Chapter Text
If it wasn’t clear already, St Cassian High School is, well, a Catholic school. One of three—elementary, middle, and high—that share one campus across three buildings and less than 500 children. Its 11th grade class is its smallest, with 30 students total.
Ocean begged to stay there instead of the grungy, underfunded public middle school when the transition between 5th and 6th grade fast approached. In retrospect, the stellar statistics she researched about the school churning out well-adjusted, successful adults were a little skewed due to the modest class sizes. But, Ocean never was perturbed by that. She’s a good student, a natural leader, and a shoe-in for the nation’s youngest Prime Minister. So, what’s it to her if others aren’t?
What truly upsets Ocean about her high school is its ideas about death.
She was baptized and confirmed in the same year—6th grade, first in her class—and it was so easy because the ideas she had to reconcile with were so simple. Good, productive people are rewarded in death. Bad people are punished. Good, productive people live long, fulfilling lives. Bad people forfeit the years they should’ve used to atone for their actions.
So, to learn that the nature of death is quick and indiscriminate, and the face of death is nothing but a warehouse and a Cyclone that never ends—
Is this what Ocean deserves for doing everything the world told her is right?
Maybe, it doesn’t matter what she deserves. Ocean didn’t live —truly live— so she gets to die without ever having started.
Jane —Penny— gets to live, though. If divine justice exists at all, that’s unambiguously just.
Tick-a, tick-a, up the track. The air is still. Her stomach drops. The ride goes round and round. Ocean keeps her eyes shut, focusing on the screams of herself and the rest of the choir. This is her forever.
Thirty seconds, a minute, two minutes pass. Ocean, foolishly she thinks, feels the cart slowing down. Her body jerks forward a little when it…stops completely? The ambient chatter of fairgoers fills her ears. She’s almost tempted to open her eyes. She doesn’t. Whatever it is, it’s too good to be true.
What actually forces Ocean’s eyes open is the pull of the lap bar as it unlocks, freeing her from the seat of the cart. Sunlight filtered through beautifully gray clouds turns her vision white for a moment. When she adjusts, the first thing Ocean sees is Constance beside her, glasses askew and looking just as bewildered as Ocean. Their eyes meet, looking for answers neither of them had the capacity to know.
Ocean’s breathing quickens. She looks behind her. Noel looks very ready to vomit (vomit! Human bodily functions!) as his eyes dart around with visible disbelief. Mischa has his head down, everything short of heaving while he white-knuckles the lap bar that’s already been lifted off of him. And behind them, Ocean sees Ricky’s face reddening in pain when she remembers how he insisted on holding his crutches between his legs during the ride before the accident. She also remembers scolding Noel when he made a snide comment about “willingly risking getting punched in the dick by his own crutches”.
And Penny! Ocean feels relief flood her body when she finally puts a name to a face. Black-haired, pale-faced, and doe-eyed, staring blankly at her lap, as though she’s experiencing the limbo of the warehouse through what her soul remembers. When she finally blinks, she raises her fingers hesitantly to ghost over her neck. Ocean doesn’t want to think about Penny possibly remembering how she died.
Ocean stays glued to her seat for what feels like eternity, as though she’s already resigned herself to staying on the Cyclone, despite the stationary cart and lifted restraints saying everything to the contrary. Now, she doesn’t blink. Like if she closes her eyes, she’ll open them to the weightlessness of death again.
The tipsy carnie, the people waiting in line, the stairs to exit the ride, it’s all there. Ocean could cry.
“I…” Ocean hears Constance’s dazed whisper loud and clear. Oh, it’s so nice to sense things as authentically as this again. “I think we should get off now…”
The words send Ocean—and everyone else—scrambling to leave the ride, almost fighting to see who can touch the solid, wooden platform first.
Ocean leads the way down the stairs, tripping at least three times and thanking Constance and Mischa each time they catch her by her shoulder straps.
When the St Cassian Chamber Choir finally makes it to the ground of dirt, hay, and possibly animal feces, they stare in awe at the sign advertising the ride that killed them in another time. Ocean lets out a breath as her legs threaten to give out from under her.
She begins to laugh, loudly; hysterically. So does Constance, then Noel and Mischa. Ricky uses a crutched arm to pull Ocean, then Penny into a crushing hug, masterfully dragging in the other three until Ocean is sure fairgoers are wondering why this group of weird, uniformed teenagers are laughing, hugging, and (possibly) crying. Now, Ocean doesn’t usually curse, but fuck appearances right now. These people wouldn’t understand anyway.
Ocean hears Noel gag from over her head. “Ohh-kay, it’s time to let go now. I can smell Mischa’s jank-ass body spray.”
Normally, Ocean would’ve lectured Noel for his vulgarity, but she giggles with amusement along with the rest of the group this time. Hesitantly, they separate, watching as Mischa sniffs himself with confusion.
“It is smell of manliness!” He defends with his thick accent. “Talia told me I smell rugged.”
