[23]

French Fries, Hate Crimes and Snarky Guys

"Señorita, toma mi sombrero." Wade hopped out of the trunk, brandishing the large hat. 

His accent was terribly good, and it took Skipper by surprise. She stood there, an eyebrow raised, completely motionless.

"Por favor," he insisted, shoving his sombrero at her. She fumbled to take the thing, blinking as though she had no idea what to do with it.

"Put it on, idiot," he sighed, slapping a hand to his face. "Unless of course you want sunburn again." As he said this, he nodded at her outfit. She was wearing a white tie-strap sundress and her crocs, much of her sensitive skin exposed and ready for the sun to inflict its wrath.

Tentative, she lifted the hat and put it on. Wade flicked her nose before moving to close the trunk, leaving her standing there in confusion. He went around the vehicle and gave Charles a quick pat and a kiss on the snout before hauling Skipper's backpack out of the front seat and chucking it at her. She caught it in a jerking motion that caused the sombrero to flip off her head. Wade made a face and picked up the hat.

"I'm not wearing that," she insisted when he tried to put it on her head again. "It's too big."

"Fine, be that way." Sticking his tongue out, he returned it to the trunk and chucked her bucket hat at her. "That stupid little thing won't protect your shoulders." He then eyed her up and down, scrutinizing her outfit. "White and yellow doesn't suit your purple hair. You look like a fake Vikings fan."

"Yeah, well you dress like a dad." She plunked the floppy bucket hat on and glared at him. He looked down at his sandals, cargo shorts, graphic tee and plaid button down, and shrugged. 

"Whatever chokes your goat. Let's go, Señorita." And locking the vehicle, he took off running. 

"Wait for me!" Skipper shouted, attempting to simultaneously chase him and wrestle the backpack on, at the same time worrying about the length of her dress as she ran.

She finally caught up to him at the entrance, out of breath and a trifle annoyed, while he merely bore a smug expression. They passed the bag check and entered the park. Wade was grinning, and as various rides came into view, some of them towering against the beautiful blue sky, a thrill shot through Skipper's body. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been to an amusement park. This would be fun!

"Where should we start?" Wade asked, his eyes drawn to a massive coaster. Skipper pulled sunglasses from a pouch in her backpack and put them on. 

"Maybe we should start small and work our way up to the bigger ones? The lines are so long for some of the big ones..."

"You're lame," scoffed Wade, grabbing her by the backpack and tugging her over to the extensive queue for a particularly massive roller coaster. 

"But I hate roller coasters!" she protested. 

"Oh, that’s even better." He grinned wickedly. 

People were lining up behind them, resigning to the long wait and making worthy obstacles should Skipper choose to chicken out. She could see that getting out of line would almost be more trouble than it was worth, and she swallowed hard. The screams of riders rang in her ears. Her fingertips felt numb as she stared up, way up at the first drop of the coaster. She couldn't fathom how tall that thing was. She glanced at Wade, who was contentedly observing people and occasionally wiping his hands on his shorts as though they were clammy.

Was he nervous too?

When it was finally their turn, Skipper had to leave her things in a cubby sort of thing before boarding the coaster. Wade was evil and decided to sit in the very front, so they'd be the first to go. He claimed it meant their ride would be over sooner and she wouldn't have to worry about being last, but she knew he really intended to give her as much of a fright as possible.

As the lap bar went down and the ride attendants made their way up the line, checking everyone's restraints, Skipper felt panic in her chest and tears pricking her eyes. She hated roller coasters. It wasn't necessarily a fear of heights that made her hate them so much. In fact, she had never been able to pinpoint why she didn't like them. She just knew she harbored deep resentment for such contraptions, and much preferred spinny rides like teacups.

"I'm gonna throw up," Wade grinned. "This is awesome."

She looked at him in bemused horror. "Is that...sarcasm?"

"No. I seriously feel sick to my stomach. I can't wait."

"Don't vomit on me."

