It’s so hot that I’m only doing fifteen minutes at a time in the hot dog suit, and all the parents are grumping by with their hands clenched too tight in frustration. The entire park smells like sweat, and even Mr. P was in a bad mood this morning. I hate days like this.
I’m tired too, which doesn’t help. I couldn’t sleep last night, pressed tight between crisp sheets in the cold airconditioning, replaying the day over and over in my head until I couldn’t stand it for another second.
But still, the show must go on.
“Dance, dance!” the little kid shouts at me, and oh my god, it’s fifteen million degrees, doesn’t he realize that? I mean, I know he looks maybe three, but still, if he’s hot, I’m hot. It’s not rocket science.
“Oh no, you don’t have to,” the little boy’s father says as I start to shimmy, but then Karen walks by with her perfect little clipboard and glares at me.
“Actually, she does,” Karen says. “Right, Elouise? You don’t want to disappoint your fans.”
“Frankly”—I force out a grin—“I always relish the opportunity to make people happy.”
The dad laughs at my terrible puns, but Karen just nods and walks away, her perfect ponytail bobbing behind her. If my gloves had any degree of dexterity, the garbage-eating crows that flock to the park wouldn’t be the only birds she saw today.
“Dance, dance!” the boy shouts again, so I do.
Nick walks into the breakroom, stretching up his arms as he yawns. “Hey, Elouise.”
I’m furiously pounding Gatorade after my latest walkabout in the hot dog suit and I nod back, trying to squash down the butterflies. I’m too tired for this crap today; too tired for butterflies, and lies, and kindhearted sort-of-doofy hot guys that—
“About last night.” He bites his lip all sheepish-like, and I don’t want to find it adorable, I’m way too cranky for that, but I do.
I twirl the Gatorade bottle in my hands and chip away at the label. “What about it?”
He looks down, and a little of his hair, still damp from his last show, sticks to his face. “Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine,” I say, because apparently lying is just something I do now. “Why?”
“No reason, I guess. Anyway, I found this on one of the picnic tables.” He opens his locker and pulls out Seeley’s shirt.
“Thanks.” I swallow hard and snatch it up. “I gotta run, I gotta go do rounds.”
I don’t catch the rest of what he says as I rush out the door and up the path, the sudden shift in temperature giving me an instant headache. I clutch her shirt a little tighter. Seeley’s got another hour or so left before her lunch break, but I don’t even care.
“Hi,” she says when I step into her booth. “What’s up? Nick doesn’t have another show for an hour and a half.” She looks all confused, and it kind of hurts that she thinks that’s all I came up here for.
“No, I know. I came to see you.”
“Oh.” Her eyes scan the carousel as it slows to a stop. “Hang on a sec?”
I lean back across the wall, folding and refolding her shirt from last night as she opens the gate and helps a few little kids with their seat belts. I remember when it was us up on the carousel; everything seemed so simple then. I wish I could find a way back to that.
When the last little kid rushes off to meet his mother, Seeley locks the gate and walks over to me. There’s nobody in line, unsurprising since the majority of the park has emptied out in this ungodly heat. Most of the people left are too busy trying not to drown in the kiddie pool to worry about hitting up the rides.
Seeley tilts her head. “What’s up, Lou?”
“I got this back for you.” I hold out the T-shirt.
“Thanks.” She tosses it on the shelf beneath the controls, like it burned her.
“You okay?”
She looks away, and I pull her into a hug so hard she almost tips over. “I hate fighting with you.”
“Yeah,” she mumbles into my shoulder. She steps back, grabbing a dustrag and some polish and walking back toward the carousel horses. “Did you and your dad make up yet?”
“Not yet.” I shift from foot to foot. “I’ve kind of been avoiding him.”
“You know how he is, Lou. He’ll probably say it wasn’t your fault and then make you waffles or something. Don’t get all worked up about it.”
I frown. I don’t even know if I deserve that after what I said to him. “Maybe.” I sigh. “Maybe he will.”
Oh god, I hope she’s right.