Chasing Stardust: A Novel By Erica Lucke Dean - 32

The Supermen

After taking a few turns on the merry-go-round, I say goodbye to my daredevil namesake and head down the pier to Pacific Park for some thrill seeking of my own.

On my way, I duck into the Playland Arcade where Mom and G-Lo had their epic Skee-Ball battle. The place is practically a museum, packed with a combination of modern video games and vintage arcade machines—some I’ve never even heard of before—plus an air hockey and foosball mecca.

Following the blue-and-white-checkered floor, I make my way to the back of the building where a row of Skee-Ball machines from different eras call to me. As I bend down to put a coin in one of the newer machines, a man clears his throat, catching my attention.

The old man watches me from the end of the row like Benjamin Button in a faded-blue Superman T-shirt and bright-red board shorts big enough to swallow him whole. What am I, a Superman magnet? Okay, universe. I hear you.

He eyes the quarters in my fingers and gives a subtle shake of his head, ruffling his silver hair. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“No?” I glance at the ancient chassis in front of him. Based on the impressive strip of tickets pooling at his feet, he’s been playing a while.

“Nope. See these?” He nods to his machine and the one beside it. “They’ve been bringing joy to generations since long before you were born. I suspect it’ll continue long after I’m gone.”

“You think the old ones work better?” I can’t help but smile at his logic.

“I prefer to think of them as classics.” He chuffs. “And yes. They most definitely do. There’s nothing like years of wax buildup to make these babies glide up the alley.” He holds up the polished wooden ball in his hand, and the sparkle in his eye makes me giggle.

“That’s a good enough reason for me.” I abandon the modern machine for the classic and shove my coins into the slot. A row of balls rumbles down the chute.

On my first try, the ball sails up the lane and over the hump, bouncing right into the fifty-point bull’s-eye ring. I let out a squeal. “Did you see that?”

“See what I mean? You can’t let old age fool ya.”

I immediately think of G-Lo. “You’re so right.”

My second roll doesn’t go as well. The ball drops into the lowest ring for ten points. “So much for thinking I could go pro.”

“Keep at it. You’ll get the hang of it.” The man rolls his next ball and scores forty points. “This isn’t my first rodeo. I’ve been doing this for a long time.”

“Not me.” I laugh. “I’m only here because my mom played here with my grandma when she was about my age, so when I saw the sign, I had to come check it out.”

“Play a lot of Skee-Ball, do they?”

“They did when they were here.”

He throws another ball up the alley, hitting the bull’s-eye again. “They don’t play anymore?”

“My, uh . . .” I draw in a deep breath. “My mom died recently.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” His pale-gray eyes bore into mine. “Was she sick?”

“Cancer.”

He nods and lowers his head, his shoulders slumping under an invisible weight. “Cancer took my wife last fall.”

Tears well in my eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, don’t be.” A sad smile curves his lips. “I’m a lucky man to have had her as long as I did. We were married for the best damn sixty years of my life. Through a whole lot more good than bad. She loved the pier. Every Sunday we came to play Skee-Ball and watch the sunset.”

“Was she as good as you?”

A loud bark of laughter cracks the air. “Even when she was sick, she was hard to beat. I called her Wonder Woman.” He pats the big red S on his chest. “And she called me Superman.”

My eyes glaze over, and a lump forms in my throat.

“Listen to me, rambling on. You don’t want to hear about my life.” He shakes his head and turns back to his lane, rolling another fifty-point bull’s-eye. The light above his machine spins, flashing red, putting the sparkle back in his eyes. “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in a friendly wager?”

“You let me win,” I admonish him with a smile.

He waves his hand in protest, but he won’t look me in the eye. “You won fair and square. Just not my day, I guess.”

I laugh and tear off a few of the tickets I won, tucking them into my pocket before handing him the rest. “Here.”

“What’s this for?”

“For teaching me how to be a Skee-Ball shark.”

He hesitates a second before taking the tickets. “You don’t want to claim your prize?”

“Nah.” I pat my pocket. “I have these as a memento. You get something cool to remember me by.”

