The Carnival of Wishes & Dreams

by Jenny Lundquist

  “Sick yet?” Harlow said. She herself felt dizzy.

  “No,” Ethan answered quickly.

  Over at the control post, the carnie was furiously punching at the gears. “Remain seated!” he called to everyone. “We’ll have this fixed in no time.”

  “These rides are always breaking down,” Julia complained. “It’s a wonder anyone hasn’t gotten hurt.”

  “Look,” Lulu said suddenly, gesturing at the crowd passing by the ride. “It’s Mr. Carlson.”

  Harlow glanced over and saw her father leading a long line of smartly dressed businesspeople toward the Snack Emporium. Harlow wondered if any of them realized an entire town was pinning their wishes and dreams on them.

  “My mom says he’ll never get the factory rebuilt,” Julia said quietly. She was looking down at her hands, but Harlow had the feeling that if she could see Julia’s eyes there’d be tears in them.

  “The factory—” Harlow began, but quickly shut her mouth. “Jean” wouldn’t know anything at all about any of this. “What factory?” she said instead.

  “The one we walked by earlier, remember? I told you about it?” Erin said. “The Carlson Factory. Last year when it burned down, someone died in the building”—Erin glanced quickly at Grace, who’d gone very still—“a . . . um . . . firefighter who was there that night.” Everyone was silent for a moment, seemingly out of respect for Grace, who, as usual, was staring off into space and saying nothing. Ethan and Julia were also saying nothing. Ethan was scowling and Julia was still looking at her hands. And Erin, who seemed like she was regretting bringing the subject up, suddenly said, “Hey, you guys, want to see a picture of Harlow Carlson?”

  “What?” Harlow said, taken aback.

  “Harlow Carlson, the factory owner’s daughter—See, that’s her!”

  Erin held out her phone and Harlow’s breath caught. It was a picture of her in Miss Prescott’s class, wearing the clothes she’d worn to school that day. The picture must have been taken earlier that afternoon, and it was awful. Harlow was gazing out the classroom window. Her eyes were strangely blank. Her mouth was slack and parted slightly and her hand was raised, her finger poised near her nose like she was just about to pick it.

  “Not her best look,” Julia said.

  “Yeah, she looks like she’s drooling!” Lulu said.

  “When did you take this?” Grace said, looking back up at Erin. She, at least, had the decency to sound disapproving.

  “In math class today,” Erin said.

  Later, Harlow would think that if she’d spent more time with Erin this past year she’d have recognized the warning signs and been able to stop it. She would have seen Erin tapping and swiping on her phone and knew what it meant.

  Grace, who had spent a lot of time with Erin this year, was quicker on the draw. “No, Erin, don’t—” she began, but it was too late.

  “Posted!” Erin held her phone up triumphantly. “Now everyone can see it!”

  “Oh, Erin, you didn’t!” Lulu whipped out her own phone and began scrolling.

  Harlow breathed deep and willed herself to stay quiet. She had to leave, now. She couldn’t spend one more second here.

  Julia, who already seemed bored with the whole conversation, said, “When do you think the ride will get fixed? It’s cramped in here.”

  In answer, Ethan leaned over the side and puked up his chili fries.

   16

  Audrey

  4 HOURS TO MIDNIGHT

  THE LINE FOR FUNNEL CAKES wasn’t that long, but it would have to wait.

  Audrey passed the Snack Emporium and headed toward the Ferris wheel. “Please be there,” she whispered under her breath. She glanced briefly at a girl wearing a vampire costume and sighed. She felt like she’d been wearing a costume ever since her mother had left, and she had been looking forward to taking it off just for one night.

  Instead she was stuck tracking down her dad and hoping he’d had enough sense to finally show up for his shift tonight. A text from Ethan had come in just as Audrey was exiting the carousel and heading over to buy Grace’s funnel cake:

  Dad still isn’t here. Are you sure he’s coming?

  No, Audrey had texted back. But I’ll find him.

