Coming Up For Air | ✓

6 | of fries and men

"Ready to lose?"

Jake shoots her a glance."You sound awfully confident for someone who just battled a plastic whale for an entire ten minutes."

"More like three minutes."

Sidestepping an inconsolable young girl bawling her eyes out over the hotdog having toppled out of her hand to the floor—refusing to cheer up despite her family's best efforts, wails only growing louder—, Stella's lips slip into a sympathetic smile.

"Well, here we are," Jake says, pausing by the twelfth hole. He nods toward the overly extravagant decor of a miniature Ferris wheel stood in the crooked center of the course, its passenger cars painted in bright colors of orange and yellow. "Youngest go first."

"So you can steal my technique? I'll pass."

Someone carefully clears their throat behind them, a hand brushing over Stella's shoulder.

Simultaneously, her heart drops deeper into her chest as it picks up speed, heartbeat soaring along to the thundering beat of hooves on a racetrack. She's never been one to enjoy being caught off guard—on her 10th birthday she'd actually begun crying upon entering a surprise party, and not because she'd been grateful to everyone who'd shown up—, but it's grown worse in these past couple of years. She's found herself glance over her shoulder more than once, the anxieties lingering in the back of her mind making a crowd appearing out of nowhere adorned in party hats seem like heaven-on-earth in comparison.

Almost having toppled over her own two feet, she turns around to find a group of teenagers, or tweens more likely, stood there.

"Are you using the course?" One of them asks, eyes flickering over them as his cheeks flush a faint shade of pink. "Or would it be alright if my friends and I play?"

"Oh," The rise-and-fall of Stella's chest slows as her smile softens. She nudges Jake's arm and moves aside, the green leaves of a decorative bush brushing her knees. "No, you go ahead."

Jake raises his brows, mouth in an upward tilt. "You know you have to play eventually, right?"

"They were so polite about it. We can wait."

She smooths a palm over her sweater, picking at an imaginary speck of lint.

"Everything okay?"

"What?" Glancing up, she realizes Jake's eyes are focused on her—head slightly slanted to his left. "Oh, yeah," Her gaze flickers to the fluffy whirl of white towering in his hand. "Though, I wouldn't mind some of that."

Stepping closer, she laces her fingers around Jake's wrist for support as she bites into the cotton candy. The cloud melts on her tongue, its sweetness a promise of a fun summer's day.

"Don't gobble all over it, use your hand."

Stella scrunches her nose up, gaze falling to their golf clubs. She flickers her eyes toward the whale back at the seventh hole. "No thanks."

Taking another bite, she laughs through a snort as she attempts to eat it as gracefully as possible.

A stone's throw away, the group of tweens are done playing—stood shoulder to shoulder as they peer down at their slip of scores to figure out who can call themselves the winner.

"Time to settle this I guess," Stella nods toward the course and lets her tongue run over the sugar stuck to her lips; maybe she should've grabbed a few paper napkins over at the concession stand. "Do I have it all over my face?"

Jake's eyes flicker over her features as he speaks through the mouthful of cotton candy he just helped himself to. "No, you look– you're good."

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