Ravelment by Beck Lalko

Beck Lalko

Hearts Like Ours

Every seven years when the sky is so blue and bright it hurts to look at and the fields that are marshy in the spring are so dry that the yellow grass turns to dust as soon as you set foot on it, the carnival comes to town. It comes to town quietly; one day there’s nothing, just an empty field, and then there are tents and lights and rides and a host of people waiting to welcome you.

It’s been that way as long as anyone can remember.

This is the year it returns, and I’ve spent all summer waiting: Every blisteringly hot, sticky humid day bringing me closer to the day I’d wake up to see the posters announcing the impending arrival.

The last time it was in town, I was ten years old. It was in town for four days, and I spent the first three begging my daddy to take me. By the time he relented, it was the last night of festivities and most of the prizes were picked through. That didn’t matter, though. The memories are still full color, even now at seventeen.

Mostly, I remember the rides. They’re rickety old things: the kiddie coaster that sends everything near it rattling as it passes, the Ferris wheel that can’t make a complete revolution without stuttering enough that the cars swing, the Tunnel of Love that everybody’s mama forbids them from being seen on, and the huge old merry-go-round with its wonderful music and flaking gold paint. Unlike the yearly county fair where everything is either from some church basement or on loan from a company that makes sure everything is state-certified, everything at the carnival is extravagant and brilliant and a little bit dangerous.

The only thing I didn’t see was the freak show, and that was ‘cause my daddy didn’t think that was the kind of thing you take a little girl to see. As if it wasn’t going to be a tent full of people in costumes with skin conditions or bad prosthetics .

The kind of begging it took to convince my parents that I should go this time could go into some history book, but I’m not about to dwell on the promises I’ll have to keep. The only thing that matters is that I’m going. I have on my favorite pair of jean shorts and a striped green button-up and my beat-up hiking boots, and now all I have to do is lace the boots and wait for Louisa to pick me up.

I stretch my legs down the creaky wooden stairs of my front porch and pull the laces tight through the hooks of the boots . Though the day’s nearly over, the sun still beats down hot on my bare forearms and all I can think about is getting some shaved ice .

I hear Louisa before I see her on account of the ancient Pontiac she drives . Enbarr comes into view, sleek and shockingly yellow as always. I can’t look at it without thinking it looks like it’s got two huge nostrils, but I know better than to mention it to Louisa again . The streets out here aren’t paved, so she’s got a miasma of dust surrounding her like the moment’s being played back on grainy film from 1970 when the car was brand new.

She eases it up the gravel driveway and I call through the screen door to let my parents know I’m leaving. This is met with a twoperson chorus of goodbyes and demands that I come back at a reasonable time .

Enbarr coasts to a stop, the cloud of dust settling through the roar of the engine doesn’t fade. The name is from a story, and it doesn’t disappoint.

The driver’s side window rolls down slowly, and Louisa hangs her head out to grin at me .

She takes a moment to slide a tiny pair of red sunglasses up into her strawberry blonde

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hair before she turns the radio down. Like Louisa herself, the sunglasses are a little too stylish for this town; she got them when she was visiting her dad in Charleston.

“Come on!” She has to shout to be heard over the grumbling of the idling engine. Even without the noise of the car, I couldn’t blame her for yelling . Her grandma forbids her to go to the carnival . Seven years ago, I got to go, and she had to wait until the next day at recess for me to tell her about it .

I jump down from the porch, landing solid in the gravel . She rolls her eyes at this and watches me jog over to the passenger side with interest. As always, I marvel at how heavy the door is, and both the door and I groan as I pull it open . The inside of the car is dark vinyl, only just starting to crack with age. I have to knock the cache of soda cans and fast-food wrappers from the passenger seat before I can sit .

Inside, it smells like gasoline and Louisa’s jasmine perfume and that faint musty odor old cars get no matter how much you try to keep it at bay .

“I thought you loved this car,” I say, gesturing to the trash .

She pats the console with the fondness of someone encouraging a horse . “She doesn’t mind.”

With that, she throws the car into reverse and swings out of my driveway with all the finesse of a getaway driver. She operates on the belief that Enbarr can outrun anything. She’ll tell anyone who will listen about the time she outran a cop to avoid a ticket, though she usually leaves out the part where the cop had been sitting in a speed trap in his station wagon.

I reach for the radio . My choices of music are between the four static-filled AM stations the car manages to pull or cassette . The Best of Johnny Cash has been stuck in the player

since Louisa’s uncle put it in back in ‘94. Luckily the player reads in both directions or we’d be listening to the same forty-five minutes of music instead of the same ninety.

Louisa rolls the windows down as “Ring of Fire” starts, trumpets flaring out into the late summer afternoon. Countryside passes by in a green and yellow blur. The sky overhead is blue and completely cloudless, the sun a gold, unblinking eye in the west. It’s too early for any of the heat of the day to have dissipated, but the old AC does a decent job of keeping us cool, even if the cold air doesn’t smell all that great.

“Gramma should know where we’re going,” Louisa says, laughing. She’s got a laugh like wind chimes, all cheerful and musical .

“I don’t see what her problem is.”

Louisa takes a turn like she wants the car to flip. “She says back when she was young, people went missing at the carnival . ”

“Did she say ‘back in my day?’”

“No, but I could tell she wanted to. Anyway, she’s convinced that if I go to the carnival, I’m going to get taken away.”

“Are you?”

“Not a chance. I’ve got you with me.”

“Oh, sure .

“Yeah,” she says, serious . Then she shrugs . “So what’ll we do first?”

