—2 years and 30 days ago—

As the roller coaster comes to a stop, a wave of nausea rolls up from my belly. The combination of the blazing hot sun and the adrenaline rushing through me causes sweat to roll down my temple. My stomach rumbles and vomit crawls up my throat, forcing me to clamp a hand over my mouth and swallow hard. As soon as the safety bar lifts off my lap, I bolt to the exit.

I run down the small steps and toward the nearest trash can, almost tripping over my feet. My gut churns again, and I can't prevent the vomit from bursting out of my mouth any longer. As I grip the edges of the metal container, my stomach gives a violent, sharp lurch, and a gush of vomit spews out of me.

"That was fun! We should do that again!" Nessa exclaims, the sheer exuberance in her voice baffling me.

Fun? What was so fun about being swung around up high in the air like some kind of a yo-yo? Plus, she'd seen the same movie I had. How could she be so excited about almost being thrown off a roller coaster?

Nessa whacks me on the back repeatedly with her open palm, and I almost fall headfirst into the bin. My chest still heaves up and down like the Frog Hopper not far from us, but I manage to pull every bit of strength in me to shoot her a sharp glare.

"Oh, come on, Ol. Don't be so grumpy. Even that kid"—she gestures at a tween girl walking out of the roller coaster area with a large grin—"is all smiles."

"Well, that kid obviously never watched Final Destination 3."

"Aww . . . Don't pretend you didn't enjoy it as much as I did." She flutters her lashes in a way that makes me want to vomit again. "Wait here, okay?"

As if I can go anywhere.

Nessa gives me another forceful pat on my back before hopping toward the food stalls.

The awful smell of vomit mixed with the stomach-churning smell of stale food inside the trash can elicits another wave of nausea to wash over me. The sound of gagging echoes in my ears as I continue pouring every last bit of my lunch into the bin. Once nothing is left in my gut, I drag my feet through the large crowd and head to the dining plaza, where I spot an empty picnic table.

I plop on the chair and drop my head onto the table. My heart thuds like a bass drum in my ears, and I begin to curse my decision to accept Nessa's stupid bet yesterday.

Nessa has been desperately trying to cheer me up after Celia and I broke up. I knew she felt guilty about it—even though she shouldn't. That was why, although all I wanted was to lock myself at home and mourn my failure, I agreed to follow her plan and go around the city with her.

Yesterday, she took me to play pool and made a bet that the loser would do anything the winner said—revenge for that time I hustled her.

To my complete and utter shock, she won.

As if the humiliation of being beaten at my own game isn't enough, she decided to drag me to the one place I fear the most.

A theme park.

Yes, it's silly to fear a theme park. But ever since Nessa hypnotized me into having a Final Destination marathon in one of her attempts to cheer me up, I've been having some nightmares.

It's been a week since I saw the movies, yet I still can't go near any gym out of fear that my head would be crushed by weights like a watermelon. More importantly, I've been keeping a five-mile distance from any roller coaster due to the fear that it would malfunction and lead me to my death.

I've seen many gruesome deaths before, but getting mangled by a roller coaster is hands down the last in my How I Want to Die list—and Nessa knows that.

At this point, I'm starting to wonder why she drags me out here. Maybe she's not trying to cheer me up. Maybe she's just enjoying my misery. Maybe she's trying to kill me so that she doesn't need to pay me back the money she owes me.

Oh, that sneaky little—

I flinch as a plate of Funnel Cake is slammed on the table. Peeping up under my lashes, I find Nessa scowling at me with one hand perched on her hip and the other holding another plate of Funnel Cake, a plastic bag looped around her wrist.

"What did I tell you, huh?" She puts the plate she's holding on the table and sits across from me. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to find you in the middle of this circus?"

"Geez. Calm down, Mom."

She purses her lips together and shoots me a glare so sharp I jump in my seat. With a huff, she pulls the plastic bag from her wrist, takes out a bottle of water, and shoves it at me.

"Thanks." I open the bottle and finish it in one go.

As I wipe my mouth using the back of my hand, my eyes are drawn to the two plates of Funnel Cake on the table. One is covered with powdered sugar and lots of chocolate syrup, while the other has strawberries, tons of whipped cream, and a scoop of cookies-and-cream ice cream.

My mouth waters at the sight of my favorite fair food complete with my favorite toppings. I'm about to grab the one with the ice cream when Nessa slaps my hand.

"Ouch?" I protest.

She pushes the one with the chocolate syrup toward me. "This one's yours."

She's seriously trying to torture me, isn't she? She doesn't even like cookies-and-cream ice cream!