“Talia’s never been around to smell you.”
Penny’s voice, quiet and demure, breaks through the banter like a hot knife through butter. “...Thank you, guys. Really. I don’t remember much, but I know you chose me to live. If I had been myself, I wouldn’t have chosen myself. So…I’m glad you did it for me.”
The group, Ocean included, is silent for a long time at that. Not for lack of things to say, but perhaps it’s the way Penny keeps her green eyes glued on her feet, almost ashamed that she’s speaking at all. Or the way she looks ready to take back her confession and beg her peers to forget she ever said anything. It steals the words, plentiful as they usually are, from Ocean’s mouth.
She musters them up anyway, however. She’s the leader, and a leader always has something prepared.
“You…don’t need to thank us for anything.” Ocean steps forward, taking Penny’s hands in her own with a hesitation that surprised her. “You deserve to live as much as we do. The only thing that made you different was that you didn’t remember the life you had. The choice was…” she says, looking over her shoulder to the rest of the choir’s meaningful looks, then back to Penny’s vulnerable expression, “kind of obvious after that.”
Penny holds Ocean’s eyes for a moment. Then, she nods slowly before looking over Ocean’s shoulder. “...’Ricky’, is it?”
Ricky, perking up, opens his mouth to speak when…right. He’s mute in the living world. When no words come out, Ricky frowns, but he nods soon after, smiling crookedly at Penny.
“You guessed my middle name, didn’t you? ‘Savannah’?”
Ricky’s face turns very red at that, but he nods again in response.
A ghost of a smile crosses Penny’s face when she looks up at Ricky. “You knew who I was, even when neither of us really did. That means a lot to me.”
Ocean sees Ricky raise his hands to sign, words seemingly coming back to him. “‘Savannah’ was a name I was saving. Turns out, it was already taken! I like who it belongs to, though.”
Penny has to think for a bit to decipher what Ricky said, but once she gets the gist, she giggles like she hasn't in a long time. Ocean hears an “Aww…” squeaking out from behind her, immediately knowing it’s Constance and her soft spot for these moments.
“Shit…” Mischa sighs under his breath as he stares very hard at Ricky’s hands. “I should’ve paid attention during ASL unit…”
“I think you’re okay, Mischa,” Constance snickers with Ocean. “I’m pretty sure you have an excuse; English as a second language and all.”
“Right, because people are dying to have a hot Ukrainian teenager speak his native tongue at them in Uranium City, Saskatewan. Forget Spanish and French, the Slavics have the sexiest languages on Earth.” Noel rolls his eyes hard enough to make Constance’s snickering turn into a full-bodied laugh, even more so when Mischa humphs compliantly at the comment. The rare sound makes Ocean’s heart skip a few beats.
Ocean shakes the feeling quickly, choosing to address Noel instead. “That’s not very culturally sensitive of you at all! That comment sounded completely sarcastic!”
Noel gasps, placing a surprised hand on his chest. “Really?!” For a bit, Ocean thinks he’s actually seen the error of his ways. She feels a familiar, very welcome frustration when his expression goes from feigned shock, to utter apathy directed at Ocean.
“Ugh!” Ocean exclaims, not really mad as she glares up at Noel. She can feel her face turning an irritated red. “Your flippancy gives me IBS!”
“I thought you got that from eating meat after being vegan from birth for twelve years?” Constance’s rhetorical question makes Ricky snort, which Ocean was unaware he could do with his condition.
“That-!” Ocean sputters, trying to defend herself and being well aware that she's failing. “Aren’t you supposed to be on my side, Constance?”
“I only agreed to be your best friend. Still love you, though!” The confidence exuding from Constance as she says this warms Oceans heart more than she’d like to admit. Whatever being in purgatory did to bring Constance out of her shell, it made Ocean’s best friend seem so much more like…herself, somehow. Ocean really can’t be mad at that.
“Speaking of, uh…stomachs,” Penny mutters out, looking unaccustomed at the nature of the choir’s regular interactions, “I know we weren’t…gone for very long, but I’m a lot hungrier than before we died.”
Mischa looks down at his own stomach, mirroring the rest of the group. “Me too… Wack.”
Hard rubber pokes suddenly against Ocean’s hip, near the pockets of her skirt. She yelps, turning around to see Ricky’s silently amused face and raised crutch. Before she can ask what that was even for, Ricky spells it out slowly with one hand, with emphasis. “M-A-R-K-U-S. M-O-N-E-Y. F-O-O-D.”
“...Oh! Right,” Ocean realizes what Ricky’s saying quickly as she reaches into the pocket he poked, pulling out the bundle of dollar bills Father Markus gave them to last them until the fair closes at 1:00 am.
“Damn,” Noel says, looking mildly surprised. “That should be enough, I guess.”
Constance smiles at the spoils in Ocean’s hands, looking around at the rest of the group. “I’m thinking funnel cake. What do you guys think?”
