Be the Girl(44)

Emmett hooks an arm around her shoulders, pulling her against him. “We know, Cassie. We know.”

Her joyful giggles blend into the carnival sounds.





“Can I try again? Please?” Cassie’s eyes are on the bug-eyed, pink-and-white stuffed animal dangling from the hook as she pleads with Emmett, the strip of game tickets gripped tightly within her fingers, as if afraid she’ll lose them to the breeze.

“Yeah, but this is the last shot, Cass. We’re out of money for games.” He adds with a grumble, “We could have bought three of them for what we spent on trying tonight.”

With a determined nod, she hands the skinny middle-aged guy behind the counter five tickets—for the fourth time—grinning at him as he sets three softballs in front of her.

“You know the drill,” he mumbles, his hands tucked into the front pocket of his hooded sweatshirt, his bored gaze rolling over the crowd. He doesn’t look particularly happy about being here, though I’m guessing the life of a traveling carnival operator isn’t a particularly easy or glamorous one.

“I have to get two balls in,” she confirms as she lifts the first one.

It lands in the woven basket, earning her squeal of glee.

“Okay! See? You can do this! Just one more.” I watch the man’s attention flitter to Cassie, studying her. He can tell she’s different. But can he tell what a big deal it’d be for her to win? Does he care?

The next two balls do a lap inside the basket before spiraling out.

Cassie’s shoulders slump with disappointment. And so do mine, I realize. Unlike this guy, I did really want to see her win.

I catch the guy’s cold, gray eyes and ask, “Hey, what’s that thing about fourth time’s the charm?”

He looks at Cassie and then out to the crowd, and I’m ready to lead her away so she doesn’t have to hear him tell us to beat it, that she lost fair and square.

But then he reaches below the counter to grab one more ball, and he sets it in front of Cassie. “Make it count, kid,” he warns, offering nothing more than the smallest of nods my way.

“Oh. Okay.” Cassie picks up the ball. I’m not sure she comprehends what just happened—that she’s getting a free shot.

She tosses it at the woven basket.

It does a lap before settling inside.

“Hey! You did it, Cassie!” Emmett cheers from behind.

“I did?” Her face is serious as she looks from him to me, to the ball, to the guy. “Did I win?”

“Which one do you want?” The game operator asks by way of answer, throwing a thumb at the stuffed animals.

She doesn’t miss a beat, thrusting her hand forward to point out the cat-fox thing, her gray-blue eyes bright, the smile on her face contagious.

Even the man’s stony face cracks for a second as he tosses it to her waiting grasp, just before he slaps an “on break” sign on the counter and ducks away.

“I can’t believe it! I won!” Cassie holds the stuffed toy up to examine it closely before hugging it close to her chest.

I meet Emmett’s coffee-brown eyes then, and my heart stutters at the soft look in them as he regards me. “Thank you,” he mouths.

I shrug, as if it’s no big deal. Meanwhile, blood is racing through my veins.

Zach wanders up, shoving a fluffy wad of blue cotton candy into his mouth. “You win that, Cass? Seriously?”

“Yeah.” Her grin somehow grows wider.

“Way to go. High five!” He holds up a hand and she meets it with a resounding slap of hers. “So, where to next? Haunted house?”

The smile falls off abruptly. “I’m not going in there.” She punctuates the refusal with a vigorous shake of her head.

Zach laughs. “I know. I was only kidding. You don’t have to.” He holds his bag of cotton candy out for her to take some. “AJ and Emmett will go. You and I can hang out here.”

“Is AJ scared?” she asks Zach. She does that sometimes, I’ve noticed—ask questions about people as if they’re not there. It’s usually when she’s too excited to focus.

“I don’t know,” Zach says patiently. “But she’s standing right beside you, so you should ask her.”

She turns to me, her eyes bright with amusement. “Are you scared, AJ?”

“No.”

“Oh. Good.” Her attention veers back to her prize, wrapped tightly within her arms. She’s smiling at it as she warns, “Watch out for that man.”

I frown. “Which man?”

“The one who …” She sticks her tongue out and makes a licking motion in the air.

“Excuse me?” I feel my eyebrows climb my forehead. “A man is going to lick me?”

Emmett laughs and seizes my biceps from behind. “No one’s going to lick you. It’s a wet sponge,” he promises, leading us to the two-story, rickety wooden fa?ade. A roped path leads up to the fake porch where the entrance is curtained off. He hands the operator our tickets. “You ready?”

“I’m not sure anymore,” I say warily.

With a grin and a nod toward the attraction, he lingers long enough for me to pass him, his hand skating across the small of my back for the briefest moment. Just long enough for my heart to skip a few beats, just quick enough for me to question if he meant to do it. “Don’t worry, the whole thing’s pretty lame. That part freaked her out because it’s pitch-black and, well, she’s Cassie.”