Cross Me Off Your List (12 page)

After the parade, Noah waits patiently while
I raid the vendor booths for jewelry, jars of sea glass, and a
seashell crown. He doesn’t intervene until I get a bit too excited
over the silicone mermaid tails. So we buy a few bottles of hair
dye – because I can’t decide on a color – and slowly make our way
back to the car.

“Why the rush?” I ask. “Not much of a
shopper? We should’ve brought Nat with us.”

Noah smiles and opens my car door. “Believe
me, I can shop. Nat Winters
is
my brother,” he says. “But I
have reservations for us tonight, and we can’t be late.”

The sign of Café Jezza is black gloss trimmed
in gold. It’s super sleek and modern, and I memorize the scheme as
we walk through the door because it’d look amazing on a party
dress. I sort of wish I’d worn black tonight. I could’ve borrowed
that little black dress before Aralie sends it back to the thrift
shop.

I glance down at the bright blue halter dress
on my body. It flows like a waterfall down my skin. It’s the same
color as the eyeshadow I saw girls wearing at the Mermaid Festival
in Sunrise Valley earlier today. I guess part of me is still under
the sea. Somewhere in the back of my memory, I hear my cousin Evie
singing “Part of Your World” and dancing around our grandmother’s
house, determined to dance her way into becoming Ariel. Oh, those
high notes could rival a shrieking cat. Maybe mermaid life isn’t
for me. I definitely should’ve worn black.

“This way,” a hostess says, leading us to a
back room with dim lighting and private tables. “Your server will
be here shortly, but can I get you something to drink?”

She places the menu on the table. Noah orders
sweet tea, and I ask for lemon water.

“Lemon water,” Noah repeats. “You sure you
haven’t been hanging around Benji when you’re not with me? He’s all
about lemon anything.”

I flash him a smile before studying the menu.
When Noah told me he was able to get reservations here, I was
highly impressed. The locals say it’s the best Italian food in the
state of California. We don’t have anything other than chain
restaurants and a few burger joints where I live, so I don’t mind
that he used his status to get us in.

“How did you manage to get us in here?” I
ask, lowering the menu to the table. “Did you just call and say,
‘Hey, this is Noah Winters from Spaceships Around Saturn, and I
need a reservation,’ and bam – you’re on the list?”

He laughs and shakes his head. “It’s not that
easy or anyone could do it,” he says. “I had the management team
call for me. We usually have to go through the official channels to
prove we’re really us and not someone pretending. But it just takes
a few phone calls and it’s a done deal every time.”

Every time? How often does he have his
management team arrange things for him?

“You do this often?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer as the hostess brings our
drinks. He takes a sip of his tea and then shrugs once we’re alone
again.

“What’s the point of having fame and power if
you don’t use it every once in a while?” he asks, like it’s no big
deal. “We all do it at some point, even Milo. He won’t admit it,
but he’s scored plenty of movie premiere invites for himself and
Chloe using the same tactics I did for tonight.”

After our waiter takes our orders and leaves
us with a basket of garlic bread, Noah wastes no time getting to
our mission.

“So what’s next on the list?” he asks.

I reach into my tiny purse and pull out the
pink piece of paper. “Your brother has to help me dye my hair later
– or some of it anyway – to cross off that item,” I say. “We still
have a lot left, though.”

I pass the list across the table so he can
see. “Well, I can help with a few of these,” Noah says, folding the
paper and handing it back. “Getting a tattoo is easy. Riding in a
limo? Done. We can do it again so you can document it, though. And
I’m totally up for disturbing the peace.”

“And is the incredibly-inked Noah Winters
planning to get tatted with me?” I ask, wiggling my eyebrows for
extra effect.

“If you’re lucky,” he says. He leans across
the table, keeping his voice low. “I might even get it somewhere
sacred and only let you see it.”

Mmm. This boy definitely likes to tease. I
wonder if he really plans on letting me see his mermaid tattoo.
God, Marisol. What the hell am I thinking? I haven’t even kissed
the guy yet. I don’t even know if he
wants
to kiss me. He
may just be looking for a fun time during a week’s vacation, and
once I’m back home, I’ll be all alone with candy wrappers, a good
story to tell, and a pink piece of paper with a sparkly owl on
it.