  The carnival was getting busier, and the lines were getting longer. She pushed through the crowd and hurried over to the front of the Ferris wheel. “Hey, no cuts!” yelled a small boy hidden behind a cloud of cotton candy. To Audrey’s great relief she saw her father, clean-shaven and neatly dressed in a polo shirt and cargo pants. He had one hand on the ride controls; the other grasped a steel coffee thermos.

  “Dad? You all right?”

  “Just dandy,” he said, taking a swig from the thermos. “Why?”

  “Um . . . just wondering. How’s work going tonight?”

  He snorted. “The carnies are morons. Have sticks shoved up their you-know-whats.”

  “Why?” Audrey asked carefully. “Did something happen?”

  “They thought I was late, but I was actually early. When I got here the lights at the Snack Emporium weren’t hung correctly—half the carnies here don’t have the first clue what they’re doing—so I thought I’d pitch in and help out before someone got hurt, especially since Russ had investors coming in tonight, or so everyone is saying. Then I had to help shut down the Fishing for Fortune ride, because a bunch of the boats broke. Then I got chewed out for not being here, at the Ferris wheel, on time—even though I told one of them where I was and what I was doing.”

  Just then a burst of static crackled from the walkie-talkie hooked to his belt: “Maintenance, do you copy? We need to get someone down to the Clown Faces ASAP. The ride is jammed.”

  “See what I mean?” he growled. “Morons, all of them—these people’s idea of safety is a joke.”

  “So . . . you’re sure you were here on time?” she pressed.

  “Audrey—what did I just say?”

  At his exasperated look, she said, “I know, but someone told Ethan you showed up late.”

  He scowled. “Some people in this town just want to believe the worst about me.”

  Audrey averted her eyes. She didn’t want to be counted among those who doubted him, but it was kind of hard when he kept such erratic hours. Most nights she had absolutely no idea where he was or what he was doing. Sure, he said he was working. But where? And what about those strange phone calls he sometimes got late at night when he thought Audrey was asleep?

  “Didn’t you tell me that besides the free tickets you got a couple of free coupons for the Snack Emporium?” Audrey asked, deciding to change the subject. “Do you have one for a funnel cake?”

  He shook his head. “I only had a couple for chili fries, which I gave to Ethan. Why?”

  “Well . . . I sort of need to buy someone a funnel cake.”

  He frowned. “Why do you need to do that?”

  Now Audrey shook her head; she had no idea how to explain the inner workings of Julia King’s brain. “I just need to get one, and I don’t have any money. . . . It’s for Grace Chang.”

  She wished he would say, “We don’t have money to spend ten bucks on one tiny funnel cake. We need to save.” But there was no way he’d say no, not to Grace Chang.

  Because the truth was, on the night the Carlson Factory burned down, one man died. But two men were hospitalized: Grace’s dad and Audrey’s dad. Mr. McKinley had been working late that night in the factory. He’d been sleeping there, actually, when the fire started. By the time the fire department arrived, nothing could be done to save the structure. But Mr. Chang had recognized his best friend’s beat-up Chevy parked out front. He’d plunged inside and found Audrey’s father sprawled on the couch in his office, seemingly unconscious from smoke inhalation. He picked him up and dragged him through the burning building. He’d collapsed just as he’d reached the door to the outside.

  Mr. Chang was the hero who gave his life for his best friend. But every good story needs both a hero and a villain. As w
ord spread about the fire, Mr. McKinley quickly became that villain. He was the good-for-nothing husband who should have been home with his brood of kids and depressed wife. Instead he was sleeping at the factory, and because of him, Henry “Home Run” Chang wouldn’t be coming home to his family ever again.

  “Here,” Mr. McKinley said now, digging furiously through his pockets. “Here’s ten for the funnel cake. And here’s another twenty for anything else she needs.”

