Having fake parents was working out even better than I had hoped. After the bus ride, they bought us lunch at a little café outside the park. Conversation was a bit awkward, since we were practically strangers. But the magic of the Universe had made us a family. And being in a family meant getting a lunch that wasn’t a smashed peanut butter sandwich.
On the downside, my new helmet made it terribly difficult to eat. With a full metal face mask, it was difficult to slide the food into my mouth. Believe me, I had tried to take it off, but the Universe had fused the helmet to the top of my head and no amount of prying could work it loose.
When we were done eating, it was time to head into the park. Apparently, passes to Super-Fun-Happy Place are rather expensive. I’m going by what Ridge told me, since I couldn’t read any of the signs near the entrance. But as it was, I was once again grateful to have a stressed-out dad to pay for me.
I had seen Super-Fun-Happy Place in movies, so I thought I knew what to expect. But the bright spread of adventure seemed so much bigger as I saw it with my own discolored eye.
There were roller coasters and spinning rides, splash pads and arcade games. Vendors passed by with dripping Popsicles and candied nuts. The whole place smelled like sugar . . . with just a hint of dried vomit.
I looked at Ridge, pleased to see that I wasn’t the only one gawking at this awesome place. “We’ve got to find the cotton candy guy,” I said, remembering the real reason we had come. “And keep an eye out for Thackary and Jathon.”
Before Ridge could answer, someone stepped between us, taking us both by an arm. It was our dad. Now that we had arrived, I’d forgotten all about our pseudoparents.
“Thanks for everything . . . Dad,” I said. I looked at Ridge, slightly puzzled by the man’s persistence at parenting. “When does my wish end?” I asked the genie.
Ridge’s eyes went wide. “Umm. You didn’t specify,” he said.
“What are you saying?” I cried. But I was afraid I knew exactly what he was saying. “They’re going to be our parents forever?”
It was Dad who answered. “That’s generally how it works, son.” He bent low, his face between mine and Ridge’s. “Now, there are a lot of people here. I need you to stay close. You know how your mother is with crowds.”
This couldn’t be happening! My wish for parents was supposed to be temporary. It was intended to get us into the park, not tie us down once we arrived. How were we going to find the cotton candy man and capture Thackary Anderthon if Mom and Dad were holding our hands?
This had to end now.
I stepped away from my dad’s reach, turning to face both parents with Ridge by my side. “Mom, Dad . . .” I began. “You’ve always been wonderful parents. The last two and a half hours have been, well, inexpensive for Ridge and me. For that, we are very grateful. But I’m afraid it’s time to part ways.”
“Excuse me?” Dad shouted. “You two aren’t going anywhere. . . .”
I turned to Ridge. “I wish they’d forget we were here.” It was a simple solution, and didn’t contradict the first wish I’d made.
My fake mom stepped forward, her face wrinkled with concern. “How could you wish that, Ace? We are your parents. . . .”
“If you want them to forget that we’re here,” Ridge whispered, “then your socks will get wet every time you laugh.”
“Soaking wet?” I asked. “Or just damp?”
“Depends on how hard you laugh,” Ridge answered. “A little chuckle will dampen them. But a full laugh will soak them. Like you dunked them in a bathtub.”
“How long will this last?” I asked.
“The rest of the week,” he answered.
I grumbled, not wanting wet socks, but knowing that we needed to ditch our false parents. “I guess I’ll accept it. Bazang.”
My hourglass watch clicked away as a dazed expression came over them. Then Mom pointed in the opposite direction, seized her husband by the hand, and they ran off toward some attraction.
“Bye, Mom. Bye, Dad,” Ridge muttered too quietly for them to hear. He sighed. “Just when we were starting to get along.”
“Come on,” I said. “You know I was their favorite.”
We wandered the park for quite a while. Ridge and I managed to spot three different vendors spinning cotton candy, but they didn’t match the details we’d learned from the second page of the Anderthons’ notebook. We were looking for a man with a pink mustache selling green cotton candy.
So we decided to do what any reasonable kids would do at an amusement park. We jumped in line for the nearest ride. It was one that lifted you straight into the sky and then dropped you in a free fall toward the ground.
By the time we got seated, the red padded security bars folding down over our heads, Ridge was having major second thoughts. “What if we hit the ground?” He was rubbing his sweaty hands together. “What if the safety bar comes up while we’re falling?”
It was a little late for him to worry now. The seats were slowly rising to the top of the tower, giving us an aerial view of the amusement park. I saw the throngs of people growing smaller and smaller as we rose higher.
“What if a giant bird flies by and plucks me out of this chair?” Ridge was rambling now, but I wasn’t paying him any attention. Through the narrow slits of my medieval helmet, I had seen something below. Tucked off in a corner where not many people passed by, there stood a man, hunched over a machine spinning sugar. I couldn’t see if he had a mustache from up so high, let alone if it was pink. But I could see the color of the cotton candy as it spiraled around a paper cone in his hand.
It was green.
“There!” I cut Ridge off in the middle of describing a scenario that included a high-speed windstorm and us falling to our death. “See that guy down there?” I was pointing at the cotton candy man I had spied.
“Is that him?” Ridge squinted against the glaring midday sun.
“Hard to tell from up here,” I replied.
“We need to remember where he is,” said Ridge. “We can head over there as soon as we—AAAAAAHHHHHHHH!”
The ride dropped and Ridge started screaming like a baby. I felt my stomach heave as we plummeted. But that’s what made it fun, right? You’ve probably been on a ride like that. But I bet you didn’t scream half as loud as Ridge.
The ride was over before we knew it, and both of us climbed out of our seats and headed quickly in the direction of the green cotton candy stand.
“That was horrible,” Ridge said. “It felt just like when Thackary pushed me off that cliff. Except, there was no chair at Mount Rushmore.”
We had entered a walkway of carnival-style games. Hoops for basketballs, water pistols to shoot down targets, giant foam hammers to test your strength. The teenagers running the booths called to us, beckoning us to play.
Most of the prizes were stuffed bears. There must have been hundreds of them, ranging in size from mere inches to over five feet tall. Those seemed excessive. I mean, what would you do if you won something so huge? Carry it around and get extrasweaty for the rest of the day?
The cotton candy booth was at the end of the carnival walkway. Ridge and I moved with purpose toward it, watching the man, head bowed, spinning off another fluff of green sugar threads.
The man wore a red-and-white pin-striped suit with a stiff-brimmed straw hat to shield his face from the hot sun. Ridge and I stopped just feet from his little booth, causing him finally to look up. Across his upper lip, the man had a bushy mustache. And it was bright pink.
“Hello, there,” I said, once again extending my sleeves to the point that I could barely keep them rolled up. It was almost like knowing that I shouldn’t say that word made me say it more often. “We’d like two, please.”
My heart was racing. Ridge and I were about to complete the second task! This had gone so much better than Mount Rushmore. Eating cotton candy at the most joyful place on earth? It almost seemed too easy.
The cotton candy man looked at me, then at Ridge, then back to me. “I know what you are,” he said, his voice sounding forced, and tinted with an accent I didn’t recognize. All at once, he jumped backward, kicking over his cart and scooping up all his premade cotton candy. Then he was off, sprinting past us down the walkway of carnival games.
“Did I forget to say please?” I muttered, wondering how things had suddenly gone awry.
“No, you definitely said please,” Ridge answered. “This guy must not get many customers.”
We darted after him, but we only made it a few steps before we realized what was happening.
Remember those huge, useless stuffed bears? Well, now they were coming alive.