Despite my annoyance toward her, I mutter my thanks and dive right in. The fluffy yet crispy dough, the sweetness of sugar, and the bitterness of chocolate syrup make the simple cake taste like heaven on Earth.

I close my eyes and moan with pleasure. I guess theme parks aren't so bad, huh?

I've eaten Funnel Cakes many times before, but there's something different this time. I guess it's because my stomach has been empty after that little incident earlier and I'm starving to death. But if I were to die after eating this cake, I'd die a happy man.

Still, there's one more thing that can make this cake even more perfect.

As Nessa brings a forkful of cake to her wide-open mouth, I dunk my fork into her ice cream and steal a mouthful.

"Hey!" Nessa protests.

I close my eyes and groan at the perfect combination of the ice cream's coldness and the Funnel Cake's warmth running down my throat. Oh. This is heaven on—

"You're not supposed to eat ice cream after throwing up, you know?" Nessa's voice brings me back to earth.

"I'll be fine." I dismiss her concern with a wave of my hand and steal another forkful of ice cream from her plate.

She narrows her eyes and pushes her lips into an adorable pout. "I hope you die from food poisoning."

As I stifle a laugh, a strange ball of warmth forms in the pit of my stomach.

Wow. This cake is really something, huh? I nod in awe at the golden, swirled cake on my plate.

As I continue stealing Nessa's ice cream and mixing it with my food, a question I've been meaning to ask her for a while reappears in my head. "So what are you gonna do with Kiki?"

After spending nine days in the clinic, Kiki will be discharged next week. It's a good thing considering how the bills are piling up, but the thing is, Nessa still hasn't found an apartment that allows pets.

I frown as she jabs her fork into my plate and steals a large chunk of my chocolate-covered cake. Shoveling it into her mouth, she mumbles, "I'm gonna put her in a pet boarding until I can find a new apartment."

Pet boarding? It's not that it's a bad idea, but Nessa has spent a lot to cover Kiki's medical expenses.

To pay off half the money she owed me for Kiki's surgery, she had to withdraw her time deposit—her lifelong savings—from the bank before maturity last Monday. I'd told her she didn't have to return it, but she insisted on paying me as much as she could when the bank opened after the Thanksgiving holiday.

I guess she's aware of how deep in debt I am, huh?

An idea pops into my mind, and I blurt out, "Hey, you know what? Kiki can stay with me."

"Stay with you?" Nessa scoffs. "And your demon dog?"

For a bizarre reason I can't understand, Chucky always has an infatuation with cats. That's why I'm sure he'll get along perfectly with Kiki.

"Chucky will be fine, don't worry."

Nessa shakes her head, a soft smile forming on her face. "You don't have to do that, Ol. I can take care of it—"

"An extra company would be nice, you know?"

Kiki has been one of the reasons I haven't broken down over the past few days. Ever since her accident, I've been visiting her every day at the clinic. Strangely enough, playing with her makes me forget about my recent heartbreak.

"Oh. Okay." Nessa gives me a tight-lipped smile. "Thanks."

For the next few minutes, we continue talking nonsense and stealing each other's food. As Nessa gobbles the last of her cake, the ice cream gets smeared across her lips, and there are big blotches of chocolate on the edges of her mouth.

A tiny chuckle tumbles out of me.

"What?" She blinks, her expression innocent.

"You got something on your . . ." I point a finger to my mouth and flick it side-to-side.

"Oh." A shade of pink tinges her cheeks.

She sticks out her tongue and licks her lips in the unsexiest way ever possible, eliciting a snort of mirth from me. But as I watch her tongue run across her perfect lips, I feel the urge to lick the ice cream off her mouth.

What the hell?

I avert my gaze and try to shove the crazy idea away. But no matter how much I try to look away, a strange force keeps drawing my eyes to her like gravity.

"Is it gone?"

"There's still some . . ."

"Oh, shoot." She uses her hand to wipe her mouth, but instead of cleaning it off, the chocolate is now smeared on her cheeks.

The clean-freak creature inside me—Baymax—awakens, urging me to clean the chocolate off Nessa's face.

I click my tongue and lean forward, stretching a hand toward Nessa's face. "Geez, Ness—"

As my thumb grazes her smooth cheek, my heart skips a beat. My eyes are drawn to her parted lips, which are only inches away from mine, and I have the strangest urge to taste the remnants of my favorite ice cream in her mouth.

It takes every bit of strength in me to stop myself from slamming my lips against hers, for her mouth looks so much more delicious than the Funnel Cake I just ate.

What the hell, Oliver? You're gonna make her your rebound?