  “Dad, we don’t have the—”

  “You give that poor girl anything she wants tonight,” he interrupted, a ragged edge in his voice. “You hear me, Audrey? Anything.” Just hearing Grace’s name seemed to age him, and Audrey thought maybe it was better that Grace and her mother were moving away. She felt bad for thinking it—Grace had been one of the best friends she’d ever had—but Mrs. Chang had made it clear she didn’t want to have anything to do with the down-on-their-luck McKinleys.

  Except before the fire, Mr. McKinley hadn’t been down on his luck, not really. He’d had a good job as the manager of the Carlson Factory. He had a big family that he loved. Sure, he and Audrey’s mom fought occasionally. Well, more than occasionally—enough that he often stayed late at work and slept in his office at the factory. But overall, life was good.

  Until the fire changed everything and Grace lost her father, who had been trying to save both Mr. Carlson’s factory and Mr. McKinley’s life.

  Afterward, Mrs. Chang said she didn’t want her or Grace to have anything to do with the McKinleys or the Carlsons anymore—it was just too painful. Mr. McKinley and Mr. Carlson were both wracked with grief, and whenever they saw each other it just reminded them of the friend they’d lost. It got so bad the two men couldn’t stand to be in the same room together.

  And all that was why Audrey, Harlow, and Grace—who had been best friends since the time they could walk—didn’t speak to each other anymore.

  • • •

  The line for funnel cakes had grown much longer. Audrey figured she’d have to miss a couple rides, then catch up with Julia and the others.

  Where are you guys? she texted Julia. I’m getting Grace’s funnel cake.

  She waited, but when Julia didn’t text back right away Audrey occupied herself by looking up her friends’ online accounts. Her stomach dropped when she saw a picture Erin had posted. It was a photo of Harlow—a really terrible one. Not only did it seem like Harlow was about to pick her nose, but her eyes were glazed over and it looked like she was drooling.

  Audrey wanted to vomit. It was a cruel picture, and as she stared a couple comments came in:

  she’s so gross

  She looks like a zombie!

  Without even thinking about it, her fingers engaged in their usual dance, tapping and swiping until she was one click away from reposting the picture. She reposted pictures all the time and never thought anything of it; with every new post she always hoped she’d get more likes or followers. It wasn’t until her thumb was poised to hit send that her mind finally caught up with her fingers. What was she thinking? Of course she couldn’t repost a nasty picture of Harlow. She wouldn’t . . . Even though she knew if she did she’d probably get her three hundredth follower. Her thumb continued hovering over the screen until she finally let out a breath and stuck her phone back in her pocket.

  Maybe, just for a little bit, she’d stay offline.

  A minute later she was already bored. What did she do to kill time before she had a phone? The line stretched long before her, and she was tempted to leave and tell Julia she wasn’t her personal errand girl. Except she really did want Grace to have a funnel cake. At least she could take off her pipe-cleaner tiara for a few minutes since Julia wasn’t around; the thing had been digging into her scalp all night.

  At that moment, she glanced over and happened to see a woman passing by the line. It was the same woman she’d seen before, the one dressed in a pirate costume. She was turned away, and her hair was tucked under her hat so Audrey didn’t have a good view, but there was something intimately familiar about her. It was her height, the set of her shoulders, and the long shadow she cast.

  Audrey couldn’t stop watching her. Because from behind, the woman looked just like her mother.

   17

  Grace

  “YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE POSTED THAT picture,” Grace said to Erin as they passed the Zipper, a ride with cages that spun upside down.

  Grace hated the Zipper. And nasty pictures that people should have known not to post online.

  Erin didn’t appear to have heard her. She was walking next to Julia, laughing as she showed her the comments lighting up her phone. Grace walked silently behind them while Lulu also checked her phone.

  After Ethan threw up, everyone quickly exited the ride and the girls parted company with the boys. Jean had said she’d needed to go check in with her parents. Since then, no one had been able to decide which ride to go on next; everyone was too busy checking their phones to talk about it.

  “You shouldn’t have posted it,” Grace repeated, but no one paid any attention to her. She knew she should have pushed the point further. But she couldn’t bring herself to speak again. Sometimes she felt like the loudest person in the universe. But the loudness was only in her own head. In reality, she was the quietest girl in school.

