Page 2 of One Adult, Please

"Then take my temperature, make me lick a test strip, or spray me with whatever disinfectant you use when a toddler vomits on Wondie. I'm not dying in a Kia because your emergency protocol doesn't cover walk-ins."

Craig looks at me. I'm five foot four in shoes that were a mistake, I've got pretzel crumbs on my shirt, and I'm holding a purse shaped like a strawberry because I bought it at a craft fair and I stand by that choice.

"That's not really how infectious diseases work."

"I have a coupon."

Something behind Craig's eyes flatlines. "We don't have coupons."

"Craig, look at me." I put both hands on the counter and lean in with the authority of a woman who has absolutely none. "The highway's a nightmare. The radio is telling me to find a substantial structure. You have walls. You have a roof. You have, and I can't stress this enough, what appears to be a fully operational churro cart approximately two hundred yards behind you. I'm coming in. We can do this the official way or the hip gate way."

"The what way?"

"The..." I gesture at the gate. I know the word. I know the word. It's the spinning thing. The metal thing that goes at your hips. "The hip gate."

"The turnstile?"

"That's what I said."

Craig stares at me for a long moment. "Ma'am, I can't let you in."

I'm already walking toward the hip gate.

"MA'AM. Ma'am, you can't just… hey."

I get one leg over. The second leg doesn't follow with the same enthusiasm. My foot catches on the metal bar. My center of gravity shifts dramatically forward. And I go down on the other side of the hip gate with the grace and poise of a bag of laundry thrown from a moving vehicle.

Knees first. Then palms. Then a sort of sideways roll that I wish I could say was intentional but was actually just physics having its way with me.

I'm on the ground. I'm inside WonderSphere. My knees are bleeding, but all three of those things mean I won.

I stand up. Brush off my knees. Adjust my purse. Look back at Craig, who's now standing at his window with his mouth open and his phone in one hand and his walkie-talkie in the other.

"Thank you for choosing WonderSphere, Craig."

"I'm calling security."

"That seems fair."

I turn around and walk into the park. Behind me, I hear Craig's walkie crackle to life.

"Yeah, this is front gate. We have an unauthorized entry. Single female. She... she jumped the turnstile. No. No, she's not armed. She has a purse shaped like a fruit. I don't… I don't know what kind of fruit, Marcus, it's… it's a strawberry, it looks like a strawberry. Just send someone."

The park stretches out in front of me, vast and empty and strange. The speaker system is cycling through a loop of upbeat music and prerecorded announcements, and right on cue, a cheerful voice chirps through the nearest speaker.

"WonderSphere welcomes you to a day of magic and discovery! Don't forget to download the WonderSphere app for wait times, show schedules, and special offers. Wondie says: stay hydrated!"

My phone buzzes. It's my mom.

Where are you? Are you safe?

I text back: I'm at WonderSphere. I'm fine. Very normal.

Three dots. Then: Did you use the coupon?

I don't answer that. I put my phone in my purse and look at the empty park, the frozen rides, and the cheerful signage promising a day of wonder.

Ahead of me, the churro cart that isn't going to eat itself is waiting. Unattended. Fully stocked.