I slide my car into the spot and put it in park, my spine temporarily propped up by officially licensed waffles and another pep talk from my dad. I deflate the second I see Nick walk by, studiously avoiding eye contact with me as he books it through the gates. I don’t blame him. In fact I’m kind of grateful for the reprieve. If everybody would go ahead and avoid me today that would pretty much be the best.
“What is the matter with you?” Jessa screeches.
I knew I jinxed myself as soon as I had that last thought, but I didn’t think it would immediately conjure Jessa to my car window. Her hard, angry hands knock against my driver’s side window like she wants to smash right through. She just might too. Hell hath no fury like a princess scorned or whatever.
I contemplate sitting here, staring straight ahead until she leaves or gets tired, but neither of those options seems super possible considering the intensity with which she is currently knocking. I sigh and flick the keys to turn off the ignition, pulling them out slowly and shoving them into my bag. Jessa seems to calm down a little, but she makes no move to leave. She’s leaning against the car now, her arms crossed in front of her, her lips turned down in a tight angry frown.
I pop my door open, perching my butt on the edge of my seat and biting my lip as I slide to face her. She opens her mouth to yell, and I can tell by the way she straightens up and squares her shoulders that it’s going to be a doozy.
I drop my head, letting my ridiculous hair fall around my face like a protective shield. “I deserve it,” I say, which must catch her off guard because her breath hitches in her throat a little, and her hands fall to her sides.
“What?”
I tilt my head up to see her better. “I said I deserve it, whatever it is you’re about to yell at me. I absolutely deserve it. Telling him the way I did was a crappy thing to do. I’ve been acting like an absolute monster, and I’m sorry.” I know this now because my dad pointed it out to me twice over waffles this morning, but I’m not going to tell her that.
Jessa looks up at where the roller coaster slowly cranks up the incline on its morning test run. I can already imagine the mechanic standing there with his clipboard, shaking his head. I wonder if there’s any hope for it.
“It’s a lot less fun to scream at you when you’re apologizing.”
“Sorry.” I fiddle with my finger, biting the skin at the side of my nail. “It seemed like you were gearing up for something pretty impressive too.”
She smirks a little, like she can’t help it, but then frowns, turning back to me with hard eyes. “You ruined everything, you know. Nick won’t talk to me, and now neither will Ari. If it gets back to my mom, I’ll probably be grounded for life. I can’t believe you. I thought we were friends.” I hear the pain in her voice, and it makes my head hurt in places it shouldn’t.
I rub my hands over my face. “If you want to rip into me, if you think that will help, then we can do that. Like I said, I probably deserve it. But I don’t think we were ever really friends, do you? I mean, we never hung out one-on-one or anything. I don’t even have your number. We were like acquaintances or whatever at most, right?”
Her eyes widen as her hands make her way to her hips. “You are so screwed up, Elouise. I don’t even know why I’m wasting my time.”
“No, seriously, you can yell at me.”
Please yell at me. I deserve it. I need it. Anything to unload a little of this guilt I’m carrying around. But Jessa shakes her head and walks away.
I sit in my car, hide in it really, until I’m positive that everyone else has spread out into their various positions around the park. I swear my feet weigh ten thousand pounds as I finally trudge across the parking lot to the entrance. The large iron gates loom ahead of me, more like a warning than a welcome. It’s never been like this before, and I hate it.
The girls at the ticket booth giggle when I walk by, and it could be a coincidence, sure, I don’t ever even talk to them, but also it could be the more likely thing, which is that the whole park knows what I did during my meltdown.
“Elouise,” Mr. Prendergast says.
I’m attempting to slink past his office unnoticed on my way to the breakroom, but obviously the universe can’t even give me that. “Hey, Mr. P.”
“Is everything all right?”
“Not really, no.” There’s no use lying. If the girls up front heard about what happened, I’m sure he did too.
“Would you mind coming in here?” His voice is stern enough to suggest trouble and I start running through all the things I’ve done in my head. I mean, you can’t get fired for being a bad friend, right? Or can you? Shit. I never actually read that HR guidebook thing he gave me when I first started here, but that seems like an oddly specific rule. Unless there’s like a morality clause. Do part-time amusement park jobs have morality clauses? Is that a thing?
“Relax, Elouise, you’re not in trouble. Have a seat.”
So, okay, I guess I’m not doing a great job covering up how much I’m panicking. “What’s up, Mr. P?”
“I wanted to check in with you before the day got busy. I spoke with your father this morning and he told me what happened and that you were still very upset.”
“He did?” And I’m sure my father meant well or whatever, but like it’s a little weird for your dad to call your boss to tell him you’re really upset about being in love with your best friend that won’t even talk to you because you made her fake date you. I mean, I know this is only my first real job and boss or whatever, but that’s weird, right?
