Page 22 of Chronicles of a Rockin' Mess

“OK,”I say, looking back up at them. “Time limit?”

Coop looks at his watch. “Two hours,” he says.

I nod. “Meet back here?” I ask.

He nods.

“Let’s do this!” I yell and run off with my list. I may be slightly competitive, but so are Mason and Cooper, which means this is gonna be fun.

We’ve done these in many cities on tour when we have downtime. It’s this or the pub crawls, and today’s great weather has me thankful that Coop opted for a scavenger hunt.

I decide to do the ride first. I get in line for a ride. A boy behind me yanks on my shirt. I turn to look down at him.

“Aren’t you a little old for this ride, lady?” he asks, snickering.

I look down at him. He’s definitely still in elementary school, and he is nowhere near hitting puberty yet. He’s clearly showing off for his friends.

“At least I’m tall enough,” I say to him with a wink as I point to the measuring stick. He looks over at it and his face turns red. I laugh at the thought that those boys just learned that karma is a bitch.

His friends start laughing until I see them gauging each other’s height. All three boys take off running, and I laugh. I get on the ride and ask a girl next to me to take my photo. Then I put my phone in my pocket and enjoy the roller coaster.

Next up, I decide to load up on the food. It takes me a bit to find the lollipop, but I come across it at the third candy kiosk I find. I fly through the rest of the list, occasionally coming across my competitors. No one says where they are on completing it. This is a high-stakes game, and we are in it to win it.

Ninety minutes in and I’m down to two last items, a giant stuffed animal and selfie with a person from LA. I groan. I walk up to one of those games where you throw the ring onto a glass bottle.

“How much?” I ask the teenage boy who seems indifferent to getting people to play his game.

“Three rings for five dollars,” he says. I hand him a five and take my rings. Fifteen dollars later, I sigh.

“Could I just buy one of those giant stuffed bears?” I ask him, looking around to see if there are any other games I could play. The water balloon one is filled with kids, so my odds aren’t good. There’s some whiz kid playing basketball, and the softball one is not my cup of tea.

“Sorry, lady. We only give them to winners,” he says with a smirk.

In that exact moment, I feel warmth against my back.

The kid’s mouth drops open. “Y-you’re Lincoln Grant,” he stutters.

I partly want to jab Lincoln in the ribs for sneaking up on me, and I partly want to laugh at the ridiculous look on the boy’s face.

“Do y-you w-want a bear, Mr. Grant?” the kid stammers as he points to the giant teddy bears, which he just told me were only for winners.

“Seriously?” I say to the kid.

He glares at me. “He’s Lincoln Fucking Grant, lady. He can have all my bears,” the kid says. I roll my eyes.

Lincoln laughs. “Thanks, kid, but I’ll win mine fair and square,” he says and tosses down a five-dollar bill.

“S-sure thing, Mr. Grant,” the kid says.

Lincoln picks up the rings and winks at the kid. “Call me Lincoln,” he says to the kid. He then grabs the kid’s cell phone and takes a selfie with him.

“Thanks, Lincoln,” the kid says.

I have to smile. The kid looks like he’s won the lottery.

Lincoln takes one ring and tosses it, landing it perfectly on a bottle top.

“Wow, you’re really good. Almost nobody ever gets it on the first try!” the kid exclaims.

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