You'd Be Mine(13)

“Actually, I haven’t been on a roller coaster in years. I’m in.”

“Of course you are,” Fitz says. “And I just bought us Flash Passes, so it’s too late to turn back now.”

“Isn’t the closest Six Flags, like, over two hours away?”

Kacey pops up. “More like thirty minutes. I’d better go wake Sleeping Beauty.”

“You planned this without asking her?”

Kacey shrugs, walking to the door. “If she wanted input, she needed to wake her ass up earlier.”

I shake my head, closing the bathroom door. “No love for the headliners, apparently. No big deal. We only pay you.”

“I heard that!” Fitz yells through the door.

“Quit listening at the bathroom door, you ingrate!” I yell back before stepping in the steaming water.

Hours later, a sleek black SUV is dropping us off at the entrance. We step out, blearily blinking at the hot sun. Annie shades her eyes while taking in the roller coaster closest to the entrance.

“You don’t look excited,” I observe in a low tone next to her. After our intense “getting to know you” photo shoot the other day, I’ve wondered if things would be uncomfortable.

“I’m not,” she says, equally quiet. “I get sick on the Tilt-a-Whirl, and escalators make me dizzy. This place is gonna kill me.”

I freeze for a second before shaking my head at her. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“Oh, Kacey knows, but she’s all moony over Fitz in the Jeans, so…”

I snicker. “Fitz in the Jeans?”

Annie’s cheeks take on color. She lowers her hand and looks at me sheepishly. “Yeah, so if you could forget I said that…”

“Not a chance.”

She sighs, her small bare shoulders hunching in her simple tank. “Figured not.” She winces. “Look, you guys have to know the blue jeans situation in your band is ridiculous.”

“So, am I Clay in the Jeans, then?” I ask, trying not to laugh at how uncomfortable she looks. It’s such a change from her self-assured stage persona. She glares. It’s not very effective.

“I refuse to answer any further questions. You’re obviously feeding your ego, and at this point, a bigger head might kill you dead.”

“We’re in!” Fitz yells. He’s waving a bunch of neon bracelets in his hand and starts to pass them out.

“Mathers doesn’t need hers. She’s afraid of fun,” I say.

“Lord give me strength,” she mutters, rolling her eyes heavenward. She holds a wrist out to Jason, who obliges with a snort.

“I forgot about that. Remember that one time when you puked up all your cotton candy on the Shaker?” He turns to the rest of us. “Neon-blue vomit everywhere.”

Kacey frowns. “I thought that was because you were her date and you doused yourself in Axe beforehand.”

“It certainly didn’t help,” Annie says drolly. “Let’s get this over with.”

We walk through the gates, hitting every roller coaster at least three times with our quick passes, while Annie watches from the ground. She keeps us fed and offers to wait in the lines for food, which our bracelets do nothing to speed up. At some point, she winds up with a stuffed tiger the size of a small child.

“You pick up a date?” I ask, taking the hot dog she’s offering.

She nods. “It’s how I like ’em,” she says. “Cuddly and silent.”

“I want one!” says Kacey. “Let’s play some games for a bit. My lunch needs to settle.”

We make our way over to an alley of various gaming carts decorated with lurid stuffed animals. Kacey sees the tigers, and we follow. There’s a pit in front, filled with baseballs and three impossibly small targets set up in a row along the back wall. Fitz steps up, hands the vendor a five, and grabs a ball. He hits on the first try, but the target doesn’t budge.

“Needs a little more oomph,” Annie instructs him.

Fitz throws the next two wild.

Jason steps up and taps two, missing the third.

Kacey shakes her head. “I’m afraid of the ball,” she offers.

Fitz looks to me with a smirk, and I wave them off. “Naw, it’s a waste of money.”

“You’re rich,” Fitz says. “Besides, Annie did it.” I want to slug him. Maybe it won’t be so bad. I take out a five-dollar bill and pass it to the vendor while picking up a ball. I try to hold it the way I saw the others do, but it’s no use. It feels completely foreign in my hands.

I toss the first. It’s short. I chuck the second, refusing to look at the others.

Too much oomph. I nearly decapitate the vendor—who is nowhere near the bull’s-eyes—or the game, really.

Annie sidles up beside me. “So, Clay in the Jeans was a band geek.”

“Oh, I ran track, too,” I say, still not looking at her. She takes the ball from my hand, winds up, and pitches it perfectly at the center of the final bull’s-eye, punching it to the back of the tent with such force it spins in a circle.

“Winner winner chicken dinner,” intones the bored vendor, and he hands her another tiger. She smirks. “All-State Softball Champs three years running. Michigan Pitcher of the Year, both junior and senior year.”