Authors: Amelia Whitmore
“It took you forever and you’re not even ready?”
“Um, does it look like I’m ready?” she asks, turning to look
at me.
I burst out laughing when I see that she’s only got makeup
on one eye.
“You look so pretty!” I grin.
Ro grumbles something under her breath and turns back to the
mirror.
After fifteen minutes, and the completion of Ro’s “flawless”
makeup, I pull up to the large courtyard the school rented for the fair. We get
out and head off to find my mom. It doesn’t take long since she practically
attacks us, going on and on about how late we are and that the Fall Fest
officially begins in less than twenty minutes. Ro and I just laugh as we follow
her to our booth. There are three boxes full of cans and bottles stacked along
the side. We also spy a few garbage bags full of stuffed animals and other
small trinkets for prizes.
Aurora and I immediately begin stacking everything and
setting out the prizes. Within ten minutes, we’re finished and looking on
proudly. A little boy around seven years old walks up to us, carrying a crate
full of whiffle and softballs. It probably weighs more than him.
“Do you need any balls?” he asks in a squeaky voice.
I elbow Ro before she can come back with a dirty response
and nod my head, “We definitely do! Thank you very much.” I give him a large
smile as he hands six over.
Time passes quickly and before we know it, the carnival is
in full swing. Unsurprisingly, the line for my side of the booth is longer than
Ro’s. Not only am I pretty good with encouraging children, but Ro looks like
she’d rather be anywhere but here. When there’s finally a pause in customers,
she walks over to me.
“Everybody likes you best,” she pouts.
I raise an eyebrow. “Aurora, you have bright purple hair,
piercings, and a shit ton of makeup on. Do you honestly expect children to just
automatically warm up to you? You’re not even smiling. I’d be afraid of you
too.”
She huffs, “Well sorry if we can’t all be Mary freaking
Sunshine with happy rainbows arching out of our asses.”
I’m about to respond when another voice cuts in, “Whoa,
ladies . . . Sorry to interrupt this catfight, but my
nephew wants to play the game.”
We both turn to see someone who is possibly the most
gorgeous someone I’ve ever seen. He’s got slightly shaggy dark brown, almost
black, hair. His eyes are nearly as dark as his hair, but you can see the
energy in them. I think the most brilliant thing about him is his smile—his
teeth are perfectly straight and white and his grin brightens his entire face.
Much to my horror, I can feel myself start to blush.
“Yes, of course. Sorry about that,” I grumble, looking down.
I notice a little boy holding his hand so I bend over the
counter a little.
“Hey there, what’s your name?” I ask, feeling some of my
awkwardness dissipating.
“Zandew,” he murmurs shyly.
I put my hand out for him to take.
“Well hi, Zander, I’m Annie. Are you going to knock some
bottles down today?” I ask happily.
He nods his head, a little smile growing on his face.
“Yeah! Yeah! Unco’ Bway’s gonna hewp me!” he says excitedly.
“Idin’t dat wite, Unco’ Bway?”
“That’s awesome!” I tell him genuinely. “How about we get
you up here?”
I pat the counter, knowing that the little boy can barely
see, let alone throw something, over it. “And we’ll get you started.” I move to
grab the bottles and begin setting them up in a way that should be easy for him
to hit. I grab a foam ball that’s bound to bounce off something and knock them
down.
I hand him the ball and lean down a little to talk to him.
“Okay, you get five chances to knock down three bottles, all right?” I say,
holding up my fingers when I say five and three. Zander nods and looks
doubtfully at the pyramid.
“Unco’ Bway! You do it, I’w miss.” He pouts sadly, trying to
pass the ball over to his uncle.
It nearly breaks my heart and I have to stop myself from
saying “awwww.”
“No way, kiddo, this is your shot. I know you can do it!”
Mr. Gorgeous encourages, his smile widening.
Zander looks nervously at the pyramid. He takes a deep
breath and throws the ball with all his might. I nearly cry when it misses. I
grab it and hand it back.
“It’s okay, buddy. That happens to everybody on the first
try. I’m sure you’ll get it this time,” I promise emphatically.
His little lower lip is puckered out a little, but he takes
the ball anyway. This time he doesn’t chuck it quite as hard and it goes a bit
lower, taking out the top three bottles. I yelp with joy.
