F*ck Love

“He keeps asking me if I’m interested in moving to China,” she hisses. She glances at Marshall, who is waiting in line for a funnel cake. “I think he’s trying to wife me.”

“You’re not seeing anyone,” I offer helpfully. “And you love Chinese food.”

“Ugh!”

She marches off to the bathroom while I get in line for the Gravitron.

“Cool, Helena,” I say to myself. “Piss off your one remaining friend.”

“I’ll be your friend.”

I turn around to find Kit standing behind me, a shit-eating grin on his face. I get over my shock as quickly as I can, and push back my shoulders.

“Doubtful,” I snap. “Your girlfriend wouldn’t like it.”

Whoa! Suppressed anger much?

I look at him apologetically and duck my head.

“Sorry,” I say.

“It’s okay,” he says. “The truth is often angry.”

“How’ve you been?” I’m trying not to obviously search the crowd for Della, but I can’t help it. My eyes are dancing around like a crack head.

“She’s in the bathroom,” he says. “She’ll probably run into June and take a few minutes extra to chat. That’s who you’re here with, right?”

I wonder if he saw us, or if he stalked our Instagram pictures.

Marshall chooses that exact moment to shove a funnel cake in my face. I smile tightly.

“Marshall, this is my friend, Kit.”

“Hey man,” Marshall juggles his drink and plate to shake Kit’s hand, then he shoves the funnel cake at me again.

“Nope. No. Nothing’s changed since twenty seconds ago.”

Kit shoves both hands in his pockets and looks from me to Marshall. He has a funny look on his face.

“So—” he says.

“Ah, here come the girls and Martin,” I interrupt him.

Our pack thickens as Della, June, and Martin walk up. Della is dressed in ridiculous leather shorts and a matching leather top. I’m not sure if she’s an erotic trapeze artist, or a girl desperate for everyone to look at her. I wish I hadn’t worn beige. She’s arm in arm with June when they approach us. I look at Kit to see if he likes that sort of outfit, but find him looking at me.

“Hi,” Della says. “Fancy seeing ya’ll here.” She is introduced to Martin, gives me a short hug, and latches on to Kit.

I look away.

“So are you going to ride this thing?” Della asks, looking around the group. “Because I am definitely not.”

“I don’t really want to either,” June says. “Let’s go on the Ferris wheel.”

Della smiles brightly at her and nods, then sticks out her bottom lip and looks up at Kit. “Come with us,” she says.

“I’d rather ride this,” he says. “You go ahead.”

“I want you to come with,” she insists.

I can feel it, the tension.

All of a sudden I want a piece of Marshall’s funnel cake. I take the plate from him and start putting chucks in my mouth.

“I thought you didn’t want any,” he complains. I hand back the plate and take his Coke. Kit and Della are having an argument. She’s insisting he come, and he’s refusing to leave.

“I’m just really craving a kebab right now,” I say. “Anyone want to come with me to get a kebab?” I look at Martin, who looks at Marshall, who looks at June.

“You’re next in line,” June says. “You can’t leave now.” I see her eyes dart nervously toward Kit and Della.

“Let’s go, June,” Della says, breaking away from Kit and marching off in the direction of the Ferris wheel. June mouths HELP to me, and then scurries after her.

“I’m going with them,” Marshall says.

“Dude!” Martin looks put out. He watches his friends chase after the girls, and then turns to us.

“You have to ride in twos.” He looks at Kit when he says this.

That’s not true. The Gravitron can be ridden alone, but Kit plays along.

“Yeah,” says Kit. “So, are you riding by yourself?”

I stifle a laugh, but, Martin isn’t having it. He squares his already square shoulders and glares at my friend, Kit.

“Helena came to hang out with me tonight.”

I jerk in surprise and make a face. Kit sees it and laughs.

I’m about to tell Martin that I pretty much came because they begged me, and that just because I came didn’t mean I had to be glued to his side, when we’re suddenly at the front of the line. Kit grabs my hand and pulls me up the three stairs to the entrance of the ride. We’re herded into the Gravitron, which smells like popcorn and sweat, and the mix of metal and grease. It’s disgusting and exciting at the same time.

I glance back and see Martin scowling at us. I didn’t know he was into me until that moment. It’s funny what people don’t see. I’m still holding onto that thought when all of a sudden I literally cannot see.

We stumble forward, searching for the nearest wall. Kit finds us a spot in the back, and we stand with our backs to the padded sides of the Gravitron, never letting go of each other’s hands. This has always been my favorite ride—completely enclosed, with padded panels lining the inside wall. Riders lean against these panels, which are angled back. As the ride rotates, the rider is glued to the pad behind them by centrifugal force (Neil told me that). It’s a combination of spinning, the inability to move my arms and legs, and the dark that thrills me. I close my eyes as the music begins to play. Kit lets go of my hand, and I force my head left to see why. He’s using both hands to cover his face. I laugh, but it’s swept away. I reach for his wrist to pull his hand away; it’s a struggle, and I’m moving in slow motion. My whole body flips to its side, and now I’m facing Kit. I can’t stop laughing. Kit peeks out from beneath his fingers. Even in the dark, as strobe lights flash across his face, I can see that he’s a little green.

“You could be riding the Ferris wheel,” I shout. Kit laughs, and then flips on his side to face me. All of a sudden we’re separated by a pathetic three inches. I can’t really go anywhere since the Gravitron is in the middle of its most fierce spin. It’s hard to move, and suddenly, it’s hard to breathe too. I’m glad it’s dark, and that Kit doesn’t have access to my expression. He has a different kind of access, and I finding myself daydreaming about a kiss. It’s sick, and I’ve never done that before. But I’ve also never been this physically close to Kit Isley. I close my eyes to fend him off. And then. And then I feel his hand on my face. Longing can come to a person at the most inopportune times. Like when you’re on a fair ride and gravity is holding you down, and your dream husband puts his warm hand on your cheek, even though it’s really hard work to do that. I won’t open my eyes. I don’t want to see what’s happening in his. I’ll fucking die if he looks at me like I look at him. I keep them shut and feel a tear squeeze its way from the corner of my eye. It struggles down my cheek and rolls onto Kit’s hand. And then the ride is over. The spinning slows, and we are given back control of our arms, and legs, and head, and hands. Which is why I’m surprised when Kit’s hand doesn’t immediately leave my face. We’re thrown to our feet as the music ends, bodies still closer than they should be. The doors haven’t opened yet, so we stand like that for a minute—my forehead on his chest, his hands around my upper arms. It’s a suspended moment, both inappropriate and innocent at the same time. I cling to him, smell him, wish he was mine. And then the doors slide open, and I’m running.