“Ahh!” Mischa snaps his fingers in recognition after thinking for a bit. “American pampushky! I like the way Constance thinks.”
“Mmh… More or less.” Noel pats Mischa’s back with his own brand of empathy.
Ocean smiles wider than her face can probably handle as she looks at the choir; her friends one more time. This is real. “Well, let’s get going! The average Canadian’s dinnertime is 7:00 pm and it’s 6:30. We have to beat the rush!”
As Ocean leads the way to their next destination, she could hear exasperated groans behind her. And, for once, the sound made her happy.
***
“Oh my god, Ocean. If you’re gonna be such a pussy about this, at least shut up and give the turkey leg to Ricky.” Noel’s moaning and groaning meets Ocean’s ears at the end of her third tirade about the dangers of red meat on one’s cardiovascular system.
“First of all,” Ocean raises a “hold-the-heck-on” finger to Noel’s sour attitude from across the table the choir sat at. The turkey leg, wrapped at the bone in wax paper, waves around with Ocean’s dramatic movements. “Language. Second of all, can you not have sympathy for my moral dilemma? This turkey died for our consumption! But, since it’s already dead and paid for, would it not be wasteful to refuse to eat it?! I’m having a crisis here!”
A slurp from beside Noel brings Ocean’s attention to Mischa finishing his second of three turkey legs he bought on his own dime. “Why buy turkey leg, then?” He raises a scrutinizing brow, making Ocean flush with exposure.
“I was feeling impulsive! ‘Seize the day’, or whatever.”
Ricky knocks his fist on the wooden tabletop, signing snidely when Ocean looks over at him. “Seize the turkey leg, Boss. Or I will.”
“Absolutely not!” Ocean pulls her spoils away from Ricky’s miraculously hungry gaze. “Penny already gave you half of her funnel cake, cotton candy, and all of her second turkey leg! I refuse to be the one responsible for your inevitable stomach ache.”
“I’ve had my fill of food. It’s fun watching Ricky eat. It’s like…watching a black hole!” Penny’s dull eyes brighten just a bit when she looks back at Ricky’s multiple empty plates. Ocean thinks it’s cute, the way Ricky proudly puffs out his chest at Penny’s awe.
Ocean looks to Constance for at least a little bit of help. Surely she’d take Ocean’s side this time, even if just out of pity. But, the snickers hidden behind a cloud of cotton candy aren’t giving Ocean hope. “Look, you don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to. Your self-control is better than mine would’ve been. I feel way too good post-purgatory!”
So, Ocean whines and looks back at the bone of meat that’s certainly too big to be a regular turkey. A terrible, dark thought reaches the front of her mind, driven by the euphoria of a second chance at life. Her heart beats like a bass drum as she tears into the mildly warm flesh with her teeth, not even bothering to wipe away the fatty juices dripping down her chin.
Ocean hears whoops and hollers of encouragement from the choir—mainly Noel, seemingly cognizant of how much suffering Ocean’s gonna endure for this later.
The meat is smoky, then savory, then a little bit sweet at the end. Tofu certainly doesn’t taste like this. Ocean knew that since she tried a hamburger for the first time in sixth grade, but this is different.
She chews for hardly a long time, astonished at the tenderness of the meat. Then, she swallows, finally wiping her mouth—and hands off the rest of the leg to Ricky.
Ricky beams, signing something unique that Ocean remembers him saying means “level up” while tacking a “just trust me, bro” on the end. At least the rest of the oversized thing won’t go to waste.
“Ah, president is finally letting loose!” Mischa raises his own third, half-way finished leg in solidarity and triumph, using his tongue to clean up the residual meat in the corner of his mouth. Ocean cringes at his lack of manners, but says nothing. She’s learned not to question Mischa’s oddities out of fear of the landmine field that is his cultural practices.
Noel snorts, an ugly sound he’d only allow himself at Ocean’s expense. “Imagine. Literally dying finally managed to take the stick out of your ass.”
“Carpe diem!” Ocean exclaims as a weak defense, trying very hard not to regret her decision. “Who knows when I’ll get another chance to do this, so…I’ll deal with the consequences later. This feels…kinda good!”
Ocean confirms it to herself. That isn’t a lie in the slightest. The fluttering in her chest tells her so—that this excites her. Something as mundane and actually detrimental as plaguing her vegan stomach with heavy, heady poultry made her feel like that one scene from Titanic: the King of the World.
“That’s not very like you, Boss.” Ricky says with one hand and a mouth full of turkey. Ocean notices that there’s no teasing lilt to his inflection, like he’s pondering something. “Maybe you really did die on the Cyclone.”
Ocean and the rest of the choir fall silent for a moment, confusion weighing on them, but with Ricky in no hurry to elaborate in favor of enjoying his spoils. Constance, hesitantly, bites first.
“...What do you mean by that?”
