Page 11 of Don't Let Me Go
Without thinking, I grab Jackson’s hand and pull him into the nearest tent. I close the flap behind us, shutting out the light and noise of the outside world and shrouding us in darkness. Jackson starts to protest, but I shush him and press my ear to the tent flap to listen for the Thunderbolts. It’s not long before I hear their laughter. It’s wild and rowdy and hungry for attention—the exact opposite of Jackson’s.
The whooping grows louder until the voices sound like they’re right in front of us. Holding my breath, I silently pray to the universe that none of the boys saw me sneak inside this tent. It seems to work. The howling moves on, gradually fading into the din of the carnival.
“Okay,” I say, letting out a sigh of relief as I peek out from behind the flap. “We’re good.”
Jackson doesn’t say anything. He just stares at me for a confused second, then looks down at his hand—which I’m holding.
My cheeks burn as the memory of my dream washes over me. Jackson and I in bed. His weight on top of me. His lips stealing kisses. His hands caressing meeverywhere.
“Sorry!” I blurt out, dropping his hand like it’s on fire.
“Uh, no problem,” he mumbles, shooting me a forced smile that barely masks his own discomfort.
I don’t know what possessed me to grab his hand like that or pull him into the tent with me. It’s not like the Thunderbolts would’ve messed with someone like Jackson. If anything, they would’ve taken one look at his biceps and crowned him their new bro-king.
“I take it those guys go to your school?” he asks, still not speaking above a whisper.
“Yeah.” I nod.
“They’re the ones you were talking about earlier, the ones who mess with you and your friends?”
“Only when they have nothing better to do,” I joke in an attempt to brush off his concern. The last thing I need is a straight boy’s pity. But, like most oblivious straight boys, Jackson doesn’t take the hint.
“Are you okay?” he presses.
“Me? Yeah. I’m fine. Really. It’s not a big deal.”
“Are you sure? You seem kind of—”
“I’mfine,” I snap.
Jackson opens his mouth to say something, then thinks better of it. He nods unconvincingly and kicks at the grass.
Crap. I think I hurt his feelings.
“Sorry,” I whisper. “I know you’re trying to be nice.”
“It’s fine. My father always says I never know when to keep my mouth shut.”
“I really am okay,” I tell him. “I don’t know why I made us hide. Those guys probably wouldn’t have done anything. I just didn’t want to deal with the hassle if they did. Not that I can’t take of myself. But somedays it’s just easier to avoid certain situations and save yourself a lot of bullshit, you know?”
Jackson nods. “Yeah, I do.” And something about the way the light goes out in his eyes makes me think he means it.
“Anyway, we should probably head back to the Ferris wheel...”
I reach for the tent flap, but as I do, a voice suddenly calls out from the darkness. “Who seeks to know the future from the great Madame Carlotta?”
Jackson and I nearly jump out of our skins. We spin around and see a woman seated at a small table in the very back of the tent. A large crystal ball gleams in front of her, illuminated by thick red candles that she’s slowly lighting one by one.
“Holy crap,” I gasp as I attempt to catch my breath. Has she been here the entire time?
“Do not be afraid, my children!” the woman exclaims dramatically, beckoning us closer with a gesture that causes the many bangles on her wrist to jangle together. She appears to be in her late forties with sunburned cheeks and a mane of long black hair. Despite the early June heat, she’s wearing about ten shawls, each one embroidered with moons and stars. “Madame Carlotta knows all. Madame Carlotta sees all. Madame Carlotta reveals all!”
“Madame Carlotta” has an accent that sounds like a mishmash of Greek, Indian, and Arabic. Which is to say, totally fake. In fact, I’m pretty sure she’s the actress who played Cleopatra last year in the Orlando Shakespeare Company’s production ofAntony and Cleopatra.
“Thanks,” I say, giving her an apologetic smile as I start to back toward the exit, “but we just came in here by accident. We’re good.”
“Ah, but are you? Is your future as secure as you think? Or does calamity await upon the horizon? Only the cards know for sure.” With a flourish, Madame Carlotta spreads a tarot deck on her table. “Plus, for one night only, I’m offering a two-for-one special. Just for couples.”
