CHAPTER ONE（Untitled）Grace

CHAPTER ONE

Grace

The delighted shrieks of small children pierce the warm evening air of the midway as the Whirling Swings ride gets up to full speed. But even their excited voices can't mask a deeper grinding noise.

Shit. That thing's about to break.

Rosie's working the Ferris wheel with me, and I throw her a knowing glance. "You got this? I'm going to…" I hook a thumb toward the Swings and grimace, unwilling to say anything about a ride going to hell in front of fairgoers.

She scrunches her nose and says, "Isn't Calvin in charge of maintenance on that ride?"

"Yeah."

"Want to get a little alone time with him?" Her pretty, brown face breaks into a knowing grin. "Maybe crawl into a confined space together?"

I blush. Rosie's nice, but I have no clue how to do girl talk, and it's uncomfortable that someone guessed I like him.

"Go." She makes a shooing motion. "The Ferris wheel's good."

Damn straight it is. The Ferris wheel's my responsibility. The old girl's motor purrs like a kitten, smooth as can be.

My pink work boots thump on the hard-packed dirt of the midway as I weave through the heavy crowd, dodging around the temporary puddles of spilled sodas and dropped ice cream. The hot-grease smell of corn dogs and funnel cake hangs ripe in the air. I used to love both, but after months of them, I'm ready for different. Hell, I might even eat a salad.

Now that it's late summer, Stanley's Amazing Extravaganza is finishing up the last of the state fairs up north, ready to head south to its winter spot just outside Orlando, where we spend a few months picking up the overflow of people who can't get into Disney.

Orlando. Home. Or at least the closest thing I've got to one—not that it's saying much. I rent a furnished, one-room apartment over an octogenarian's garage, owning little more than a suitcase of clothes.

The lights of the carnival push back the dark until everything's bright as day, and the guys hawking games yell to be heard over the songs of the different rides.

"Step right up and show off your aim!" Emmet points to me with one tan hand, tossing a little pillow of a bean bag up and down in the other. "You, little lady. Come over here and knock over these ducks and win a prize!"

I roll my eyes at him. No one calls me "little lady" and means it. I'm almost six-feet tall and built like a linebacker. But his ballyhoo patter is all part of the show. I'm supposed to pretend to be a fairgoer, go over and play, and Emmet will give me the slightly heavier beanbags that make the moving ducks easier to knock over, so my easy win will lure the crowd.

But there's no time. I wave no and hook a thumb toward the Whirling Swings. Emmet's eyes narrow as the ride makes another grinding noise, and he gives me a tiny nod. Then he turns, yelling into the crowd again as I hurry on.

A little girl in front of me wobbles, her tiny sneaker catching on a groove in the dirt. Her arms flail, sending her cone of cotton candy flying.

I dive, snatching up the mass of blue fluff before it can hit the ground. All that practice catching dropped tools before they can disappear into the depths of a machine working for me now.

Her little face scrunches, her eyes already closed, gearing up for a good cry.

"Hey, now. It's okay." I stay crouched at her level and hold out the white paper cone topped with spun sugar. "Here's your candy."

She snatches it from me, taking a big bite, the floss melting as it wets. "Fank 'ou," she mumbles around a mouthful of sugar, her parents nodding to me as well.

Then I'm up and hurrying through the crowd again.

The ride's winding down, slowing enough that the people in the swings are no longer flung outward horizontally, their bodies dropping until their feet point toward the ground.

A full-body wince shudders through me as the spinning comes to a jerky halt with one last nasty noise of metal chewing against metal. The ride goers give a startled shriek, then turn the sound into laughter, trying to convince themselves the erratic motion is all part of the ride.

But it so isn't.

Calvin's standing by the exit to the Whirling Swings, tall and blond and gorgeous, with bright blue eyes and one of those chin dimple things that shouldn't look so damned good but does. "Best ride at the fair. You try a few of those others and come right back here for another go."

A group of teenage girls pass him, shooting him flirty looks, the bravest of them tossing her long hair back. "Will you strap me into my swing?"

"Sure will!" He smiles his toothpaste-commercial smile.

A little pang pinches my chest. Calvin always talks about putting on a show for the punters to keep them happy. But he also smiles at me like that, and I want those smiles to be mine, to be special.

The girls break into giggles and move off as I slip through the entrance, then turn and stretch the closed sign across it. "Taking a little break, folks. Check back soon."

Calvin's smile doesn't falter as he whispers out the side of his mouth, "What are you doing?"

"What are you doing?" I whisper back, turning my back so the fair goers can't see my face—I can't act to save my life—and shoot him an assessing glance. "Telling people to ride again when the thing's about to break."

"It's fine."

"You checked?"

"Of course I checked."

I run my eyes over him. His tan cargo shorts and tight white T-shirt are pristine. I'm a mess in comparison, with a motor-oil smudge on the thigh of my jeans and another staining the hem of my pink T-shirt. And that's just what I can see—I'm sure I have a few more, even though I haven't needed to do any major repairs yet today.

So how can Calvin have gone anywhere near the motor and still be so clean?

"What's making the grinding noise?" I stride toward the central column of the ride.

Calvin walks beside me. "I don't know."

"How can you not know if you looked?" I pull out a screwdriver and use it to remove the brightly painted panels covering the access to the engine compartment. The smell of overheated metal and burning plastic smacks me in the face. That's not something you ever want to smell.