"Only if you promise not to piss yourself."

Rolling her eyes, she turned her gaze toward the lap bar. The only thing standing between her and imminent death. 

The ride lurched to a start. 

Skipper gripped the bar as if it was her only lifeline. Beside her, hands free, Wade was practically vibrating like an excited child. 

The cars started to climb the track, higher and higher into the cloudless atmosphere. Wade wiped his clammy palms on his thighs again, muttering about how much he hated heights. If that was the case, why did he torture himself like this? Skipper wondered. Her stomach was sinking with dread. Her head flooded with second thoughts about spontaneity. Maybe...maybe being bored wasn't such a good idea...

Suddenly it felt as though her breath had been taken and her soul had left her body through her toes. Her body was a numb shell and all that existed was a heartbeat. Wade was shouting and flailing his arms in the air like an octopus on steroids.

She grabbed his left arm and held onto it for dear life as the coaster shot up another incline.

"Ew, don't hold my arm!" Wade shouted, shaking her off. She smacked him and for the moment forgot about being scared–that is, until the coaster dropped and sent her spiraling into terror once again.

By the end of the ride, she was shaking. Wade had to help her out of the car, rolling his eyes and saying she was dramatic. He carried her backpack for her, and allowed her to have a breakdown when she came across a bench to sit on. He stood there awkwardly the entire time. 

When she finally managed to pull it together, he plopped the bucket hat on her head again. 

"Your mascara is running."

"Shut up," she whined. "It's not funny."

"No, but you look like you just got cheated on and don't have a ride home. C'mon, fix yourself." 

"No," her voice shook with rage as she stood and faced him, fists clenched. "No. You fix yourself. Treat me with respect."

"Why are you so entitled? I'm not disrespecting you in any way! Look, just because you're dying doesn't mean I should treat you any differently. You're still alive as far as I'm concerned, so I'm going to treat you like a living person."

"That doesn't make sense."

"Exactly. Just like your anger right now. Literally, you have no reason to be mad at me. I didn't do anything wrong."

"You told me to fix myself!"

"And that's somehow offensive? I meant you should take the time you need to clean your face and fix your makeup. How did you take it?"

"Your tone made it sound like I have issues."

"I'm starting to wonder if maybe you do," he stated, an eyebrow raised. "You took a simple statement and totally misconstrued it based on what you assume I think of you. That's flawed logic. You take care of your waterfalls and I'll go see if I can get pictures from the ride as souvenirs." Setting the backpack to her right on the bench, he turned and walked toward the ride. Skipper sat there, confused and feeling limp. It took her a bit before she was ready to redo her face, this time ensuring to use everything waterproof. She hadn't anticipated a trip to the amusement park to be an emotional affair, but as it turned out, it seemed almost anything could be. 

She hated not being able to keep it together. 

Wade soon returned with the pictures, smirking and shaking his head. "My face in this one... I look like a closet monster." He handed them to her, and she inspected them in silence. She didn't know how to talk to him right now. Had he been right? Had she projected her own opinions of him in the process of interpreting his words? Had she misconstrued it? Or was he messing with her?

"Your turn to pick a ride," he broke into her pondering. "Unless you just wanna rest some more."

She turned her gaze from the photos to look at him and decided not to make things any more awkward than they already were. "I'm hungry. Let's get fries."

"Sure." He seemed relieved. 

They made their way to the fry stall and purchased a nice basket of the hot, salty goodness. These were devoured as they wandered through the carnival-type games, trying their luck at winning prizes. Skipper won nothing, but Wade won a giant stuffed banana that he somehow managed to trade with some dude who had a squid hat. 

Having digested sufficiently, Skipper was ready to choose a ride. "Can we ride the tilt-a-whirl?"

"You can," he shrugged. "I'll pass."

"That's not fair! I rode that death machine with you!"

"Fine. But don't get mad at me if I throw up." Throwing up his hands, he began walking in the direction of her appointed ride. She stuffed the photos into her pack and shouldered it before following him. 

