Dreamland (Riley Bloom 3)

“C’mon, get this thing up!” Jimmy Mac yelled. “Satchel Blaise the turd, oops, I mean the third, ain’t goin’ nowhere. Blaise is the biggest chicken the world’s ever seen!”

“Make up yer mind, kid. I don’t got all day!” The carnie narrowed his eyes so much they were swallowed by a mass of sallow, puffy, excess skin—the result of too much sun, too many late nights—obviously no one had warned him.

Satchel was just about to turn, just about to head back, knowing his parents were probably already looking for him, probably already steaming mad, when Mary Angel called, “Don’t listen to him, Satchel. C’mon, take a ride—the Ferris wheel’s fun!”

She wanted him to ride!

Mary Angel—the girl with the fiery red hair and bright shining smile—didn’t see him like all the other kids did.

I watched as Satchel threw all caution aside and moved toward the car. My fingers twisting, clutching at each other in a fit of nerves, willing him forward, egging him on, but wanting him to hurry, to board already, before his parents showed up.

He slid into the car below Mary Angel’s, getting a quick glimpse of her waving hand, her smiling face, her legs kicking above him. His heart hammering so hard against his rib cage he was sure it would leap right out of his chest and land on his lap. His fingers so slick with sweat, they slipped when he tried to grab hold of the rail and lock himself in, but luckily the craggy old carnie swung by to take care of that for him.

And the next thing he knew he was lifted—carried up—up—up—high into the sky.

Higher than he’d ever been.

Higher than he ever thought possible.

Higher than his parents would ever allow.

But instead of feeling scared, instead of feeling shadowed by imminent danger, he felt exhilarated.

Free.

And for the first time in his life, he gazed down upon the earth, not seeing it as dangerous at all, but instead, as host to the most wonderful possibilities.

His parents were down there somewhere, most likely searching for him. But for the moment, it didn’t matter. He didn’t care. He refused to think about them. Preferred to concentrate on soaring, the thrill of riding tandem with the clouds. His gaze held fast to the bottom of the red car above him, knowing that Mary Angel soared right along with him.

He dreaded each trip toward the ground, that’s where reality lived—and looked forward to each arc into the sky where everything was peaceful and good.

Or at least until Jimmy Mac started rocking his car—rocking it in a way that made Mary Angel let out a shriek, though it wasn’t long before that shriek turned into a giggle, and then the giggle into a laugh that went on and on.

Longing to hear that beautiful, soft, lilting laugh directed at him, or rather at something he did, Satchel decided to rock his car as well. Grabbing hold of the sides, he shook it as hard as he could. But instead of laughing, Mary Angel glanced over the side, shooting him a worried, cautious look, while Jimmy Mac cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “Hey, Blaise—didn’t know you had it in you!” Followed by a few more phrases I missed, but that sent Jimmy Mac into hysterics over his own wit.

But Jimmy Mac hadn’t seen anything yet. Satchel had just taken his first bite of freedom and was infatuated with the rush that it gave him. Loved it so much, he craved a steady supply of it.

Thirteen years of being sheltered, and woefully overprotected—thirteen years of cowering from the world—had resulted in thirteen years of pent-up exuberance that longed to get out.

He shook the car again.

Harder.

And then harder still.

Causing Jimmy Mac to hoot and holler, egging him on, as Mary Angel gazed down at him with an increasingly worried frown.

It was an expression that enraged him. Satchel had been raised on worried frowns—had already suffered a lifetime’s worth.

He wanted Mary Angel to smile.

He wanted her to laugh in the same way she had for Jimmy Mac.

He shook the car again, much harder than before, causing Mary Angel to scream—yelling something about the security rail.

But Satchel wouldn’t listen. Even when she pointed, begged for him to stop, the sight of her anxious face only spurred him on.

Why was it okay for Jimmy Mac to shake the car, but not him?