I walked into the living room, where Dylan sat on the couch with his guitar. He wore a Foo Fighters T-shirt and cargo shorts, showing off one tan calf, the other white as snow.
“Hey, Shakira, you got your cast off!” I said, pointing to the paler limb.
“Esta mañana, my man,” he replied, motioning to an armchair nearby. “Have a seat.”
“Gracias.” I plopped the Save the Kales salad on the coffee table and sank into the chair, grateful for the air-conditioned reprieve.
“Where’s your little sidekick?” Dylan asked. Agatha, who sat at his feet, lifted her head and barked, as if she also wanted to know.
“Grub? Slow day, so my mom let him stay behind at the café. Sorry, Agatha.”
The dog laid her head back down.
Dylan stretched his newly liberated leg. “So how was your Friday night?” he asked. “Do anything fun?”
“Actually, it was pretty great,” I replied.
“Awesome! What’d you do?”
I hesitated before answering, unsure if it would, in fact, sound “pretty great” or “awesome.” “So there’s this girl, Rose, who plays piano at the nursing home—”
“The Filipino girl? Piano prodigy?”
“Yeah, you know her?”
Dylan shrugged. “Just by sight. I’ve never had a class with her, but I’ve seen her at school. She’s the quiet type. I hear she’s got some serious talent though.”
“She does,” I agreed.
“Go on.”
“Right. So I met her at Hilltop on a delivery last week and asked her to stop by the café sometime. She doesn’t show up for days, then all of a sudden she shows up yesterday.”
“Out of nowhere.” Dylan made a poof motion with his hands.
“Yep. So we ended up heading out to Metea State Park to hike. But I’ve never hiked in my life. And I had to drive my mom’s little stick-shift car from the nineties. Not to mention I was sweaty from making deliveries all day.”
“Rough start.”
“Tell me about it. But it ended up going great. She’s really cool. We sat by this waterfall talking for like an hour.”
“Nice. That’s awesome, man.” Dylan played a quick bluesy riff, then folded his hands across the guitar and leaned in toward me. “So, what do you like about her?”
It’s funny, because as much as I’d thought about Rose since we’d first met, I wasn’t really sure how to answer him. I liked a lot about her, of course. Her smile, the dimple below her lip, the way her hair blew in the breeze, her insane musical talent. The way she didn’t seem to mind all the things that went wrong. She made me feel like I could be myself. She made me want to be with her. But I didn’t exactly feel comfortable telling any of that to Dylan, someone I barely knew.
“I don’t know,” I muttered. “There’s just something . . .”
“In the way she moves?”
“No, it’s something—”
“In the way she knows?”
I looked up at Dylan and finally caught the joke. He held a closed fist over his mouth to keep from laughing.
“Ha! You like the Beatles?” I asked Dylan.
“Who doesn’t?” he replied, strumming a few chords from “Something.” It reminded me of my conversation with Rose.
Then again, everything reminded me of Rose now.
Maggie bustled back into the living room then, sliding her phone into the pocket of her jeans.
“Thanks for waiting,” she said, handing me some cash. “Hey, D, my friend Angie has two extra wristbands for Buffalo-Fest tonight. You want them?”
“Hell yeah,” said Dylan. “I’ve hardly left the house in weeks.”
“BuffaloFest?” I asked. “Is that the carnival down by the river?”
“Every summer!” Dylan replied. “It’s an institution around here.”
“Sounds fun,” I said, though I wasn’t so sure.
“It’s awful,” confessed Maggie. “But an awesome kind of awful. You guys should go!”
An uncomfortable pause followed. Maggie had just put us both on the spot, but Dylan especially—as if he didn’t have a hundred friends he’d rather go with. I opened my mouth wordlessly, but Dylan recovered first.
“Yeah, man, we should go,” Dylan said. “Meet you there at eight?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Dylan and I walked down the carnival’s main causeway, occasionally stepping over black electric wires that snaked their way across one another to power iffy-looking rides. We took turns renaming them: the Barf-a-Whirl, the Not-So-Funhouse, the Humper Cars, Ali Baba’s Death Machine . . . you get the picture. The aroma of corn dogs, asphalt, and body odor saturated the stagnant June air.
