Page 63 of Where the Music Grows

“Probably, but I’m not sure that’s one of those things I want to brag about.”

We end up sharing a funnel cake, powdered sugar dusting our fingers and the corners of Jinnie’s mouth. I reach out without thinking, brushing the sugar from her lip. Her breath catches, just slightly, and for a second, we’re frozen there—my thumb against her mouth, her eyes wide.

Then some kid bumps into me, and the moment breaks.

“Sorry!” his mom calls, dragging him away.

Jinnie clears her throat. “So. Rides or games?”

“Games,” I say. “I feel like winning you something goofy.”

“Oh, like maybe really big clown sunglasses...or how about a teddy bear?”

“Do you want a teddy bear?”

“No.”

I grin. “I’m going to get you something.”

We spend the next hour proving exactly how rigged carnival games are. Jinnie’s surprisingly good at the ring toss, winning a tiny stuffed bear after only three tries.

“Beginner’s luck,” I mutter.

She sticks her tongue out at me.

My turn at the basketball hoop goes less well. The rims are clearly bent, the balls overinflated. A group of kids gathers to watch as I miss shot after shot. The boys pay their money and it becomes a competition between me and them. I glance over, a boy wearing glasses sticks his tongue out, concentrating a few seconds before every shot.

“Wow,” Jinnie deadpans. “All that farm strength and you can’t even—”

The next ball swishes through. Then another.

The kids groan as I “accidentally” miss the last few shots.

Jinnie narrows her eyes as we walk away. “You let them win.”

I shrug, trying to hide my smile. “Maybe.”

She shakes her head, but she’s grinning as we walk away.

The Ferris wheel line is long, but neither of us seems to mind. We’re pressed shoulder to shoulder, Jinnie’s arm brushing mine as we inch forward.

When it’s our turn, the attendant swings the safety bar down with a clank, and suddenly we’re rising, the fairgrounds spreading out below us.

Jinnie grips my arm as we reach the top. “I forget how high these things go.”

“Scared?”

“Shut up.” But she doesn’t let go.

The view is something else—the fields beyond the fairgrounds, the towns dotted around the area, and lots of wide, open space. Up here, with Jinnie’s hand on my arm and the world spread out before us, everything else—the farm, my dad, the music, even—feels far away.

Jinnie sighs, leaning into me slightly. “This is nice.”

“Yeah.” I don’t just mean the view.

We stay like that until the ride operator starts unloading people below. We move onto a ride that’s meant to torture and terrify.

“Do you like spinning?” I ask her as we’re strapped in.