“What are you thinking?” Noah asks, dipping
his head to study my face.

Well. I can’t exactly tell him that I’m
trying to decipher what he wants from me or if he wants anything at
all. I glance past him for something to intervene, and I see my
ticket out.

“Those lights,” I say, pointing across the
room.

A black backdrop hangs down the wall, lit up
with running lights that look like shooting stars. I want it in my
bedroom, my own little galaxy with constant shooting stars offering
up all the wishes in the universe.

“Shooting stars?” Noah asks, glancing back at
me.

“It’s on the list,” I remind him. “I’m not
really sure what it was supposed to mean, but I think it can mean
anything we want it to mean.”

“I guess you can cross it off your list,”
Noah says. “And while you’re at it, make a wish.”

The silence in the car is a bit awkward, and
I think this is the first time we’ve had a speechless moment
between us. Dinner was incredible. The flirting was even better.
I’m slightly sad that I can’t blast social media with the adorable
picture of Noah and me by the shooting stars wall. I asked the
waiter to take it for me, and it’s possibly my favorite picture of
all time.

Now I’m not quite sure I’m ready to go back
to the hotel. Fortunately, I don’t think Noah is either.

He leans back in the driver’s seat and rests
his head back. “You want to go for a walk on the beach or
something?” he asks. “I’m hoping if I stay out late enough,
everyone will be asleep when we get back.”

“The beach is perfect,” I say, glancing over
from the passenger seat.

Noah pulls out of the parking lot and drives
in the opposite direction of the hotel. He doesn’t say anything,
but he shoots a smile my way, and I can’t help wondering if he’ll
kiss me tonight. I’m officially living that damn “Call Me Maybe”
song because I did just meet him and this
is
crazy, but he’s
a celebrity, and…I have no idea where I’m going with this.

Moments like this are why you don’t need to
be on non-speaking terms with the girl who was once your best
friend. I don’t think Hilary – or anyone else I know – could give
me sound advice in this situation. It’s not every day that you’re
in the passenger seat of a car with Noah Winters of Spaceships
Around Saturn at the wheel, driving you to the beach at night.

I’m the girl who always changed the station
before the chorus of their song even had a chance to spill from the
speakers. I’ve known him for a total of what, four days now, and
I’m flirting about the mermaid on his ass and hoping he’ll kiss
me.

Actually, I know exactly what Hilary would
say right now.
“Marisol, this makes you a grade-A slut. Please
don’t upgrade to whore.”
And then she’d snatch him out from
under me, you know, as a favor to keep me from going over the
edge.

“You’re quiet over there,” Noah says. He
reaches across the armrest for my hand. “What’s going through your
mind?”

“What Hilary would say if she knew where I
was right now,” I answer, not exactly lying.

“And what would the unoriginal bitch say
about this situation?” he asks. He shoots me a smirk before
glancing back at the dead street.

“She’d ask if you were a good kisser,” I say,
dropping the bait.

The car slows to a stop. Noah parks in the
center of the street and looks at me in the glow of the
streetlamps. Shadows move across his face, slowly and beautifully
like a phantom ballerina dancing along his jaw line.

“And you’d tell her what?” he asks.

“That I wouldn’t know because I haven’t
kissed you,” I say. My heart quivers in my chest, sort of like the
whole butterflies in your stomach feeling, but much more
intense.

He leans closer. “Well, maybe you need to fix
that, eh?”

I swallow my nerves and meet him halfway
across the armrest between us. His hand clasps my cheek, tilting my
face at just the right angle. I close my eyes and sink into the
warmth of his mouth against mine. His fingers move along my face
and twist into my hair. A chill runs from my neck down my body.

And a horn blows. Noah pulls away as quickly
as I do and squints at the headlights behind us, beaming through
the back glass.

“Damn it,” he mumbles, reaching to put the
car back into drive. “Way to kill the moment.”

I sort of want to skip the beach and head
straight back to the hotel. Room 413 sounds like a very welcoming
place right now. I’m certain we can pawn Nat off on Benji for the
night. Hell, I’d pay Benji to take Nat for a night if it meant an
all-nighter with Nat’s brother.