Ricky raises an incredulous eyebrow at the question before eventually sighing and freeing both of his hands to explain. “Ocean is different. Everyone is, I think. Maybe we all ‘died’ on the Cyclone, and the people that came back are better. Why would Karnak bring us all back unless we all deserved it?”
“I was confused about that, actually…” Penny contemplates, looking around at the choir as if they had the answer to her unspoken question. “If I remember right, you all were supposed to vote on one to come back, so why did all of us come back?”
The idea comes to Ocean quickly. The last words she heard from the ferryman to their afterlives. “Karnak’s final insight! We never heard it, did we? Maybe he was lying about the whole ‘he can only bring back one’ thing. Maybe…” And Ocean is embarrassed to say this. “Maybe he wanted us to…grow; accept our deaths before we were ready to live again. That’s why he made us go through that weird game.” She locks eyes with Ricky, who looks way too proud of Ocean. “Is that what you meant?”
Noel spits out a laugh from behind his hand before Ricky can answer. “What do you think? Ricky looks smug as hell.”
Ocean fumes, ready to lecture Noel about “time and place” for his vulgarities, when an uncharacteristic yelp comes from Mischa’s direction. The boy in question is beaming at the cell phone he mentioned specifically buying to talk to his fianceé back in Ukraine. Ocean looks around, spotting a cellphone tower in the distance and sighing to herself, endeared.
“I got wi-fi up in this bitch!” Mischa stands, holding up his cellphone like the holy grail, and Ocean thinks for a moment about the thing Mischa said about Ukrainian men only feeling rage and passion. If that is the case, this is a very happy-looking passion.
Constance smiles in a way that tells Ocean the former’s heart is melting into lovey-dovey goo. “Are you gonna call her? The way you talk about Talia, I really wanna meet her one day.”
“Of course!” Micha looks incredulously at Constance, even as his grin stays intact. “I need to hear her beautiful voice again. First time you all see her, she will be walking down the aisle.” Then, Mischa pauses before he runs off to get his privacy. His sheepishness makes Ocean—as well as everyone else—recoil a bit. “Ah…I promise I will be back. Portable potties are closest to phone tower. Go without me, okay?”
Ocean knows the change in Mischa’s demeanor is catching everyone off guard, because she can only nod to send the boy on his way. Pre-Cyclone Mischa would’ve sauntered away without a word, nose so fully buried in his phone that any attempt to take it away didn’t guarantee that Mischa would respect social niceties and not bite the assailant. But, to see a smile; to hear love and admiration so shamelessly professed; to hear a reluctance to leave and a promise of his return. Ricky was too right. Whoever Ocean and the choir were before the accident, the people who returned are not the same.
“If I ever start loving a man that innocently, I want one of you to pull me aside and shoot me.” Noel’s tone is deadpan, disgusted even. But, the look that lingers on Mischa’s back as the latter listens to the phone ring tells Ocean that his ribbing has no teeth.
Penny hums in genuine contemplation. “My grandma owns a twelve gauge, if that works?”
“What?!” Ocean exclaims at Penny’s apparent lack of concern for what she just said. Constance, Noel, and Ricky snicker under their breaths, and Penny tilts her head in such pure confusion. “Do gun violence statistics mean nothing to any of you?!”
Ricky shakes his head, spurring more frustration from Ocean and another fit of laughter from Noel and Constance. Before Ocean can begin ranting, Ricky signs. “I want to play some of the fair games. I’m taking an indefinite hiatus from rides.”
“That’s real,” Constance sighs as the group silently agrees with Ricky. “Are we gonna wait for Mischa? He might take a while.”
“I think we should leave him be. Noel, you have Mischa’s phone number, right?” Ocean looks expectantly at Noel, who looks like he wants to say no just to tick Ocean off. But, he huffs instead, pulling out his own phone.
“Yeah, I do. Ricky does too.” Noel pauses as Ocean, Constance, and Penny gape at Ricky, who nods and smiles at the staunch achievement. “But, don’t make me your go-to for whenever you need to talk to him. Just ask for his number next time.”
Ocean rolls her eyes, at least satisfied that Noel gave a civilized answer to her question. “Good. Tell him to text you or Ricky when he’s done talking to Talia, so we can come find him.”
“What should we play first?” Penny looks around as Noel shoots off his quick text. Suddenly, the fair feels much larger to Ocean. She used to hate these things for their perpetuation of gluttony and overconsumption in the name of “family fun”. And maybe she’s become the very thing she hates, because now a kindling in her heart burns to do everything there is to offer with the people she came with.
“Not too far.” Ricky shoots a cheeky glance at Ocean. “I predict the Boss will be running to the porta potties in less than thirty minutes. The turkey will return to haunt her.”
Ocean gasps in utter and true offense, and Constance and Noel fall to their knees laughing.
***
It takes exactly twenty-eight minutes and forty-four seconds. Had Ocean’s gastrointestinal system gotten the memo, she would’ve bitten the bullet on the final stretch just to spite Ricky.
