Then we were across the boardwalk, and in the amusement park.
We went to a booth and bought evening tickets—they gave us blue wristbands with the moon printed on them. Already the sun was low in the sky over the town, painting the rooftops orange. We were just paying the teller—a young girl working for the summer, I guessed—when a guy at the back of the booth came over and looked at me through the glass.
“Cassandra?” he said.
I nodded.
He came out a door in the side of the booth. Russian Pete, I think he was called? Short, always wore a bow tie, had eyes that puffed out, fishlike. He did a kind of measuring motion with his hands. “Jeez, you got big.” He called over his shoulder. “Hey, Finn.”
There was a guy in a dolphin suit just behind the booth—the Piers mascot. He ambled over and stood in front of Russian Pete. Then he took off his head. “’S’up, Pete?”
“See that?” said Pete. “That’s Mike’s girl.”
“Cassandra?”
“Yep.”
The mascot named Finn took another couple of steps forward. He leaned down. It was weird being leaned down to by a guy in a dolphin costume. His hair was all mussed from the big foam head, and there was sweat on his forehead. I recognized him—he had been a regular at the restaurant. Finny McCool, the guys called him. I had no idea why.
“You got big,” he said slowly. He had a big, round face. Finny was kind of a simple guy.
“She sure did, didn’t she?” Pete turned to me. “His name’s Finn, and he wears the dolphin costume. Finn. Kills me every time.”
“Huh?” said Finn.
“Never mind,” said Pete. “Go thrill the kids with your impression of a sea mammal.”
“Huh?”
“Go be a dolphin.”
“Oh. Okay.” He turned around, putting his head back on. I could see the sweat beading at his neck. I felt sorry for him. Even though it was evening it must have been seventy degrees, easy, and that dolphin costume had to be seriously hot. Dad always said it was the worst job on the pier.
Paris was watching all this like she’d been dropped into another reality. “How’ve you been?” said Pete to me. “I haven’t seen you since … ah …” He swallowed. I saw the panic enter his eyes, saw him add it up. “Since …”
“Yeah,” I said.
“Yeah,” said Pete, sadly. I always liked Pete. He told stupid jokes and he did lame tricks, but he was sweet, you know? Then he brightened. “You paid!” he said. “Only out-of-towners pay.”
I shrugged.
Pete sighed. “Let’s see what we can do about that.” He reached behind my ear, and I thought he was going to pull out the twenty bucks we had paid, but he didn’t. He frowned. “Hmm. Not there. Check your pocket.”
I reached into my jeans. There was a shape in there like a cigar—two ten-dollar bills rolled up. “Hey,” I said, genuinely impressed. “Your tricks got better.”
“You’re older now,” said Pete. “Got to up my game.”
“Seriously, though, we can pay,” I said.
Pete looked at us both. “You girls like popcorn, right? Dippin’ Dots?”
“Yeah,” said Paris, smiling.
“See,” said Pete to me. “Your girl is with me on this. Take the twenty, use it on the concessions. The rides are free. I absolutely insist. If you say no you will be insulting not only me but also the entire Piers staff, present, past, and future.”
“Okay,” I said, putting my hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Thanks, Pete.”
“You’re welcome.”
Then he raised a hand, like, hang on. He went into the little booth and came back out with two lanyards with VIP cards on them. “Wear these,” he said. “Skip the lines—the guys will let you on the rides first.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Go.”
“Thank you, Pete,” said Paris.
“Thank you,” said Pete. “It’s good to see our girl with a friend.”
Jesus, Pete, I thought. Way to make me sound like a loser.
But Paris smiled. “She’s special, this one,” she said.
“She sure is,” said Pete. He waved us toward the park. “Go, have fun.”
And we did.
We went to the Accelerator first. It’s the oldest and biggest wooden roller coaster in the United States. Did you know that? It doesn’t loop the loop or go upside down or any of that stuff. But it’s still a rush. You get on it and the chain pulls your car up up
up
up
into the twilit sky. You see the ocean, all the way to the horizon, stretching out, shining in the red light of dusk. The city on the other side, a million points of light. You hear laughter and shouting, carrying over the clear evening air. Then there’s a moment where you’re teetering, in equilibrium, and then you tip, and you rush down … so fast that it feels like you’re merging with the wind.
And then whoosh, up again, and down, and up, and all the time screaming.
“That was wild,” said Paris, after.
“Yeah. It’s good for an old ride.”