“No.” I scoff, the lie flying off my tongue without a second thought. He arches a disbelieving brow and smirks. His friend chuckles behind me, and I scowl at him over my shoulder. I feel warm fingers on my cheek, gently directing my face back toward him. My breathing turns shallow, and I stare at his chest as I wait for him to drop his hand, but he doesn’t.
“What’s your name?” he asks, tipping my chin with the tips of his fingers so I’ll meet his eyes. Maybe he’s a hypnotist. I mean, this is a carnival. Don’t look him in the eye.
“Evangel—” I start. “Evan,” I correct myself, giving him the nickname my parents refuse to use. Evangeline sounds so uptight and snobby. And so what if I am both of those things? Right now, I don’t want to be that girl.
“I’ve been riding longer than I’ve been walking. I’ve never laid my bike down.”
“Not for lack of trying,” the other guy mutters under his breath.
“And that asshole,” Sebastian says, flicking his chin toward him, “is Eros. I trust him with my life.” His eyes burn into mine, as if they’re trying to force me to believe every word. It must be working, because I do. His hand falls from my face. “Wanna have some fun, Evan?”
A smile stretches across my face, and I nod, feeling both sick and invigorated all at once. Fun. What a foreign concept.
“Atta girl.” He smirks, grabbing the helmet that dangles from his handlebars. “Keep your hands at your sides and stay still.”
“Okay,” I say firmly, nodding. I close my eyes and inhale deeply, trying to block out the noise coming from the audience.
“It helps if you focus on something out there to keep your balance.”
“Spotting,” I whisper, mostly to myself. “Like with dance,” I explain once I see the confusion on his face. “You pick a set spot to focus on, so you don’t get dizzy.”
“Right. Just like that. So, what’s your spot?”
I look out at the crowd, their expectant stares trained on us. Their attention makes me nervous, so I look up and lock onto the strands of lights hanging above them.
“The lights,” I say decisively.
“Good choice.” Sebastian surprises me when he lowers the helmet onto my head and fastens it underneath my chin. He pats the top of the helmet before turning for his motorcycle. It’s all matte black and not at all sturdy looking. It looks like it’s seen a few falls, but I push down my fear and decide to trust him—this man I don’t know. The irony isn’t lost on me.
“What about you?” I ask. “You’re the one who needs the helmet.”
Sebastian’s wink is the only answer I get. With the crank of his wrist and the push of his foot, the bike revs then purrs, and the vibration replaces the erratic beating of my heart. The other rider does the same, and they both do that rocking back and forth thing on either side of me.
“You don’t get to see this particular stunt every day, folks! It’s your lucky day. Let’s make some noise for Sebastian, Eros, and their beautiful, daring young victim!” The announcer makes a show of clearing his throat exaggeratedly, and I bristle at his words. “I mean, erm, volunteer!”
Sebastian gives a slight shake of his head, as if to let me know that the announcer is full of it.
It’s all for show. Breathe.
“Hands at your sides and focus on the lights, Princess!” Being called Princess is enough to make me momentarily forget my nerves and glare at him, and the smirk I get in return tells me that was his intention.
The music starts up again, and I’m not sure what the song is, but the bass rumbles through
me, seeming to amp up Sebastian and Eros as well as the crowd. Eros yells excitedly, pumping his fist in the air. They circle me slowly at first, like sharks circling their prey. They watch each other, taking silent cues, then all of a sudden, they’re whipping around me. They’re going so fast all I can make out is Eros’ brown, shoulder-length hair peeking from underneath his helmet and Sebastian’s black shirt in a blur.
Between them whirling around me and the loud music, my equilibrium is thrown, and I feel like I might tip over. I wobble and sway for half a second before I close my eyes, taking a deep breath.
The lights. Look at the lights.
I open my eyes, finding the strands of glowing bulbs, surprised to find that it works. As I steady myself, I feel my fear start to morph into exhilaration. They switch from doing horizontal circles around me to an X pattern, crisscrossing diagonally, getting so close that my braids whip in the wind they create. I stand stock-still as goosebumps prick every part of my skin, feeling like I could laugh and scream and cry at the same time. I’ve never felt anything so…thrilling in my boring, closely-monitored and pathetically-regulated life.
All too soon, the music stops, the motorcycles coming to a perfectly-timed halt. The audience roars and the announcer plays his role as a showman, but I don’t hear anything he’s saying over the ringing in my ears. The gate is opened and Eros rides down the ramp and out of the sphere, but Sebastian parks his bike and walks over to me as I rip my helmet off, none too gracefully.
Everything inside me bubbles up, and I drop my head back, laughing like a maniac. Once he’s close enough, I throw my arms around his neck, squealing with the leftover nervous energy coursing through me. He hesitates for a moment before he gives me a one-armed hug in return, his palm coming to rest at the small of my back. His touch catapults me back into reality, and I jump back, embarrassed that I quite literally threw myself at him.
“Thanks…for that,” I say, tucking the wisps of hair that escaped my braids behind my ear. He scowls at me, his expression a mix of confusion and concern, and I don’t know what to make of it. Even his scowl does nothing to take away from his pretty face. Pretty might not be the best way to describe him. His clothes are dingy and faded, his skin streaked with sweat and dirt…but his face. He’s like one of those 1950s heartthrobs from the movies my dad loves. Like a young Marlon Brando.
Adrenaline continues to rush through me. It feels like my heart is still lodged somewhere in my stomach. My palms feel sweaty, and my eyes grow wide with the realization that I may actually vomit. Sebastian, the mind reader, ushers me out of the cage and over toward the back of the tent. He lifts a flap, and I barely make it under before I spill the contents of my stomach—which is just iced coffee and a couple of multigrain crackers—all over the dirt ground. I grip the top of the metal gate and dry heave as a warm palm rubs my clammy back.