1-800-OOPS

Three: Welcome to abusement park

One of my favorite childhood memories is going to Santa Monica pier. We would go as a family every first sunday of every month. My dad would carry me on his shoulders even when I got too old for it. The last time he gave me a piggyback ride was when I was thirteen. I remember that the extra height allowed me to see the sunset from a whole different perspective. I felt on top of the world. On top of his shoulders I felt at home and loved.

I still remember the small details. Me giggling as my dad tickled me and mom would be taking photos of us, recording us. She claimed she was documenting the precious memories. It's bittersweet, you know? We have these documented memories of happy times, I just didn't know that these times would be the last.

My absolute favorite was the cotton candy. I think it wasn't much about the sweet candy taste but more so the after effect of me being hyper. Dad would chase me down the beach and eventually catch me because even if I tried, I was always too slow. He would envelop me in his arms and then lightly toss me to my mom where she would laugh and pepper me in kisses.

I didn't come from a broken family, it just sort of became one over time.

Now whenever I come to the pier, I have entirely different memories. They aren't necessarily bad because they are with my best friends, they are just so different.

"Chase put your wallet away. There is no way you'd make three shots with that basketball," Melanie calls, her arms on her hips as if yelling at her child.

Chase has a challenging look on his face. Before Melanie can take his wallet away, he hands the employee five dollars. Mel glares at him.

"Carter--tell him he's wasting his money," I shrug, maybe it's worth a try. Though Melanie is probably right. Chase isn't very good at the games in amusement park games. In all honesty, I think it's fraud. It's a way to get the customers to keep giving money.

And Chase is easily falling into that trap.

"Let him make a fool of himself," I laugh and link my arm with Melanie's. We watch as Chase lines himself up and motions as if he's going to take the shot. Finally he does, and he misses big time. Second shot is the same. Third and he's out.

Chase turns around, shoulders slumped, blonde hair shading his green eyes. I reach my arm out and place a hand on his shoulder. "It's alright bud. We can't all be good at everything. In your case, anything," I laugh loudly and it earns a glare from Chase but a fist bump from Melanie.

It's all fun and games. Chase knows we love him. We just also love messing with him. It's hilarious. He gets us back good though.

Once we filled his oreos--his favorite cookie, with toothpaste instead of the cream filling. He acted as if it was ok but Melanie and me hid out in my room for days. We were so scared because we knew he was going to retaliate big time.

Oh, and he did.

He put a stink bomb in each of our lockers. As soon as I got the combo in, I was hit with the smell. It took weeks of air fresheners, perfume, and dryer sheets to get it back to its normal smell. On top of that, we now smelled like absolute shit. I had never had so many people run away from me in the span of a week.

It was like I was infected with the plague. Ever since then, Melanie and I acknowledge that Chase played dirty. Now we amp up our game.

"At least I don't look like a troll doll," Chase grumbled. Shocked, I punched him in the arm.

"I do not! Mel, tell him I do not," I huffed, crossing my arms.

"No sweetie. You look like a cute ball of cotton candy," She smiles. She reaches for my pink hair, smoothing it out. I swat her hand away.