Wasted Years

(EMILY)

When we get to my house, I open the door of Courtney’s Mazda and start to get out.

“Em?” Courtney says tentatively.

“Yeah?”

“Promise me you won’t go to that thing Steel invited you to.”

“Why would I do that? He’s a carny. With a neck tattoo. Give me a break, I have standards.”

“It was just the way you looked at him is all,” Courtney says.

“Nothing wrong with looking at a hot body,” Maddie says.

“Exactly,” I say, laughing. “Look, but don’t touch.”

“And don’t let him touch you,” Courtney adds, finally laughing.

“See yas,” I say, and shut the door to her car.

As I walk to my front door, I glance up at the house. I wonder if I’ll ever live in such a big house again after I move out. I’ll never make the kind of money needed if I’m only ever my father’s office manager. Unlike my brothers. They’ll easily be able to afford our six-bedroom house plus pool once they have several dealerships of their own. Being a girl sucks ass. Why shouldn’t I get the same as them?

I march into the kitchen, and get myself a can of cream soda. Drink in hand, I flop on the couch and flick the TV on.

At eleven on the dot, my phone rings. My mother’s photo appears on the screen and I roll my eyes. I’m twenty years old, and she’s checking up on me. What are the chances she’s phoned Cody to check up on him? He’s not home yet, but he’s never home by eleven.

“Hi, Mom.” My jaw is tight with tension.

“Hi, honey, just phoning to make sure everything’s okay.”

“Of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Well, you know, just making sure.”

“Have you checked up on Cody?”

There’s silence for a moment before she says, “No, why would I do that?”

“Um, maybe because he’s younger than me.”

“Well, he knows how to take care of himself.”

“And I don’t?”

Her sigh blasts through the phone. There’s a rustling noise. She must be covering the mic so I can’t hear what she’s saying to my father.

“Honey,” my father is now on the phone. “Remember, don’t do anything stupid.”

Where is this even coming from? Has someone texted them about their daughter talking to a carny tonight? I hate being from a small town. How stupid do they think I am? Why don’t they trust me?

My insides are so swelled with rage, I throw my empty soda can across the room. Some droplets fly out. So what.

“And why would I do that, Dad?”

“Emily, you have to remember what my reputation means in this town. Do not do anything to risk my reputation.”

Seriously? Not, because I love you and don’t want you to get hurt? All that matters is your reputation.

Through gritted teeth, I say, “Don’t worry, Dad, I know how important your reputation is.” More important than me.

“Good, because if you do anything stupid, I’m the one who pays the price.”

What does that even mean?

“Good night,” I say and end the call. You know, right now, for once in my life, I really want to do something stupid. I’ve been good and behaved all the way through my teen years, and now, as a twenty year old, I’m still being treated as a child.

Now I understand that’s why teens rebel in the first place — so their parents get the message that they’re not little kids anymore. Somehow it seems I never gave my parents that message. Maybe now is the time to do that, regardless of what it does to my father’s precious reputation. If it matters so much, he should go live in a big city, where every little thing he or his daughter does isn’t known by every last person in town.

You know what? Fuck this shit. There, I said it. And if I swear, you know it’s a big deal. Like, a really, really big deal.

But I’ve had enough of being treated like a child. I am a grown-up.

And for the first time in my life, I’m going to prove I am my own person.

I grab the keys to my Toyota Corolla and head out the door. My dad owns Toyota and GM dealerships, and gave me the car for my high school graduation present.

When I start the car, another thought occurs to me. I’m twenty, and I drive a Corolla. It’s like I’m middle aged or something. It’s all so boring. My life is so sterile.

My entire life is laid out in front of me, before I even live it.

It only takes a few minutes to drive back to the park where the carnival is being held. I mean, our town is so small anywhere to anywhere is only a two-minute drive.

The carnival closed at eleven, which was ten minutes ago. I park my car right in front of the gate and get out.

The ticket gate is shut. All the Lions Club people have gone home, which is a relief.

They’ve put temporary metal fencing around the carnival, and it’s now shut and locked. There are still lots of carnies inside. I assume they have to count up and shut down their booths or whatever.

I’m not sure what to do, but the anger inside me is still just as raging as it was when I hung up the phone. I walk along the fence, in the direction of the rides.

It’s funny seeing the carnival like this, empty of people but still with all the lights on and workers. It’s almost eerie.

I walk until I see the Tilt-a-Whirl, and spot a carny looking at me.

“Hey, Steel, you got a visitor,” the man yells.

My heart races at his words. Am I really going to do this? Hang out with some carny? I can’t forget my reputation.

That thought clarifies everything. I latch my fingers onto the fence and wait, the fence half holding me up. My heart still pounds against my ribcage.

“Hey, Goldilocks, I knew you’d come,” Steel says, jogging toward the fence. His amazing smile both puts me at ease and makes my heart pound faster. When our blue eyes connect, I feel that same unfamiliar feeling I felt earlier. I don’t know what it is, maybe excitement?

“Am I too late for the party?” I gesture to the fence.

“No, I’d say you’re right on time. Come this way,” he says, pointing in the direction away from the entrance.

We walk along the fence, Steel on the inside and me on the outside. Our pace is slow, set by me. I am doing this. Am I doing this? Yes, he’s a carny, but what better way to send my parents a message?

What stronger message can you send than losing my virginity to a carny? He’s the hottest guy who’s ever stepped foot in this town. Even with the neck tattoo, not to mention all those other arm tattoos. And the pec tattoos. My parents won’t be able to deny it anymore. I am an adult.

Steel trails his finger along the metal bars of the fence, and I walk with my hands folded in front of me. He’s looking at me, and I’m looking at my feet.

It may have been warm enough earlier in this evening for this dress, but there’s a chill in the air now and I regret not throwing on jeans and a sweater.

“How much longer do you have to work for?” I ask.

“Now that you’re here, I’m done.”

“You sure do seem to have flexible work hours.”

“That’s because I’m a foreman.”

“Oh, and that lets you work half time?”

“It does when Papa Smurf isn’t busting my ass.” I glance over at him, my eyebrows knitted together. He catches my eyes and holds them. I forget to put my foot in front of me and carry on walking.

I swallow under the intensity of his gaze, and say, “Papa Smurf?”

“The owner,” Steel says. His smile spreads impossibly wider. How does a carny get so damn good looking?