Episode 19| Sweet Like Cotton Candy

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Sophia's P.O.V

"We should've gone inside," Nicolas brought-up for the tenth time. He sat on the passenger side. I regretted letting him take the seat, but he called shotgun as if we were transported back to our middle school days. "We could've been in and out in less than five minutes."

"Can you drop it already? I didn't want to go in."

"What are you guys talking about?" Lora asked from the backseat.

I glanced at her from my mirror. "It's nothing."

I did a double take. Brooklyn was twiddling her thumbs on her lap, glimpsing out her window. She hadn't spoken much since we got in the car. Matter of fact, she hadn't said anything since we met up at Nicolas' place. She was fine at first, but after she had a brief talk with Nicolas in the kitchen, she walked into the living room like she had endured a battle.

I hoped she was all right. I'd have to ask Nicolas later to see what he said to her to make her so upset. I wished he wasn't so harsh. His bluntness was fine in small amounts, but all at once it felt like cruelty.

"Here we are." I called out. My car wheezed in to the parking lot set out for the carnival. Twinkling lights lined up the shoreline. The Ferris wheel shimmered in the middle of the carnival, illuminating the sky as the sun dipped into the ocean's horizon.

"Sophia," Brooklyn said, talking in a mousy tone.

Lora and Nicolas headed out the car long before she said my name. "Yes?"

Brooklyn parted her lips and she stayed like that for what felt like a century.

"Brooklyn? What is it? Spill it."

"I...don't know how to say it. It's hard," she addressed. "It shouldn't be, but it is. You know?"

"No, I don't," I disagreed and yanked the keys out, pushing the car door open. "What is it you're trying to say? Staring blankly isn't working."

"I told you. I don't know how to be up front about this and ask you-ask you if you hate me."

I averted my gaze. "Nicolas."

"Is that a yes?"

"No," I proclaimed, faintly-studying the people walking past my car. "I don't hate you."

She grumbled. "You don't sound very convincing. You sound doubtful."

"Probably because I just got hit in the face with a really random, really pointless question."

Her eyes clouded, watering at the corners. "Wow. Okay. I'm happy to hear that you think our friendship is pointless."

"Brooklyn, you interpreted that wrong."

She threw the door open, nearly hitting the car parked next to mine. "How else am I supposed to interpret that? I asked you a rather simple question-do you hate me. You couldn't look me in the eye."

Snatching up my keys and purse, I slammed the door. Her shouting would likely cause a scene. I went with a calm approach, speaking softly. "I don't hate you."

"Then why would Nicolas have a conversation with me, practically stating in black and white, that you're annoyed with me lately?"

I gulped.

"You do hate me!" she hollered.

"Shhh. You screaming that isn't going to solve anything," I hushed at her. "I don't hate you. Sometimes I get...disappointed with what you say or do, but I don't hate you."

"What did I do?"

Where do I begin?

Going down that path would release another argument -something I didn't have the patience for. "It's my birthday. This isn't a good time. I shouldn't be having a fight with you outside a carnival."

"How are we going to fix the issue though if we don't talk about it?" Brooklyn's rage had boiled down to a light simmer. Her brown eyes blinked up to the skies, exhaling slow breaths. One thing I knew about Brooklyn that many didn't was that she hated crying. She would rip herself up inside if she shed a tear.

I knew she was fighting against her emotions in this conversation. I asked her once when we were younger why she was so afraid of wearing her heart on her sleeves and letting the world see her cry. She answered almost instantly, saying how she had never seen her own mother cry.

Ms. Davis surely had reasons to cry. Makeup can only hide so much.

I put my mother on a pedestal, but Brooklyn took it a step further and strived to be her mother's mirror. The older we got, the less sensitive she became. It took something serious for her to break down her twelve-feet tall walls. The only people who had seen her cry was Nicolas and I, and beside our recent trip to the Mall, I hadn't seen her in that state since eight grade. It was the first year her and her mother moved out on their own. The first year away is always the worse.

"We'll talk about this tonight." I swore, strolling up to her. "I don't have to go to my mom's family dinner until noon. I'm sleeping over at Nicolas' loft. We can talk then, deal?"

"Deal," she concurred and chewed inside of her cheek. "We'll talk about it then."

•••

I was going to die of a sugar rush. Before my second ride, I had downed four soda's and demolished two helpings of cotton candy, tempted to go for my third. "Fun fact. Cotton candy was invented by a dentist."

"Smart man. He probably created a lot of clients after that." Nicolas sunk his teeth into his hamburger. We took a food break to refill and decide what we wanted to do next after the food settled down.

Lora dunked her French fry in to her small mountain of mayo swirled with ketchup. "We should go on the Ferris wheel. There's not much sudden movement and it shouldn't upset our stomachs."

"I was about to go, too," someone cooed.

I searched for the source of the voice. Bryce loomed at the end of the table, leaning his shoulder into a lamppost and his hands in to his pockets. The poor light provided by the lamppost created a yellow halo atop his head. It contradicted the troublesome smile written on his face.

I stepped away from my food. "You came?"

"You said it's a public event," he recalled, "and that if I wanted to come, I could. That's basically an invitation."

"Hmm. Not really."

"It's close enough for me." He took his hand  out of his pocket and ruffled the hair on his forehead, smoothing it back in place. I hated him for that. By doing that, his emerald eyes were on display, peering at me unapologetically. Seductively.

His hand swept up to my face, tucking a loose strand behind my ear. He left his hand there for a moment, still against my skin. I resisted the urge to rub my cheek into his palm.

We're friends.

We're friends. Only friends.

We're friends.

He retracted his hand back, like he heard my chanting thoughts. "Happy Birthday, Sophia."

"Thank you." The lamppost was large enough for two people to lean on. I took the risk and rested my shoulder on it, tilting my head. "You drove all the way here to say that?"

Bryce tapped his chest. "I'm a sentimental, thoughtful person."

I snorted. "What's the real reason to why you came here alone?"

"I didn't come here alone. They're, oh look. They're here." I twirled around. Six new people hijacked our picnic table, taking up the empty seats. I recognized Conner and Kelsey in seconds. The other four were hard to name. Lora was hanging on one of the guys. She locked eyes with me and pointed at him, saying his name was Grayson.

Mystery solved.

Grayson wasn't a missing person after all.  Someone who had disappeared though, was Brooklyn. I didn't see her at the table. She might've scurried away when Bryce's friends showed up.

"About that Ferris wheel..." Bryce hand slipped into mine and I stopped from pulling away. A lump formed in my throat, well aware of what a Ferris wheel trip potentially meant.

Alone time with Bryce.

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