Sierra Lancaster has had an agonizingly mediocre life. She grew up in a happy home, made loyal friends, graduated college, and is now pursuing her dream of running her own bakery. Boring, right? A story like this wouldn't be one for the books. At le...
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Above me, I watch as streaks of orange and pink start to break apart the summer sky. The sounds of screams and cheers echo through the carnival, and laughter greets me at every corner. I'm envious of everyone who looks like they're enjoying themselves. I wish I could enjoy myself too, but the truth is some bad experiences can stick with you and taint your memories with so much black that you forget what colours used to be painted underneath.
It may sound dumb or dramatic but carnivals will always remind me of the one time I was thirteen and on a school trip. I was in line for the Ferris wheel and when it was my turn to sit, the metal had croaked in protest and made the girl next to me go white with fear. I immediately got up, even as the guy working the wheel assured me I was going to be fine and that he'd been doing this for years. He was really nice about it but the kids in my class? Not so much. There were whispers of "I bet the whole wheel breaks and rolls away" and "she's going to break the ride!" and "shouldn't they have a weight scale at these things?"
So while carnivals will always remind people of their happiest times and childhood memories, they'll remind me of one of the first times I realized a kid like me simply didn't belong. I was too young to realize the world was a terrible place. I should have been ignorant and happy but I had to grow up too fast in order protect myself.
Sometimes I think I have a tendency to act like a kid because I missed out on the years I should have been one. But maybe that's me just making excuses for all the ways I've failed. Crashed and burned. Med school drop-out. Wannabe baker. Insecure.
I swipe away a lone tear that manages to slip out of the corner of my eye. I don't think there's a feeling that's worse than letting yourself down—when you have these plans and expectations for yourself because you know your potential and the kind of person you can be, only to fall short and realize you didn't have what it takes. That everyone was right not to believe in you. I don't think there's anything that can break a person more than feeling like they'll never be enough.
Wow, that got dark. Everyone around me is laughing and smiling as the evening begins to wind down and remind them they've gotten through a day full of great memories. I probably look like a freak sitting on a bench by myself and not-so-discreetly sobbing. I wouldn't be surprised if someone just walked up and maced me.
But no one maces me. In fact, someone takes a seat beside me. And when I smell the familiar scent of expensive cologne and shoe polish, and when I feel a rock-hard hard shoulder and arm press against mine, my stomach twists with all kinds of emotions I can't make sense of.
Anger. Regret. Embarrassment. Want.
I use the top of my cardigan to wipe away my tears as discreetly as I can. The stare I can feel on me reminds me that I can't hide.
"This is yours." Holden brings his hand forward, facing down so I can't see what's in it. I think he does that because I have no choice but to meet his eyes in question, and I'm surprised to find a softness in his gaze I've never seen before. "Take it."