“I’ll do that.” He flashes a mouth full of dentures and opens his arms. “Your momma would be proud of you.”

Swallowing a sob, I hug my new friend goodbye and head toward Pacific Park.

The moment I step under the steel octopus marking the entrance, I’m caught in a wave of sensory overload. My stomach rumbles at the savory aroma of greasy burgers and fries, fresh-baked pizzas and spicy tacos, and the decadent scent of funnel cakes and coffee. But the bells and the flashing lights of the midway make me eager to try my luck.

For the bargain price of three dollars, I can either join the group of kids armed with water guns, hoping to win a one-eyed Minion, or join the teens wielding cushioned mallets and viciously bashing plastic moles over the head for a chance at a stuffed elephant. Or I could skip both and use those three bucks on another funnel cake. Flashing blue lights go off almost simultaneously on both games, signaling the winners, and I move on to what I really came for . . . the rides.

Above me, under a clear blue sky, the roller coaster rattles over the track to a symphony of shrieks and squeals. Behind it, the massive Ferris wheel looms large against a backdrop of the Pacific as I queue up for tickets.

Blocking the sun with my hand, I stare up at the umbrella-covered red and yellow gondolas swooping past. The Pacific Wheel must be over a hundred feet tall. One hundred thirty according to the sign.

The slow spin of the wheel mesmerizes me, and I must be losing my mind because I swear I see Dash in a red gondola. I pull my eyes away and shake my head, refusing to fall for the same hallucination again.

After paying for an all-day pass, I head for the Scrambler.

By the time I line up at the Ferris wheel, I’ve ridden every other ride at least once and eaten my weight in popcorn and cotton candy. I’d love to stay longer, but I haven’t slept more than four hours in the past twenty-four, and my battery is reaching critical mass. Thanks to sleep deprivation, my Dash sightings have exceeded a healthy level. Does everyone in Southern California own a Superman shirt?

I seriously need a nap.

Sleep is highly overrated, imaginary Dash whispers in my head.

Since the real Dash is probably still stuck somewhere in the Midwest, I glower at my feet. “Overrated or not, I’m finding a place to hole up for the night as soon as I get off this ride.”

Since park rules forbid single riders, the attendant pairs me with the Golden Girls. From their coordinating pastel capri pants, large floral-print T-shirts, and floppy straw hats and bags, all the way to their matching white hair, orthopedic sandals, and giant sunglasses, the four remind me of a way cooler version of Reverend Tom’s church lady group. I can almost smell the tuna casserole and lime Jell-O.

Once the last of the ladies climbs in, I follow them into the circular booth and settle in.

“No lap restraints?” The lady with purple lilacs on her shirt gapes at the attendant.

“Nope.” The stone-faced guy slams the tiny doors across the opening, closing us into the giant red teacup.

“Is that even safe?” The lady with the red rose shirt grabs ahold of the center pole as our gondola jerks forward.

As we begin to climb, the guy shouts, “Don’t lean over the side.”

We stop halfway to the top while the attendant fills another gondola, and Pink Peony grabs Purple Lilac’s hand, practically climbing into her lap. “Oh, my word!”

Red Rose sighs. “Look at that view!”

“Stunning,” Daisy agrees with a nod.

The wheel rotates on its steel skeleton, taking us well over a hundred feet into the sky. All I can think is: I wish Dash were here.

Instead of gazing into the horizon like everyone else, I scan the pier below. I’m not sure what I’m looking for, but I’m certain I won’t find it in the ocean.

Purple Lilac cranes her neck and peers over the side. “Did you lose something, dear?”

“Not exactly.” If she only knew how much I’ve lost lately. “Wishful thinking.”

“Nothing wrong with making wishes,” Daisy says with a smile.

“I guess.” From the top of the Ferris wheel, everyone looks the same. Anyone down there could be Dash.

The wheel rounds the top, and as we descend, faces come into focus again. My breath hitches as a familiar crop of artfully disheveled dark hair catches my eye. I shake my head and ignore it. Same hallucination, different city.

The guy turns toward the beach, giving me a clear view of him. All the blood rushes to my head, my heart hammering in my ears as if I’m trapped underwater. But it isn’t his hair, or his tall lanky frame, or even his black-frame glasses kicking my pulse into high gear.

