Page 218 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
I inhale the sweet smell of cotton candy and the salty tang of popcorn, hoping for a distraction.
It works, and for a second, I see those clear bags of pink and blue cotton candy and long sleeves of popcorn. Something to look forward to if we survive the ride of death.
She twists her torso to look at me. “Alright, what’s going on—”
My arm shoots out in front of her. “Don’t move. Don’t rock it. Don’t do anything that could unhinge us and drop us to our doom.”
She’s quiet for a beat, and the ride jerks, lifting us higher.
My grip on everything tightens, and I close my eyes until it stops.
“Hart, are you afraid of Ferris wheels?”
I open my eyes, and a quick glance down turns my stomach. The world is shrinking below us.
My gaze snaps back up, and I focus on the metal framework inside the cabin. “Heights. I think I’m afraid of heights.”
“Since when? We literally climbed the ridge together all the time when we were young, and it didn’t have a bucket of protection like this.”
“I can’t talk about it right now. It’ll make it worse.”
“Okay.”
The damn ride jerks again. “Fuck.”
“Fuck,” she repeats, and I almost laugh.
A definite chuckle and half gasp comes out of me.
The ride stops.
“How many times is it going to do this?”
“I guess that depends on how many buckets are on the ride.” I feel her move to look below, and the bucket sways.
I swear it does.
“Don’t move.”
“The bucket is not going to fall off because I shift a little.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were scared before we got on?”
“You know why”—the bucket moves again—“that masculine cowboy shit.”
“That was stupid.”
“You’re stupid.” The words are out of me like she’s one of my brothers.
She laughs.
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly.
“Are you?” I hear her teasing.
“Yes.” My eyes are shut again. “Anything that happens on the Ferris wheel, here’s my apology in advance.