“Whatever we want.”

Less Ordinary

There’s no parking lot—just a field of crackling yellow grass and the distant sound of the highway that isn’t visible through the trees. The carnival’s always set up here, as long as anyone can remember . Years before anyone ever thought they’d pour a highway through this part of the state. The first townsfolk to come see the show probably rode in on horses .

blue sky . Enbarr joins the ranks, the bright yellow nearly hard to look at in the glare of the sun .

Louisa sighs dreamily the moment we’re out of the car . “Do you smell that?”

I tilt my head back and take a huge draw of humid air . I sigh and close my eyes, just imagining the foods I’m smelling. Kettle corn and hot dogs, funnel cake and fries—sugar and salt in the air like perfume .

From the field, I can hear the carnival: the music swinging merrily along at 3/4 time, the whoosh and rattle of the old rides, the ringing of bells that mean someone’s won a prize, and the laughter and shouts of the folk in attendance. I’d run to it, but Louisa has a routine to go through .

I lean my hip to the passenger door and wait. It’s no use to rush her through making sure the car’s as comfortable as possible. She locks it, then gives the handle a firm tug as if anyone’s ever gotten their car stolen in this town, then circles the whole thing so she knows when and where all the dents or scratches are from . Not that there are many; she buffs them out immediately and religiously .

When she’s satisfied, we head towards the sounds. We’re late to the show, so we’re half a dozen rows of cars back from the entrance . That might not seem like much, but it’s ninety degrees out, so I’ve worked u p a good sweat by the time we make it to the gates .

The whole thing is surrounded by movable segments of gray chain link fence, but everything’s draped in great red-and-white striped fabric. It should be gaudy, but it’s not. There are fluttering pennants and strings of perfectly round not-yet-lit lights .

A whole world of wonder lies beyond the conical turrets that rise up on either side of the entrance, letters spelling out CARNIVAL hanging in the space between. A tall man in a pinstripe vest and tall stovepipe hat stands at the base of the left tower, his whitesleeved arms curled to his arms like a praying mantis. He’s got a pointed goatee and a smile like a cartoon devil .

“Welcome, ladies!” he booms . He unfurls his arms to grab a shiny black cane and gestures around grandly . “To go beyond these gates is to enter another world. You will see sights that will amaze and delight, terrify and enrapture. Once you enter, you will never be the same .”

Louisa laughs, already amazed and delighted .

The man takes off his hat and bows. “To enter, you only need to tell me your name .

Before I can even open my mouth, Louisa says, “I’m Lily, and that’s Anne.”

I glance at her, but her eyes are firmly on the greeter .

“Excellent,” he crows, grinning. His face is perfectly white except for his eyes and his lips and his gums .

Despite the heat, I shiver .

He points between the turrets with his cane, still grinning . “Be sure to enjoy yourselves!”

I take Louisa’s hand and we walk past him together .

The whole world blooms in front of me, a riot of color. Rides blur with motion and throngs of familiar people gathered around the games, cheering each other on or commiserating when someone lost. The ground is still the dying grass of the field, but it feels different, less ordinary.

Louisa clings to my hand in silence for a moment, mouth open as she observes the scene around us .

“Much different than the county fair,” I say.

She laughs, tossing her head back a little . “It doesn’t smell like cows here.”

“C’mon,” I say, dragging her in farther. “You promised me some shaved ice . ”

“I did not .”

But she lets me drag her to the stand anyway. They have a million different flavors, all the way from simple cherry and blue raspberry to mango and elderberry. A woman with bright red hair smiles warmly at us.

“What will it be?” she asks.

“Green apple,” Louisa says .

I stare at the list a moment longer. “I’ll try the elderberry .”

With a nod, the worker turns to scoop the glittering ice into red paper cups for us before generously pouring syrup . The green apple syrup is predictably pale green . The elderberry is a rich purple, the kind of color that will stay on my teeth and tongue for hours .

Louisa pays and thanks the woman and I grab two little black plastic spoons.

We decide to eat and walk, Louisa carefully accepting the spoon from me . The elderberry flavor is strange and wonderful, sweet and earthy . And cold . Most importantly cold .

“So,” I say as we stand to watch the Ferris wheel, “what was that about with our names?”

A little crease appears between her dark eyebrows when she turns to look at me. “I don’t know,” she says slowly. “Just a bit of superstition, I guess . She nods . “Yeah . She said giving people your name gives em power over you. Or something like that. It’s not like we’re going to see the guy again . ”

“Alright,” I relent. There’s no use arguing with advice her grandmother gave her, least of all when it comes to superstition.

She puts the last spoonful of shaved ice into her mouth, her lips closing around the spoon like she’s trying to savor it. She turns her head to me, the crease in between her brows returning . “I should tell you that I promised to meet Andy at seven .”

I stifle a groan.

Golden boy Andy, who is perpetually leading the football team to victory, who can’t be bothered to turn in assignments or talk to anyone who isn’t in a letterman jacket or cheerleading skirt, is probably the last person I’d like to hang out with at the carnival. But he’s Louisa’s boyfriend—at least until they argue again—so it’s not like I have much choice .

“Oh, don’t make that face,” she says, knocking her shoulder into mine. “We’ll have fun. I promise .

“Of course,” I say, dredging up my best smile .

She looks at me brightly and says, “Let’s ride some rides . ”

I finish my shaved ice. “We need tickets.”

“Right there,” she says, pointing to a ticket stand .

We throw our cups away and head for the stand . We split the cost of a book of tickets, and she tucks them into her pocket with a grin .