It’s the royal-blue Superman shirt. I slept in that shirt!

I launch myself forward, coming off the seat and scrambling to my knees. The gondola wobbles, and all four of the Golden Girls gasp as I lean over the side and scream his name. “Dash!”

He whips around as if he heard me, but the Ferris wheel climbs into the sky again, and I lose him in the crowd. I reach for my phone to call him, then remember the dead battery.

“Damn it.” I slump back into the seat.

Rose presses a hand to her chest and catches her breath. “I was sure you were about to jump.”

“Oh, like that man in North Carolina? Such a tragedy, bless his soul.” Lilac lowers her head as if saying a quick prayer.

“Dear,” Daisy whispers. “May I ask what was so important you’d risk your life to get a peek?”

“It’s a long story.” The wheel circles back around, and I peer over the edge again. If he’s there, I can’t see him at this height.

Daisy leans forward. “Then tell it quick.”

“It all started when I met this guy in a diner outside Memphis—”

“And you saw him just now?”

I nod.

“Is he good looking?” Peony’s eyes twinkle.

“Yes.” I sigh, seeing his smile in my head. “He really is.”

“What are we waiting for?” Daisy grasps the edge of the gondola in her gnarled hands. “Let’s find him!”

The others follow suit, and four pairs of arthritic hands clasp tightly to the side of the gondola as they peer over the edge. This time, no one says a word when the gondola lists to one side under our combined weight.

“What does he look like?” Daisy asks without pulling her eyes from the pier below.

“He looks like Clark Kent just before he turns into Superman.”

“Should be easy enough to spot.” Rose releases an unladylike snort, and I’m not sure if she’s being serious or snarky.

“Oh! Is that him?” Lilac points at a guy in a Spider-Man shirt.

I laugh. “Wrong superhero.”

“There!”

I follow Daisy’s pointed finger to a dark-haired guy in a blue shirt standing near the pirate ship.

“Yes!” An overflow of endorphins has me bouncing in place. “Dash!” I scream his name again, but a gust of wind swallows the sound.

Panic sets in as I realize I may not get off this ride before he disappears into the crowd.

The wheel jerks to a stop again in midair as the attendant swaps riders below us.

“I need to get off.” I search for a nonexistent escape route.

“You aren’t going to jump, are you?” Rose’s eyes stretch wide until the whites are exposed all the way around.

“No.” I laugh, but the idea has merit. “Not from the top, anyway, but maybe once we get close to the ground.”

“I have a better idea.” Daisy leaps into action. Shoving the other ladies aside, she scoots all the way over to the small doors keeping us from falling to our deaths. She waits until we’re almost at the bottom, then rattles the cage and shouts to the man at the controls. “Help! I think my friend is having a heart attack!”

Rose quickly slumps into the seat and clutches her chest, as if they’ve practiced this maneuver before.

With a sly grin, I join the charade. “Hurry! She’s turning blue!”

The dark-skinned attendant freezes, his mouth hanging open. Then, after giving his head a quick shake, he brings the wheel to a standstill before guiding us to the bottom. A small crowd rushes the gondola.

“Go!” Daisy whispers. “Find your Superman.”

When the attendant opens the doors, I slip out unnoticed. As soon as I’m free of the wheel, I hop the fence and break into a run, slamming into people as I fight my way back to the midway. Like a roadblock in the middle of town, a couple holding hands blocks my path. A quick glimpse of a blue shirt near the Scrambler sends a jolt of electricity straight to my heart. Please don’t let this be another hallucination! For half a second, I consider hurdling their linked hands, but thankfully, they move to the side, letting me pass. With my eyes locked on the back of the blue shirt, I crash into a Steelers jersey. The familiar scent of Old Spice Fiji deodorant curdles the cotton candy in my stomach.

Oh no, no, no . . .

My brain shuts down for a full second, my next breath caught in my throat.

What the hell is he doing here?

“Whoa.” Damian grabs ahold of my shoulders to steady me before pulling me in for a tight hug. “Thank God I found you.” His confident swagger makes it clear he expects me to be happy to see him.