Mr. P leans back in his chair. “We were going over some tax documents that seemed to be out of place in my file for some reason.”
I slink a little lower in my seat. So my dad did know I took the files, which makes him being nice to me this morning all the more incredible.
“He mentioned to me that you were struggling with the idea of the park closing. He also expressed some concern that you might actually be plotting something, which apparently is something you’re quite well known for.” His voice is serious, but there’s a slight hitch in it when he says this last part.
I don’t know what to say here, so I don’t say anything.
“I don’t make a habit of explaining my personal life to my employees, but I’ll make an exception since I’ve known you and your father for so long. Elouise, I’m not closing this place because I can’t afford it. I am closing it because I have a granddaughter in Boca who was recently diagnosed with leukemia, and whom I’d like to see more of.”
“Adelyn has cancer? Is that why you’ve been making so many withdrawals?” I blurt out.
Mr. P leans forward over his desk. “For your father’s sake, I’m going to pretend you didn’t ask that. But hypothetically, if I had been making a lot of withdrawals, then yes, it would have been to take care of some expenses related to Adelyn’s treatment.” He leans back again, resting his hands in his lap. “But to get things back on track here, I want you to understand that this is not me walking away because I don’t care—this is me making the decision that’s right for my family, for myself, and, believe it or not, for this entire town.”
I frown a little. “The town?”
“I have a good offer from a microchip plant that’s been looking to move into the area for a while now. A business like that would do more for this town than this little amusement park could ever do. It could put this town back on the map.”
And okay, I don’t love the idea of a factory or whatever, but I can see for the first time that he’s right. I’d heard people talking about that chip plant maybe moving in over the last couple years, and all the adults seemed super excited about it. Which maybe explains why my GoFundMe has been dead in the water.
I look down at the floor, toeing at the closest scuff mark. “What’s going to happen to Butters?”
“Butters?”
“The carousel horse.” I blush because I’m definitely too old to care, but I do.
“Oh.” He smiles. “Butters will be moving to the town park with the rest of the horses. I’m donating the carousel; they belong here. The rest of the rides are being distributed around the state. Some will probably be sold for scrap, but no, Elouise, the carousel isn’t going anywhere.”
Tears prick my eyes, and for once, they are happy. “It isn’t?”
“The only place it’s going is five minutes down the road.” Mr. P stands up to open his door. “Now, if I’m not mistaken, there’s a hot dog due in the food court in twenty minutes. Oh, but before you go, I have something for you.”
I raise my eyebrows, because what could it possibly be? He pulls a tiny cardboard box out of the mini fridge he keeps filled with water beside his desk. It’s wrapped with beautiful red and white string, and I’d recognize it anywhere.
“Is that what I think it is?”
He smiles and sets the box in front of me. “If I remember correctly, I owe you a cannoli, my dear.” And if I come around the desk and give him a big hug before I walk out the door, well, nobody has to know.
I pull my phone out to text Seeley while I devour the cannoli on my way to the breakroom. I forgot for a second how screwed up everything is between us, and when I remember, it feels like I’ve been punched in the stomach. I guess sometimes your heart can feel light for a second, even when you don’t deserve it.
I keep my head down as I cross the room, pulling the hot dog down from the rack and unzipping the black garment bag surrounding it. A piece of paper skitters to the floor, and I scrunch up my forehead. For a second, I think it’s from Seeley and my heart starts to pound, but when I pick it up, I see that it’s just a cleaning tag from Marla. Hot Dog Girl, it says, followed by the date.
And suddenly I feel more lost than I ever have in my whole life. I shove myself inside the hot dog suit, wishing I could disappear inside it completely, wishing I could be anything but me. I’ve always been loud when I should have been quiet, soft where I should be hard, frizzy instead of sleek, self-centered and selfish and self-absorbed. Maybe Seeley was right to blow me off. Maybe I’m no good for her or anybody else. I zip up the bun and adjust my ketchup-bottle shoes. Maybe I’m a crappy person, but at least I’m a good hot dog.
Seeley walks by with Seb and Marcus as I stand in the shadow of the Fry Shack. I tell myself I would have talked to her if she were alone, or if I were less sweaty, or if one of us wasn’t dressed like a hot dog.
I think that’s true, I hope that’s true, but either way, I stay in the food court, dancing and smiling and taking pictures until I’m totally light-headed, until I can’t take it for another second, until I’ve given it all I’ve got. I trip once as I stagger back to the breakroom, skinning my knee and tearing a hole right through my leggings. I don’t even care.
I’ll patch it up, and I’ll have some water, and maybe . . . maybe I’ll find a way to make everything as good as new.