I want to argue that I’m no good with heights, but if we spend time debating what ride to go on, I’ll miss my time with her before Andy shows up.

A group of people from our school wait in line, and we chat with them while we watch the thing spin. It’s terrifying, especially with all the audible creaking. It’s a couple stories tall, shaped like a mushroom or an umbrella . The whole thing is surrounded by dull fences like a corral for animals .

A bored-looking attendant in an outrageously red shirt unclips the gate and motions for the next group to go on in. We put our tickets into a huge red tin bucket with a tiny slot on the top .

The body of the swings is painted with colorful natural scenes. A whole zoo of animals is on display in environments from sweltering jungles with big cats to quiet pastures with grazing sheep . Louisa hauls herself into the basket of one swing in front of a peacock, and I take the seat next to her. “Fasten the lap bar and don’t swing yourself into your neighbors,” the attendant says from a small booth before he and another worker make their rounds to check the clips.

If I reached out, I could take Louisa’s hand. She grins at me, not noticing my fingers are pressed white to the chain that will hold me a million feet up in the air…

I press my eyes closed as the bell sounds the all clear to move .

The machine in the heart of the tower whirs to life, and I have to lift my legs to keep my boots from dragging. Slowly at first, we circle. Then, we jerk higher and spin faster. Next to me, Louisa is laughing .

I fight the urge to keep my eyes pressed as tight as they’ll go to look out at the world around me. We’re only fifteen feet off the ground, but it feels like miles . I can see the whole of the carnival and the rows of parked cars—and Louisa. I turn my head to look at her, ignoring the scenery. She’s smiling and laughing, her arms spread out like she’s flying under her own power, her hair coppery in the evening light .

Soon, they’ll turn the lights on, and this place will be a wonderland.

The swings slow and we begin our descent in choppy intervals . My feet hit the ground softly. Next to me, Louisa already has the clip on the lap bar undone .

She stands and undoes mine for me, raising the bar so I can wriggle out of the seat. If she notices I’m unsteady on my feet, she doesn’t say. I’m grateful.

“Don’t look now,” she whispers, “but that guy over there is checking you out . ”

Before I can argue that he’s probably looking at her, I turn to glance in the direction she indicated to see a tall, dark-haired stranger staring at me. He’s dressed in a dark gray

shirt and blue jeans with black cowboy boots peeking out under the hem . Even though most of the workers are in red shirts, he seems to be one of them, animatedly chatting with the attendant of the swings—or he was, until he caught me returning his gaze.

I stumble into Louisa in a failing effort to appear normal .

Louisa sighs noisily . “I told you not to look .

“Well, I didn’t think he was actually looking at me .

“Give yourself some credit,” she says, slinging her arm across my shoulders. “You know what you need?”

“What do I need?”

“To see the freak show.”

“Oh, thanks .”

She rolls her eyes . “Come on .”

The freak show is in a huge tent all the way in the back of the carnival. It’s about two stories tall, with red and white stripes, some of the colors sun-bleached or dusty . Louisa giggles and heads for the dark mouth of the tent .

Huge hand-painted signs promise characters such as Lobster Boy, but also a mermaid and a wolfman and a lady with an extra set of arms .

At the entrance, a lady waits. She’s as tall and thin as the man who took our names, her face just as white. Her eyes are flat black, and she smiles slowly as we approach.

She doesn’t lay it on quite as thick: “Five dollars a person .

Louisa pays for both of us and takes my arm . My eyes take a moment to adjust to the dim light . Inside, the tent is divided into rooms, I head to the left, taking Louisa with me.

Supposedly, around the corner will be the world’s oldest man. What he’s doing traveling the United States in a carnival, I have no idea .

The hall gives way to a small room. A man sits back on a recliner; there’s just enough space for spectators to walk past the chair. It’s a tattered recliner, the edges of it fraying. The small, wrinkled man leans back into the chair with ease of practice it seems. He has no hair, and he’s wearing fancy blue pajamas, the buttons done all the way up to his chin. Aside from the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes, he does not move .

“What do you think?” Louisa whispers. “He’s made of rubber, right?”

Before I can answer, he barks a laugh, and the recliner swallows a little more of him. His open eyes are surprisingly bright, nearly scary compared to the sallowness of his skin. He raises a skeletal hand and points at the room’s exit.

Louisa grabs my hand and pulls me after her .

The plaque in the hallway claims he’s nearly two hundred years old. Away from him, it’s hard to feel quite so creeped out . After all, he was probably just someone’s grandfather.

The next room of the tent is set up like a bedroom for the four-handed woman, with a bed and an antique patterned rug . The woman sits at an ornate vanity, brushing her hair and applying makeup with the aid of two extra hands. Her movements are smooth and steady, never faltering like I imagine something mechanical would.

She waves with all four hands and then sets about lining her lips with bright red lipstick.

The corridor is short and dark, and the floor is just gray dust . My heart beats double time in my chest, though I don’t think I’m afraid.

There’s a flap of tent we have to pull aside to see Lobster Boy and the mermaid .

This room is brightly lit, a glass tank full of murky water against the back wall. The tank is about the size of a small car, the water lapping the edges like something is moving around in the darkness .

Lobster Boy sits at a table, sorting through trash. He’s a little older than a boy, with a receding hairline and bright red reading glasses, but he does indeed have pincers. It’s not that his fingers are fused; the skin at his wrists puckers into the smooth, hard shell of a lobster, dark blue speckled with black.

“Hello,” he greets .

