Searching Lucas

Jess kept her promise and took me to the state fair the next day, which resulted in a fifteen-minute walk.

"You two go on ahead and enjoy yourselves." Nate stayed at the RV, tracing a few lines on the map with a marker and working on the routes. "Tomorrow, we leave at dawn."

Hound dog buses lined the parking lot, dropping dads in palm tree summer tees, moms wearing tinted sunglasses, and hyperactive children. Carnival had its peculiar scent: grease with the occasional sweetness from the cotton candy machine and salted popcorn machines. It drew kids to the fluorescent lights, the tilt-a-whirl machinery, and the constant announcement of an open game.

"Seems the state fair is on tour," Jess wore tinted shades on her own and pulled her hair back in a knot, hiding her face and blending in with the tourists. We were sitting ducks for the feds, and with the number of sheriffs patrolling, Jess should've been frightened—though you can't put fear on someone who is dying.

Jess patted my back and leaned close. "Come on, let's see the games!"

I saw a different side of Jess past the diplomatic and often protective tutor. I saw my older sister jogging past kiosks, looking back at me gleefully as I followed—the Jess I remembered from when we were younger. We speeded past the red and white tents, each with different toys than the last: plastic toy hammers, huge plush toys, and rubber duckies on a shallow pond.

Jess waved a hand for me to come to a game where you tossed the ring on a beer bottle. Three chances. I missed all of them.

The teen snorted. "Better luck next time, kid."

"This game's rigged," I uttered to Jess.

Jess moved on to another booth. "Over here, Royce." She called me by my invented name. I always liked that car model and decided it was easier for me to remember our fictitious names. I have yet to call Jess "Mercedes" since she didn't fit the archetype of "luxurious" or "high-class." expensive or high-class. I'm sure Jess would agree with that statement.

"Step right up, folks! Take a dart and pop a certain number from a wall of balloons. Five darts for five dollars!"

Jess approached the counter. "Five, please,"

"Five dollars."

Jess handed in the money. I noticed we were becoming comfortable around the area. Nobody here recognized us: the sheriffs idled past, but no one looked our way. Jess saw me staring around and lightly tapped my shoulder. "Come on, kiddo. Your turn."

I grabbed the bunch of red darts in one hand and took one with the other. The first dart flew headfirst into the corkboard. I threw the second one, almost landing on the metal fringe. The guy tells me to aim higher. The third dart finally lands on a pink balloon, making it pop immediately.

"I did it, Jess! I did it!"

Behind her sunglasses, Jess gave me a stare, one of those I immediately recognized. I messed up. I blew our cover. I was so thrilled that I forgot. Jess could perceive my sudden guilt, and it made her feel bad.

"You still got two left, kid." Luckily, the guy in the booth didn't notice.

I shoot my remaining darts almost in a hurry, the last landing on a blue balloon. My options were between a cartridge of snappers, a bubble wand, or a taxi car model. Because the model was a cheap replica, I chose the bubble wand.

We were back passing by the booths, the Ferris wheel, and the caterpillar rollercoaster on our way to a big sign leading to a massive tent: The Great Houdini: Master of Illusion.

I turned around and shushed. "I'm sorry for using our real names, Jess." Jess never reprimanded me. I guess because of what she lived through with our strict Mom and becoming independent at a young age, she was afraid of putting that unnecessary pressure on me.