They left the backpack leaning against a barricade when it was their turn to ride. Wade was reluctant to board; he hated spinning rides. They made him unbearably nauseous, but since Skipper had ridden the roller coaster, he figured he owed it to her to ride something he dreaded. 

A small part of him was nagging, saying that all this getting even with each other was actually a very toxic trait. But that nagging was overshadowed by the pressing need to toss his fries. Skipper was laughing, enjoying herself on the giddy, dizzying ride. Wade clutched the nearest point of stability and clenched his eyes shut, hoping and praying he wouldn't throw up.

Somehow, miraculously, he managed to keep it together until the ride's end. Then he stumbled off and made a dizzy beeline for the nearest trash can; retching into it like a fire hydrant. Skipper stared at him, blinking. Passersby took snapshots and video recordings, sniggering and gawking in horror. Mothers steered their children away. 

Skipper had some napkins in her pack, and she handed a few to him. He still looked green. Taking the napkins, he wiped his mouth and tipped his head back, eyes closed. He took gentle breaths through his nostrils and slowly let them out of his mouth.

"I didn't realize you'd actually get sick. I thought you were...you know, just being snarky." Skipper admitted, handing him a water bottle as well. He took slow sips of the liquid and rolled his eyes at her.

"You've got to stop assuming you know me so well," he said, and his words had a condescending sting to them. Skipper stared down at her crocs and said nothing. Wade handed the water back and leaned over for another round of hurling. Guilt churned Skipper's insides. Had she ruined the day by making him ride with her, because she'd assumed he was merely giving her flack?

"I think we need to take a crash course on each other," she proposed, giving him more napkins per his request. He stared at her in a weird mix of shock and disgust. 

"Ew, no."

"I mean, I need to take Wade 101 and you need to take Skipper For Dummies."

"Sometimes I take you for a dummy, does that count?" he countered, mustering a watery smirk. She shook her head.

"No. That's not nice."

"I never said I was nice, now did I?"

"You're not funny. I know, you didn't say that you were funny either." Rolling her eyes, she folded her arms and assumed an impatient pose. 

"You're not getting me one-on-one any more than whatever this is," he informed her, motioning a finger between the two of them. "I'm a loner, not lonely."

"Who's misconstruing the message now?" she smirked, earning a stoney glare from him. "All I'm saying is we should get to know each other better so we can avoid situations like this."

"So why didn't you say it like that before instead of trying to be all poetic? And ha, the best way to avoid situations like this is simple: don't answer weird online requests for an Uber to take some dying girl around the world."

"And yet you did. Why?"

"Look, I don't think it matters why. It just matters that I'm doing it, right?"

She rolled her eyes again and began walking. "You good? Or should we bring your new vomit vessel with us?"

"And I'm the mean one? Oh how the turns have tabled," he muttered, joining her. They took their time wandering so Wade's stomach could have a chance to relax. Eventually he looked less pallid and was willing to try more rides, so long as they weren't of the dizzying type. Skipper was free to ride them all she wanted, and he would watch from the sidelines. It worked out anyway; he was able to snap some very aesthetic polaroids of her and the machinery. Being in a bustling, crowded place such as this naturally made him anxious, but he relaxed with that camera in his hand. And whether he realized it or not, Skipper was noticing this despite soaring through the air on the giant swings. 

As it turned out, Skipper didn't mind smaller coasters as much as the bigger ones. Wade was happy to compromise, so long as it was a roller coaster. He really couldn't stand many other rides, as most tend to be of the dizzying genus. 

At some point they decided to take advantage of the waterpark feature, terrifying themselves within an inch of their lives by braving some of the most outrageous water slides. When that wore them out, they floated down the lazy river for a good hour or so. Afterwards, a long walk in the sun was required to dry them off. Wade complained about the music blaring from speakers all around the park.

