Chapter Twenty-Four

Julia

"TRY TO FROWN. JUST TRY." Giles tugs me closer as we walk through the crowd. "You can't, can you?" 

I smile despite how emotionally spent I am, my eyes still puffy and the crisp night air stinging them. It's true this place is the physical manifestation of adrenaline. The sights around me are sensory overload. 

Loud, energetic pop music from the nearby concert follows as we make our way farther into the fair. Hundreds and hundreds of people around us, walking in all different directions, create their own cacophony of sound the way only a large crowd can.

Huge multicolored signs demand our attention on either side of us. Each booth donning multiple giant lettering advertising things like, bacon cotton candy, bacon wrapped pickles, waffle dogs. All sorts of bizarre food options peeking through between more sensible food items like smoked turkey legs, fried chicken, and BBQ ribs. It's my first time at the San Diego fair and it's clear most people come for the food. Everywhere I look someone is stuffing his or her face with things I don't even recognize as edible.

"Deep fried butter? Donut burger? Why?"

"Why?" Giles asks, giving me an incredulous look. "Because America, that's why. Are you hungry?"

"Um...like, for a deep-fried Twinkie?"

I'm kidding, but his eyes light up at the mention. 

"Where? Where'd you see it?"

I point to the booth. "Right next to the bacon wrapped pickles."

He leaves my side for the first time since we entered the fair. The sight of the Ferris wheel distracts me, way off at the end. Multicolored lights in that area suggest that's where all the fair games are. Excitement creeps over me and when I turn to find Giles, he's holding two plates.

"Here," he says, passing me what could only be the deep-fried Twinkie. A long, oblong shape coated in a fried batter. "Don't think, just take a bite."

I take in a breath and bite into it. At first, all I taste is batter, something akin to the coating on breaded chicken, but past the crunchy exterior, I reach the soft cake. There's definitely a Twinkie in there, the creamy filling dominating the aftertaste. "Tastes like a Twinkie chicken nugget, without the chicken."

"Isn't it fucking glorious?" He stuffs the rest of it into his mouth. Smiling at me as he chews his giant mouthful.

I laugh at his enthusiasm. He pushes the second plate under my nose, the sugary scent of the pale tan puff on the plate overwhelming.

"What the hell is that?" 

"Bacon cotton candy." When I grimace, he pushes the plate closer to me and adds, "Come on, little leopard. Live a little."

I take some and put it in my mouth, where it melts almost immediately, leaving behind the faintest taste of bacon. "Tastes like...bacon cotton candy," I say, surprised it wasn't completely awful.

We make our way through the food booths. Every once in a while, Giles insists I try something. Until, having had enough bits of random bacon wrapped and deep-fried items, I convince him to split a stack of ribs with me.

"You're really stuffing your face," he says, handing me a napkin. 

"Yeah, well, I'm not trying to impress you."

"I'm thoroughly unimpressed."  

I look down at my food, reflecting on how good it feels to be out here with him. I enjoy his company in a different way than I would any of my female friends. Looking at him is satisfying, because he's so easy on the eyes. And being able to have a platonic outing with him makes me strangely proud. Makes me feel like we're making the impossible happen. There's no awkwardness of where his hands are, or what I should say. Early on, I let go of any apprehension to his proximity. Because it's clear that he doesn't have any ulterior motives and that he's satisfied enjoying our time together without expectations.

We play the carnival games at the back end of the fairgrounds, and he doesn't try to be cute and let me win. In fact, he crushes me at every single game we play and mocks my lack of coordination. Watching how competitive he is has me laughing harder than I have in a long time. He wins four consecutive stuffed animals and makes a point to not let me hold even one. The guy running the horseshoe game shakes his head at Giles, as if to say he's being a horrible date. But that's the point. This isn't a date and that simple fact is so incredibly liberating.

After a little while, when we take a break to get drinks, the thoughts of what brought us here in the first place creep back in between the sounds and sights of the fair, and I get really quiet. I don't realize until I catch Giles watching me with concern.

"I'm here for you," he says. "If you need anything. If you need me to make the drive north and beat that guy's face into a wall until he apologizes, I will. In a heartbeat."

I almost shudder. The anger that frosts over his features tells me he's dead serious. 

"Beating him wouldn't matter," I assure him. "It's done. Now all I can do is be grateful more people--" I clear my throat before continuing "--more people can't see it." Warmth rises to my face and a chill coats my stomach. The contrast leaves me woozy. 

Giles makes it his mission to keep my mind off of it for the rest of the night. Dragging me from game to game, giving away his stuffed toys to random kids in order to free his arms to win more prizes. He's ridiculously good at these games and sometimes people gather to watch him win where others have failed. It gets to the point where I beg him to tell me his secret, so that I can win, just once. I'm overcome with laughter at the mischievous way he refuses to reveal his tactics, all the while reveling loudly at his own prowess. 

"Hang on a second," he says. "I want to remember this."

He pulls out his phone and snaps pictures to document his epic, winning streak. I ask him to let me look at the stupid pictures, but he refuses, telling me losers don't get to make demands. His teasing is lighthearted and only makes me jab him hard with my elbow. 

He's hard to take seriously, even when he's being an ass.

When we tire of the games, he nudges me in the direction of the rides, all of which look nauseating, spinning or plunging in one way or another. I'm pretty sure I'll throw up what I've eaten if I risk one of those. So, instead, I convince Giles to get on the Ferris wheel. I'm excited. I love Ferris wheels, but he jokes the entire way up about how incredibly boring of a ride it is. 

It isn't boring, though. Not with the view of the fair down below, and the increasingly cooler night drawing us inward. And not when, in a seemingly random move, he pulls something small, orange, and black from his pocket and hands it to me. 

A tiny stuffed leopard. 

"Why do you keep calling me little leopard?" 

His eyes narrow and he asks his own question in turn. "What do you know about leopards?"

I shrug. "They're a feline."

"Not just any feline. The leopard is one of the deadliest creatures in the world. Most animals would flee if they got hurt. But a leopard? A leopard is more ferocious and dangerous when wounded. They'll fight right to the end. That's how I see you...you're insanely feisty like that." 

He flashes me a coy smile but I cast my eyes down at the asymmetrical black spots of the stuffed animal, running my fingers over the fur. Hearing him profess the strength he sees in me, on a day when I feel so weak and defeated for crying, lifts me up just a little higher than this Ferris wheel. 

This is what friends do, isn't it?

This night marks the end of one of the worst weekends I've had in a long time, twisting my grim mood into something resembling hope that the worst is behind me. 

Except, the night isn't over yet.