“Way to go, bud. You did better than I ever do!” I tell him,
slightly embarrassed that I’m telling the truth. “Which prize do you want?” I
ask, pointing to a line of the medium-size animals. Zander was just too sweet
for a little prize.
“I wanna monkey!” he exclaims.
I nod my head. “Then a monkey it is.”
I lift up onto my toes and struggle a little to reach the
animal. When I finally get it down and turn to Zander, he’s in the arms of another
guy who’s nearly as gorgeous as the first one. His eyes are gray and he looks a
little older, but I can certainly see the resemblance.
Zander is talking animatedly about how he got the bottles
down on his second try and the guy is smiling proudly and nodding along. I feel
warm from the adorableness and walk over to hand the monkey to the kid’s uncle.
“Here you go,” I say politely.
He stares at me for a moment and the scrutiny was more than
awkward. I already know I’m not his type. Guys like him go out with petite
cheerleaders with tiny waists. I am definitely not that. I clear my throat,
still holding the monkey out to him. He blinks and his smile returns before he
takes the animal. “Thanks.” His voice gives me goose bumps over my entire body.
“I’m Brayden, by the way.” He leans forward to rest his arms
on the countertop.
“You’re welcome,” I murmur, mute with shock.
I didn’t expect him to actually talk to me.
“Oh, and this is Zander’s dad, Landon,” Brayden adds when a
tanned elbow finds its way to his ribs.
“Nice to meet you,” Landon says.
“You too. Your son is great,” I tell him honestly.
“Yeah, he takes after me,” he brags.
I snort a little, but try to cover it up as a cough.
“Well, it was nice meeting you all. Enjoy the rest of the
Fall Fest, okay?”
I’m not trying to push them away, but I don’t really
understand why they’re still here. Landon and Zander turn to leave, in search
of new entertainment, but Brayden lingers a moment, fiddling.
“I know this is sudden, but can I get your number?” He’s
flustered.
My eyes widen in shock.
“My, uh, my . . . my n-number? W-why?” I
stammer.
“To call you. Or if you don’t like to talk on the phone,
maybe we could text?” he offers quickly, blushing at the end. Landon has
stopped walking and is laughing hysterically, making me nervous. Is this a
prank?
“N-I, um, I-uh . . .” I can’t complete the
sentence; I’m honestly too surprised to respond appropriately.
Before I can reject him, Aurora, whom I’d completely
forgotten about, steps in and hands him a piece of paper with my name and
number on it. “If you hurt her, I’ll break you.” She warns sincerely before
disappearing back to wherever she’d been.
Brayden smiles in relief, “Okay. I’ll talk to you later”—he
glances at the paper—“Anna.”
As soon as he walks away, I turn to Ro and smack her arm.
“Ouch! What the—” she cries out, rubbing the spot I hit.
“Why would you do that? Couldn’t you see how hard that
Landon guy was laughing? Clearly it was all just some kind of joke or
something!” I cut her off angrily.
I can feel myself getting emotional. In my life, I learned
the hard way not to trust people. In fact, Ro is the only person I’ve trusted in
a very long time, and now she just helped those guys tease me. To say I feel
betrayed is putting it lightly.
“Come on, do you honestly think that if I thought they were
joking, I would have given it to him?” she asks with a roll of her eyes.
“I don’t know. It seems like you would.” I cross my arms, my
low self-esteem filling my mind with doubt.
“Seriously, Anna? Get over yourself. Of course I wouldn’t.
You’re my best friend and I would never ever hurt you intentionally. Stop being
a brat.” Her words get through to me and I lower my head. Suddenly, she was the
one feeling betrayed.
“I’m sorry, but what the hell do I do if he calls? I hate
talking on the phone, even to you. I’m sure as hell not going to do it with a
stranger.”
I can see the perverted little smirk take over her face. “But
doing it with a stranger is awesome, doll.”
I groan and roll my eyes. I should have seen that one coming.
“You’re a pig, Aurora,” I tell her fondly.
“Yes, but you love me.” At least she doesn’t try to deny it.
“That I do, Pig. That I do.” We both laugh at my cheesy
reference and move on.
“Really, I think that you just need to be yourself. I mean,
nobody would expect that somebody like you could be the way you are.”
I wrinkle my eyebrows. “That made zero sense.”
