PRIZE EVERY TIME

The carnival came to town near the end of summer.

It was one of those traveling carnivals that appeared almost overnight in the empty field near the town center. One day there was nothing but grass and dirt. The next there were lights, rides, food stands, games, music, and a Ferris wheel you could see from almost anywhere in town.

Everyone knew it wouldn't stay long. The rainy season was coming, and once the weather turned, the carnival would pack itself into trucks and disappear down the highway.

Which meant I had exactly one weekend to ask Adele to go with me.

My name is Danny, by the way.

And Adele was the most beautiful girl in school.

Now, maybe she wouldn't have been the most beautiful girl to you. That's fine. You would've been wrong, but you were entitled to your opinion.

To me, she was spectacular.

I'd wanted to ask her out for months.

I'd also spent those same months finding excellent reasons not to.

She was busy.

I was busy.

We had exams.

She was talking to her friends.

I was talking to mine.

It was Tuesday.

Then Thursday.

Then somehow another week had passed.

The truth was, I was shy.

Adele wasn't.

She loved everything I was afraid of doing. Roller coasters. Scary movies. Haunted houses. Anything that went too fast, dropped too far, spun too many times, or came with a sign warning people with heart conditions to reconsider their life choices.

She also loved carnivals.

That finally gave my friends enough ammunition to force me into action.

"Just ask her," Andrew said.

Easy for Andrew to say.

Andrew could walk up to anybody and start a conversation. He played sports. He was popular. He had the kind of confidence that made you wonder if he'd ever experienced embarrassment.

"I will."

"When?"

"Tomorrow."

"You said that yesterday."

"I meant tomorrow tomorrow."

Eventually, after enough abuse from my friends, I went to the town center, bought two books of carnival tickets and found Adele after school.

I don't remember exactly what I said.

I had practiced something charming.

What came out was probably closer to, "Carnival. Saturday. You wanna?"

She smiled.

"Sure."

That was it.

Months of agony.

One word.

Sure.

Saturday afternoon, I took a shower, put on the nicest casual clothes I owned, borrowed some of my father's cologne and immediately put on too much.

Dad made me wash some of it off.

Then he handed me the keys to his car.

"Bring it back in one piece."

"I will."

"And bring the girl back in one piece."

"I know."

"Her father is a cop, right?"

"Thanks, Dad."

"Just reminding you."

I drove to Adele's house feeling significantly less confident than I had when I left mine.

Her father answered the door.

He was, indeed, a cop.

He wasn't wearing a uniform, but somehow that made things worse.

He invited me inside.

I sat on the couch.

He sat across from me.

There were approximately seventeen hours of silence.

"So," I said, "nice weather."

He nodded.

"Yes."

More silence.

I noticed the television.

"Baseball."

He looked at the television.

Then at me.

"Yep."

"I like baseball."

"Do you?"

"Absolutely."

He waited.

I realized I had no idea who was playing.

"That's my favorite team," I said.

He looked at me.

"The Giants?"

"Yes, sir."

"They're playing the Dodgers."

"Also a very good team."

His expression didn't change.

Then Adele came downstairs.

I forgot baseball existed.

She wasn't wearing anything extraordinary. Jeans. Ankle boots. A shirt beneath a sweater. Her hair was pulled back.

Carnival clothes.

But when I saw her, I swear the room changed.

She smiled at me.

"Hi."

I stared.

"Hi."

Her father's eyes narrowed.

I stood immediately.

"You look great."

"Thank you."

Her father gave us a time to be home. I repeated it back to him so he knew I had heard every syllable.

Then we escaped.

For the first few minutes of the drive, neither of us said much.

Finally, I looked over at her.

"You really do look great."

She blushed.

"Thanks."

Her hand was resting on the center console.

I needed to shift gears.

The car had an automatic transmission, but that's not important.

My hand somehow landed on hers.

Accidentally.

Completely accidentally.

She looked down.

I considered throwing myself from the moving vehicle.

Instead, she turned her hand over and curled her fingers around mine.

We drove the rest of the way holding hands.

Best ten minutes of my life.

At the carnival, we found our friends.

That helped.

Adele disappeared into a cluster of girlfriends. I had the guys around me. Nobody had to carry an entire conversation alone, and within half an hour I had stopped worrying about whether I was on a date and started enjoying one.

We ate cotton candy.

Adele got caramel stuck in her teeth.

We laughed about it.

We rode the Ferris wheel.

Then she dragged me onto something called the Cyclone.

I don't know who invented the Cyclone.

I hope terrible things happened to him.

