𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞

The next morning, I wake up in my aunt's cramped, dingy guest room just like any other day. I fling an arm over my eyes as the early morning sunlight slants through the flimsy curtains with a cheerfulness I certainly don't feel. Groaning, I roll off of my deflating air mattress and flop onto the cold, wooden floor. I can feel the vibrations of my Aunt Lucy's loud punk rock music through the flooring. There's also something else. I sniff the air, and sure enough—the faint smell of smoke. Cigarettes or burnt scrambled eggs? Both, most likely.

I curse the world.

Then I remember. My three a.m. text. I said something about feeling reckless? 

I shove my glasses onto my face and grope around for my phone. As if on cue, it chirps with a new message.

Xiomara: you said you wanted to do something. how about The Midnight Fair? it's tonight.

And that's how I find myself sneaking out of the house at midnight, hours later, after a long day of pent-up anticipation and nerves. After a day spent puttering around the house and avoiding my aunt who is always finding different flaws to pick out of me. At least she isn't homophobic. At least I have a place to sleep.

As the front door quietly clicks shut behind me, I can't help but imagine my aunt screaming down my ear for being out late on a Sunday night. I can imagine her waiting for me when I get back: peering over a cup of lukewarm tea, tearing me apart with that bloodshot gaze of hers. I can already see the disappointment that would swirl in those bleary, lake-blue eyes. Not the same kind of disappointment my immediate family darkly pulls over me like a heavy cloak, but disappointment nevertheless. 

But tonight, I am just Isla. I am first a person before a disappointment, even if my family can't see that.

And so, I live. I roll my shoulders and straighten my spine. I walk down the creaking steps of the front porch. I breathe. Not just to spite them, though. I have a girl waiting for me. I have a fair to get to.

The sweet night air is cold against my lips freshly coated in scarlet lipstick, and the vintage white of my bicycle—propped against the garage—gleams bright under the moonlight. I eagerly grab for its handlebars, hop onto the worn leather seat of it, and start down the roads of Middriethe I know by heart. Under the flickering lamplights lining the street, with my dark dress billowing around my thighs, and with the promise of a night worth remembering—I feel alive.

After a handful of winding streets and narrow alleys, I pull up to the bright entrance of The Midnight Fair. The wide, metal archway seems to reach up to the clouds, and it is lined with spherical, lily-white light fixtures. The dramatic entryway serves as a portal to the alternate world—of flashing lights, noise, and popcorn dripping with caramel—that lays beyond. The Midnight Fair.

I prop my bicycle against a nearby tree at the fair's edge, but before I head inside, my eyes land on a carnival-red flyer caught between the branches. This year's Midnight Fair flyer. I pluck it from the tree's arms, smooth it out, and read it's bold letters:

Welcome to the Midnight Fair!

Come down to the abandoned field

on the outskirts of Middriethe

for an unforgettable night

of wonders and amusement.

This year's theme:

"Midnight Masquerade"

Be someone else for tonight.