When Ocean finally steps out of the dubiously-scented portable restrooms, Mischa is already animatedly recounting his first post-death conversation with Talia to the rest of the choir.
“She told me about shopping trip back in Kiev. Even the way she described new dress made her beautiful! We will talk later tonight, but it’s too long, really.”
Constance coos, squeezing the giant pikachu Ocean worked tirelessly to win her at the obviously rigged ring toss booth. “Do you think it’s her wedding dress?”
“I wish,” Mischa sighs wistfully. “But, no. Her, uh, parents are…not fond of their daughter having ‘American’ boyfriend.”
“But…we’re Canadian.” Ocean says, slow and confused as she rejoins the group, shooting a rueful look at Ricky, who’s snickering.
“Right. They could not care less. No matter. When I go home after graduation, I’ll prove myself as best husband Talia can have.”
Oh. Ocean never considered that, actually—that Mischa would want to leave their little dead end town one day to return to Ukraine. Of course, in the warehouse after the Cyclone accident, she and the rest of the choir learned that Talia was the girl Mischa was always so preoccupied with in the first place. But, they also learned so many other things about him that would inspire anyone to want to leave Uranium. His homelife is strained—his adoptive parents all but hate him. The country Mischa moved to after his mother’s death just happens to be the leading supplier of the very chemical that killed her, the very ground on which he walks becoming a horrifying reminder of the life he was forced to leave.
And—Ocean didn’t give much thought to it before now—St. Cassian isn’t that kind to Mischa either, regarding his foreign heritage and secular hobbies as…defects…about him. She gave Mischa flack about it, but seeing him walk into the choir room for the first time after the Communion Wine Incident was a genuinely, bafflingly intimidating sight.
Stuck in a place he barely understands, and refuses to understand him. Ocean would want to die—well, again.
Penny stares at Mischa with wide, awed eyes, a genuine color in her voice. “Talia’s really lucky to have you.”
“It is me who’s lucky,” Mischa shakes his head, pocketting his phone once more. “But, no more about me. Where were you all?”
Noel makes a nostalgic sound between a hum and a laugh. “Just booth hopping. Ocean spent all of her tickets at ring toss because she wouldn’t stop ‘til she won Constance’s prize. The carnie even gave her the one Penny’s holding as an extra because he felt bad.”
“Ugh—! Am I not allowed to exhibit a tenacious spirit for my friends?” Ocean whips around to look at Noel’s unimpressed face. He sniffs like he knows something Ocean doesn’t.
“Hm! ‘Friends’. Good luck, babe.”
Ricky “tsks”, reaching under his sweater vest to reveal another plush, a literal ragdoll of a kitten, placing it on his shoulder to leave his hands free to sign. “Ocean did it the hard way. The carnie took bribes.”
“That’s how the rest of our money went missing?” Constance gapes. “I guess that means buying more tickets is out of the question.”
“I think it was worth it. This little guy will give us good luck—as soon as I think of a name for it.”
Penny hums, thinking. “Between all of us, how long should the rest of our tickets last?”
Ocean counts quickly as her remaining five clubmates pull out their strings of red tickets. “Father Markus said he gave us enough to last until the fair closes. And that’s at…”
“1:00 am,” Mischa finishes for Ocean. “That is early enough, no?”
“‘Early?!’” Ocean yelps. “That’s basically the witching hour! If we want to get enough sleep for school tomorrow, we should leave at ten at the latest.”
Again, Ocean hears dreadful groans from the choir around her, like the mere mention of having to go to school after all they’ve been through pains them. Ocean can’t bring herself to fathom why. She’s almost too eager to jump headfirst back into her mortal routine.
Noel rolls his eyes, already starting to walk ahead of the group into the thick of the fair. Everyone readily follows him until Ocean’s abstinence can no longer keep her from scurrying to tag along. “Yeah, we’ll see about that,” Noel says over his shoulder like he’s smirking. “It’s five against one, Miss President. Father Markus won’t mind us staying late.”
***
Ocean hates to admit it, but she loses track of time. She doesn’t even grow antsy as the September sun dips fully beneath the ambient horizon. Families with tiring children shuffle triumphantly out of the fair before nine o’ clock, and Ocean watches as the demographic around her grows older and tighter. Teens considering themselves too old and too cool to be seen at a whimsical fair during daylight hours. Young adults who waited for the right time to bring their Bud Lights and Mike’s Hards without being yelled at by conservative parents and old people who might be allergic to minding their own business. Mischa tries once to swipe a Smirnoff from a tacky rolling cooler—Ocean yells at him.
Ocean decides (out of staunch embarrassment for her own mismanagement) that Mischa, Noel, Ricky, Constance, and Penny should take turns burning through the rest of their tickets on the games of their choice. That way, everyone gets to do what they want before they find Father Markus to make the drive home. Besides, Ocean doesn’t say it, but she hopes going about it this way will stall having to go home from a little longer.
