Page 6 of Don't Let Me Go
Jackson nods. “No worries, dude. I’m just glad I was able to catch you.”
“Catch me?”
“You kind of swooned,” Duy interjects. “Like, right into his arms.”
“I swooned?”
“Actually, first you said, ‘Oh, wow,’ andthenyou swooned,” Tala clarifies, rather unhelpfully.
I’m mortified. Fainting is bad enough. But swooning? Over a boy I’ve just met? That is fucking embarrassing. Jackson’s not even my type! I mean, sure, he might be a 10 on the conventional beauty scale, but these entitled Abercrombie and Fitch clones are nothing but trouble. Trust me, I know their type. They call each other “dude” and “bro,” and they think the whole universe revolves around them because everyone treats them like fucking gods. They also make up 90 percent of the jerks at our school who seem to take endless pleasure in calling Audrey a dyke, or asking Tala offensive questions about her hijab, or mocking Duy’s pronouns.
These people are the enemy. And the best thing you can do when you encounter one of these walking Ken Dolls in the wild is keep your distance. Because as cute and clueless as they might seem, they will eventually turn on you. It’s only a matter of time.
“You okay, dude?” Jackson asks when I continue to stare at him, now with thinly veiled hostility. “I brought you some water if you need it. Figured you might be dehydrated.”
“Thanks,dude, but I’m fine,” I retort, ignoring the bottle in his outstretched hand. Despite my fainting and my dreams, I refuse to appear thirsty. For water or for him. “Should we go on some rides?”
My friends look dubious. Before they can protest, though, I start off in the direction of the Ferris wheel. I realize I’m being a bit of a jerk, but I’m humiliated.
I can’t believe Iswoonedover a boy. Is there anything more cringe than losing your mind—not to mention total consciousness—over some guy you’ve just met?
At least, Ithinkwe’ve just met.
Maybe I’m still disoriented from fainting, but I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something familiar about Jackson. When I first turned around and saw him standing there, when I saw those insanely blue eyes of his, I had the strangest feeling of déjà vu. Like I knew him. And not just from my dream.
But that’s impossible. Jackson and I are total strangers. We’ve never met before.
Have we?
Chapter 3
Jackson
Not gonna lie, I’m not loving this day. Then again, this entire year has been one giant clusterfuck. Why should today be any different?
I told Aunt Rachel I wasn’t in the mood to go to a carnival. But Duy has been so persistent about hanging out, and my aunt was clearly tired of seeing me mope around the house, so here I am, sitting in awkward silence on a graffitied picnic table at a third-rate funfair while this Riley guy gives me the cold shoulder.
The curvy redheaded girl (Audra or Audrey?) said she was worried about his blood sugar, so she asked me to look after him while she and the others went to get snacks, even though Riley insisted he was fine about a thousand times.
Maybe that’s why he’s sulking. I don’t like people making a fuss over me either. Then again, given the side-eye he’s been shooting me ever since we sat down, I’m starting to think maybe something else is going on. He seems kind of on edge around me.
Shit. I wonder if he knows who I am. He doesn’t look like he follows football, but maybe he heard about what happened in Tallahassee?
“Everything okay?” I ask when I catch him scrutinizing me out of the corner of his eye for the third time in under a minute.
“What?” he asks, looking startled. The sun has begun to set, but I can still see him blush under the glare of the Ferris wheel’s neon lights. “Oh. Yeah. Everything’s fine.”
He nervously pushes a curl of jet-black hair out of his face, thenscans the carnival for his friends. With his distressed gray jeans, black T-shirt, and beaded bracelets, he looks like he’d be more comfortable at some underground indie concert than an amusement park. I wonder if he’s also been dragged here against his will.
“Have you ever been to Orlando before?” he asks, turning back and narrowing his gaze at me as if I’m a puzzle he’s trying to solve. His eyes are green and sharp—like glass. They have an almost spooky way of demanding your attention.
“Orlando?” I repeat. “Yeah. I’ve been here a couple of times.”
“You have?” He sits up straighter.
“Uh?.?.?.?yeah. My parents took me to Disney and Universal when I was a kid.”
“Oh,” Riley sighs, and turns away in disappointment.