“Whoa,” Noah says, pulling me away from my
hormones and the overhead streetlamps. “What is that place?”

I lean forward and peer through the
windshield at what looks like an old carnival ground. Every
intention I had of making out with Noah on the shoreline with salt
water rushing over our legs and sand getting in our hair dissolves
into the night air when Noah pulls into the parking area next to
the carnival. It’s grown up with grass and sand, like the caretaker
abandoned it when all the joy left this place.

“I don’t know if we should be here,” I tell
him. “It doesn’t look very safe. It’s so…”

“Haunted? Abandoned? Tragically beautiful?”
Noah suggests.

“All of the above,” I say, leaning back in
the passenger seat.

The car dings and the interior lights flash
on when Noah opens his door. “I’m going to check it out,” he says.
“C’mon. It won’t hurt anything. Isn’t there something on the list
that this can count for?”

Last I checked, visiting a creepy old
carnival and awakening the ghosts of clowns wasn’t something even
Hilary would add to the list – even if she thought she could scare
the living hell out of me.

“Let’s go.” Noah groans and cocks his head to
the side. Then he places his hand on his hip, and I swear, if it
wasn’t for the ink on his arm, I’d think he was Nat.

“Now I see where your brother gets his sass
from,” I say, popping the handle on my door.

I slip my phone into my pocket, just in case
something really does go down and I have to make an SOS call to
911. Noah meets me at the hood of the car, slips his arm around me,
and pulls me close to him while we enter the grounds.

A wooden sign sways over the entranceway,
squeaking loudly enough to let us know it’s watching us. It’s not
even breezy out, which makes it all the more creepy. I convince
myself it’s just the wind off the ocean in the distance. It has to
be, simply because I refuse to believe otherwise.

It’s such a vast difference from the Mermaid
Festival. It was vibrant with colors and laughter, families and
friends, life and happiness. This place is a testament of past
happiness, a place that once roared with life before time and
weather brought it from a wildflower to a decaying rose.

“Makes you wonder,” Noah says. He steps away
from me and spins in a circle, taking in the entire atmosphere.
“What happened to make them just shut down and leave? Why didn’t
they pack up and head to a new city or sell the land to a beach
resort?”

Maybe it wasn’t their choice to make. Maybe
the carnie life is all they knew. Maybe they just bellied up and
scattered in the wind like pieces of confetti, traveling to a new
land of joy where they could sparkle a little longer.

But then I see it in big red letters on what
used to be the door to a house of mirrors.
RIP Lickety
Split.

“I don’t know who or what a Lickety Split is,
but I’m pretty sure whatever it is wouldn’t want us to be here,” I
say, pointing to the writing. “Maybe that’s why they shut down. Or
why no one else wants this place. And it makes perfect sense why no
one in their right minds would come out here after dark.”

Noah laughs. “That explains why we’re here.
We aren’t in our right minds,” he says. “You want to go in? See
whose reflection pops up in a mirror?”

“Are you crazy?” I ask, taking a few steps
back. “There’s no way on Saturn or Earth you’d get me in that
place.”

Noah throws his head back laughing, almost
manically like he’s possessed by a clown. I glance around for a
weapon, just in case one does inhabit his body to communicate with
our world. I don’t think the rotten ticket booth is really going to
protect me, though.

“Okay – take your pick,” Noah says. “Pirate
ship, sea creature carousel, Tilt-a-Whirl, or the teacups.”

I fold my arms and survey the rides. The
pirate ship sits ahead of us in the distance with a gigantic dragon
along the side. He’s the same turquoise color as the glittery ring
I bought in Sunrise Valley. A faded pink angelfish stares at me
from the carousel, and that’s enough to creep me out.

“Teacups,” I say, simply because
Tilt-a-Whirls are so common and overdone.

We walk over to the old metal cups. Some are
black and blue. Others are burgundy and gold. I choose a burgundy
and gold cup. They look more royal. I step inside and Noah sits
across from me.

“Let’s play a game,” he says. “I’ve spent
basically every moment of this week with you so far, but I still
feel like I know nothing about you. I mean, your mom’s a trophy
wife, your dad works at a software company, you design clothes, and
your best friend is a bitch.”