Fall ❈ Benny Rodriguez

vii. running back to you

CHAPTER SEVEN!
RUNNING BACK TO YOU　FOR THE FOXES

　

　

B E N N Y
point of view.

　

DEEP-FRIED FOOD ALWAYS managed to boost my spirits. The mouth-watering aroma could always be related with one thing: the fair.

　Summer would not be summer if the fair was not involved. Tonight, I felt a bit more excited than normal. Once everyone—and we were an enormous group—had acquired their armbands, we had practically galloped onto the fairgrounds.

　Brandy's small hand fit into mine, warm and familiar. There was an adorable smile plastered onto her face, one that made her cheeks glow—although that might have been her makeup—thus making the smile contagious.

　It was much easier to enjoy myself when Makayla was not in my view. The mere thought of her, however, jabbed at my heart, because I knew that she was somewhere behind me, walking beside Jordan Phillips. Desperately I hoped that she would not laugh aloud; her laugh, as familiar as her soft voice, had the potential to bring tears to my eyes, these days.

　For what must have been the billionth time since Makayla's return, I shook my head a bit roughly, in attempt to clear her from my mind. Brandy looked up at me, with curious eyes.

　"Babe, are you okay?"

　I resisted the urge to cringe; probably I overdid the shaking of the head thing. "Yeah. A...bug flew on my face."

　Brandy laughed—and a large part of me tried to compare it to Makayla's, to take note of the fact that Brandy was not Makayla, and never would be. It made me feel so utterly horrible. I could not control the thoughts that popped up out of nowhere, but I would always feel guilty for them.

　Behind me, Kenny asked, "Food or rides first?"

　And then her voice, high and wonderful, rang out, above all others. Despite all of the screaming, the bright and colorful lights in the night, everything—she could utter a single word, and suddenly she would be the only source of light and color in the world.

　"Fried Oreos!"

　Against my will, I turned my head to glance at Makayla. It was only supposed to be a brief glance, but—to my horror—her eyes met mine almost immediately. The fading smile on her mouth, the brightness of her sea-colored eyes was heartbreaking.

　I couldn't help but to smile at her.

　The two-year-old memories flashed before my eyes, fresh and nostalgic. In half a second, before I could tear my eyes from Makayla's, I saw her at fourteen, convincing me to try these Fried Oreos, of the overpowering envy I felt when the guy at the kissing booth kissed her on the mouth. I even remembered the outfit she wore that day—a maroon tank top and white shorts. And black Converse.

　Mace scrunched up his face. "That sounds disgusting."

　Of course, he was not being disrespectful to Makayla, but the electric current of anger and protectiveness rushed through me. "It's not," I snapped—and immediately amended. "I tried them a couple of years ago. Last year, it was all I would eat here. They're really good."

　The moment my voice came out sharp, Mace had looked at me with risen eyebrows. Beside him, Ivy choked on laughter. My eyes flickered back to Makayla, and I found that she was looking at Mace now. Phillips, however, fixed me with a steady, curious gaze.