Page 34 of Hearts Adrift
“I’m none of those,” I say distractedly. “I gotta go.”
“ButIwas the one going,” complains Brooke. “Iwas the one making the cool exit.”
I’ve already left her side, heading across the way to the Parrot—the entrance of which is an enormous Parrot beak. Inside, our guests are welcomed (or assaulted) by a bright, tropical-bird color scheme mixed with vague pirate décor and a plastic palm tree against which children can measure their height before boarding the Booty Bridge, a somewhat tame rollercoaster next-door that is our most recent (and most expensive) addition as of this summer. I didn’t vote on the name, but it kept making Brooke giggle, so my dad and his little committee of investors went with it.
The long, wooden, picnic-style tables are mostly empty today. There’s no sign of him. I move slowly down each of the aisles, scanning the room. There’s a family enjoying an afternoon lunch here. A couple of lovebirds feeding each other fries there. A group of skaters thumbing through their phones, looking bored—one of them is Kent and Adrian’s younger brother Skipper, I just realized. Two workers at the counter in their pirate uniforms are talking and cracking up—an act Heather wouldn’t stand for, were she here.
No sign of River.
Or rather, the guy I thought was him.
I’m just about to accept that I hallucinated Mr. Leather Jacket Guy when my arm’s yanked from behind, whipping me through the back door to outside behind the building.
River’s face appears in front of mine, whipping off his shades. “You’ve gotta help me,” he breathes, frantic.
Chapter 10 - River
The best part is gazing into Finn’s eyes again.
This close, where I can see them sparkle in the sunlight at our backs, flickering off the water from the Gulf.
The panic in his eyes as I hold him.
I guess it’s fair to say, I’m kind of holding him captive. And freaking him out in the process. And thereby stealing this gift of staring into his pretty eyes instead of earning it.
“What’s wrong?” he squeaks out.
“Person. Bungalow.” My mouth is so dry. I should’ve drank before I fled. The walk here in the heat wearing this jacket fucking sapped me. “Outside. Camera. Flashy.”
“Camera? There’s someone at the bungalow who—?”
“At least Ithinkthat’s what I saw.”
Finn blinks. “You mean you’re not sure?”
“I thought I saw someone staring at the house from the other side of the street. Then I heard a sound on the porch, and I hid. I kept seeing weird shadows, and … I freaked out, grabbed my jacket, shades, forgot my hat, then bolted through the back door, tearing over the rocks, running …”
“Did you see an actual person?”
My eyes wander off to the brick wall of the building. I find my grip on Finn loosening. Was it all in my head? Did I mistake a strong wind for movement on the porch? Am I letting my paranoia finally get to me?
The back door opens, and with ninja finesse, Finn and I tuckourselves behind it while a pirate with big curly hair comes out lugging a bag of trash, tosses it into the nearby dumpster with a sigh, exclaims, “Fuck my life,” for some reason we shall never learn in this lifetime, then lets the door shut on their way back inside.
Finn has me pressed to the brick, face close to mine.
I’m staring into his eyes, breath held.
Everything grew intimate so fast.
“Did you come by the Fair yesterday?” he asks me. “In this same disguise? Jacket and shades?”
I swallow. “No.”
“You sure?”
I swallow again. “No.”
He squints. Then his eyes wander. “I think someonewasoutside the bungalow,” he says suddenly, as if it’s just now occurring to him. “It was when I left this morning, felt like I was being watched … I saw no one, so I blew it off, didn’t think about it since, but …”