“Hello,” I reply, feeling unsteady .

He picks up an empty Pepsi can gently with one claw and holds it up. “Ready?”

We nod .

In one quick movement, he not only crushes the can top to bottom but shears it in half too. He laughs and tosses the two halves of crushed can to the floor to join a pile of other destroyed things .

“Can you do it again?” Louisa asks .

He stares a moment before seeming to realize she’s being serious. “Of course. Here, pick something .

Louisa saunters forward to the table and its pile of objects; she picks a length of copper pipe. He accepts it from her with a flourish and then sets about bending it into a sharp cornered square . He returns it to Louisa “Real mermaid,” he says, jerking his head in the direction of the tank .

I walk up to the glass and peer into it. The last time I saw a mermaid at a carnival, it was just some lady in a bikini top with a rubber fishtail, merrily swimming around in a tank of perfectly clear water.

“Sometimes she’s a little nasty,” Lobster Boy reports, standing . He heads over to a cooler and produces a foul-smelling gray fish about the size of my forearm . Without preamble, he tosses it into the tank .

The fish barely hits the water before the creature appears to snatch it . The mermaid is child-sized, with dull dark green skin and flat black eyes the size of fists.

Its fingers are stubby and connected by translucent webbing, ending in claws that it uses to hold the fish. It bites the head off the fish with a mouth full of rows of jagged white teeth, and it chews, peering out at us without any discernible emotion .

I don’t need to see the tail to know that it’s not made of rubber . The hair on the back of my neck stands up, what sweat had accumulated in the heat of the day suddenly freezing on the back of my neck .

“Is that real?” I ask .

“What is real?” he asks, head cocked . Lobster Boy laughs. “Of course she’s real. Vicious too. I’d advise you to take a few steps back.”

Louisa and I scramble away from the tank and the mermaid’s intent stare.

I turn to look at him, trying not to think about the mermaid’s teeth or his claws. “Where’s she from?”

he says, sounding bored . Then the grin returns . “There are more things to see through that door .

Louisa and I mumble our farewells, and then we’re back in the dim hallway, blinking the light out of our eyes .

Louisa says, her voice strange and taut, “Gramma always believed in things like this.”

I want to point out that her gramma also believed that leaving a bowl of cream on the porch every evening would bring her good luck instead of stray cats and flies, but I don’t.

“Come on,” she says, though she doesn’t sound quite as bold as she had when we first came inside. “We have to see the wolfman.”

The last room. We’ve gone around the edges of the tent; after this, we’ll be back at the entrance .

I hold the flap for Louisa and then go in myself .

This room is dark, the floor piled with rugs.

And, sitting with his back to us, a creature with the body of a man and the head of a wolf. His ears twitch and he turns. There’s no way.

The shaggy fur of his head disappears into the collar of his t-shirt, the rest of him completely normal as he wrestles with the Gameboy in his hands. He can’t be much older than us, but there’s no way to tell. He’s got the head of a wolf, his yellow eyes fixed on the game .

Neither Louisa nor I say anything . We don’t exactly run, but we’re at the exit in record time .

A moment later we’re out in the golden evening light, grass beneath our feet . We stand there vaguely panting, and part of me wants to laugh. If it weren’t for the dark of the tent, I’m afraid that it would.

Louisa finally shakes herself, but she doesn’t meet my eye. “Let’s go find Andy.”

For once, I don’t have any objection to that.

Don’t Be Stupid

We find Andy at the base of the Ferris wheel, his arms crossed over the front of his DIY sleeveless shirt .

“Louisa!” he crows. Once they’re united, he sweeps her into the kind of kiss I look away from.

“Glad you’re here,” she says, grinning from ear to ear .

“Yeah. This place is awesome.” He gestures around in a grand sweep, his eyes landing on me . To me, he says, “Hey . ”

I raise my hand in a half-hearted wave. “Hey, Andy . ”

He nods, then his attention is back on Louisa . He takes her hands . “Want to ride the Ferris wheel?”

“Sure,” Louisa agrees. “I’d love to.”

I have to tilt my head all the way back to see to the top—an orange car is swinging precariously at the summit—and my stomach squeezes. “I’ll sit this one out.”

Andy smirks like I’m doing this to give them alone time, but Louisa turns to me looking disappointed . “You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Never mind the things we just saw.

Then I watch them disappear into the line. I stand there for a moment, watching the sun sink towards setting.

I scan my surroundings. There are a few game stands; one game is the kind where you shoot water into a clown’s open mouth, another is a game of darts and balloons, and the final one has a wall of colorful plates and a pyramid of baseballs .

Grinning, I head for that one .

There’s a little crowd gathered, watching some guy who I think graduated back in June. The man behind the counter has a red shirt and deeply tan skin and turns his head as I approach. For a second, I could’ve sworn that his eyes had no pupils, but then he’s looking right at me, and I brush aside the notion .

“Three baseballs for a dollar,” he says .

I glance up at the prizes: neat lines of stuffed animals . There are zebras and lions and parrots and piglets and a few things that look like knock-off Pokemon. I slide a crumpled dollar bill from my wallet and straighten it against the counter before handing it over .

I pick up a baseball and test the weight in my hand. A few summers of softball tell me that as long as the plates aren’t glued down, I can probably score one of the stuffed dogs.

The ball hits the shelf, though not harmlessly. The bright green plate I’d been aiming for wobbles. One solid hit to the middle and it will go down.

The second ball I throw hits the plate smack in the center . It breaks apart loudly and the plaster falls to the ground with a muffled thud. There’s a smattering of applause.

