Infinity Read Free Page A

away from me as possible, as if the fact that I didn’t want him made it necessary to put the maximum amount
of distance between us. There was no grey here, no compromise. We’d come up so quickly on all or nothing that it blindsided
me, a mere glint out of the corner of my eye before full impact.
    ‘I want it to be right,’ I told him.
    ‘How can this not be right?’ He sat up straighter, jutting a finger up at the windshield. ‘Moonlight? Check. Crashing waves?
Check. I love you? Check. You love me …’
    It took me a second, just a second, to realize it was my turn to say something. ‘Check,’ I said quickly, but he glared at
me and let his finger drop, as if this explained everything.
    As the days passed, and I found myself consistently taking the long way to everything, I got frustrated with all these decisions.
A part of me wanted to barrel into the roundabout blindfolded, pushing the accelerator hard, and let whatever was going to
happen just happen, anything for it to be over. The same part sometimes was so close to giving in to Anthony’s pleadings,
wanting to finally just relax against the seat and let him do what he wanted, let his fingers spread across my skin, trailing
downward, just give it all up and finally ease myself of these burdens. Scenario
number one, of course, was stupid: I’d cause a multi-car pile-up and kill myself. As far as number two, well, it was harder
to say. What would change? Maybe there wouldn’t be visible damage, dented bumpers or crumpled hoods. But something in me would
be different, even if no one else could tell. Like a car that’s been wrecked and fixed, but the frame stays bent, and only
the most trained of eyes can feel it pull on curves, or nudge towards the right on straight roads. Just because you don’t
see it doesn’t mean something isn’t there. Or gone.
    The fall carnival appeared in one afternoon, with rides and sideshows and the huge Ferris wheel cropping up in a field by
the shopping mall as if dropped from the sky itself. In daylight, as I took my shortcut to school, everything looked tired
and rusted, the tarps covering equipment flapping, workers walking around with craggy faces, half asleep. But by that night,
with the lights blazing and the sounds
of the carnies rounding up business for the games, it was like a whole new world.
    Anthony walked in, bought some cotton candy and proceeded to lose twenty bucks in about five minutes playing a game that involved
shooting water pistols at stuffed frogs. I just stood and watched him, silent after my first three tries to point out he was
never, ever going to win.
    ‘Tough luck, buddy,’ the guy running the game said in a monotone voice, his eyes on the crowd moving past, already looking
for the next sucker.
    ‘One more time,’ Anthony said, digging out some more bills. ‘I’m getting closer. I can feel it.’
    ‘How badly do you really need a frog anyway?’ I asked him. They looked like the typical carnival stuffed animals I remembered
from my childhood, the kind with nubby fur that smelled faintly like paint stripper. They always looked better before you
actually won them, as if the minute the carnie handed
them over they faded, or diminished somehow, the golden ring gone brass.
    ‘It’s not about the frog,’ Anthony snapped at me, bending down to better line up his shot. ‘It’s about winning.’
    ‘Winning a frog,’ I grumbled, but he just ignored me, then slammed his fist down and stalked off when he lost. Again. He cheered
up a little bit when I used my money to buy cake and tickets for the Ferris wheel, then stood in line with me, chewing loudly,
the frog forgotten.
    Behind us was a guy with his daughter, who looked to be about eight. She had a big stuffed lion under her arm and was gripping
her dad’s hand, staring up at the Ferris wheel as it moved lazily above us.
    ‘Now, honey,’ the man said, squatting down beside her, ‘you don’t have to go on it if you don’t want