Charming Like Us (Like Us 7)

She shakes her head. “I think I’m just gonna hang out alone for a little bit.”

“Will I see you at the carnival later?”

H.M.C. Philanthropies is hosting a Carnival Fundraiser tonight, and I’m supposed to be filming Charlie there for Born into Fame. It already started about an hour ago, so Jesse’s at the carnival in my place.

She nods. “I’m gonna stop by. I don’t want to miss the Gravitron.”

That eases me a bit. It’ll be good for Luna to be around family.

“See you then.” I take the spiral staircase to the bottom floor. Her bodyguard is the only person here. Quinn Oliveira sits in the red vinyl booth by a window, scrolling through his phone. He glances up when I’m about a foot away.

“She ready?”

I shake my head. “She wants to be alone.” I readjust the bag as it slips off my shoulder. “How’s the therapy going with Oscar?”

He makes a noise that sounds a lot like a sigh and a snort crossed together. “He didn’t tell you?”

“He’s told me some,” I admit. “You guys don’t talk during the sessions. Has that changed?”

Quinn messes with a saltshaker. “Why would it?”

I shrug with a warm smile. “Maybe the therapist broke through?”

Quinn narrows his eyes at me. “I know what you’re doing, Jack. You can pretend to be nice and act like we’re friends, but it’s not working.”

Alright then. “Quinn,” I say. “I’m generally nice to everyone, and I know we’re not friends. But if you don’t want to talk, that’s cool.”

“I don’t.”

“Fine,” I say into a tight nod. “I’ll see you at the carnival.”

38

OSCAR OLIVEIRA

This is my least favorite kind of carnival: ones that resemble state fairs with Ferris wheels, carousels, funhouses, and milk bottle games for entertainment.

Nothing really beats Carnaval in Brazil, a celebration that marks the beginning of Lent. The blocos alone are out of this world. Bouncing from one bloco to the next, each with different themes, music, and signature styles. Polka-dots, masks, ribbons. I’ve only been a couple times, but they’re still some of my favorite memories. Doused in glitter, sometimes wearing costumes, drinking and dancing the night away. There’s nothing like it.

Maybe one day I can take Jack.

That thought does a number on me. Because here I’m thinking about the future when we can barely scrape together what we are now.

A gust of funnel cake wafts in my direction. The heavenly, powder-sugary smell floods my senses. Changed my mind, I don’t hate this kind of carnival because I do love their food. It’s the eat-on-the-go goodness that my body craves.

But there’s no time to eat.

Not when the fair grounds are jam-packed. Tickets sold out in less than an hour, and all the Hales, Meadows, and Cobalts are in attendance.

Comms chatter is soft in my ear, so I’m aware of everyone’s location. How Maximoff and Farrow are on the Ferris wheel with their son, a bucket above Thatcher and Jane. Most of the Cobalts hang around the carnival game booths, and the Meadows family have been bopping around the higher adrenaline rides.

My main focus stays on the carousel.

For the past thirty minutes, my client has been lounging on one of the few double-bench chairs shaped like a boat. He’s smoking a cigarette, reading a book, and ignoring the girls that try to converse with him from nearby carousel horses, bobbing up and down. I’ve lost count of the rotations the carousel has made, but no one tries to kick him off.

Normally, I’d be the one standing right next to Charlie. But these kinds of rides, even the slow-ass carousel make me want to puke. Instead, I’ve sent in Gabe to hug onto the pole next to Charlie’s bench.

Evening approaches, but the sun hasn’t set yet, making it easier to do my job.

Donnelly rounds the corner with a plate of funnel cake. My stomach lets out an audible groan. “Donnelly,” I say. “Please say that’s for me.”

“Why else would I come over here?” He holds out the plate, and nods to Jesse. “Hey, little J.”

Camera equipment weighs down Jack’s little brother as he films a wide shot of Charlie on the carousel. Ten minutes ago, I took pity on the kid and grabbed one of the bags. It’s heavy on my shoulder, but it won’t break my back like Jesse.

“Where’s Big J?” Donnelly asks me.

“Jack,” I emphasize, “is heading over. He just got done shooting Luna.” I rip off a chunk of the fried dough. “This smells fucking amazing, bro.”

“The deal was dope, too. Some girl offered to give it to me. All I had to do was spit in her mouth.”

Ugh. I drop the funnel cake piece back on the plate. “That’s disgusting.”

He picks my chunk and tosses the fried dough onto his tongue. “I didn’t spit in the funnel cake, man.” He licks powdered sugar off his thumb. “I spit in her mouth.”