“Good job,” the worker says, nodding. “Take your pick .

I point to the stuffed dog. Its fur is sage green and fluffy. He unhooks it from its

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place and hands it to me. It’s got a clip on it, so I put it on one of the belt loops on my shorts where it smacks my leg as I walk like a holstered weapon.

I turn around and nearly collide with the boy who’d been staring at me before. He reaches out to steady me, his hand on my elbow to keep me from toppling into him . It probably isn’t fair to call him a boy; he’s at least a year or two older than me, his face lean and his shoulders wide.

“My apologies,” he says once I’ve recovered.

“Were you following me?”

He shakes his head . Without a discernible accent, he says, “No. I saw you before, but I’ve been here with the games the whole time. Apologies if I frightened you…”

Before I can think better of it, I finish: “Anne.”

“I’m Owen. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

He shakes my hand lightly and it’s too late to take back the name Louisa made up for me . I decide to change the subject. “You’re not from around here .”

“The way you dress for one thing. And how you’re talking so fast.”

“I’ll have to remember that for next time I’m in town,” he says with a sly grin. He shifts his weight from one leg to the other and studies my face . “Let me buy you a funnel cake . ”

“Alright. I just have to tell my friend I’m going off on my own.”

He nods and follows me to the base of the Ferris wheel to wait for Louisa. She and Andy exit the ride a moment later, laughing and holding hands. The smile falters when she sees me standing next to Owen.

“Hey,” I say, waving them over. “I’ll rejoin you guys later, alright?”

Andy just gives me a thumbs up, but Louisa narrows her eyes.

“We’ll meet you back here in an hour,” she says .

“Sure,” I say .

She gives me a pointed look and I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Then I’m following Owen away from them and the Ferris wheel.

He doesn’t take me to the funnel cake stand I noticed on the way in. Instead, we head for a stand that also sells fries .

My freshman year history teacher is in line, and she strikes up a conversation about what classes I’ll be taking next year. I tell her the bits of my schedule I remember and try to introduce Owen to her without tripping over my words.

He orders for us, and a few seconds later, he’s being handed the largest funnel cake I’ve ever seen. The edges of it hang over the edge of the red paper plate, the powdered sugar leaving smears on his fingers. I grab a handful of brown napkins.

We find a bench and sit down. He crosses his long legs in front of him neatly .

“You first,” he offers, holding the funnel cake out for me .

I take hold and pull the thick lace of it apart with my fingers. It’s hot enough that I have to blow on it before I put it in my mouth. The powdered sugar melts sweetly on my tongue. It’s fluffy and perfectly cooked, crispy on the outside and soft on the inside .

“Wow,” I manage.

He grins . “Right?”

I watch as he takes some for himself, watch the way his lips move as he chews. He’s got high cheekbones and long black eyelashes, the kind that girls wish for. His hair is swept back from his face, wispy strands escaping whatever product he’s got in it at his temples .

“So,” I say when the funnel cake is half gone, “where are you from?”

“Everywhere,” he says grandly. When I raise my eyebrows, he laughs. “My folks have been in the carnival circuit forever. I grew up on the road .”

My eyes go wide. “That sounds nice. Really. I’ve been here my whole life.”

“I can’t imagine that,” he says, “but I can show you the best side of the carnival .

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah .” He smiles, and I forget that after this weekend, he won’t be in town again for another seven years—if he comes back at all. By that time, I’ll be twenty-four; hopefully, I’ll be far from here, graduated from college or something .

But for tonight, I can pretend that I don’t have another year of high school and I’ll have a date for the prom, and Andy might either turn into a decent guy or break up with Louisa for good.

“Come on,” he says, folding the oil-splotched paper plate in on itself and standing. “Let’s see a show.”

I lick the remaining powdered sugar from my lips and let him help me to my feet. “Let’s.”

Three Kinds

The crowd gives a final raucous cheer for the acrobats, and the girl suspended in the air by nothing but red silk does what she can to bow before letting herself drop to the floor. She catches herself at the last second by some mechanic I can’t begin to fathom.

Owen takes my hand and guides me through the crush of bodies pressing towards the tent’s exit with sure feet. Outside, the sun is in the final stage of setting and the lights come on .

The heat of the day dissipates into twilight, the hot white sun replaced by thousands of twinkling lights. I watch it all with wonder and he stands there watching me.

I’m not the only one in awe; gasps rise throughout the crowd. No matter how bold and colorful things are in the daytime, there’s something charming and mysterious about everything as dusk settles . The calliope seems louder, the sweetness of cotton candy and kettle corn richer in the air .

“After I came here when I was a kid, Louisa and I used to spend hours and hours pretending we were going to run away to join you,” I say, still marveling at the lights as we walk. “We hadn’t thought that far ahead,” I admit. “We just wanted to ride the rides and play the games and eat the food. I’m not sure it would have worked out.”

He laughs, ducking to avoid a man on stilts as he barrels past .

“If you joined today, I’m sure we could find a job for you . You could help set up camp . You could help man a game stand . You could be one of the acrobats. Or you could always tend the carousel horses .”

If Louisa were here, she’d probably crack a joke about how we’d be freaks in the freak show, but I shiver just thinking about that tent. I blink at Owen. “Is that what you do?”

He grins, all teeth. “You’d be surprised how much tending they need . I can introduce you if you’d like.”

“Sure,” I say, intent to play along .

Together, we walk toward the carousel. His feet are sure, and I have the music to follow.

“Does it ever get lonely traveling all the time?” I ask .