"Come on, Grace. You know I'm not as good with machines as you." There's that smile again.

My knees go a little wobbly. Calvin's the best-looking guy I've ever seen in person, and the way he flirts with me is the headiest rush. We're the two mechanics with the most seniority this year, and we work together a lot.

He picks up a lock of wavy blonde hair that escaped my messy bun and tugs on it. "You've got such beautiful hair. You should wear it down more often."

I shiver at his almost-touch and at the thought of him wanting to see my hair down. Besides my boobs, it's my best feature. I tried having short hair for a bit in high school, but with my height and build, I immediately got the nickname Brienne, like from Game of Thrones . Brienne kicked ass, but guys never called me that in a nice way, so I've been growing out my hair ever since.

"How about this?" He leans close, dropping his voice until it curls around me, smooth and sweet as butterscotch. "You take a look at the motor for me, and afterward, we'll get that drink we've been talking about."

His breath brushes over my lips, and they tingle as if he's already kissing me. My heart skips and skitters. This is it. He's flirted all summer, and now he's finally ready to date me! Dreams flit through my mind of how great the winter months in Orlando will be with a boyfriend, someone to eat out with, someone to call and text.

Someone to care.

"What do you say, Grace?" He gives me a knowing look.

My cheeks heat. I've been staring at him for too long while I dream of our future together. "Okay."

Since I'm going to work on machinery, I tuck my crystal necklace into my T-shirt to keep it safe. It's my one small bit of pretty, given to me by the elderly woman who used to read the crystal ball. Unlike all the fake plastic of carnival prizes, it's a real stone, and even though it's colorless and kind of plain, I love it. It's got secret beauty—when I hold it up to the sunlight, it casts little rainbows of color. I like to hope that I've got secret beauty, too. That some day a guy will look at me in the right light and like what he sees.

The ride's toolbox waits just inside, and I flip on the interior work lights and step into the cramped space, hemmed in by metal and machinery. Everything looks okay down here, but this isn't the most critical part of the ride. No, that's up above, where the spinning disk attaches to the central column.

I shove a few of the most useful tools into my pockets and climb the metal rungs of the service ladder. When I reach the tiny maintenance platform at the top, which is barely wide enough to stand on, I get my first good look at what's going on.

Little silver curls of metal spill from several of the joins—curls made because the machinery is grinding together hard enough to start chewing itself up. It's a combination of no lubrication and misaligned parts.

I've never seen anything look this bad. It's hella borked, as in, nothing up here has been taken care of in a really long time, not even routine maintenance. None of the carnival's rides are new—they all need constant upkeep—and the previous mechanic told us as much when he trained us to take over this year.

Everything becomes crystal clear in an instant. Calvin's been lying to me this whole time. And if he'll lie about doing his job, which is crucial for people's safety, he's also lying about wanting to go out with me. I should have known all his flirting was fake—it's easy to see in hindsight that he only did it when he needed help fixing something. As soon as I did it, he'd go back to being more distant. He'll probably do the same thing tonight.

God, I've been a fool. Why would a guy like him be interested in me? Every single day, a new batch of beautiful women flirt with him. He's got a constant pick of offers.

As much as I tried to escape it, I'm still Brienne, and he's the worst type of Jaime, using his good looks to manipulate me.

A prickle of tears sting my eyes, but I harden my jaw. No. Calvin's not worth crying over.

And there's nothing I can do to fix this ride now. We'll need to wait until after closing and take the whole thing apart. I stretch upward to peer at the specific parts involved, shifting a few cables to try to get a better view. God, do we even have replacement parts for this thing?

"Did you get it fixed?" Calvin calls from below. "I need to start the ride."

"No, I can't fix it!" I yell down. Anger and hurt thrum in my voice. "When was the last time you lubed all the joins?"

"Hey, don't be like that! I did it last week, right on schedule."

It's got to be another lie, and I'm going to prove it so that I know once and for all if I can trust him. I slip a wrench out of my pocket and start to take apart the nearest join so I can check inside for grease.

The wrench isn't perfect for the job. It really takes some kind of fancy one that bends at a thirty-degree angle halfway down the handle. But it wasn't in the toolbox below, and I know better than to ask Calvin if he knows where the special wrench is.

One good thing about my build is I'm strong. With a little grunt, I loosen the first two bolts, muttering, "I wish I could make any tool I wanted." The right tools make any job one-thousand times easier.

Music starts to play, a pretty tune with bells and strings that doesn't sound anything like the canned pop tunes the ride usually plays, and bright light flicks on behind me. Why did Calvin put special music and lights up here if he's not coming up to do the work? I shrug. At least one thing he did is helping me for a change.

As the next bolt finally starts to shift, there's a hum of electricity from below and a metallic clunk.

My heart lurches in my chest as an icy bolt of adrenaline goes through me. He's started the ride!

"Calvin!" I yell. "Turn it off! I've got parts loose up here!"

But he's not down below. And the regular wrench is too awkward to get all the bolts retightened quickly.

The equipment in front of me comes to life with a metallic squeal, and the arm of the join I worked on tears free. As the central drum spins, the arm whips toward my head.

I flinch backward, and my foot lands on air.

Oh, god. Oh, god! A scream tears from me as I start to fall. I'm going to die. I don't want to die!

The beautiful music rises to a crescendo, and I fall into white light.