Page 9 of Wild Like Us
I turn my head and see Jane waving her hands. Without thinking, I sprint towards her. She’s like my big sister, so instinct says,go to Jane.
But she’s not alone.
Outside the funhouse, a larger group of mostly bodyguards surround her and Charlie on a patch of grass.
Keep running.
Keep going.
I grab onto Jane’s arm, not wanting to stop, and I say quickly under my breath, “Let’s fucking get out of here. Right fucking now.” My eyes dart to camera phones.
So many fucking camera phones. Carnival attendees are recording us, but our families have always been the spectacle. Bodyguards are barring the audience from physically reaching us. So I can focus on Jane as her eyes pop out.
“Why?” She speaks hushed.
I’m burning, and it pours out fast, “I opened my big fucking mouth. That’s why. I told Kits and Banks they’re really fucking hot and they make me feel safe and comfortable, and that if I never have another boyfriend in my entire life, then it’d be cool to lose my virginity to one of them.” I nod forcefully. “Yep, and I thought they’d take it like pals, you know like buddies. But they were fucking silent!” I wave a hand. “So I ran, but then I ended up in the mirrors and I got lost and they were looking for me…and oh my fuck.”The funhouse.
Akara and Banks are jogging out of the funhouse.
I’m not ready to meet their condolences. Their,it’s okay, Sulli. We just don’t like youthatway.
“We’re going,” Jane tells me. “Right now. Let’s go. Charlie?”
Oh fuck, what’s wrong with Charlie? Thatcher is keeping him upright. Charlie seems to be favoring his leg, the one he hurt in the car crash a while back.
“I’ll leave with Jack and Oscar,” Charlie says. “You go ahead.”
“Are you positive?”
“Yes.” He stands on his own.
Jane hugs her brother. “We’ll meet you at the hospital.”
The hospital?
My attention is pulled in seven-hundred different fucking ways. To Charlie and Jane. To Akara and Banks. To Jack and Oscar. The carnival attendees. The phones. The blinking lights.
Screams off of thrill rides.
Pinging of games.
Laughter that feels too close. Like I’m the butt of a joke.
I’m the joke.
My chest rises and falls heavily.
Run.
Run.
“Right in front of you, honey,” Thatcher says to Jane as he starts leading us to the parking lot. Everything is a fucking blur.
I end up at Jane’s baby blue Land Rover. I can’t speak. Seeing Jane with Thatcher—her bodyguard-turned-boyfriend who she’s now engaged to—is like another pie in my face.
Romance with a bodyguard—not for me.
Friendship with a bodyguard—did I just fuck that up?