Mischa made a beeline to the shooting gallery to strike up a debatably healthy rivalry with Ricky, the former offering to share his tickets with the latter to compete for a different prize: a Taco Bell gift card Noel haphazardly found in his pocket while trying to pay for lemonade in a souvenir cup. The card was two months expired, and Ocean promptly chastised Noel for letting the other two boys fight over it anyway, but she let it slide when the whole ordeal ate up Mischa’s tickets in less than twenty minutes.
Noel went out of his way to drag everyone to the back end of the fair without any explanation until the booth was visible. A guessing game—one ticket for five seconds to guess—promising a coupon for the poutine stand if any lucky passerby could guess the exact weight of a Hello Kitty cupcake.
Even with Constance mentioning how those games were notorious ticket traps, and that the correct numbers changed too often for anyone to win, Noel was insistent. He laid his entire rope of tickets on the counter and lied straight through his teeth—the cupcake was one hundred and twelve grams, period-point-blank.
The carnie was quick to tell Noel that his guess was close, but ultimately incorrect. But, Noel seemed to have an ulterior motive. He made a dramatic show of it, demanding he be allowed to use the rest of his paid time to argue his thesis. He went on to rope Constance into his rant, leveraging her status as the daughter of the Blackwood Café’s owners to verify his information—the average cupcake was one hundred and ten grams. He made up something about the Hello Kitty cupcake being a little smaller than average, but the decorative frosting being enough to weigh it down to his guess. At that point, Noel was starting to attract attention from other fairgoers.
Then, once Noel noticed the crowd forming around him and the booth, he began to break down the carnie in front of him for all he’s worth. He reused the point he heard earlier about the weight changing every so often, and accused the carnie of intentionally rigging the booth so that less people could win. Somehow, that provided Noel the perfect segue to chide the carnie for screwing over the public to benefit who? His bosses? Because they certainly don’t care about their employee regardless if he works at his own expense. At that point, and to Ocean’s astonishment, the crowd was staunchly turning against the carnie, demanding blindly for him to accept Noel’s guess and give up the prize to him. Noel was absolutely smug—this was all just theatrics to him, wasn’t it?
Soon enough, the carnie must’ve realized that all this was way above his pay grade, and he sighed, giving up the coupon to Noel. The crowd—including Mischa, Ricky, Constance, and Penny—cheered and Noel bowed like he gave a showstopping one-man rendition of Hamlet. Ocean wanted to scold him for disturbing the peace in more than one way, but spirits among the choir were too high to get a word in edgewise. And like that, Noel’s tickets were used up as well.
After spending the coupon for another snack for Ricky—because somehow, his hunger will never be satiated—Ricky thought it would be so funny and entertaining to give games based on strength and dexterity a try. Namely the high striker and ax throwing booths. Ocean tried to talk Ricky out of it, but Penny cosigned the asinine idea and Mischa offered to help Ricky keep his balance without his crutches while he was playing.
So, imagine Ocean’s surprise when the bell on the high striker rang out victoriously on Ricky’s very first try, which Ricky explained away with his higher than average arm usage. With Mischa’s egging, Ricky quickly changed his goal to winning as many prizes as possible with his newfound talent. Eight comically oversized stuffed cats later, he had to be convinced to give seven of them away to swooning girls that gathered to watch his streak grow. Ricky kept the last plush, handing it off to Mischa as thanks for his support. Mischa, overflowing with sentiment, sniffled and promised to cherish it. God, how long did that take—thirty minutes or so?
Constance knew exactly where she wanted to spend the remainder of her tickets, leading the way eastward to the makeshift petting zoo advertising Uranium City’s local zoo. Giggling like she was ten years younger, she divy’d up her tickets so all of the choir could make admission. Of course, it was just Ocean’s luck that she came face to face with a rafter of decidedly judgemental turkeys. They stared at her like they smelled their brethren on Ocean’s breath, and condemned her for her cardinal sin and broken oath. Yeah, Ocean’s gonna have to take another long break from meat before she tries again.
But still, Ocean couldn’t bring herself to revel too deeply in her discomfort. Not when Constance was smiling like she entered heaven on earth, stroking the muzzle of a white pony and being rendered inconsolable when a handler mentioned how they sometimes dress up the pony as a unicorn for children’s parties. The choir left in a cloud of warmth and fuzziness, though they did have to come back to return a duckling Ricky tried to smuggle out.
That left the last strand of tickets among the choir—belonging to Penny. It took a little bit of prompting to keep Penny from just giving them away, but she explained that she didn’t know how to spend them, especially since she used to just use them on rides. But, Noel had an idea.
“This is rigged! This entire fair is rigged!!” Ocean barks, strongly considering breaking her plastic fishing rod over her knee. She doesn’t, in favor of casting it back into the small pool she and the rest of the choir is playing around.
“Ah, you think so?” Penny says, taking her fifth magnetic fish from her line and dropping it in her bucket for the carnie to tally. “Maybe there’s something wrong with your rod.”
