Miami Heat

"What about that one?" I pointed at Miami Heat before I could second-guess it — front-facing, right in view of the crowd, closer to the boys than I wanted to admit to myself. *Don't give them the satisfaction*, I told myself, and picked it anyway.

"Oh my god, yes." Chloe was already moving. "This is way better than the Star Flyer — that thing was just gentle spins. This one actually drops."

We sat down and pulled the safety bars into place — hers first, then mine, clicking in a beat behind like an afterthought.

I scanned the crowd once, quick, and there they were, same group, same tall blond one. I looked away before he could catch me looking.

"How much do you love this ride?" I asked, swinging my legs, aiming for casual and landing somewhere thinner than that.

"So much. My butt always leaves the seat, it's brilliant." Chloe grinned, settling in, entirely unbothered by the height, the crowd, any of it.

The car lurched. I gripped the armrest harder than the drop really warranted.

For a second, watching Chloe lean forward to look over the edge, I thought about her top — the same one from the Star Flyer, the same loose strap — and had the flicker of a thought: *maybe this ride isn't a great idea, with how it bounces.* It surfaced and sank again before I could turn it into words. Chloe was already laughing, already thrilled, and saying something felt like it would ruin it, or embarrass her, or make me the one who'd been staring.

I said nothing.

The first drop caught us both off our seats. On the landing, I felt my own skirt flutter, harmless against the plastic sides of the car — this one, at least, was built with people like me in mind. Chloe wasn't so lucky. I caught the movement out of the corner of my eye on the second bump, the telltale slip of fabric, and looked away fast, cheeks burning on her behalf as much as anything.