts and I look behind us to see several impatient looking customers. Oops.

“Two watermelons,” I say. I hand the guy a five and tell him to keep the change and he leaves to get our cotton candy. When he brings it back, I lead Carter away from the stand and hand her the candy. She takes it hesitantly and looks at it as if it’s about to sprout a tail.

“It’s fluffy,” she says and I erupt into a roar of laughter. She looks at me strangely. “I don’t think it was that funny,” she tells me.

“I’m sorry,” I manage to get out. “It’s just that I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed someone’s first encounter with cotton candy. It’s strange.”

Carter is blushing when she looks back at the candy and pulls off a tiny piece. “I just put it in my mouth?” She asks.

“In my experience, that’s the best way to do it.”
        She pops it into her mouth and moans. “Oh my god,” she says, ripping off another piece, “this is so good.”

“I know,” I say with a wink. “Come on,” I say.

“Where are we going?” She muffled around her food.

“To my favorite thing they do here. I’ve loved it since I was a kid.”

▲

“When I was seven, I sat in a chair just like that one,” I point to a small wooden chair currently being sat on by a little girl who is kicking her feet back and forth. “There was a woman with a paintbrush just like that one,” I now point to an older man hunched over, painting the girl’s face into that of a tiger. “She painted the Superman symbol onto one of my cheeks and the Batman symbol onto the other.”

Carter looks me up and down. “No room for Wonder Woman?”

I grin at her. “I’ll admit, seven-year-old me was a bit of a sexist.”

Carter tsks before laughing. “I’d pay a lot of money to see how adorable you must have looked.”

“I was pretty cute. That same day, we were on our way home, and I told my parents I wanted paint for my birthday, which was still six months away. I told them I wanted to paint their faces. I didn’t think they’d remember. Lo and behold, the following March, I had my very own, age-appropriate paint set. I think they were scared to let me paint on them, though.”

“So this place,” she looks back at the girl getting her face painted, “this is where you became an artist?”

“Yeah,” I confirm.

Carter takes another bite of her cotton candy and looks down in disappointment when she realizes it’s the last piece.

“You can have mine,” I say. She looks at me as if I just offered her the Holy Grail.

“Really?” She asks.

“Yeah. Based on the look on your face, I’m honestly afraid of what may happen if you
don’t
 get more cotton candy. I think I may have just turned you into an addict.”

“Then you should stop enabling me,” she tells me, grabbing a big chunk of candy and shoving it in her mouth. I decide that I like seeing her like this, laidback and unashamed. The sunlight is almost gone but what little remains shines around her head like a halo and I want to paint the scene before me. Carter with her mouth full of cotton candy, standing carefree against the vanishing sun.

“Why you looking at me like that?” she asks.

“Like what?” I respond.

“I don't know, she tells me. “You're just looking at me weird.”

“Oh, sorry,” I awkwardly say.

“We should find a game to play,” she says suddenly.

“Yeah, sure,” I say. “I think there’s a ring toss.”

“What's that?” she asks.

“Come on,” I tell her. “I'll show you.”

We end up walking around the carnival for another fifteen minutes looking for the game when finally we find it. Luckily for us there's only one other group playing, a family of three. The father has the son sitting on his shoulders and the little boy tosses with such enthusiasm that I feel bad when his ring doesn't make the shot.

I give a five to the attendee and he hands me six rings. “There are three pins that the rings are supposed to land on and for each one that lands, a prize is given to you,” I explain to Carter. “So just toss them and-”

I don’t have a chance to finish before she’s taken a ring from my hand, tossed it, and gotten it perfectly onto the middle pin. My mouth drops open and I look back and forth between her and the pin. “How the hell did you do that?” I ask.

“My father had a dart board in his office when I was younger. When I’d go there and wait for him to get out of meetings, I’d play darts. So I have really good aim.” She shrugs nonchalantly and holds her hand out for another pin. Carter tosses this one and it, too, lands on a pin. She does this with the remaining four rings and I watch her in stunned silence.

“I believe that’s six prizes,” she says to the attendee, who is also looking at her in awe.

        The attendee finally composes himself. “Right, um, over here, please.” He leads the two of us to a wall adjacent to the one that holds the pins, and gestures toward the many prizes displayed. “You can either get six from the lower row, or one from the higher row.”

        Carter’s eyes scan over the prizes before her gaze finally settles on a big, brown teddy bear wearing a baseball cap. “That one,” she tells the attendee and he gets it down for her. He hands it to her and she thanks him.

        “Well, that was fun,” she grins. “Sorry I didn’t really let you play. We could go back-”

        “No, no that’s okay,” I cut her off. “I don’t need witnesses to my lack of hand eye coordination.”

        “There’s a ferris wheel,” she says out of nowhere. “It’s so tall.” I look at what she’s staring at and sure enough I see an enormous ferris wheel on the other side of the field. I’ve never been a big fan of heights but I can see the excitement in Carter’s eyes when she looks back at me and I know there’s no way I’m not going to take her to the top of it.

        “Come on,” I say, nodding my head toward the ferris wheel. She grins and takes my arm again, her teddy bear in her other hand. We make our way across the field, dodging the rowdy children and carnival-goers. It’s dark now, but there are paper lanterns lighting up pathways all across the park.

        Finally we come to a relatively short line for the ferris wheel. I guess we’ll be a part of the next group to board.

        “I’ve never been on one of these,” she tells me, “but it always looks fun in the movies.”

        I chuckle nervously. “I’ve never been on one either,” I admit.

        She raises her eyebrows at me. “Seriously?”

        “Yeah, I don’t do too well with heights.”

        Her eyebrows somehow go even higher and she stares at me. “I can’t believe you’re afraid of heights.”

        I scoff. “I’m not afraid of them. I just freak out when my feet are too far away from the ground.”

        “Wow,” she says. “You know, you don’t have to come on with me.” The current riders are getting off and we’re moving ahead in the line. “You can just wait here.”

        I look up and take in the sheer size of the ferris wheel. It’s not too high, perhaps three hundred or four hundred tall. There’s a lump in my throat but I swallow it down. I can do this.“No, I’m going with you,” I tell her.

The attendee guides us into the seats and we settle in. There’s a loud noise signaling that we’re about to start moving and Carter sits her teddy bear beside her, then looks down at the ground disappearing beneath us. My hands are gripping the cool metal rail and I stare at the sky, refusing to look down. “Is it over yet?” I ask.

        “We’ve only moved, like, fifty feet,” she informs me. Slowly, I glance down and see that the ground is only a small jump away. I mean, I’d probably die but at least I’d be off of this flying metal deathtrap. “We still have a few hundred before it’s our turn at the top,” she adds on.

        We start moving again and I tense up. I feel something warm on my hand and look at it. Carter’s palm rests against it and I look over at her. She’s staring back at me, her large hazelnut eyes sincere. “It’s okay, Ashton,” she says quietly and I release a long breath. My heart rate starts to slow down and we stop moving yet again. I risk another glance down and guess there’s about a hundred feet between us and the ground. Carter’s hand tightens over mine and I remind myself to breathe slowly.

        “What are you doing after graduation?” She asks me out of nowhere.

        The response is almost automatic. “Taking a year to live off art commissions, then Sofia and I are opening up
Cruz’s
, a tattoo parlor. I’m going to do the designs, she’s doing the actual tattooing.”

        This peaks her interest. “You don’t want to tattoo? Fear of needles?”

        I shake my head. “I just want to stick to my pens and paintbrushes,” I explain. “Plus permanently putting something on someone’s body seems like a big responsibility.”

        Carter’s mouth lifts in a smile. “Oh, right. I totally get that.”