Every few minutes, we’d stop so Dylan could catch up with someone he knew. It didn’t take long to realize why he was so well liked—the dude was nice to everyone. And I mean everyone. Including me. Every time we got stopped, Dylan introduced me as “Zeus from Chicago” and explained that I was new to town. A few kids remembered me from school, but most of them didn’t. I stopped trying to keep track of names after it became clear Dylan knew half the population of Buffalo Falls.
Before long, twelve of us stood near the Gravitron. Dylan’s group of friends had a favorite summer tradition—seeing who could survive the ride without regurgitating a corn dog or deep-fried Twinkie. Once they found out I’d never been on such a contraption, the friendly chatter turned to urgent persuasion.
“Dude, it’s like a ritual. You have to come with us,” said a guy named Joe or maybe John but definitely not Justin.
“No, I’m good, thanks. The guy operating it looks like an escaped prisoner,” I replied, “not to mention he’s lit like a bonfire.”
“Come on, Zeus! It’s a rite of passage in Buffalo Falls,” urged a girl who I think was Katie, but may have been Jenny. “I’m sure this ride has a four-star safety rating.”
“Out of what, a hundred? No, you guys go ahead. I’ve already met my vomit quota this month.”
I tried backing away from the group, but Dylan put his hand on my shoulder. He looked me in the eyes, smiled, and nodded to the ride. “You’re coming with us.”
As I flashed my wristband to the attendant, I advised the group that I wasn’t responsible for my stomach contents ending upon or near them. We boarded the spaceship of death and took our spots.
If you’re like me and unfamiliar with the Gravitron, allow me to explain. Basically, it’s a UFO-shaped unit with lots of flashing lights. Inside, the walls are lined with vinyl pads from floor to ceiling. A bearded man in cut-off jean shorts sits in the center working levers and switches like the Great and Powerful Oz. Once the whole operation starts spinning, centrifugal force sticks everyone to the wall like bugs smashed on a windshield.
I couldn’t wait.
I’m kidding.
I could have gone to my grave without ever experiencing the Gravitron’s pleasures, but peer pressure’s a beast.
We took our places and waited for the ride to start. Then, slowly, we spun. When the lights began to blur through the opening in the ceiling, I shut my eyes. I felt my brain get sucked to the back of my skull as the speed increased. At its top velocity, the floor dropped out, a scenario that I was neither warned about nor prepared for. A sound escaped from my throat, much like a dog makes while getting his tail stepped on. I braced for the inevitable equipment malfunction. But when I opened my eyes, I was still firmly cemented in place by the laws of physics. We spun for another minute, like a flying saucer about to launch. Finally, the ride slowed down, my stomach returned to its normal resting place, and we all stumbled from the Gravitron in varying degrees of vertigo.
“See, man? It’s not that bad. And you didn’t even hurl!” said Dylan.
I swallowed the extra saliva that had pooled in my mouth, still fighting the urge to puke. I held my thumb and index finger together in an okay sign.
Dylan turned to the group. “We’ll catch up with you guys later. I’ve got a few mor
e initiation rites in store for Zeus.”
For a split second, I imagined myself being wheeled out of BuffaloFest on a stretcher. We said our good-byes as the group headed off toward a ride called the Freefall, which looked like it had been pieced together with chicken wire and paper clips.
“All right, now let’s get you a funnel cake,” said Dylan. While my stomach wasn’t fully on board with the decision, I played along. He led me a short distance to a neon-colored hut, brightly lit from within by fluorescent tubing. Dylan ordered our food, and then we continued to walk as we ate. After a while, he looked at me with a powdered-sugar mustache. “Verdict?”
Despite my initial reluctance, I’d devoured half the tower of powdered-sugar-covered dough like a starved hound. “I think I just got diabetes,” I replied.
“I told you it’s good,” he said, inhaling another mouthful. We were polishing off the last few bites when Dylan’s phone dinged and interrupted our feast. He licked the sugar from his fingers and pulled it out. A smile crept across his face, illuminated blue from the screen. “Check it out,” he said, turning it toward me. A brunette, blue-eyed beauty wearing a tank top and pajama bottoms looked back at me making a pouty face. The text said MISS YOU followed by six exclamation points.