  But lately—ever since she found out she was moving—she’d had dreams that when she got to California she’d arrive a completely different person. Someone who wasn’t afraid to speak all the thoughts swirling inside her.

  Once Julia had enough of looking at the picture, she announced, “Let’s go find Diego.”

  “Okay,” Grace mumbled. She felt so awful about the picture of Harlow she couldn’t bring herself to care about Julia’s crush on Diego or the destroyed pumpkin gram.

  Last week she’d overheard something in the library she was pretty sure she wasn’t supposed to hear. Julia and Erin had been huddled together at a table, their math homework forgotten while they whispered and giggled. Grace hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but she was right behind them, looking for a book about California. Their voices carried and she could only hear snatches of the conversation. But the moment Julia uttered the words “Harlow” and “prank” and “carnival,” Grace’s ears had pricked up. She’d thought she’d also overheard the word “midnight,” but she was less sure about that.

  Grace had leaned closer; she’d almost knocked the bookshelf over, but she hadn’t been able to hear exactly what prank they’d been planning to play on Harlow. She had been so worried earlier tonight as she walked to the carnival. But since she hadn’t seen Harlow all night, she’d relaxed and figured it didn’t matter: You can’t play a prank on someone who isn’t there.

  Except Grace had forgotten how the online world could reach right into the real world and mess everything up.

  “You shouldn’t have posted it,” Grace said yet again, but Julia, Erin, and Lulu continued to ignore her. That was typical. They rarely paid attention to what Grace actually said—when she bothered to speak at all. Julia sometimes treated Grace like she was some sort of celebrity. But Grace had a feeling that if her dad had survived the fire, things would be different. Right after the fire Grace had been in a fog, and it had felt good not to make any decisions, to just sit quietly at their usual lunch table and let everyone else’s words wash over her like soothing white noise. Lately, though, that fog was lifting and things were becoming clear.

  Julia and Erin had changed a lot since Mrs. Bronson’s fourth-grade class. Back then, Julia and Erin had loved bubble gum more than boys. They’d have contests to see who could blow the biggest bubble—then pop them with their hands. Neither of them had ever cared when the gum got stuck in their braids—and they never would have posted a picture like that of Harlow online.

  What was happening to everyone? Sometimes Grace felt like she didn’t recognize her friends anymore. Then again, there were days when she didn’t recognize herself, either.

  Grace realized she
didn’t much like Erin and Julia anymore. But it wasn’t like she was planning on saying that to them; they were just thoughts she would leave behind in Clarkville.

  But even if she couldn’t speak some of the thoughts inside her head, that didn’t mean she couldn’t text them.

  She pulled out her phone and hunted for Harlow’s number.

   18

  Harlow

  HARLOW USED TO BE SCARED of monsters, the kind with pointy teeth and sharp claws that stalk little kids in the middle of the night. When she was younger, she envisioned them everywhere. In her closet. In the attic. Underneath her bed. But one night when she was feeling brave, she threw open her closet door and discovered it was empty, and that the monsters weren’t real.

  Now Harlow feared monsters of a different sort. The kind that could be unleashed by a cruel photo. The kind that could keep multiplying with every awful comment posted online.

  Comments that, so far, she hadn’t read.

  Because unfortunately, these kinds of monsters were real, and Harlow wasn’t in any rush to confront them. And yet, at the same time she felt a curious, almost electric pull toward her phone, and she had to keep telling herself not to look at what everyone might be saying about her online. That it was better not to know.

  After Ethan had thrown up, she’d excused herself, telling everyone she needed to find her parents, and that she’d see them all later. She’d fled to the vendor area and headed straight for the city government booth where her mother was chatting with council members. Once inside she took off her costume. Her father had entered a minute later with the mayor and the investors from Boston.

  “Harlow!” her dad had said. “I’m so glad you came. Gentlemen, ladies—this is my daughter, Harlow.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Harlow said to them, shaking hands with each one.