The ride spun in one direction while the seats spun in another, and at some point the entire contraption tilted sideways.

Adele screamed because she was having fun.

I screamed because I had accepted death.

When the ride stopped, she jumped off laughing.

"Again!"

"No."

"Come on!"

"I have recently made peace with God. I'm not tempting Him."

She laughed and grabbed my arm.

I would've ridden it again.

Thankfully, someone suggested food.

After eating, we wandered toward the game booths.

That was much more my speed.

Throw a ring.

Knock over bottles.

Shoot water into a clown's mouth until a balloon pops.

Games designed to separate teenage boys from their money while teenage girls stood nearby pretending not to know exactly what we were doing.

I lost several dollars trying to win Adele a stuffed bear.

She won one for herself.

Then we found the booth.

It was near the edge of the midway.

I don't remember noticing it earlier.

There were no bright flashing lights. No music. No employee shouting for people to step right up.

Just a counter beneath an old canvas awning.

Prizes covered the back wall.

Stuffed animals.

Plastic bats.

Cheap jewelry.

Baskets.

Dolls.

Toys.

Everything you'd expect.

Above them hung a hand-painted sign.

PRIZE EVERY TIME

An old man leaned against the counter.

He was thin, with weathered skin and several missing teeth. Another man sat farther back among the prizes.

There wasn't anybody playing.

Andrew stopped.

"Prize every time?"

The old man smiled.

"Every time."

That got our attention.

Finally, a carnival game with reasonable expectations.

We crowded around the booth.

"What's the game?" I asked.

The old man pointed toward several circular targets mounted against the back wall.

"Hit the center."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

He placed several small rifles on the counter.

They looked like BB guns.

"How much?"

"Dollar for three shots."

Andrew laughed.

"Easy."

The old man surprised us by letting us practice.

No money.

Just pick up the guns and get used to them.

We shot at the targets.

Some of us were terrible.

I was one of those people.

Andrew wasn't.

He hit close to the center almost every time.

Something about the whole thing bothered me.

I leaned toward one of my friends.

"Why is he letting us practice for free?"

He shrugged.

"Who cares? Maybe he's trying to make sure we win."

"At a carnival?"

"Don't ruin this."

Andrew put two dollars on the counter.

"Six shots."

The old man looked at the money.

Then smiled.

"Ready?"

"Yep."

Andrew lifted the rifle.

"Hold on."

The old man stepped away from the counter.

"I have to set the board."

Andrew lowered the gun.

"What board?"

"The targets."

He pointed toward the circles we'd been shooting at.

"Those are practice targets."

The old man lifted one hand.

A little girl walked from behind the booth.

She sat on a stool.

None of us spoke.

A woman followed her.

She wore a tight red dress and glittering red shoes with heels so high I couldn't understand how she walked in them.

She sat on the second stool.

Then came a little boy holding a teddy bear.

He sat on the third.

They stared straight ahead.

Their eyes were open, but something was wrong with them.

They didn't look frightened.

They didn't look like anything.

They looked empty.

Andrew put the rifle down.

"What the hell is this?"

The old man's smile widened.

"Your targets."

Nobody laughed.

Andrew pushed the gun away.

"You're crazy."

"You paid for six shots."

"I'm not shooting people."

"Then you won't win."

"I don't care."

Andrew reached across the counter and grabbed his money.

"We're leaving."

He turned and walked away.

The rest of us looked at each other.

Adele grabbed my hand.

"Come on."

We started to follow.

"Hold on."

The old man's voice had changed.

It wasn't loud.

It didn't need to be.

We stopped.

Behind us, something scraped across the ground.

I turned.

One of the booth workers was moving the stools.

There had been three.

Now there were four.

Someone emerged from behind the booth.

Andrew.

"Andrew?"

He didn't answer.

He walked slowly toward the empty stool and sat.

His hands fell into his lap.

His eyes stared forward.

Blank.

Just like the others.

Someone screamed.

One of the girls started crying.

"Andrew!"

We rushed toward him.

The old man stepped between us and the booth.

"Someone has to play."

"What did you do to him?"

"He chose not to play."

"Call the police!"

The old man looked almost amused.

"There's no one to call."

I turned toward the midway.

Everything was gone.

Not closed.

Gone.

No Ferris wheel.

No rides.

No music.

No lights.

No people.

The entire carnival had vanished into darkness.

Only the booth remained.

Someone behind me started sobbing.

"Where are we?"

The old man returned to his place behind the counter.

"You came to the table."

His eyes moved across us.