He shakes his head . “Not at all . The folk here are my family .

“That sounds nice . ”

“It’s the best,” he says, without a hint of irony. He shrugs . “Does it get boring to live in one town all your life?”

“Absolutely. But it’s alright with Louisa. I think I’d go crazy if not for her.”

“It’s good to have friends like that.”

Before I can ask him about his friends— or his parents for that matter—we’re at the carousel .

was for kids, but standing in front of it, it’s impossible to think of it as anything but beautiful. It’s not like the other rides, which could be from any fair .

It has its own gravity, like a permanent installation, though I’ve seen this field without it and will see it bare again. The platform is dark wood, scuffed from years of use. The roof has gilded finials, brightly painted flowers hugging every intricate curve of the wood. I blush before I even process what he’s said. “I think I’ll be alright.”

When we’re let onto the ride, he heads for a specific horse and waits by it until I catch up. It’s gorgeous, its body solid white. The saddle is black and tooled to look like real leather; the saddle blanket beneath it is bright jewel green . It has a gentle face, despite the fact that it’s got a pole through its back.

The horses are huge and lovely, their red tongues curling and the whites of their eyes flashing. There’s terror in their eyes, despite all the splendor and loveliness surrounding them. It’s hard to count them as it spins, but there are three horses in each row, all of them different except for the bells on their bridles . “This one is for you,” he says, taking my hand just long enough to help me up .

Then he mounts the horse to my left, a chestnut horse with gray tack . Its face is just a little more fierce than its neighbors, with narrowed eyes and its teeth on display. All of its feet are suspended off the floor in a gallop.

I follow Owen to the line, and he stands with his hands in his pockets, staring at the horses .

“American carousels spin counter-clockwise,” he says . “In England, you mount the horse from the left just as you would a living one.” “There are three kinds of carousel horses,” he says as the attendant warns us not to dismount while moving. “Jumpers like mine, standing figures like yours, and prancers, with two feet on the ground and two off. We don’t have any of those on this carousel.”

“Thanks for giving me a standing one .”

“Real horses freak me out,” I admit . “I heard about some lady getting trampled when I was a kid and I haven’t been able to ride one since .”

He looks at me quizzically for a moment, and I realize it’s because I said real while he said living. It only flickers across his face for an inHe laughs musically . “You deserve a horse on the outside row. The side that faces the crowd is the romance side, after all.”

I flush. Nothing witty pops into my head, so I just smile to myself and hold onto the brass pole as the carousel begins to spin .

It’s not as smooth as the carousel at the county fair, but the music is better. It’s got an organ at the heart, pumping out bright music with booming percussion. The bells on the horses chime as we move, adding to the music .

I press my fingers into the grooves of the carved mane, tracing the whorls as it billows solidly. Between the heat of the day and the constant presence of riders, the horse is warm as any living thing beneath the bare skin of my calves . I hug my knees to its sides, wondering for the first time about what it would be like to ride a real horse. Seeing the chipped gold horseshoes on the one raised hoof of the wooden beast beneath me, I forget I’m afraid.

I hazard a glance at Owen. He’s watching me, grinning .

“Is the carousel your favorite?” I ask .

He nods. “It’s the oldest ride we have.”

“And you still let people ride it?” I ask, running my fingers along the intricate painting over the pommel of the saddle .

He looks at me quizzically. “That’s what it’s for.”

“Yeah, but if it’s old…”

“That’s not what we believe. It’s a thing to be enjoyed until it falls apart,” he says slowly. Then he shrugs. “You know, after the crowd leaves, we usually have a little party for the folk who work the carnival. I’m sure you could join us .”

“I’ll think about it.”

He smiles, sweet as an angel.

When the ride stops, Owen reverently presses his hand to the neck of his horse before dismounting. We’re swept into the crowd before I can comment. “Of course,” he agrees, steering us through the crowd to the Ferris wheel.

Sure enough, under the newly glowing Ferris wheel, Louisa and Andy are waiting for me.

“You’re ten minutes late!” Louisa says.

“I’m sorry,” I reply, jogging the rest of the way over to her. “We saw a show and lost track of time .”

She frowns. “Well. How late do you plan on staying?”

“Uh .”

Owen clears his throat. “I can give you a ride home if you’d like.”

“I have a car,” Louisa snaps . To me, she says, “I just have to know a time.”

“Right,” I agree. “I’m not sure. I’m having a really good time and—”

“The carnival closes at nine,” she reminds me .

“Can I talk to you alone?” I ask .

She presses her lips together and nods, and we leave Andy and Owen to their own devices.

“What is your problem?” I demand as soon as we’re far enough from anyone to be overheard .

She shakes her head. “My problem? I didn’t know if he kidnapped you or something! I didn’t tell you an hour to be cute, you know!”

“Kidnapped! He works with the carnival.”

She rolls her eyes. “I know he’s attractive, but you have to think about this .

“Oh my god,” I marvel. “You’re jealous. You have every boy in town on your heels, and I finally get someone to look at me for more than five minutes and you’re jealous.”

“Don’t be nasty,” she says sharply. Then she sighs, raking her hair back from her face. “I’m not jealous. I’m worried .

“I’m fine, Louisa. Anyway, I was going to stay for the after party. I’ll just ask him to give me a ride .”

“Is this about Andy being here? You could have just told me you didn’t want to hang out with him.”

“You already planned to meet him . Jesus, Louisa, I’m not going to ask you to give up your boyfriend for me .

She frowns. “You don’t have to rely on a stranger for fun . Or to take you home . Come on, D . Please .