“Of course I think so! I just know they put the wrong kind of magnet on my line—it has to be repelling the fish I should be catching.”
Mischa snorts like he doesn’t have an equal amount of points to Ocean—zero. “Maybe you’re just bad at game. They say in FPS lobby: Get good.”
“No way,” Constance shakes her head lightly, reeling in her first fish in the round. “After this round, Penny’s tickets are up. It’s your last chance to get a point, Ocean.”
Ocean humphs as Noel shares a look with a snickering Ricky. “Take it like this,” Noel starts. “For all the shit you win everywhere else, you have to lose something for once. It’s—I dunno—character development or something. Besides, Penny already has you beat anyway.”
Ocean deflates a bit. That is true. And, looking at Penny—her serene posture, her small smile, and the pockets of her skirt filled with won rubber ducks—this certainly feels like a good way to finish off their campaign.
The timer for the choir’s final round dings as it runs out, and the carnie announces Penny—once again—as the winner by a long shot. As her prize, she’s given a white rubber duck. Contently, she pockets it and thanks the sleep-deprived teenage girl for letting her and the choir play so many times.
With that, all the tickets are gone, and Ocean lets out a long breath she feels the rest of the choir mirror. She checks her watch while the group finds themselves back at the heart of the fair. Holy heck, it’s almost eleven. Ocean’s breached sleep schedule whines and mourns itself. The moon is still low in the sky, but it could still be reasonably assumed how late it is. Perhaps everyone else knows that too, but with the way they stay silent, tired eyes meeting each other, no one seems to want to comment on it.
Again, Constance bites, a broken chuckle leaving her. “I dunno about you guys, but I think we’ve been through a lot today. It’s a long drive back, so…”
Though Constance’s implication dies as she trails off, she’s met with vigorous nods of agreement, worn but satisfied expressions reflecting warm, flashing fair lights. Even if Ocean would like to say she wants the night to last forever, she’s dealt too closely with absolutes lately to think it with any conviction. She’s glad that this night must end; that it has ended as positively as it did. Time’s arrow pulling Ocean from the stasis of death—once a source of drive and anxiety—is now a call to appreciate how all times, even the best times, must pass and give way to the future. In hopes to return to this feeling in another time; in another place, Ocean is glad to continue onward.
“Yes, home is good. My bed calls out to me.” Mischa says while trying to stifle a yawn.
Penny nods. “Where did Father Markus say he was gonna be again?”
“Close to the back, by the food,” Ricky signs. “He told us to find him there.”
“Well, let’s get going then. If we leave soon enough, we can still get eight hours of sleep if we nap in the van! Noel, call Father Markus and let him know we’re ready to go.” Ocean marches forward to lead the choir towards the food stands once more. Noel sniffs behind her.
“Right, because I’m definitely this group’s hot receptionist. Fine, but don’t ask me to do it again.”
Ocean doesn’t partake in the slowly quieting chatter of Penny, Constance, Ricky, and Mischa as they walk, but it occurs to her how few times she’s heard the entire choir riffing and laughing together before the accident. Gosh, did they really not like each other that much? Sure, they were all part of the same extracurricular activity, but the proximity they maintained was barely the wanted kind. They rehearsed, they argued, and they performed, and that was about it. If any glue was keeping the choir from falling apart, it was Father Markus, inoffensive and patient enough to numb the tension. Maybe rehearsals will get easier, Ocean thinks, now that the worst possible scenario forced the choir to bond.
She turns to see Noel staring ruefully at his phone, raising a brow at him. “Um, I’m not hearing any talking with Father Markus.”
“Of course you don’t, genius,” Noel snarks, his expression shifting back to some kind of concern. “He’s not answering. Maybe that dinosaur phone of his died or something.”
Constance’s gaze surveys the slowly emptying picnic tables marking the border of the fair. Ocean can tell that Constance finds nothing, but the latter doesn’t say it. “Well… this is where he said he’d be, right? He should’ve seen us if we didn’t see him.”
“Maybe he wandered off? He’s kinda old anyway.” Penny’s expression glazes over with a contemplative blankness. Mischa shakes his head, brushing her off.
“Not that old. Maybe we… ah… We split up. Find him ourselves?”
Ocean almost yelps at the idea. “No, no, no! The first rule of situations like these is to stay put so people can find us.”
“Oh. My god.” Noel scoffs. “We’re not lost, Ocean. If anything, our choir director’s the one that’s lost.”
“What should we do, then? I don’t wanna risk missing Father Markus if he’s looking for us too.” Constance’s cadence grows sharp with mounting anxiety.
“If he was looking for us, he’d call, no?” Mischa retorts, but before anyone can respond to him, the sound of aluminum ringing against wood silences the choir and forces them to look at the source of the sound.