“Your girlfriend?” I asked, though I was pretty certain.
“Mm-hmm. Anna. We send a picture every night before bed. It’s almost ten o’clock East Coast time, so it’ll be lights-out for her soon.”
“Oh yeah, she’s in Maine, right? Camp counselor?”
“Yep. Camp Harakawa.” Dylan posed with a big bite of funnel cake in his mouth, then flashed a selfie and sent it to Anna. “She’ll like that one,” he said. His phone dinged again and he snorted as he read the text. “Anna wants me to win her a stuffed animal. What is it with girls and stuffed animals?”
For a fleeting second, I thought about Carrots, the stuffed rabbit I slept with until I was five. Okay, maybe six. Six and a half. Mom still kept him in a shoe box wrapped in tissue paper, even though he’d lost an ear, a cottontail, and most of his fur during his years of loyal service. Good old Carrots.
“No idea,” I said.
“Me neither. All right, let’s go lose some money! I think I saw some stuffed owls back there.”
“Anna like owls or something?”
Dylan shrugged. “She loves the Harry Potter movies. I think there’s owls involved.”
“Chlorophytum comosum,” I mumbled to myself.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing.”
We continued on through the flashing lights, buzzing alarms, and screeching sirens. As we passed two guys trying their might at a speed-bag game, my breath caught in my throat as I spotted a tan girl with black, wavy hair watching them. My eyes lit up, and I lifted my hand to wave but pretended to slick my hair back instead when she turned and I realized it wasn’t Rose.
Luckily Dylan hadn’t noticed. He stood with his arms crossed, facing a tent, frowning. A vinyl banner read: TAKE HOME A GOLDFISH!
I stood next to Dylan. “What’s up?” I asked.
“You know, the fact that this still exists is a complete travesty.”
I watched as a young girl tossed Ping-Pong balls into bowls of colored water. They all missed, bouncing off the rims. “You mean how all these games are rigged?”
“Oh, they’re definitely rigged, a travesty in itself. But I’m talking about the goldfish, my friend.”
Just then, the young girl sank a ball into a bowl and squealed. Moments later, out came her prize. The attendant handed her a clear plastic sack of water containing her new pet goldfish.
Dylan continued. “Ten years ago, man. It was traumatizing.”
“What happened?”
Dylan shook his head at the memory. “I’d completely mastered the arc. One after another, boom, boom, boom, sinking them like LeBron James. I won seven goldfish that night. Seven. I was the happiest kid at BuffaloFest. I named them after the seven dwarfs. But what I didn’t realize at the age of six was that fish need a certain amount of oxygen to survive. Oxygen they aren’t going to get in a plastic bag. So that night they swam in their aquatic hourglasses, the minutes ticking away until their deaths.”
“Didn’t your parents tell you to put them in a bowl?”
“Yeah, well, my sister was babysitting me that night and she was too busy messaging her boyfriend to give me the requisite goldfish survival tips. So come morning poor Dopey was belly-up. Next went Happy, who was obviously unhappy, flapping himself in a circle with one gill on the surface. By lunchtime Sleepy was dead as a doornail, not sleeping, as I initially thought. Then Grumpy’s eyes glossed over, Bashful sank to the bottom, and Doc developed a weird twitch before succumbing to Death’s cold grasp himself. That night, Goldie was the last to go, having watched all six of his friends go before him.”
“Wait, Goldie? I thought the seventh dwarf was Sneezy?”
“Fish don’t sneeze, dude.”
“Good point.”
Dylan rubbed his chin and shook his head, staring at the goldfish game. “Why some animal rights coalition hasn’t shut this operation down still baffles me.”
I pictured my mom standing vigil in front of the booth holding a sign that said GOLDFISH ARE PEOPLE TOO. I put a hand on Dylan’s shoulder. “It’s okay, man. I’m sure they’re in a better place now, with fishbowls the size of Nebraska and unlimited fish flakes.”
Dylan sighed. “I hope so. All right, onward. I have a prize to win.”