“I’ll call you later,” I say. “When I get home.”

I turn and walk away, grabbing Owen’s arm as I storm away.

“You alright?” he asks .

“Fine,” I say . “Tell me about the party…?”

All The Pretty Girls Can’t Measure to You

“Are you sure this is alright?” I ask .

Owen meets my eyes and shrugs. “It’s fine.”

We’re watching the crowd filter out. Slowly, the noise of the carnival dies down. Bells cease ringing, people stop shouting, and the rattle and whoosh of the rides cuts out when the last riders exit.

I can’t help but think I should be part of that exiting crowd, no matter what he says . I probably should have gone home with Louisa. “Anne,” he says levelly, “we’re going to have fun . ”

It takes me a long moment to react; I’d nearly forgotten the name I told him. It’s too late to take it back now, though. God, he’d think I’m a loser, especially if I told him it’s because my best friend’s grandmother is superstitious.

“I sure hope so,” I agree .

He laughs . “Come on .

We start heading towards the center of the carnival, where the lights overhead remind me of a huge glittering spider web.

This is where everyone’s gathered. There are the red-shirted ride and the game stand operators, the acrobats in their bright skin-tight costumes, and dozens of others, all of them dressed strangely .

For a moment, I swear I see something darting between the stalls, but it’s gone by the time I focus on it .

Everything is bright and lovely: the rainbow assortment of stalls, the red and white pennants everywhere, the fantastical costumes of some of the performers .

I feel grossly underdressed, but Owen takes my hand and leads me farther in .

The calliope starts up, accompanied by a fiddle played by a man in a patchwork jester costume, the bells on his hat jingling as he saws at the strings.

Around us, the carnival folk pair off and begin dancing, all of them laughing and smiling .

“May I have this dance?” Owen asks, bowing deeply to me .

“I don’t know how.”

He guides my hand to his shoulder and puts his hand on my waist, strange and formal. Then he pulls me into the dance .

He’s got his hands on my waist and we move one-two-three one-two-three to the music. I’ve never danced like this. Usually, when I dance, it’s without anyone’s hands on me, and I’m just moving to trample grass in a field. This is all deliberate. This is a very Louisa thing to do .

I wonder what she’d think of this—of me dancing with a beautiful boy.

I shake my head to clear it and focus on Owen.

“You’re a fine dancer,” he says, leading me around the clearing without seeming to think about his movements .

I flush. I don’t trust myself to reply. It’s all I can do not to stumble or step on his toes .

He smiles at me as if he knows this.

I glance up at the lights and the night sky above us . The sky is dark blue, not black, and the moon is perfectly round and full, a halo of light around it .

I haven’t been so happy in ages.

After a few revolutions around the central clearing of the carnival, Owen breaks off from the group and moves for a table of food .

There’s a little of everything. There are carnival foods like cotton candy and funnel cake and bowls of shaved ice and roasted nuts, but there are also things that weren’t for sale: farmer’s market fresh fruit and strange fruit I have no name for, platters of huge drumsticks and something dark and sliced . There’s fresh bread and pastries, the smell “Wow,” I say, looking at all the food. Usually, when there’s this much food, it’s all barbecue .

“Come on and get a plate .”

I pick up one of the unidentified fruits. It’s the size of an apple, though it’s warm to the touch, the skin of it thick and gold. It’s soft like an overripe peach .

I lift it to my mouth and sink my teeth in . The sweet juice fills my mouth immediately. Inside, it’s pulpy like citrus, like beads bursting beneath my teeth .

Owen watches me cooly as I lick the juice from my fingers.

“Green used to be an unlucky color,” he says, indicating my shirt, “but it looks beautiful on you .

I laugh. “I’m the luckiest girl in the world.”

Is this how Louisa feels whenever boys talk to her? Whenever they want her?

No wonder she wants Andy to hang around all the time. No wonder she’s so sad when he’s being a jerk.

“Might I have another dance?”

I take his hand as soon as he offers and let him spin me out onto the makeshift dance floor.

All the carnival folk are so beautiful . Their skin shines under the amber lights, their clothes light and flowing and perfect for dancing .

This little place has everything I could ever want: music and laughter and good food.

The heat of his hands burns through my unlucky green shirt, and I wish there could be more of this . The thought of him in my high school is so preposterous that I nearly laugh . No, I’d have to join him in his world; he’s supposed to be looked at under the open sky .

We dance. There’s nothing more to the world. I learn the movements as best I can and lean into his guidance whenever I’m unsure. We spin round and round, the whole colorful world reduced to the pair of us and whatever bit of dry grass we crush next.

After a while, we pull off to an alley between stalls, both of us smiling, me clutching my sides as I catch my breath . My feet are sore in my hiking boots, but not in a way that makes me want to stop.

What I really want is to kiss him. To kiss somebody. To have somebody want nothing more than to kiss me back .

“Anne,” he says, soft and serious, “I wish you could join us .

“Why can’t I?”

“What would you do?”

I laugh. “Tend the carousel horses with you, of course .”

His eyes search my face . He looks pleasantly surprised. “That’s a good choice.”

“Let’s get back to dancing,” I declare. If I’m alone with him any longer I’m going to have to kiss him, and I can’t bear the thought of him being disappointed that someone like me could ever be interested in someone like him .

He takes my hand and we’re back to dancing. Happiness has me light on my feet, nearly as graceful and poised as Owen.

