Page 44 of Meeting Mr. Adorkable
The thud in Arlo’s chest was hard and heavy, pounding his ribcage as Lucian’s gaze met his own. Lucian’s eyes were black, their pupils blown and distended, stealing away the deep blue of their irises.
“I’m sorry I’m such a mess, Arlo. But you’ve probably realized that already?” Lucian crumpled up the tissue and gave him a small, unsteady smile.
No. No, you’re not… Arlo’s heart protested, but before he could tell him, before he could counter the resignation threading through Lucian’s words, the world crashed in on them as noise flooded where there had only been the galloping beat of his heart, as a scratchy guitar ripped through the bubble that had enclosed them.
Arlo jerked away as Lucian veered back. Clapping erupted all around them as a troupe of teenagers murdered a classic Springsteen number, strutting on a rigged up stage.
“They’re marginally better than the Collier’s Creek Cowboy Combo. Perhaps the Cowboys will perform later and we can line dance.” Lucian smiled, but there was a self-consciousness about it. His eyes, though, were now more blue than black. Whatever had happened, it was gone. They were back on track, and Arlo didn’t know whether to be grateful or despair.
The teenagers moved on to screech their way through a Nirvana number, destroying their parents’ treasured memories.
“I think this is where we leave.” Arlo stood and extended his hand for Lucian to take. Lucian grinned and clasped him tight, allowing Arlo to pull him up. Lucian’s grip was warm in his, and regret burst inside of him when he slipped his hand free.
“Look at that sign. Over there.” Lucian pointed to a big painted arrow, with the words Fair This Way.
“My god, it reminds me of home.” Lucian beamed, as bright and warm as the afternoon sun, as they followed the arrow and emerged into the fair.
“At Danebury, for the annual seasonal events, we always stage a traditional fair with all the old-fashioned games. There’s nothing even remotely electronic. We also have a Victorian merry-go-round, like that, but older looking.” He pointed towards the carousel, the plaster horses pretty in pinks, golds, and myriad other colors, sedately rising and falling as they went around and around in never ending circles.
Lucian leaned into Arlo and lowered his voice to a stage whisper. “The last time I went on it was after I’d been helping to judge the cutest pet show, because having a menagerie of cute pets I was, of course, suitably qualified. I was mortified when they barred me from entering Percival, my guinea pig. Honestly, he’d have stolen the show. The winner was a very snappy terrier, and when I tried to attach the winner’s rosette, the bloody thing went for me. I was traumatized, so naturally I had a sample of the homemade fruit wine at the Women’s Institute stall. Or several. Having a ride on the merry-go-round then seemed like an excellent idea.”
“And was it?” Arlo smiled, already knowing the answer.
“No. I soon got very dizzy, then queasy, and when I staggered off, I was… somewhat unwell. Over a small child.”
“You barfed over a young kid?” Arlo shook his head as he laughed. Poor kid, but it couldn’t have been more Lucian if he’d tried.
“It’s not funny.” Lucian huffed. “It was awfully embarrassing. Mum, fortunately or not, depending on how you look at it, was swanning around, in full on Lady of the Manor mode, and she saw the whole thing. To my eternal shame, I’d attempted to run away, but being unsteady on my feet due to the pet trauma, I tripped over and went flat on my face. She suggested I retire to my room for the rest of the day.”
“What happened with the kid?” If anybody else had told him the story, Arlo would have given them the side eye, but this was Lucian…
“Cleaned up and given an ice cream, I suspect. After that, at all the other public events, my involvement remained strictly floral related. No more pet judging for me.”
“So, a turn on the carousel—”
“Is off limits.”
What else is off-limits? But Arlo buried the traitorous thought.
“Come on, let’s have a look around.” Lucian grabbed his hand and hauled him forward.
“Baggo!” he exclaimed, pointing to a booth with a large, brightly painted board. “I love this, and I’m pretty good at it.”
“Baggo? You mean corn hole.” Arlo couldn’t see the point in throwing bean bags into a hole, but Lucian was almost jumping with excitement. He handed over the cash, refusing to listen to Lucian’s protests. The booth holder placed a pile of colorful beanbags in front of Lucian, who picked one up, feeling its weight, his expression so serious, determined, and resolute, Arlo fought to keep a straight face.
“Right. This is a warm up shot.” He rolled his shoulders, then stretched his neck from side to side. Steadying himself to take aim, his arm came around in a perfect arc, releasing the beanbag at its apex. It glided through the air — and missed, not just the hole but the entire board.
“Oh.” Neither the next bag, nor the one after, fared any better.
“Here, let me.” Arlo took the last bag, sending it flying through a hole without touching the sides. But it was too late, any chance of winning a prize gone.
“Perhaps I’ll have better luck with the whack-a-mole.”
He didn’t.
“So, you were good at sports when you were in high school, huh? Because your hand-eye co-ordination is something special.” Arlo dug his nails into his palms, concentrating on the pain to stop the laughter threatening to bubble up as Lucian glowered at him.
“I attended an exclusive public school, which thought very highly of itself even if I didn’t, as a day pupil. It might be hard to believe, but I wasn’t exactly the first choice for being picked for team games.”
