Less Than Three

Chapter 38: Do You Smell Smoke?

By the time I made it to the bleachers, I could tell something wired/weird was going on. For one thing, Jacob had settled himself beside Lily Peterson. What was she doing there? Kiersten was snuggled in between Craig and ... and Brady. Andrew patted the seat beside him and smiled. Where was Madison?

Oh.

I found her three rows up and a little over to the side. Right next to ...

Dave?

I tried to get their attention but they didn't see me. Probably because they had their eyes glued to each other. That is, as much as two sets of eyeballs can be glued when one set has some serious eyelash batting going on. Whatever.

Andrew motioned to me again and I looked at Brady. He didn't seem to notice me. But Craig did. He scooted over to make room. Kiersten saw me then, and her mouth made that perfect 'o'. She started to rise but Brady pulled her back to sitting, without even acknowledging me. I stowed my skateboard and dropped onto the seat next to Craig. He raised an eyebrow at me and I tried to raise one back. I still don't get how people do that.

The Joust is usually the highlight of Windmill Days. Imagine, if you can, a couple dozen dads all done up in tinfoil armor. On tricycles. With foam swords. Each of them acting as if the fate of the world rested on knocking some other dad off his trike. It's usually pretty hilarious.

This year, with all the mud the storms left behind, promised to be even funnier. But no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't see the humor. I couldn't hear the laughter and cheers rising around me in the grandstand either. All I could hear was Lily Peterson "like, ohmigod-ding" a few seats over. And Kiersten, shy and quiet, as she begged Brady to tell her what to do. And Brady, who was more than happy to tell her what to do, which was: Sit there, beside him, and enjoy the show. But even all of that was drowned out by two other voices, three rows up and a little to the side. One was sweet as sugar. And the other one? Shouldn't he sound sad?

Round One had just ended and my dad's group was mounting their bikes when I heard Dave say, "Chocolate syrup, right? Plenty of whipped cream?" For a heartbeat, I thought he was addressing me. But I'm a minimal whip kind of girl. Madison's the one who likes globs of it.

If I could fault anyone for what happened next, it certainly wouldn't be Craig. He tried to save my butt, like always. He tugged on my belt loop when I stood -- but I shrugged him off. And followed Dave Brown down the aisle. And out of the grandstand.

Dave had a head start but he stopped when I yelled his name. I don't know how he did that exactly, since we were both running full speed down the ramp. But he did.

And I didn't.

Instead, I tripped. And crashed into him. Again. In doing so, I pinned him against the railing and managed to get my hair snarled ... in his belt buckle. Again.

And I don't care whose buckle you get tangled in. Even if it's the boy who recently turned your entire world upside down ... it is still funny.

"We have got to stop meeting like this," Dave said. The muscles in his stomach rippled and he could barely control his fingers enough to unwind my hair. When I was finally free, I collapsed against him and we laughed until we cried.

"What did you want, anyway?" he asked between breaths.

What I wanted was to say 'Just to be here with you, like this,' but I couldn't tell him that. I tried to think of what I could say, but the only words that surfaced were, "I wanted ... I ...  I want."

I reached up to wipe a tear from his cheek. He stopped my hand as I pulled it back. He brought my fingers to his lips and kissed the tear away. Then his eyes half closed and his lips inched toward mine.