They only made one brief trip back to the SUV, to check on Charles and give him fresh water and a stretch around the parking lot. He snacked on some ants near the remains of a tailgate picnic, then was brought back to his four-wheeled prison. He didn't seem to mind; Charles was a very good boy and extremely patient. 

With Charles taken care of, they proceeded to spend the remaining hours of the day on as many rides as they could, making sure to take plenty of polaroids. Wade insisted on the polaroids.

It was dark by the time they left, just before the park was closing. As a last hurrah, Skipper agreed to ride the coaster she had dubbed "the death machine" one more time with Wade. It was just as horrible as the first time, but she was better prepared to handle it now. 

Exhausted, the pair trudged back to the parking lot. Wade wore his newly acquired squid hat, and Skipper just shook her head at him. 

"What'd I do wrong this time?" he yawned, an eyebrow raised.

"Introverts are weird," she shrugged.

"Oh, so I'm an introvert?" A smirk brightened his exhausted face, and he unlocked the SUV. Charles was asleep, so they were very quiet as they climbed in and prepared to leave. 

"Well, aren't you?" She demanded, kicking off her crocs and setting her aching feet up on the dash. Through the corner of her eye, she noticed Wade had set his jaw, but he said nothing regarding her actions.

"I asked you," he retorted. "You're not supposed to answer my question with another question."

"Wade," she whined, flinging her head back against the headrest. The motion hurt a lot more than she'd anticipated, and she tried to wince inconspicuously. Ever the observant individual, Wade noticed anyway and chuckled smugly.

"You're stupid. Fine, you got me. Yes, I'm an introvert. As if it matters." 

"Knowing you're an introvert helps me understand you better," she shrugged. 

The corners of his mouth twitched with uncertainty, as if he didn't know whether to mock her or delve into some deep, intellectual discussion centered around psychology and personality types.

Finally–and he stammered slightly before doing so–he conjured a comeback. "Why do you need to understand me? I'm literally just your stupid Uber."

She shrugged. "It's easier."

"What's easier? Why?" He sounded flustered now, and she hoped she wasn't somehow making him uncomfortable.

"I mean, then I can better gauge what I should say so I don't cause problems and conflict."

He stared at the road ahead of them, wide-eyed. "So you think you're the root of the problem?"

"Well...it's true, I'm kind of entitled. You're right about that."

He glanced at her, and shook his head. "The truth of the matter is a lot simpler. You and I, we're polar opposites. That's why there's conflict. You get it?"

"But opposites attract. You know, like magnets?"

"It doesn't always work that way," he shook his head again. "Oftentimes, when it comes to people, and they don't seem to have any common ground–or, if you wanna use the magnet analogy, if they don't have any 'connection', it can be really difficult for them to get along. It's almost like both of you are the same charge, on the same ends of the magnets, so when you're pushed together you just push against and away, rather than pull together. Does that make sense? I know, it's a mouthful. I don't know how else to explain it without over-explaining, I guess..."

"So you mean, basically, if the magnets don't have any sort of pull, they won't ever connect."

"Right. They will always repel."

"And that goes for people?"

"Duh. You've gone to public school, you've lived a public life. You of all people should know. There are those you just can't click with, and whenever you encounter each other there's always friction and repellence."

"But we have some things in common."

"Listen, if this has anything to do with the fact that you think being an introvert synonymously makes me 'lonely', please drop it, because I'm not lonely. I don't need that one-on-one you were talking about earlier today. That's not why I chose to do this job." He pulled off at a rest stop, quietly informing her they'd park here for the night.

"I wasn't insinuating anything," she muttered, looking slightly beat-down as she tilted her seat back and pulled out her pillows and blanket. "I just wish we got along better. I don't have any friends, and it would be nice to at least have a neutral, mutual respect for each other." Pulling the blanket over herself, she turned away from him and stared out the window. He blinked at her, processing her words but not knowing how to respond. Instead, he just handed her his earbuds and muttered that she could use them if she wanted. Then he exited the vehicle and sat on the pavement with his back against the door.