This time when we dance, we switch partners. I dance with the acrobat after Owen, her tall, willowy body bending to accommodate mine, her impossibly long fingers wrapping nearly all the way around my waist. Then I dance with Lobster Boy, his claws like the shells of crawdads plucked from a creek.

Everyone here is so strange and beautiful . There are people with green or blue or ice white skin, the shapes of them like young swaying trees. There are people as tall as the acrobat, and as short as my knees, all of them dancing together . The oldest man in the world dances an up-tempo jig with the four-handed woman, letting her spin him around .

Some of them have horns and animal heads, square teeth like horses and fangs like wild cats . Some of them have hooves instead of feet or wings curled up to their backs.

I don’t have claws or horns or fangs or fur, but for the first time in my life, I don’t feel so different.

Then—

Then I’m dancing with Lucy. Lily. Something like that. Someone familiar. Someone I’ve thought about kissing before .

Her hands are small and cool on my waist, her wide eyes as brilliant as any of the folk around me. My eyes are drawn to the cross that gleams at the base of her throat .

“I’m so glad you’re here!” I say, spinning her around with me. I’m a fine dancer—Owen said so .

“I’m sorry I left you,” she says.

“Don’t be! You’re here now. We’re going to have so much fun!”

She grabs my shoulders and pushes me like she’s trying to stop the dance—not that it matters .

“Don’t say that, Lily.”

She frowns, her brows pinching together.

“You have to stop dancing,” she says, but the words are meaningless. She might as well be demanding I cut out my heart and serve it to her on a platter .

She presses her eyes closed, following my lead entirely .

Then she says, “Delilah, please .

My name. The first time I hear it all night. The world snaps into focus around me.

Christ, I’m such a bad dancer. I stumble and step on her toes, but she catches me against her in a crushing hug. I swear she’s going to snap my ribs, but I don’t mind. I bury my face in her shoulder and breathe in the gasoline and jasmine scent of her .

“Thank God,” she murmurs . Before I can say anything else, she stands up on her tiptoes and presses a quick kiss to my mouth, her lips warm and sweet.

When she steps away, I nearly scream. Her hands are on my hips and we’re surrounded by monsters .

“Louisa,” I whisper, unsteady both from the kiss and from the scene around us. “What’s going on?”

“We have to get to the car .”

I don’t argue. My heart jackhammers in my chest, and I’m reeling.

The things around us aren’t human. They’re tall or short but all of them are ugly, twining together and kicking up the dust beneath their feet . Owen steps forward, moving between the four-armed woman and Lobster Boy. His eyes are dark, but he’s still completely human. I’m half tempted to tell him to run, the monsters are surrounding him, but then he grins, proud and peaceful .

My heart crawls up into my throat.

Louisa slips her hand into mine and then we run. I’m hopelessly lost, but she drags me behind her .

A horn sounds and I think: This is a hunt. The monsters roar and bleat and scream, and I can hear the field getting torn up as they give chase . The music begins again, only this time it’s all percussion, all footfalls and heavy breaths .

There’s an impossible noise: hooves. I turn to see half a dozen horses, their coats brown and black, their tack vivid and lovely . The bells on their bridles jingle . I nearly don’t recognize them without the poles anchoring them to the merry-go-round until Owen throws himself into the saddle of the gray-clad horse he’d ridden earlier.

I almost slam into one of the stalls, but Louisa yanks on my arm so I don’t crash.

She steers us to the two towers that mark the entry—the only exit.

Something whizzes past my head, but I just run harder, ignoring the blisters my boots rub into my heels .

Enbarr is waiting for us, doors flung open and headlights on. I’ve never been so grateful to see that damn car .

“Get in!” Louisa orders, flinging herself into the driver’s seat.

I hop in shotgun and nearly get thrown into the dash as she guns it out of the field. I’ve never been so grateful for her insane driving .

“Gramma wasn’t kidding,” I manage.

“You’re telling me,” Louisa says, but she’s laughing . White knuckles on the steering wheel as she drives away from the monsters from her grandmother’s stories, and Johnny Cash singing about the Alamo— and she’s laughing. Ugly laughing too, the kind where she’s snorting. The kind she only does around me, no hint of music or wind chimes.

The only light comes from the huge round moon and Enbarr’s yellow headlights. I turn around in my seat to see Owen and a group of riders, illuminated in red by the taillights . Louisa speeds out of the field onto the road, the car growling beneath us.

Come on Enbarr, I pray silently .

Louisa swerves hard to miss a lanky creature that was trying to get on the hood and she says, “I broke up with Andy.”

“What?”

“You were right. About me being jealous.”

“Louisa—”

“You’ve never smiled at anyone but me like that,” she says. Her fingers are white on the wheel, and for a moment I forget to care about the monsters that are right on our tail. “I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t even care about Gramma’s stories. I just thought he was some stupid guy about to take you away from me. And when I told Andy I thought you were in real danger, he didn’t even care. So I told him we were over, y’know? Then I found my way back into the carnival to see you surrounded by Them and… God, Delilah. I’ve never been so scared .” “Yeah,” she says, “well. It’s always been me and you, hasn’t it? I’m just sorry it took nearly losing you for me to see it .

I’m about to reply when a thing that looks like a dog catches up to the car and throws itself in front of the car . It probably means for Louisa to swerve into the ditch, but she just grits her teeth and hits it .

The car jerks up and down as we run it over.

I stare at her, at her wild strawberry hair whipping around her shoulders from the wind, the determined set of her mouth. I look down at my dirty boots, so at home on the floor of her passenger side.

She grins at me. “Now all we have to do is outrun em .”

B