For the next half hour, we tried our luck at the ring toss, whack-a-mole, and milk jugs, only to walk away empty-handed. We considered entering the rubber ducky race, but decided we were a decade too old for that. Finally, after making nineteen points in sixty seconds at a basketball shootout game, Dylan was the proud new owner of a four-foot-tall stuffed giraffe.
“Perfect,” he said, shoving it under one arm. “All right, dude. One more thing we have to do before we leave.”
“After you,” I said.
ELEVEN
I FOLLOWED DYLAN AS HE CUT BETWEEN TENTS, LEADING US TO THE far edge of the carnival. Beyond the Ferris wheel and bumper cars lay a row of food tents. Grill smoke hovered above us. The smell of cooked meat made my mouth water instantly, despite having eaten a pound of deep-fried sugar earlier.
“Had to give you the traditional carnival fare first, but this is where the real food’s at,” said Dylan, forging ahead.
As we neared the tents, I could make out some of the names: Bobo’s Gyros, Billy Bob’s BBQ, Wang Chung Cantonese, Papi’s Tenderloins, and Arduini’s World Famous Pizza. Dylan insisted I’d have to try all of them at some point—apparently they were as integral to Buffalo Falls’s infrastructure as the roads and bridges—but tonight, pizza from Arduini’s would suffice.
As we walked up, I said, “You’ll have to understand my skepticism about the ‘world famous’ part. I am from the pizza capital of the nation.”
Dylan grinned. “You’ll thank me later.”
At the counter, a girl our age stood smiling, her light brown hair framing her face. “Hey, Dylan! How’ve you been?” she asked.
“I’m good, I’m good. Finally walking again.”
A sympathetic look flashed across her face. “Oh, I heard about that. Your leg all better now?”
Dylan shrugged. “Ninety percent. Getting there. Kaylee, this is Zeus.” He threw his arm around my shoulder and presented me. “His family just moved here from Chicago.”
She looked at me a moment. Then her eyes widened and she pointed at me in recognition. “World history? Mr. Donahue? Second period?”
I dug through my memory but didn’t recognize her. “Uh, yeah. Did we meet?”
She laughed. “No! You were scary. We thought you hated us.”
My stomach sank. “Really?”
She laughed again. I could tell she laughed a lot, but not in a ditzy way. “No, I’m totally joking! I just remember you sitting there, not talking to anyone. But I’m sure i
t was weird for you, being the new guy thrown in at the end of the year.”
“Yeah, it was a little weird,” I lied. It had been more than weird.
“Well, maybe we’ll have another class together next year!”
I smiled. She had a cute sprinkling of freckles across her nose. “I promise not to look like I hate everyone if we do.”
“Deal!” She turned back to Dylan. “How’s Anna doing? I see her post all the time about how much fun she’s having. It looks amazing out there!”
“She’s doing great! I just won her this handsome fellow,” he said, holding up the stuffed giraffe.
“Awesome! You two are so cute together.”
Dylan pulled the giraffe to his cheek and stroked its head. “Aw, thanks. We try. He doesn’t say much—his head is full of stuffing, after all, and he can’t speak—but he’s a very good listener.”
Kaylee laughed some more. “Stop! I meant you and Anna.”
As Dylan joked around with Kaylee, I watched him in admiration and not a small amount of envy. He was so easy-going with everyone, so comfortable in his own skin. I could learn a lot from him. God, I couldn’t believe I gave off the impression I hated everyone at my new school. I’d have to work on that.
“Nice meeting you, Zeus!” chirped Kaylee, handing us each two slices of pizza.
“You too, Kaylee!” I answered, trying to match her exuberance.
“See you around, Kay,” Dylan said, then turned to me. “Let’s grab a table over there.”
Rows of green picnic tables sat under a white canopy. White lights crisscrossed overhead like electric cobwebs. About half the tables were occupied, and I recognized a few faces from our Gravitron experience. I thought we’d join the group, but Dylan chose an unoccupied table in the corner. We sat next to each other, the giraffe across from us. Despite still feeling a bit ill from the funnel cake, I managed to shove both pieces of Arduini’s World Famous sausage, onion, and mushroom pizza down my gullet in record time. And Dylan was right—it rivaled some of the best slices I’d had in Chicago.
“So, Kaylee’s pretty cute, huh?” said Dylan.