Downtime

We flopped onto a bench beneath the twinkling lights, exhausted but strangely buzzing. The air smelled like popcorn and sugar, sweet and cheap, sitting oddly over the last hour.

"That was EPIC," Chloe sighed, fanning herself, apparently oblivious to the lingering heat in my cheeks. Her ease at everything still amazed me — it always had.

"Yeah," I agreed, stretching sore legs that felt lighter than they should've, charged with something I didn't want to name.

A group of teenage boys passed our bench, laughing. I recognized them — the ones from the swings earlier, the ones who'd definitely been looking our way more than once. One of them, tall, blond, eyebrows permanently arched like he was surprised at his own joke, glanced over and murmured something to his friends. A ripple of low laughter followed.

My stomach dropped. *Had he seen? Did they all see?* I couldn't be sure — they'd been so far off, and it had happened so fast — but the not-knowing was almost worse. It prickled under my skin, equal parts dread and something uncomfortably close to excitement.