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“Of course not.” I run out of the store and hope that I’m not also running out of Corrine’s life over something that could end up being so stupid, so not worth it.
I find Holden waiting near the food court exit, looking a little smug—like he wants to say something but knows better.
“At least now you don’t have to worry about sneaking around.”
Or maybe he doesn’t.
“Shut up.” I grind my teeth together, forcing down the queasiness in my gut. At least that wasn’t a lie back there; I really do feel sick now.
He holds the door open. “Oh, come on. That would have been a pain for both of us.”
“Why? Because you have so many interactions with Corrine now that you’re literally nothing but a memory to her?”
“You don’t have to be a bitch about it,” he says quietly to my back.
I whirl on him, just outside a huge crowd of people surrounding the makeshift race track. “Excuse me?”
“Why do you rub that in my face? I’m fine. You’re the one who makes it a big deal. You keep assuming everything I do is for Corrine like I’m a sad puppy begging to be kicked.”
“Why wouldn’t you be upset that you don’t have her anymore?I’mupset that she’s potentially pissed at me and doesn’t trust me. She leftyouand you didn’t care.”
“Of course I cared.”
“But you cared about that other girl more, huh? What a shame you lost Corrine and then this secret girl didn’t want you, either.”
He frowns, face scrunching up as he chews on his next words. But then feedback from a microphone causes the crowd around us to hush.
“How the hell am I supposed to get through these people?” he mutters to himself. He tries maneuvering around a giant man in a Steelers jacket, but doesn’t get far.
“Get low and crawl.” I demonstrate, moving where there’s fewer shoulders to block my way. Something I learned from his stepsister, actually.
“Aren’t you worried about your face getting stepped on?” he asks, right behind me.
“I’ve had it eighteen years. Time for a new one.”
Eventually people are so shocked and offended that we’re squirming past their privates that they start letting us through. Holden breaks free to where the other players stand, shows his Vice and Virtual ID, and listens as they explain the rules: each player gets a go-kart and a series of soft balls to launch at other players, along with a confetti cannon and a squirt gun full of water. The course before us is extreme, as the game’s name would indicate, with man-made hills and valleys, obstacles that move, and 360-degree viewing angles for the crowd. Anderson’s Gadgets, the store James Heath worked at as a teen, his first “official” foray into the tech world, hasn’t been at the mall in a few years. It went out of business, as many things do, but he wanted to pay respect to what it was by still hosting the second event here. And in the continued spirit of giving back to the community slash supporting local businesses, James Heath wanted to bring in a crowd of people to patronize the remaining stores at the mall.
My grandma once rented a little stand at the Capital City Mall where she sold her art, before I was born and before she started giving lessons and needed her own space. It seems like a terrible job to have—I mean, I’ve never once bought something from those vendors—but she always looked back on it fondly. Probably because she, in her own words, had a lot of eye candy to keep her busy during the long, boring hours.
Before the official announcement and start of the game, I latch onto Holden and pull out my lav mic, running it up the inside of his shirt and taping it to his collar, my freezing knuckles sliding up the warm skin of his chest.
“Wow, how about you buy me dinner first?” he hisses.
I ignore my blush. “How are you still hungry? Those fries equaled like three potatoes.”
“Can someone really have too many potatoes, though?” He taps the microphone gently. “Is this a mic?”
“Yes.”
“What if it gets wet?”
“It’ll be fine.”
“But will I be? Unlike potatoes, I’m not so good when I’m fried.” He wets his lips. It’s clear nerves are getting the best of him now. “Why are you putting a microphone on me?”
“Because you won’t be within range of my camera to hear you.”
“Okay,” he says on a shaky breath. “Wish me luck?”
