We pass through the festival’s main entry and are assaulted by the smells: fried onions, cotton candy, freshly squeezed lemonade, grilled corn on the cob. Tufts of smoke fill the air from the barbecues, and occasional shrill ringing bursts from the games. A small roller coaster clackety-clacks up the incline. The band grows louder.
“What do you want to do first?” Sienna asks, spinning around and walking backward. Patrick holds on to her elbows to keep her from falling over on the uneven ground.
“Ferris wheel,” I say.
“Done.” She spins around again and skips off toward the Ferris wheel perched at the edge of the lot, the corner closest to the marina and the piers.
It’s a warm night for Autumn, with a sky so cloudless I could spend all night counting the stars. A gentle briny breeze floats across the place, mingling with the scent of fried fair food and caramel apples.
The Ferris wheel is small, the sort that two people sit side by side in. Sienna and Patrick climb into the first car, with Erik and me behind them in the next one. The car rises slowly, pausing momentarily a few times to let other riders on.
The car above us starts to swing back and forth, and then Patrick’s voice calls out, “If the ride is a rockin’, don’t come a knockin’!”
I roll my eyes as I hear Sienna chide him, but the car swings for a while longer before finally stilling. We rise higher, until we’ve surpassed the roller coaster and the stage. The landscape opens up around us. Erik slides an arm behind me and pulls me up against him. I lean into his chest and watch as we rise high enough to see the ocean spread out below us. It sparkles under the twinkling stars, eventually disappearing into the mist.
Our car stops at the tip-top, so that Sienna and Patrick aren’t in view anymore, and it’s just Erik and me, like we’re the only souls on earth. The faint sounds of the band still trickle up to us, but it’s a ballad now, a sweet violin solo as our only company in the darkness.
My hunger for the ocean grows, as I stare down at it.
“You want to swim, huh?”
I nod.
“If it gets unbearable, tell me. We’ll go.”
I nod, grateful he understands, and turn to look him in the eyes. I tip my head back, and Erik leans over me enough so that we can kiss again. This time his tongue traces my lips until I part them. And then we’re kissing like that, more heated, deeper than before. Unlike the kisses with Cole, this one doesn’t end too soon.
I’m so lost in the moment, I nearly jump out of my seat when someone clears their throat. I look up to see the attendant standing there, the next riders behind him.
Oh, right. We’re at the bottom.
I scramble out of the car, accepting Erik’s hand as he leads me around the attendant. But just as I pass him, I glance over and nearly trip over my own feet.
Cole is standing there with Nikki. Are they together now? Or are they here as friends? I blink rapidly and look past them. Kristi’s here, too, with a guy I’ve seen her talking to at school. Are they also on a double date?
Why do I feel like my insides are in a blender right now? It’s just Nikki. There’s no way he’d date her. There’s no way he’d get over me so quickly.
But I’m here with Erik. Cole thinks I got over him that quickly.
I tear my eyes away from him, hoping somehow to get rid of the image of Nikki’s hand on Cole’s arm. Of course, they would be here. Everyone goes to the Harvest Festival.
Erik notices my expression but doesn’t call me on it. He attempts to distract me. “What now?” he asks. We walk past one of the games that rings out with a shrill bell, overstuffed cartoon characters dangling from the edges of the booth.
“We dance?”
“Is that a question?” He asks, turning to look at me.
“No. It’s a request.”
He grins, another gleaming smile. “Consider it granted.”
I’m not sure where Sienna disappeared to, but I can’t bring myself to care as he leads me through the crowd. We weave between stands and strollers and other kids from school too absorbed in their own conversation to notice us, until we’re in the area they’ve set up for the band. The dance area is surrounded by straw bales and is packed with people—couples young and old.
The band seems to have gone from country to swing, and everyone is going crazy, spinning and swinging, laughing and smiling.
“Uh, do you know how to swing dance?” I ask, grimacing.
“Yes.”
I spin around and look at him, wondering if he’s joking. “Seriously?”
“Yep. You?”
“We covered it in PE last year, but I wasn’t very good,” I say, giving him an apologetic look. “Prepare to have your toes smashed.”
“We’ll see about that.”
He pulls me into the crowd, then spins me around so fast I can hardly breathe. He takes my hands in his, our fingers interlaced and palms together. “Just put your trust in me, and everything will be fine. Can you do that?”
I nod, but I’m hardly ready when suddenly he pulls me toward him. Just as I think I’m going to crash right into his chest, stumble over his feet, he pushes me away. I nearly lose my balance, but my arm twists above my head, and I’m spinning in a circle. For a millisecond, my back is up against his chest, but then he spins me the opposite direction. Finally, he takes my spare hand, and I end up back where I started.
I burst into laughter, because I have no idea how he just did that, but I don’t stop dancing. Instead, I pick up on his rhythm. I forfeit all control to Erik, allowing my body to go where he leads it. I let myself lose my balance here and there and hope he’ll catch me.
And he does. We’re flying all over, spinning, dipping, twisting, and I can’t seem to stop grinning like a fool as I shuffle my feet this way and that, wherever he leads me. The song bleeds into the next and then the next, until I’m not even sure it’s swing music anymore. But still we don’t stop.
We dance for so long that I lose track of time, which seems an unbelievable feat when my hunger for the ocean grows with each tick of the clock. I wouldn’t be able to do this with anyone but Erik. Knowing he won’t let me walk away from him, won’t let me out of sight, somehow makes it possible to relax and enjoy myself.
Finally, the beat drifts away, and a slow melody picks up. A love song, clear as day, echoes from the speakers. And only then do I let my feet slow.
Erik releases my left hand so that he can put his arm around my lower waist. He pulls me against his body, warmer than the night.
Chapter Twenty-Six
A week after the festival, Sienna’s blue coupe follows Nikki’s dark Mitsubishi sedan up a particularly winding part of Route 101. The sky above us is black with storm clouds. It’s a particularly dangerous part of the highway. The cliffs hug the road to our left; the ocean licks at the rocks below to our right, at least fifty feet down. There won’t be a real shoulder for at least another half mile.
It’s unbelievably dark, and yet the sun won’t set for another hour.
Erik and I are crammed in the backseat of Sienna’s coupe as we follow the two cars ahead, their headlights illuminating the pavement in front of our caravan. Hip-hop blares from Sienna’s speakers as Erik’s hand rests on my knees. It’s too loud to talk to Erik, but we smile at each other in the darkness, trusting our lives to Sienna’s marginal driving skills.
Up ahead, a red blinker flashes, and taillights flare brighter. Sienna slows, turning off the road and driving through a rusted open old gate, barely hanging on by one hinge. Dilapidated wire fencing sags between old iron T posts, mostly obscured by the overgrown reedy grass that grows this close to the ocean.
Our caravan glides quietly up the gravel, winding back and forth on a few lazy switchbacks. The headlights illuminate secluded spots of the sparse grassy hillside until a wide, empty gravel lot opens up. The two cars in front of us pull up next to each other, and then Sienna does the same. “We’re here,” she says, glancing back at us as she turns off the radio. Patrick throws his door open and yanks his seat forward to allow us to climb out.