I try not to care.
But after a few minutes of pretending to listen to her and Charlie rate the roller coasters we’ve ridden this morning, I realize I can’t stop thinking about it.
I used to look forward to growing up.
And now that it’s in front of me, I’m terrified.
I don’t know if I want to be a doctor.
And I don’t know who I am without that.
I look over at Charlie, to reassure myself that he’s there, and that’s when I see the purple blooms on his upper arms—twin bruises, round and large, in near parallel positions.
“Charlie!” I grab the closest arm, pulling it toward me.
“Geez,” he snaps, yanking his arm back before seeing what I see. His eyes widen, but then he shakes his head slowly, calmly. “The doctor said this could happen for a while. It’s not a big deal.”
“It kind of looks like a big deal,” I say, panic coursing through me.
“Relax. My last test came back fine.”
I shake my head. “Maybe we should just call it quits. What time is it? Two? I can call Mom, and I bet she can get you a doctor appointment this evening.”
“Parker, you’re not listening to me.”
“It’s probably from one of the rides,” Ruby adds, but I’m already cleaning our table, tossing napkins in the nearby garbage can, folding the pizza box top closed.
“I mean, I know it’s the weekend,” I say. “But Dr. Travis knows you. She’ll make an exception.” I grab our pizza box and stand, but Ruby and Charlie haven’t moved from their seats. Charlie looks irritated, but Ruby just looks nervous, glancing between the both of us.
“We’re not leaving. I’m fine,” Charlie says.
“You can’t be too safe,” I say.
“You can when it’s ruining our day.”
“So you’re not going to leave? You’re just going to let this go?” I ask, my voice getting louder.
“Hey,” Ruby says quietly, but I ignore her.
“Yeah, I’m going to let it go,” Charlie says. “Because it’s nothing.”
“How do you know it’s nothing? You don’t know that.”
“Um, Parker?” Ruby says more insistently, and maybe it’s all the built-up adrenaline from the coasters or the too-bright sun or the fact that I don’t know who I am, but the one thing I do know is that I’m not letting this go.
“For chrissakes,” Charlie says. “So you want to go straight to our parents again? I can’t believe how fucking predictable you are. You can’t leave me alone for more than two hours, can you? I don’t want you up in my business, Parker. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you.”
The words sting, but I don’t care. If he’s still sick, it doesn’t matter what he thinks.
Ruby stands up. “Parker.” She points to my upper arms, the same area where Charlie’s bruises have formed. There are two round reddish spots, smaller blooms than Charlie’s, but most likely the start of bruises too.
I push the spots gently, feel the tender skin.
“I bet they’re from the shoulder braces on the Vortex. If you hold them like this . . .” Ruby demonstrates an arm hold just like the one I used. “You probably held on so hard you bruised yourself. You both did.”
Charlie folds his arms. “See?” he says, his voice still sharp, furious.
“Just sit down,” Ruby says. “We’ll eat and then we’ll do White Water Canyon and take it from there, okay?”
Chagrined, I put the pizza box back on the table, but the joy of the morning is clearly gone. Charlie and I are quiet, and Ruby talks in double time to try to make up for our sullen silence.
After a totally unpleasant hour-long wait for White Water Canyon, followed by an equally tense ride, I tell Charlie and Ruby I’m going to watch a musical show in the Festhaus and that I’ll meet up with them later. I wait for Charlie to point out that I hate musicals, but he can’t get away from me quickly enough.
I don’t watch a show. Instead, I spend the next two hours sitting by the long line of fountains by the entrance, watching families pose happily with costumed characters, unable to escape the feeling that I can’t blame Charlie. I’m not sure I want to be around me right now either.
Thirty-Four
“ARE YOU SURE I can’t tempt you to stay and practice more? It’s air-conditioned in here,” Carla calls out as I scoop up another mess of a failed bowl and try not to dump it too forcefully into the scraps pail.
It splashes unpleasantly, a thick gloppy thunk, and I shake my head.
“No thanks. I have plans.” I hope I don’t sound too eager to leave, because Carla is only being nice. But I am 100 percent willing to risk the 100-plus-degree weather if it means not spending another second feeling miserable and failing miserably on the wheel.
Since Carla first showed me how to work the wheel two weeks ago, I’ve spent a few hours every shift trying to throw something worth keeping. Carla has been nothing but encouraging, going so far as to put up the closed sign during our lunch break so she can give me individual instruction.
“You’re helping me practice my teaching skills for when I start classes up in the fall,” she insisted the first day.
I suspect I’m helping her practice patience more, because, to put it bluntly, I’m really, really terrible at pottery. Anytime my hands get near the wheel, it’s like they’re drunk.
They’re always in the wrong place.
They’re always pushing too hard.
Or not hard enough.
Yesterday, I tried to get out of it. I had such a good morning with the Wild Meadows ladies that I didn’t want to ruin it with feeling bad about myself.
“I don’t think pottery is for me,” I said.
But Carla wouldn’t have it. “Can’t go over it, can’t go under it, gotta go through it,” she said cryptically.
When I told Ruby about it at Graeter’s over ice cream sundaes last night, she suggested that maybe Charlie was right: that what I’m not good at is not being good at something. Immediately cringing as the words left her mouth, she then apologized for accidentally saying what she was thinking out loud and continued to do so for the next five minutes.
But she never said she was sorry for being wrong.
I say good-bye to Carla and head outside, groaning as soon as the wave of heat hits me.
After five minutes of walking, everything around me is melting—the soles of my Converse, the blacktop, my mood. There’s no shade, no breeze, just shimmering heat rising from the street and several beads of sweat making their way down my back. When I check my weather app, it says the heat index is 107 degrees.
I should have stayed at work.
Ever since the bruise incident at Kings Island, Charlie and I are back to ignoring each other, and despite how much I try to forget it, I feel terrible anytime I think about Finn and the gift certificate.
I’m flat on the inside—like I’ve been reduced to just two dimensions. The only bright parts of my life are getting to know Ruby better, and my time working at Carla’s. But if I’m not with my new friend or at the studio, I’m stretched on my bed, trying to sleep in the heat, wishing Mom would just turn on the air conditioner already.
I’m sleeping close to twelve hours a day.
A small part of me, something bright and small and brave, knows this much sleeping isn’t normal, but the rest of me doesn’t care.
By the time I’m halfway home, I’m pretty sure I might be close to a literal sunstroke, but I push myself forward, intent, eyes practically squinted shut, not paying much attention to the world around me.
And then someone calls out my name, and I almost trip on the sidewalk.
I look up.
Finn Casper’s in his red truck, driving slowly behind me. He pulls up next to me, leans over from the driver’s side.
“Parker, hey.” His face is open, tentative, and I stop, wondering if it’s a mirage. “Can we talk?”
Based on how badly I messed up our last conversation, I don’t think Finn and I are on the same friendship wavelength. “I should probably head home.”
“Please,” he says, and it’s the note of pleading in his voice that gets to me.