The snake uncoiled from Tyler’s leg like a living shoelace, its scales glinting under the carnival lights as it slithered toward a popcorn stand. Tyler’s scream was so high-pitched it could’ve shattered glass. "What the—GET IT OFF!" He kicked wildly, sending his phone skittering under a trash can. The snake—unimpressed—flicked its tongue at his ankle before darting into the shadows.
Oakley blinked at the sudden reptilian intervention, then whipped his head toward Amberly. She was crouched near the Ferris wheel’s control booth, grinning like a gremlin who’d just rigged the lottery. "You—" Oakley started, but Amberly was already bouncing on her toes, pointing at the snake handler’s abandoned cart near the ring-toss game. Its padlock hung open, swinging gently in the humid breeze.
"Freedom for Mr. Slithers!" Amberly crowed, tossing the lock-pick—a bent bobby pin—over her shoulder. The handler, a sunburnt guy in a "VENOM DON’T VOTE" tank top, was currently sprinting toward Tyler with the urgency of a man who’d just lost his paycheck.
Valerie didn’t wait. She grabbed Oakley’s wrist and yanked him backward into the crowd, their sneakers crunching over discarded ticket stubs and spilled slushie ice. "Move your feet, Picasso," she hissed, dragging him toward the parking lot’s flickering lights. Behind them, Joel was herding Jovie and a still-glittery Walker like a border collie with particularly chaotic sheep.
The parking lot smelled like hot asphalt and spilled soda, the kind of sticky-sweet stench that clung to the back of your throat. Amberly kicked a crumpled soda can, sending it skittering across the pavement with a hollow *clang*. "Okay," she said, spinning on her heel to face them, "so your brother's a secret freak and Tyler's phone is probably uploading that video to every group chat in school by now. Cool. What's Plan B?"
Walker—still glittering faintly under the buzzing lot lights—dug his thumbs into his eye sockets. "Plan B was supposed to be *not* having my face look like a pride parade threw up on it."
Jovie smacked his shoulder. "Priorities, Picasso."
Oakley hadn't spoken since the Ferris wheel. He stood slightly apart from the group, fingers twitching near his pockets like he wanted to text someone but couldn't decide who. Valerie watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed hard. "Ethan's not—" He stopped, jaw working silently. The unspoken *gay* hung in the air like a firework that hadn't gone off.
ns216.73.216.254da2
and then Add to home screen.