Jace smiles and backs out of the driveway. “If I had a daughter, I wouldn't let her go at all.”
“Are you saying you're a bad influence?” I ask him playfully.
“Yep.” He reaches over and squeezes my knee. Unlike Ian, Jace doesn't let his hand rise up any further than that. “I am the worst kind of influence. Especially when it comes to all the junk food we're gonna eat tonight.”
The county fair is exactly what I expected, despite having never been here before. The fairgrounds share land with the county rodeo, so the air reeks of horse poop and hay bales mixed with the scent of kettle corn and sausages on a stick.
Jace buys two tickets and we get our hands stamped by an elderly woman in a wheelchair. The stamp is shaped like the state of Texas, with a blue dot over where Salt Gap would be. We walk through a barn that's been converted into several vender booths, selling things from handmade cowhide purses to paintings of Indian chiefs to body jewelry. For once, I don't care that I don't have any money. There's nothing worth buying here.
Jace and I walk shoulder to shoulder through the crowds of people who all seem to have their own agenda: the children ride the rides, the men drink beer and stare at the women, the women flirt and laugh and find ways to eat cotton candy seductively. I think I'm the only girl here who isn't wearing cut off jean shorts and some kind of plaid pearl snap shirt.
I glance at Jace in his dark wash jeans and black T-shirt with a fox head logo on it. “I'm surprised they let us in,” I say. “We're not exactly the type of people who come here.”
Jace takes my hand and pulls me around a blue plastic trashcan that's overflowing with paper food wrappers and beer cans. “Speak for yourself. I'm wearing my genuine leather chaps under these jeans.”
I look at his legs. “Really?”
He laughs and leads me toward the carnival game booths. “Better watch out, your gullible is showing.”
Jace buys us several rounds of carnival games, despite me telling him they're totally rigged. He throws a dozen baseballs at a triangle of stacked bottles and doesn't hit them once. I lose count of how many rings I throw at a painted red tube, but none of them go over it.
The carnie at the balloon booth calls us over. “Stop lettin' Kevin rip ya off,” he shouts over the carnival music. “I'll give ya five darts for a dollar. That way you can win somethin' for yer sweetie.”
“I ain't ripping nobody off!” says the carnie at the ball booth as he pockets another twenty dollar bill from Jace. Jace looks at me and gives me devilish smile. “What do you say…sweetie? Want me to win you something?”
“Only if you let me win you something,” I retort, snatching a dollar from his hand.
The balloon booth is a lot easier because it's basically just a wall with balloons attached to it, and you throw darts at it. If you pop a balloon, you get a prize in the category of that color balloon. Jace wins a stuffed doll that looks a lot like SpongeBob Squarepants, but for copyright reasons, this one is called Fungi Fred.
The carnie hands the doll to Jace and then Jace presents the gift to me with an overdramatic flourish of his hand. “For you, princess,” he says as he bows to me. I take the doll, knowing that it's just a stupid toy, but I can't help thinking that Ian never gave me anything. And I came close to giving him my everything.
I throw my final dart toward the balloons, and hit a yellow one. Yellow is the most abundant color, so my prize choices are from the crappy section. “What's the most embarrassing thing I can get?” I ask the carnie.
His eyes light up. “I know just the thing,” he says as ducks under the booth to dig through a box. He returns with an oversized chain necklace with a pendant the size of my face, made of silver plastic. It's huge, like the kind Mr. T would wear. He turns the pendant over in his hand, flips on a battery switch and shows it to us. The wordbootyliciousblinks in several LED colors as Jace lets out a soft, “Oh my god, no.”
I take the necklace and place it over his head. “You look beautiful,” I say with a wicked smile. The carnie gives me a high five.
Jace leaves the tacky necklace on despite the looks we get from kids and adults alike. I don't know if he would have this much confidence if he were in his own hometown. There's something about being surrounded by strangers you'll never see again that can change your perspective of what's embarrassing.
We head to the scariest-looking carnival ride and take a spot in the long line of people ahead of us. Jace's blinking necklace lights up his face in several different colors. “This is fun. I never expected my self-inflected summer punishment would turn out this great.”
“Same here. I thought I would have died of boredom by now.” My hand reaches to my back pocket, then to the other one.
“What are you looking for?” Jace asks. I stare at my hand as if it were a foreign body part I only just now discovered.
“I don't know,” I say, tapping my pocket again. Realization dawns on me. “Shit, I was looking for my cell phone,” I laugh. “Ugh, it's such a habit, you know? I can't believe I'm not over it yet.”
Jace pretends to look offended by placing a hand on his chest. “Am I so boring that you need to find someone else to talk to while you're around me? Ouch, Bayleigh. I'm heartbroken.”
We move a few places forward in line. “Maybe I'm having such a great time I felt the need to post it to Facebook or something.”
He smiles. “That's better.”
When it's our turn to ride the PukeMax 5000, Jace hops in the metal carriage and places his arm around the back of the seat. My stomach leaps into my throat at the realization that these carriages are way smaller up close than they looked like from the ground. I squeeze in next to him and we close the lap bar over our legs. His hand wraps around my shoulders.
“Let's aim all puke toward that direction,” he says, pointing over my side of the carriage.
I've never been someone who throws up on rides, but with the way his cologne teases my senses has butterflies doing all kinds of acrobats in my stomach. I swallow as the ride cranks to life. I really, really hope the PukeMax 5000 doesn't live up to its name.
