I look over at Charlie, irritated all over again that he’s crashing my hangout time with Ruby.
This morning, when I was waiting outside on the porch for Ruby’s mom to pick me up, Charlie came out, swinging Mom’s keys.
“You ready?”
“Ready for what?”
“To go pick up Ruby?”
“Her mom’s picking me up. And since when do you care?”
“Since I’m driving you to pick her up, and we’re all going to Kings Island together. She invited me to join.”
I fixed him with a disgusted look. “You’re kidding me, right?”
“Nope. I’m serious as death right now. Which, you know, I know all about, because—”
I held up my hand, cutting him off, and walked to the car.
When we got to Ruby’s, I gladly relinquished shotgun, using any chance I could to glare at Charlie from the backseat while Ruby outlined her roller coaster plan: spending the day trying to ride the first seat in all of the park’s roller coasters.
So here we are now, weaving around families, following Ruby through the crowd, and I’m convinced the whole day is a loss.
But then, in our haste to keep up with her, Charlie nearly runs smack into a group of preteen girls, and they giggle when he bows in apology. He turns and shoots me a smile before jogging to catch up with Ruby.
It stops me in my tracks.
Charlie just smiled at me.
There was no irritation there, no hidden agenda. Just my brother smiling at me without thinking twice. It’s such a small thing, but it’s also big as the universe.
And the thing that’s even weirder is I’m pretty sure I smiled back.
Maybe it’s not so terrible that he’s here today after all.
Sure, it’s not great. It’s not what I wanted.
But maybe it’s not terrible.
I feel good until we reach the nonexistent line for the Beast. Ruby is downright gleeful as she tears through the winding path toward the front of the coaster, scooting into the line for the first seat behind two men holding hands, and beckoning me to join her.
Crap. I didn’t think this through.
I haven’t been on a roller coaster since the summer before third grade. I was so scared, I started shrieking before the ride even pulled out of the station. Em tried to calm me down, but I wasn’t having it, and the teenagers working the booth had to stop the ride and let me get out before the train left the station.
I thought I’d be fine by now, but looking at the tracks in front of me, I realize I seriously overestimated my ability to get over it. I have no desire to ride this roller coaster.
I look up at Ruby to confess, but she’s bouncing on her toes.
“I’m so excited to do this with you guys. I have wanted to ride the first seat on every coaster for ages.” She motions us into a huddle. “I have no clue how these people beat us here,” she says in a too-loud whisper, pointing to the couple in front of us in the turnstile. “I really thought we’d be the first seat on the first ride of the day.”
I shoot an anxious smile at the couple, but if they’ve heard, they don’t seem to care, the taller man leaning down to kiss his partner. “You’ll be fine,” he says.
His partner looks like he might throw up before even getting on the ride.
I want to take that guy’s hand and pull him right out of the line, so the two of us can make a break for it.
A rickety old car pulls into the station, the turnstiles open, and the guys in front of us file in. An employee starts checking to make sure everyone’s safety bars are secure.
“You should take off your glasses,” the worker says to the nervous guy. “Don’t want to lose them along the way. Want us to hold them?”
As the guy hands them over, I turn to Ruby.
“So, I think maybe I’ll wait for you guys—” I start, right as the employee raises his hand in an all clear and the train takes off.
Ruby doesn’t hear me over the noise of the train. “Did you guys know the Beast is the longest wooden roller coaster in the United States? There are other smoother rides, but this one is a classic.”
Smoother?
“I’ve actually never been on it,” Charlie replies.
“What? I’m so excited for you!” Ruby yells, leaning over and squeezing Charlie’s arm, then dropping it almost as quickly. “When was the last time you rode a coaster?”
“When we were kids. Before I got sick, right, Parker? It was the kids’ one. I think it was called the Fairly Odd Coaster.” Charlie looks to me. “Wasn’t that the time you started to get on but you were crying?”
I frown, shaking my head.
“That coaster’s still here,” Ruby says, right as an empty set of cars pulls in front of us. “I think they call it Woodstock Express now. Or maybe that was the name last year? Whatever it’s called, we’ll hit it later.”
“But isn’t it for kids?” Charlie asks.
“Oh, we’re doing them all,” she assures us.
I look for the guy with the glasses, but the car in front of us is empty, and maybe every single person flew out of their seats and isn’t coming back, but then I feel a slight nudge on my shoulder, Charlie bending down close to my ear so Ruby doesn’t hear.
“They run two trains at a time,” he says. “The first group is still in the middle of their ride.”
“Oh, yeah, of course. I knew that,” I say quickly, even though I didn’t.
Ruby climbs into the front seat and carefully puts her glasses into a case and then into her purse, then shoves her purse on the floor of the car. Charlie hops into the seat behind her, riding by himself. I look down at both of them, my feet frozen on the wood platform.
I don’t know why I can’t just tell them I don’t want to ride the coaster.
But the words are stuck in my throat.
The employee is checking all the bars and moving toward the front of the ride, and I still don’t move.
“Parker?” Ruby asks.
“I don’t. I can’t.”
The employee stops at our cars. “Are you getting on?”
“I just think, maybe, I don’t . . . ,” I stammer.
“Here,” Charlie says, half standing, patting the seat next to him. “It’ll be okay. Sit here.”
I hesitate for a second, but Charlie meets my eyes. “You got this.”
Shaky, I climb in next to him, my legs already sticky with nervous sweat against the vinyl seat, watching as he lowers the padded safety bar against our legs.
Charlie leans forward to Ruby. “You okay by yourself?”
She nods happily. “Oh yeah. I’m ready.”
I grip the safety bar in front of me as the train starts to move onto the old wooden track, everything clunking and knocking like it has arthritis.
My hands are knuckle-locked around the bar, like they were during my valedictorian speech. I try to breathe as the train begins to ascend the first hill.
“Don’t throw up on me,” Charlie says, and I’m tempted to snap, Vomiting is the least of my worries, but then I see his face and realize he’s trying to calm me down, so I force out a strained smile.
“I’ll try to angle it over the side.”
We move up the big hill slowly and steadily, and I look enviously at the emergency steps running parallel with the track, wondering if there’s anything I could do to stop the train at this point and then make my way down.
I venture a look below. Everything is getting smaller by each second—trees, houses, buildings, lives.
Ruby pokes her head between the seats. “How are things back there?”
“What do you say, Parker?” Charlie asks. “You doing okay?”
I know he’s asking about riding the roller coaster, but the question could apply to so much more.
I want to tell him I’m terrified of becoming a doctor.
I want to tell him that I’m even more terrified of not becoming one.
I want to tell him that everything is a mess, that I hate the in-between space, that my feet ache for the ground, that a very small, very scared part of me wants to touch the sky, and that that is maybe the worst thing of all.
The train starts to slow as it gets near the top of the hill.
“I don’t know,” I finally say, which is the truth.