“Yeah, but you know what I meant.” She rolls her eyes.
“Um, actually, I’m not sure that I do.” I admit.
“You come across as Anna: this shy, quiet, sweet girl. But
as soon as somebody gets to know you, they get introduced to Annie: the loud,
funny, strong person that you truly are,” she ends fondly.
“Awww, you love me. You really love me!” I squeal, pulling
her into an obnoxious hug. Even though I’m being sarcastic, what she said is
true.
“Of course I do, Shrek,” she says. The nickname started when
we were stretched out on my couch watching Shrek one night and Ro said, “Yo,
Annie, you’re totally like Shrek! You’re all fierce and never let people get
close to you.” I told her that if I was Shrek, she was Donkey.
“I love you too, Donkey.” And I laugh as she tries to escape
my hug.
The carnival is technically open until ten at night, but by nine
thirty all of the games have closed down and everyone is waiting for fireworks.
Well, I’m not. Aurora and I got out of there as soon as Mom came to tell us we
could go.
Since Ro is working the night shift at Starbucks, I’m home
alone watching
Roseanne
reruns on the TV Land channel.
Roseanne
is my guilty pleasure. I’ve loved it since I was little—long before I realized
how obnoxious her laugh is. I realize how tragic it is that I’m so into the
episode that I barely register my phone ringing. “Hello?” I ask, still
distracted by the TV.
It actually takes me a few seconds to realize it’s not Ro on
the other end. “Wait, what?” I ask.
“Um, this is Brayden . . .” He pauses,
clearly waiting for me to say something. I can’t though. I am too amazed that he
actually called. He starts talking again.
“I don’t know if you remember me but I was at the carnival
and you helped my nephew, Zander. He, uhh . . . he wanted a
monkey?” He sounds uncomfortable, nervous even.
I shake my head and nod, only to realize that he can’t see
that. “Uh, I remember you,” I answer brilliantly.
The voice on the other end of the line perks up. “You do?”
I let out a small laugh.
“Yes. I remember you. You were there with your brother,
Landon, right? You wore a green hat with an A’s symbol on it.” I smack my
forehead. Wow, I sound like a total stalker.
“Yeah, that was me!” He actually sounds happy, which makes
me blush and somehow feel relieved. I’m not sure what to say now, so we just
kind of stay silent for a moment. Brayden starts talking again.
“So, uh, your name is Anna, yeah?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I echo.
As soon as the word leaves my mouth, my elbow accidentally
bumps the “Mute” button on the remote and suddenly my whole room is filled with
laughter from the TV.
I hear his soft snort of amusement before he asks, “Is that
Roseanne
?”
I blush darker and bite my lip, wondering if he’d just give
up on me and hang up if I admit this to him. “Yeah, it is,” I say, mortified
that the hottest guy in the world knows my secret.
“That’s cute,” he says finally.
That throws me for a loop, but I don’t have time to
contemplate his words too much when he continues with, “I’m actually watching
it too. TV Land, right?” he asks.
My eyes widen and my jaw drops. “You watch
Roseanne
?”
“Well, generally only when nothing else is on, but yeah,” he
admits softly.
“So, what else do you like to watch?” I blurt. Somehow, I
can tell that he’s smiling.
“I like watching sports, and that one tattoo show. Uh, I’m
not gonna lie . . . sometimes I find myself watching
cartoons too.” His voice is laced with sincere amusement at his confession.
“I love cartoons,” I reassure him.
“Really? Which ones?” he asks.
“Um, well as a kid I loved
Rugrats
, and I still do. I
like
Scooby-Doo
, and
Looney Tunes
is good too,” I say, smiling at
the onset of childhood memories. “You?”
“I was always a huge fan of
The Flintstones
and
The
Jetsons
. Uhh . . .
Spongebob
is always great.”
I laugh. “You like
Spongebob
?”
“Of course! Who doesn’t?” he scoffs, playfully.
“The only time I watch it is if my brother makes me. But I
have a TV in my bedroom, so that isn’t often.”
“You have a brother?” he asks, his interest swinging
suddenly.
I find myself flattered by his curiosity. “And a sister.”
“Cool, how old are they?”
“Lena is nineteen and Matt is sixteen.”
“And you?” he asks, softer this time.
“I’m eighteen. How about you?”