Guilt rushes over me at the thought of using my best friend as a means to an end. But when my eyes flick up to hers, for a moment, I can see a sparkle of longing flickering in her beautiful eyes. Does she want me to kiss her too?

No, no, no. Shame on you, Oliver Morrison. Shame on you!

In a swift move, I clean the chocolate off her cheek and pull my hand to my side. "There."

"Thanks." She fidgets in her seat, a nervous grin on her face.

Awkwardness fills the air between us. As my feet tap an anxious rhythm against the ground, I chew my cheeks and glance around me to find a way to break the ice.

The calico cat strolling along the boardwalk nearby reminds me of a game stall near the main entrance: Cat Rack.

Despite its name, the dolls that the players are supposed to knock over are clown dolls—because come on, it'd be creepy and downright abusive to throw baseballs at cats, even if they're only wooden dolls shaped like the animals.

After watching It with Nessa three months ago, I became aware of her unhealthy phobia of clowns. With that in mind, a revenge plan for what she did—dragging me to that horrifying roller coaster ride—quickly devises itself in my head.

"Hey, Ness?"

She stops chewing her bottom lip and peers at me from under her lashes.

Witha smirk, I ask, "Wanna do something fun?"

"I can't believe you threw the ball at that kid's head," I gasp for breath, resting my hands on my knees.

While we were playing at the Cat Rack stall a few minutes earlier, Nessa got so horrified by the clowns that she accidentally threw the ball to a little boy walking nearby. Even though she—and I—apologized profusely, the boy wouldn't stop crying. His parents got so angry they threatened to call security on us.

We ran as fast as we could from the crazy couple, and now we're hiding next to the restroom building.

"It was an accident, okay?" There's still a bit of tremor in Nessa's voice as it rises in pitch. "You don't know what it's like to have those creepy clowns staring at you as if they want to eat you alive!"

I chuckle. "What is it with you and clowns, huh?"

"Well, what is it with you and cats?"

My laughter dies. Shit. How did she know I'm afraid of cats?

"What? You don't think I know you're afraid of cats? You used to look like this"—she gasps in mockery, her jaw wide open and her eyes bulging with exaggerated terror—"every time Kiki approached you!"

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did."

"No, I—" The sound of my ringtone interrupts our never-ending battle. I pull my phone from my pocket and glance at the caller ID.

Annoying Second-Best Friend

Great. What now?

Ever since I broke up with Celia, TJ has been pushing me to—and I quote—tell Nessa how I feel and build a perfect family now that we've adopted a daughter together. No matter how much I insist that there's nothing between Nessa and me, TJ won't stop teasing me about it.

Why won't people believe that Nessa and I are just friends?

I shake my head and answer the call. "What?"

"Dude, are you on a date with Vanessa?" There's a deep note of concern in his voice—one that rings an alarm in my head.

I turn around and whisper through gritted teeth, "It's not that kind of date. How'd you know anyway?"

The pause he gives is short, but it's more than enough to stir a sense of anxiety within my stomach. "It's all over the internet."

"What?"

I glance around me to search for anyone who has a camera—or even a phone—in their hands. The uneasiness in my stomach grows heavier when I spot lots of people taking photos all around the park. At that moment, I realize this place has been the perfect spot for those nagging reporters to hide in plain sight.

What have they done?

When I broke up with Celia, a part of me felt relieved, for I thought I'd never had to deal with those obnoxious paparazzi anymore.

But I was dead wrong.

"Look, Ol, I think you better lay low for a while," TJ says. "The things people say about you two are . . . They're not very kind."

You two?

I dart my eyes to the woman standing in line to buy some Dippin' Dots ice cream at the stall not far from me. An innocent smile decorates Nessa's face as her fingers toy with the plush cat keychain I won for her at the Cat Rack earlier.

My uneasiness morphs into distress. What have I gotten us into?

"Ol, are you there?" TJ asks.

"Yeah. Thanks for letting me know."

As the call ends, a foreign purple monster lurks in the darkest part of my mind. A slow grin spreads across his face, shooting chills down my spine. As he opens his mouth to speak, I squeeze my eyes shut.

No, no, no. Calm down. Everything's gonna be okay.

I swallow the lump in my throat and chase the ghastly cat-like creature away. I tell myself over and over again that nothing bad is going to happen to my best friend.

But deep down, I know things are going to get ugly.

Author's Note:

So, that's the start of the war between Celia and Ollie! Thoughts?

In the next chapter, we'll return to the present and see what Nessa's next move is. xD

I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and if you do, please don't forget to show some support by tapping that little star button. Thanks for reading! :)