Adelaide Upset Read Online Free Page B

if they have that ride that makes people
puke.”

Chapter 4
     
    The festival was torture.
Children were out en masse, laughing, screaming, running, crying.
Their highs and lows wreaked havoc on my muscles as my body coiled
tight, the strain of emotions manifesting physically. The rides
were worse. I couldn’t even get close to a Tilt-A-Whirl, the
excitement and thrill, the occasional fear, it made me manic. It
required a concentrated effort to mask my expression at all times,
the slightest slip and I’d be smiling from ear to ear for no
apparent reason, which freaked people out. So I tended to scowl,
trying to stay in touch with my own feelings, trying to insulate
myself with them.
    I noticed Lucas scowling
too, frowning forehead, lips tight. So I encouraged him to tag
along with Stephen, not wanting to hold him back. Conner had teased
me, labeling me the party pooper, though Francesca and Stephen were
used to my odd behavior and didn’t bat an eyelash as I continued to
refuse the rides and fun.
    At one point, when they
had all gone off together, even Lucas, though he’d been less
inclined to leave me, Smith appeared, his airy figure taking shape
beside me. He watched Stephen get on the swinging ship, watched
Stephen’s fingers turn white as the ride lifted up, and listened to
Stephen laugh when the ride plunged down. It might have been the
most depressing moment of my life, standing there, next to a ghost,
and feeling equally isolated, living the solitude so thick that
only a dead man could understand.
    I was so wrapped up in our
mutual depression that the shift of his emotions took me by
surprise. A flurry of feelings assailed me, intense and
overlapping, so fleeting I couldn’t grasp their meaning. My head
jerked in response, an involuntary desire to look where he looked.
Smith was no longer staring at his son, but down a line of booths,
the sponsor’s booths.
    The local radio station
had a flashy little tent, passing out free stickers and pins. The
local grocer’s stand was a bit staid by comparison, though they
drew in women with generous coupons. And the booth just beyond that
sported a vinyl banner that read: SOUTHEASTERN LOGGING AND
SAWMILL.
    It was where Smith had
worked, the Brunswick company Stephen had described. I’d been
planning a visit ever since looking it up... but there was no time
like the present. So saying I marched forward with little to no
idea how I should present myself, and in retrospect, I understand
why Smith tried to stop me.
    He swept forward, a
roiling mist that formed to block my path. The idea of
walking through him was utterly disgusting, but I was too conscious of my
surroundings to stop short or go around, not wanting to attract
attention by avoiding something only I could see. When Smith
realized he couldn’t stop me he began to panic in earnest, his
feelings reaching me before his hand. His grip was firm, but it
didn’t feel like a normal touch, no warmth, no texture, just a
solid pressure encircling my arm above the wrist.
    Pausing mid-step I glanced
down at his hold on me, disturbed and perturbed in equal measure.
“Let go or I’ll never speak to you again,” I hissed under my
breath.
    People were looking. I’d
stopped in the middle of the thoroughfare, muttering to myself like
a crazy person. Pulling the messenger bag off my shoulder I
pretended to search inside for a cell phone, walking on as if
nothing was amiss. I didn’t actually have a cell phone, but it
hardly mattered.
    Smith had gone off to
sulk. He was nowhere in sight, which wasn’t unusual as he often hid
himself away for various lengths of time. But oddly, I could still
feel him, as if he lurked about watching from some hidden place.
His concern was hard to miss, the worry and fear radiating out. It
made an impression, begging for caution where his bullying had
failed. Though I couldn’t imagine what it was about the company’s
booth that upset him. When I arrived there was nothing