A host of emotions flickers through me, but happy isn’t one of them. What the hell did I ever see in him? Everything I thought I liked about him—his hulking muscles, his bossy personality, the overpowering stench of piña colada—suddenly turns my stomach. It takes every ounce of my self-control to keep from slugging the cocky grin from his lips.

Across the park, Dash turns toward me and our eyes meet. His face lights up, and every fiber in my being screams to go to him.

“I’ve missed you, Zo.” Damian’s grating voice breaks the spell, and reality crashes down like a suicidal armadillo.

I know the second Dash realizes I have another man wrapped around me. The corners of his mouth take a sharp downturn, and he pivots toward the exit and stalks away before I can get his name past my lips.

This can’t be happening.

“I need to go.” I break free of Damian’s embrace and take off running.

“Zo!” Damian shouts. “Wait!”

Ignoring his pleas, I shove my way through the growing crowd, racing toward the place I last saw Dash. Damn him and his freakishly long legs.

Relinquishing every drop of self-respect, I cup my hands around my mouth and scream his name until my ears ring. But between the chattering voices, the tinkling carnival music, the bells, the whistles, the sirens, the ocean, and my own heart hammering in my ears, I can’t hear the sound of my own voice.

Once upon a time, I thought I wanted easy, but absolutely nothing about falling for Dash Hammond has been easy . He’s a risk to everything I always thought I wanted. A risk I’m more than willing to take. Because in just a few short days, he’s reignited the spark I’d buried beneath layers of grief and helped me find myself again.

“Where the hell are you going?” Damian grabs my arm and roughly spins me toward him. “I used the last of my frequent flyer miles to get here. I think you owe me more than five minutes of your damn time.”

“I don’t owe you anything .” Fighting back angry tears, I wrench my arm free of his painful grasp. “Why are you here, Damian?”

“What do you mean, why am I here?” His brow wrinkles, his lips forming a tight smile. “Where else would I be?”

With the imprint of his hand raising a bruise on my skin, I cross my arms, creating a barrier between us. “I can think of at least a dozen places more likely than the Santa Monica Pier.”

He dips his head to catch my eyes, and his cocky smile boils my blood. “But you aren’t in any of those places.”

“I never asked you to come.” I hold his gaze, willing him to take the hint. Absolutely nothing he says will change my feelings. We’re over. I think we’ve been over almost since we began. “How did you even find me?”

“Your phone.”

A spark of fury ignites in my belly. “You tracked my phone?”

The son of a bitch grins, clearly proud of himself.

I blow out a breath and clench my trembling hands. “Listen, Damian. Whatever this was has run its course. We’re not the same people we were in high school. I’m not the same person. Too much has happened since then. We don’t want the same things. We just don’t fit anymore.”

“I think we fit pretty great.” He waggles his eyebrows.

Narrowing my eyes to tiny slits, I glare at him. “You’re a dick, you know that? I should’ve dumped you when you no-showed Mom’s funeral.”

“I’m sorry I missed your mom’s funeral.” He shrugs. “But I told you I wasn’t letting you break up with me.”

“And what? I’m supposed to fall in line and do what you say? Like I don’t have my own opinions or control over my own life?”

He shrugs again. “That’s what I like best about you. You’d rather let someone else call the shots. You like when I take the lead.”

He tries to put an arm around me again, but I recoil from him.

“Come on, Zo, what’re you gonna do without me? Your mom is gone. Your fake-ass friends forgot all about you the minute they settled into their dorms and started pledging sororities. Everyone else left you behind, but I’m still here. I’m all you have left.”

My last nerve snaps with a loud crack, and I curl my fingers into my palm, squeezing until my nails cut into my flesh. Before I can stop myself, I throw my fist forward. It connects with his nose, making a horrific crunch.

Damian crumples to his knees, cupping his face in both hands. “Jesus Christ, Zoey. What the hell was that?”

“That was me breaking up with you. For good this time.” Relief—and a little pain—pulses through me as I turn my back on him and march toward the exit, cradling my bloody knuckles.