"You put down your money."

"We didn't know!"

"You wanted to play."

"We don't anymore."

"That's unfortunate."

I looked at Andrew.

He didn't move.

"What happens now?"

The old man smiled.

"Someone plays."

Nobody stepped forward.

I wish I could tell you I did.

I'd like that version of the story better.

The brave young man steps forward to save his friends and impress the girl.

But you probably figured something out about me by now.

I wasn't that guy.

Adele was.

She reached into her pocket.

Pulled out a dollar.

And slammed it onto the counter.

"Adele."

She ignored me.

The old man took the dollar.

"Three shots."

She picked up the rifle.

"Adele, don't."

She raised it.

I reached for her arm.

She pulled away.

"What's the prize?"

The old man grinned.

"You tell me."

Something changed in her face.

I didn't understand it then.

I do now.

She aimed.

At the targets.

At the little girl.

The woman in the red dress.

The boy with the teddy bear.

Andrew.

"Adele."

She fired.

The shot struck the wall.

Miss.

She didn't react.

She reloaded.

Someone behind us whispered, "This isn't real."

Maybe they were right.

Maybe none of it was real.

I wanted desperately for none of it to be real.

Adele fired again.

Miss.

The old man sighed.

"One shot left."

Adele lowered the rifle.

"If I miss?"

"You don't get more bullets."

"And then?"

"You join the others."

One of the girls cried harder.

The old man looked toward the rest of us.

"Then the next player gets a turn."

Adele stood completely still.

I had never seen her like that.

She wasn't shaking.

She wasn't crying.

She wasn't scared.

She looked angry.

"Adele."

She raised the rifle.

Took a breath.

Closed her eyes.

Opened them.

And fired.

The sound cracked through the darkness.

Bull's-eye.

For a moment, nobody moved.

Then the world exploded around us.

Music.

Lights.

Laughter.

The Ferris wheel spun against the night sky.

Children ran past carrying cotton candy.

Someone shouted from another booth.

A ride screamed around a turn.

People were everywhere.

I stumbled backward.

One of my friends bent over and threw up.

Adele lowered her hands.

The rifle was gone.

The booth was still there.

The old man wasn't.

The stools weren't.

Neither were the little girl, the woman or the boy with the teddy bear.

The prizes remained.

So did the sign.

PRIZE EVERY TIME

"Where's Andrew?"

We searched.

Around the booth.

Near the rides.

The bathrooms.

The parking lot.

We called his name until people started looking at us.

Nothing.

Eventually, someone suggested maybe he'd gotten angry and gone home.

We wanted to believe that.

So we did.

The rest of the night was over.

Nobody wanted another ride.

Nobody wanted food.

Nobody wanted to talk about what had happened.

We walked back to the parking lot together.

Then we separated.

I drove Adele home.

Neither of us spoke for most of the ride.

When I pulled up in front of her house, I stopped the car.

She unfastened her seat belt.

Opened the door.

"Adele."

She paused.

"Yeah?"

"Why did you do it?"

She looked at me.

"Do what?"

"You know what."

She stared through the windshield for a moment.

Then she sighed.

"Andrew was a jerk."

I waited.

"He'd been bullying me since junior high. Making fun of me. Embarrassing me. Saying horrible things. Every chance he got."

I thought about all the times I'd seen them argue.

I'd never known how bad it was.

"I hated him."

"Adele..."

"You asked."

"I know."

She looked down at her hands.

"For years, I wished I could get back at him. Just once. I wanted him to know what it felt like to be scared. To have somebody else decide whether you got to have a good day or a bad one."

She looked at me.

"Then that man offered me a prize."

I didn't know what to say.

Adele stepped out of the car.

"Goodnight, Danny."

She closed the door.

I watched her walk toward her house.

Her father opened the front door before she reached it.

She waved back at me once.

I should probably tell you that was our last date.

That after what happened at the carnival, I realized Adele was terrifying and decided I should stay as far away from her as possible.

That would probably say something good about my judgment.

Instead, I sat there watching her disappear into the house.

And smiled.

I kind of liked it.

Andrew never came home.

His parents reported him missing the next morning.

The police searched.

There were posters.

Volunteers.

Questions at school.

Some people thought he'd run away. Others thought someone had taken him.

Those of us who had been at the booth knew better.

We never told anyone.

Eventually, people stopped searching.

Years passed.

The carnival never came back.

At least, not to our town.

And none of us ever talked about that night again.

Well...

Almost none of us.

So, kids, believe it or not...

that's the story of how your mom and I met.

**

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