Page 216 of What We Burn

“Milo wanted us wearing matching shirts,” Knox says, as though this explains something. “We refused.”

I’m out of the truck before he’s finished the sentence. Milo sees me coming and opens his arms wide, cotton candy held high so it doesn’t get crushed.

“Kitten! Welcome to the greatest night of your life. I’ve pre-scouted the grounds. The Ferris wheel is romantic, the haunted house is dog shit, and the corn dog stand has a secret menu if you ask for the Milo Special.”

“The special is—there is no Milo Special,” Micah says.

“There will be by the end of tonight. I’m manifesting it.”

Eli unfolds his arms when I reach him. He doesn’t say anything, just looks at me, and whatever he sees makes the tension in his shoulders drop half a notch.

“You could have said no,” I say, running my hand down the front of our shared jacket.

“I did say no. Multiple times. They ignored me.”

“And yet here you are.”

His mouth twitches. “Here I am.”

I take his hand. He lets me. And the six of us walk through the entrance of a boardwalk carnival like the world’s most unlikely family outing.

The next two hours are the most normal thing that’s happened to me since I moved to this town.

Milo drags me onto the Tilt-A-Whirl and screams louder than I do, which I didn’t think was physically possible. Knox refuses every ride until I find the strongman game—the one where you hit a platform with a mallet and try to ring the bell—and he rings it so hard the bell flies off the top and hits a popcorn cart. The carnival worker stares. Knox stares back. They give him the biggest stuffed bear on the rack and ask him to please never do that again.

Holden eats a corn dog by holding it at arm’s length between bites, examining it, taking another bite, examining it again.

“The breading is inconsistent,” he tells me. “And I don’t want to know what’s in the meat.”

“Then stop eating it.”

“I paid six dollars. I’m finishing it.”

Micah wins me a goldfish by throwing ping-pong balls into tiny bowls with a precision that suggests either incredible hand-eye coordination or misspent youth. He presents it to me in its little plastic bag with a bow that’s actually just a napkin he folded.

“You have to name it,” he says.

“Frank,” I say, without hesitation. “After the guy at the diner.”

“Frank the fish. I love it.”

Milo appears from nowhere. “You named the fish Frank? I had a whole list prepared. I was going to pitch ‘Sir Swims-a-Lot’ and ‘Gill Murray’ and⁠—”

“His name is Frank.”

“Frank is a terrible name for a fish.”

“Frank is a perfect name for a fish.”

“What about Gill Murray though? Just consider it.”

“Frank.”

Milo turns to Knox. “Back me up. Gill Murray.”

Knox looks at the fish. Looks at Milo. “Frank,” he says.

The Ferris wheel is last. Milo insists we all go—three gondolas, two people each. Holden and Micah. Milo and Knox, which is a pairing I’d pay money to watch because Milo will want to discuss the engineering and Knox will want to sit in silence. And me and Eli, which is either romantic or a hostage situation depending on how you look at it.