I look over his shoulder in time to catch a glare from someone too focused on us to have fun getting lost. I’m glad Jamie wasn’t the one to see it, and I opt for the most selfish way to forget, burying my face in the warm crook of his neck. I whisper something he can only feel, and I’ll swear later it wasn’t a kiss. Leaving one small patch of skin behind, I reach for him everywhere, and he arches into me, our hands roaming until they curl into fists and hold nothing. We hiss and swear and fall silent so we don't say the wrong things, all of this more than my boring life will allow.
Eventually, Jamie finds words when I have none.
“I know it was my idea first, but I don’t know how to be friends with someone like you. I barely know how to be a friend at all. There are people I've played hockey with, and there's Kai, who might as well be my brother. But you—” He’s almost panting against my ear before he trails off to pull my hair again. He only goes on when I look at him. “We haven’t lied today, but there’s still so much time between now and the rest of our lives, and this mirrored maze isn’t ours to keep.”
Jamie’s kind when he ignores the way I shiver, but I succeed in pushing him away this time, the tension between us dangerous when we’re surrounded by glass.
“That was poetic,” I say roughly. “Have you been helping Harper with her homework?”
Cracking a joke might be callous or clever, but after staring at me for several more seconds, Jamie takes the out I’ve offered. We hear the squeals of a group catching up to us, and I blink myself out of what might have been a funhouse fever dream, hurrying to follow him past the last couple of mirrors and down the spiral slide that returns us to the ground. The evening light is striking when we land, and Jamie's there to help me up, the smile on his face one I've missedsince our last round of midway games.
"Where are we going now?" I ask.
"I think I'm gonna go home," he tells me as we wander away from a few different crowds. "This day has been—it was unexpected. Seeing you here at all, and then deciding to stay, and whatever just happened in there."
"Okay, yeah. I should probably go back and see if anyone needs help before I leave. But then we can—maybe some other time—"
“We can be friends and liars?”
I nod, my next exhale far shakier than I’d like it to be when I can't find a way to keep him with me. "Goodnight, Jamie. Thank you for the unexpected."
He doesn't smile then. He doesn't say goodnight or leave me either. Instead, he steps forward and pushes a stuffed penguin against my chest.
"This is for you."
I cling to it, but I'm on the verge of giving it back. "You told me you were going to give it to Harper."
"No, I told you I alwayshavegiven them to Harper," he says. "Nobody else was ever worth it."
"What about her mom?"
Jamie swallows a quick laugh. "Danielle? Ah, no. I showered her with expensive gifts that meant nothing. In hindsight, some carnival prizes might've helped lower a few of her expectations."
"Are you trying to lower mine?"
"Would it work?"
"No."
"Didn't think so. It kinda feels like a ship that might've sailed while we watched from the beach." He sighs then, and glances toward the parking lot before he returns to touch the top of the penguin's head and stare cautiously at me. "Sorry. That was probably poetic, too."
"Don’t apologize, Jamie. Just try to be friends with me."
He waits until the next day to text. I wait longer to call. Sophie's on a trip with college friends, but I interrupt her vacation long enough to update her on my day at the fair, and I wonder whether Kai has heard anything new about me.
It would make sense to hang out with Jamie again—as friends or liars—while I'm still on spring break, but spending time with him so soon would tempt me to look for our reflection again, and I’d pretend I can’t see the reasons to wait.
It's not until I've returned to work that he admits Harper went away with her mom the second half of the week, and we could’ve seen each other without him having to answer questions about who and where and why. His decision to keep that distance between us is no different from mine, and I don't know whether I'm more mad or sad or resigned that he hasn’t forced my hand.
Maybe it'll be safer to hang out when I can’t remember the view from a Ferris wheel, and Jamie has responsibilities to call him home, but I decide I can’t wait that long.
A few weeks after spring break, I ask him to go on an easy hike with me—more of a nature walk, really—along a trail in a nearby canyon, and he agrees before the invitation is fully out of my mouth. Meeting there earlier than he’s usually out of bed means fewer people to examine the degree of our friendship. We have little company as we come together and fall apart until we simply stay shoulder to shoulder and talk about some of the most innocent things. As was true for most of the carnival, we’re not crossing any lines. And as was true by the end, there’s a time limit on everything, including our self-control.
We return to where we’d left our cars at the trailhead, and when I open my back door to grab an extra water bottle, Jamie steps close enough to pin me in that space. He could be eager for a drink, but the tip of his nose is against the back of my neck, just beneath a bun he might take away. We’re sweaty, our t-shirts clinging to us on such a warm morning, and when I turn to face him, our curious hands are tempted by damp fabric. We pull the shirts over each other’s heads and stand there breathless and stupid until I remember to shake my head and he remembers to back away.
Our goodbyes come quickly after that, and several days pass before either of us says more.
Once the school year ends in the middle of June, it would make sense for us to try again. Harper isn't in my class anymore, having finished with an A that was never in question, and with soccer still months away, she's an easier obstacle to ignore. But she’s alsotheobstacle, more so than my current job and Jamie’s former one, and we react by staying apart. Or I react by telling him we should stay apart, and he agrees because we don’t know how to fight about it instead.