Page 39 of Perfect on Paper

The only indication he was irritated was him sucking on his teeth. “It wasn’t just at the end. I kept losing you all day.”

“Disneyland’s a big place,” I said, but it was a weak defense. “And, I guess, I didn’t think you needed me.”

“Well, next time, if you don’t think there’s any point, don’t come. I didn’t force you, you know. But you said you’d be here, so I was relying on that.”

Okay, no. Not fair. “Well, blackmailing someone in the first place makes them feel pretty forced into whatever you ask them to do, even if you say they can say no.”

A frown creased the top of his nose and his mouth dropped open. “What are you on about?”

“… You blackmailed me.”

“I didnot!”

“You did! You said, ‘Oh, I’d hate to tell everyone in the school who you are.’” I helpfully mimicked his accent to jog his memory.

“You’re twisting my words. I said I figured you wanted to keep it private. As in, don’t worry, I’m not gonna go around telling everybody you’re working with me!”

I paused, suddenly as baffled as he looked. Was that… no, that’s not what he’d meant. Was it? He’d said… the vibe of what he’d said, anyway, had been… but then, he hadn’t threatened me since. Even slyly.

“Ithoughtyou got shitty at me out of nowhere,” Brougham added, linking his hands behind his neck and shaking his head.

“Well, yes, I thought you were threatening me.”

Brougham dragged his fingers over his mouth and jaw. “I didn’t mean it to sound like that.”

I didn’t know what to think anymore. My head hurt. Suddenly I wasn’t sure how much of my behavior toward him had been unwarranted. My cheeks flushed at the realization. “I guess it was just a misunderstanding,” I said softly.

We fell into silence while I tried to replay our interactions in my head to sort through it all. “I’m sorry I was checked out today,” I said. “I guess I was sort of resentful because I did feel forced, and then everything fell apart, and—” I broke off as a warning lump appeared in my throat.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” His voice was surprisingly gentle, given that he had every right to be annoyed at me.

I flapped a dismissive hand. “I don’t want to talk about it right now. Just… it’s been a hard day. I’m sorry.”

While I took some deep breaths to collect myself, Brough- am kept his eyes locked on me. “Yeah, my day wasn’t in my top five, either. I think I’ll head home. I’m sick of it here.”

The thing is, I wasn’t sure I believed him. If I was right about Brougham having an anxious attachment style, then when he shut down, he actually wanted someone to urge him to open back up. If he pushed people away, it’s because he wanted to be approached.

Luckily, Oriella had taught me exactly what to do in a situation like this. And I’d taughtotherswhat to do in a situation like this.

“Honestly,” I said, “all I want to do is eat junk food and go on some more rides and not worry about shit for an hour.”

“So do it.”

I looked over at Ainsley. She’d lost interest in Brougham and me, and was scrolling through her phone while she leaned against a trash can across the bridge. “I would, but Ainsley was talking about heading home.”

“Oh.” Brougham rocked back and forth on his heels, like he was debating something. Then he gave me a one-sided shrug. “If Ainsley wants to head off now, I could always give you a lift home later?”

I broke into a slow smile.

Forty minutes later, Brougham and I were sitting across from each other in a carriage on Pixar Pal-A-Round, my personal Disneyland must-do, and the perfect thing to distract me. Because Pixar Pal-A-Round, or “The Mickey Wheel” as Ainsley and I had called it as kids, was less like your standard Ferris wheel and more like a thrill ride hidden under a calm, unassuming exterior. At least, if you chose one of the moving carriages, it was. And if you asked me, it was nonnegotiable to do so. Basically, you’d be gently cruising upward, gazing at the lights and crowds beneath you, when the carriage would suddenly slide down several feet like you were falling to your death, and swing back and forth using the momentum of your terrifying plummet.

It seemed Brougham hadn’t bothered trying the Mickey Wheel before, because the whole “unexpected plummeting” thing caught him off guard. The first time we went down he screamed like he’d been shoved off a building. Once the carriage stopped swinging—or, at least, stopped swinging quite soferociously—he turned large, accusing eyes onto me like I’d tricked him.

“You don’t like it?” I asked through a torrent of giggles.

He took a moment to catch his breath, pressed back firmly against the caged wall, his hands splayed out to touch the carriage on either side of him while we rocked. “This is not safe, this is not safe, I want to get off.”

“It’s Disneyland, it’s safe.”

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