“No problem.” To Benji I said, “It was fun, right?”
“Totally,” he agreed. “Much better than practicing card tricks.”
My father nodded at the camera. “Impressive setup you guys have here.”
“Yep,” Ivy said, not looking up, from her perch on the dryer. “All we need is the subject.”
My father raised his eyebrows. I said, “Clyde’s not exactly running on a schedule.”
“The roof takes precedence,” Ivy added, with a loud sigh.
“It’s actually a ceiling,” I said. I couldn’t help myself.
“—send a crew by early next week to cut in, and then go from there,” I heard my dad saying, flashlight still in hand, as he and Clyde came towards us now as well. “I’d plan on redoing that entire part of the ceiling, though. And that would be the best-case scenario. Get into more structural issues and—”
“A burst pipe would be the least of my problems,” Clyde finished for him.
My dad nodded, then started out the door, but not before shooting me a look making it clear I should follow. Outside, after my father and Benji said their good-byes, he walked over to his truck and tossed the flashlight onto the passenger seat. “Did I hear you right?” he asked me. “That kid’s your boyfriend now?”
“I didn’t say that,” I pointed out. “Clyde did.”
He just looked at me. This was not his department, and we both knew it. In our house the divisions were clear: my mother handled all things relationship, menstruation, and fashion related, while his arena was oil changes, finances, and plumbing problems. But this was too big to ignore.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I said. “It’s just been a really weird day.”
“Tell me about it.” He ran a hand over his face—up, down, then up again—another one of his end-of-workday moves. “You headed home soon? Your mom’s worried about you.”
“It’s my next stop.”
“Good.” He climbed in the truck and pulled the door shut with a bang. “I’ll see you there.”
I really had planned to go right home. But once I was in the car, I realized how badly I needed some perspective. When I saw the boardwalk in the distance, I knew exactly where to find it.
Five minutes later, I was walking up to the ticket booth at Surfside, the rundown little amusement park that had been right on Colby’s beach since my mom was a kid. It had none of the high-tech attractions of SafariLand: no dancing or driving games, no laser tag, not even go-karts. Instead, there was just a rickety building that housed a decrepit snack bar and skeeball, duckpin bowling, and basketball tosses. Outside was a merry-go-round, a roller coaster that had been Closed for Repairs since I was in middle school, and the Ferris wheel.
When I walked up to get tickets, pulling a couple of bills from my pocket, Josh Elliott, who worked there most days, waved me off. “You know your money’s no good here, Emaline.”
“You never let me pay,” I said to him, as he grabbed a ring of keys on his way outside.
“High School Special,” he replied. Which was what he always said, even though he’d been on his second senior year when I was a freshman, and even then never graduated. “Hop on.”
I walked over to the wheel, climbed onto the bucket nearest the ground, then pulled the door shut behind me. Josh disappeared into the booth, and a moment later the engine started up and I began to rise.
There might have been more beautiful places than the top of the Surfside Ferris wheel, but I didn’t know of any. I’d always felt something magical as I got higher and higher above the boardwalk, beach, and ocean. It was like resetting myself, and I’d come here often during the last year when the stuff with my father and college was weighing heavily. It calmed me, a reminder there was something else to this world than just Colby. I always knew, logically, this was true. But some days, I needed to see it to be sure.
When I reached the highest point, Josh stopped the wheel so I could sit there for a while. At first, I traced my day from a distance, finding the Washroom, the office, Wave Nails, Big Club, Sand Dollars, Last Chance. Then I turned and looked at the ocean, amazed, as always, by this greatest of contrasts. One side was populated, housing everything, and the other, nothing but blue. In between and high above, I did all I could to soak up the stillness while it lasted.
* * *
When I knocked on the door of Sand Dollars later that night, at first there was no answer. Then, finally, the intercom—fixed, thanks to my call to maintenance—buzzed.
“Yes? Who is it?” I heard Theo say.
“Cinderella,” I answered. I heard him laugh. Then there was a buzz, and the door clicked open.
Inside, I found the entire place dark, the only light coming from the pool sconces outside. I came up the stairs, then stood for just a minute on the landing, letting my eyes adjust. Finally, I made him out, over at one of the tables, a pair of headphones around his neck.
“Hey,” I said. “You’re in the dark.”
“It’s part of the job.” There was a click and a monitor came on; now I could see him. He waved me over to where he was sitting. “Come check this out.”
I went, relieved to see no sign of Ivy. Over at the table, he moved some books off the chair beside his, then gestured for me to take a seat.
“He was a little stiff, but it was the first interview,” he said, reaching forward to the keyboard in front of him. The screen came to life before me, showing Clyde in a freeze-frame. A couple of keystrokes, and he was talking.