20: Games, Carousals, & Harry Styles

                                    

                                          
-Amber-
                          
“Look at the food!” I exclaim, my eyes wide like an excited little girl’s. As I glance around the boardwalk, I don’t know where to start. There are the carnival games, the food, the ride, the souvenir shops... I was totally clueless. I wanted to go everywhere, do, play, and ride everything. I’ve not once been to a carnival or boardwalk. After my father promised to take me, his accident occurred and I just haven’t even thought of going to a carnival or anything like it since. It didn’t feel right. But right now, right here with Harry, it somehow felt perfect.
                          
“What’s first?” Harry asks, cocking his head down to look at me. I shrug, bouncing up and down as I try to decide. This was impossible. Everything seemed fun. I couldn’t choose. Kids ran by happily, most of them snacking on cotton candy or ice cream cones. A few of them would look at Harry and I before they kept going, chatting happily to their friends. Someone would recognize us eventually. That was for sure. I mean, we have been all over the news lately. Harry is part of the world’s biggest boy band and I am one of Hollywood’s biggest actresses. There was no way we’d go unnoticed. I push aside the thought, focusing on all the fun that surrounded me. My eyes flicker towards a game where you have to shoot water into a small hole when the bell would ring. If you hit the center, a plastic horse with your number would move forward. Whichever horse got to the finish line first would win. If seemed fairly easy. Grabbing Harry’s hand, I drag him towards it.
                          
“This seems easy!” I grin, sliding into one of the booths.
                          
“Not with ten people playing.” Harry points out and before I can react, he’s handing the referee -a tall man with barely any hair on his head- four dollars.
                          
“You should have told me I would have needed money.” I frown up at the green-eyed boy. He takes the booth beside me, positioning his hands on the water gun.
                          
“You don’t. I’ve got it covered.” Harry flashes me a cheeky smile as we wait for more people to come and join the game. I look away from him, my eyes observing the target. If I kept my eye on the hole and aimed straight, I could win smoothly. This should be a breeze.
                          
“When the bell rings, hold down the button and aim straight into this hole!” The referee informs the players, making hand motions and pointing to the location of the target. “The winner gets a stuffed animal of their choice.” My eyes flicker towards the stuffed animals that hung around stand: teddy bears, snakes, cats, a stuffed banana. I didn’t really have my eye on anything. I just wanted to win at my first carnival, er, boardwalk game.
                          
“Annnnnnnnnnnnnd ...” The bell rings and the referee steps to the side, beginning to shout out numbers of those in the lead. I bite lip hard, trying to keep the water straight in the target. Everything was going well until I took a risk and looked over to see how Harry was doing. He was good. His horse, number seven, was in second. I don’t know who was in first and I didn’t risk looking. As I focused my eyes back on my own, I cursed. I was no longer shooting in the target. I repositioned the gun, getting it back in place but it was too late. The bell rings again and the referee steps up front.
                          
“The winner,” He calls, drawing out the r. “isssss NUMBER SEVEN!” My mouth drops as my head snaps in Harry’s direction. He was grinning proudly, both his dimples showing.
                          
“Congrats,” The referee smiles, leaning over towards Harry. “What would you like?” I cross my arms, frowning and turning away. This is absolutely unfair. He’d brought me here for me, not for him. And I’m not jealous he won. Definitely not. Why would I be jealo-
                          
My thought is interrupted when someone shoves a stuffed kitten in front of my face. I step back, running into the owner. I already knew who it was as I turned around, my expression unhappy.