Despite being the one to demand his choirmates’ attention with his crutches against a flagpole, Ricky doesn’t look in their direction. Instead, Ocean follows his blanking gaze, staring a thousand yards away towards the main entrance of the fair. Though nothing specific can be seen that far away, Ocean, Penny, Constance, Noel, and Mischa see exactly what Ricky sees. Lights, tainting the pitch black sky in alternating red and blue.
Ocean tries not to assume the worst, turning back to face Ricky. “You don’t actually think…?” She can’t finish her sentence when she realizes she’s never seen Ricky this stunned.
Ricky shakes his head as though to snap himself out of his daze, slowly positioning his hands to sign. “...He said seven hours.”
“What??” Noel rightfully exclaims.
“The Karnak said. In the warehouse. Seven hours after we died—no one could identify Penny because—”
“—because Father Markus had… heart attack.” Mischa pales as he finishes Ricky’s thought. “Fuck. How could I forget?”
Ocean’s entire body grows ice cold, even as she feels her hands clam up. The ambient noise of the fair funnels into a muffled version of itself in her ears, and she knows she looks just as helpless and shocked as the people—the kids— around her, but this time, she truly doesn’t know what to do.
Perhaps, if Ocean doesn’t know, she should just do something anyway. She turns on her heel and tries not to mind when her voice breaks over her shoulder. “Come on. We have to know for sure.”
Even though Ocean and the choir almost sprint towards the front of the fair, the distance between them and the entrance seems to grow with every step they take, almost like the universe is discouraging them from seeing the truth for themselves. Whether or not the ambulance lights in the distance were for their old music director. The choir books it in silence, the only sounds Ocean registers being their quickening footsteps.
But, goddamn it, when the arch marking the entrance finally comes into view, they’re met with an impenetrable wall of curious fairgoers. And even if Ocean could find an opening to get through, the sound of a siren starting and slowly getting further away tells her that they’re already too late.
Before anyone can panic, Ocean sees Penny stepping back out of the corner of her eye. “Hm. Okay…” Penny starts, thinking. “Hold on. I’ll try to find someone.”
Penny doesn’t wait for any confirmation to scurry off, the rest of the choir having to dumbly follow behind her until she spots a group of young adults looking troubled near the ticket booth. If Ocean wasn’t a mess right now, she’d praise Penny for her quick thinking.
“Um… excuse me?” Penny rattles out, getting the attention of a slightly drunk-looking man in the group. “My, uh… friends and I saw the ambulance lights around here. Do you know what’s going on? Is everything okay?”
It takes a second for the man to register what was said to him, but he works up an answer eventually. “Oh. Uh… yeah. Some Catholic guy was holding his shoulder a lot, like, an hour ago. Then he just fell over and started writhing around like he couldn’t breathe. We called an ambulance when he did.”
Oh.
There’s nothing that Ocean; that anyone can say to that. That there was a sword of Damocles swinging over Father Markus’ head, and the choir forgot about it. Was this inevitable? Is Father Markus literally about to die, and all the choir can do is wait for him to take his last breath? Now that they all know what death looks like— feels like— how are they supposed to grieve over him? Because all Ocean feels overtaking her now is shock, dread, numbness.
Oh, god, what are they supposed to do now?
“I’m, uh, I’m sorry if you kids knew him,” the man offers awkwardly. “Maybe if the paramedics do their thing, he’ll be alright.”
Penny wills herself to shake the daze off her face. “N-no, it’s okay. Thanks for calling for help.”
Ocean takes that opportunity to speed walk to an emptier space, a gazebo that looks more popular during daylight hours. But, she doesn’t stop walking when she leads the choir there. Instead, she paces, in shambles.
“Holy crap,” Constance mutters, sitting on one of the benches like she might faint. “I mean, if we caught the ambulance sooner, I would’ve wanted to go to the hospital with him, but…”
“But, we’re fucking stuck here,” Noel snaps before quickly correcting himself. “Ugh! No—sorry, just—it’s not like we don’t know what’s about to happen to him. I don’t feel like watching.”
Mischa takes off his hat like it’s irritating him to wear. “What about van? I can drive us.”
Ricky knocks shakily on one of the picnic tables to get attention. “Markus had the keys. We’re stranded.”
“And besides,” Ocean’s voice wobbles a bit, “we’re still supposed to get home. Our parents are expecting us to get back tonight.”
“Are anyone’s parents even gonna be awake if we call them? I mean, we could ask them to pick us up, but it’s not foolproof—half of us are latchkey kids.” Noel fidgets with his fingers, leaving heavy, empty silence as he picks at his nail polish.
After what feels like eternity, Constance hesitantly whimpers out a suggestion. “I could… I dunno… call my dad? He’s closing up shop at the café today, so he should have our van, and that’s big enough for all of us. Maybe if I ask nicely, you all can stay over at my place since it’s late.”
Ocean sees Penny’s eyes widen a bit. “Really? Even though he’d have to take us to school tomorrow, too?”
“Yeah. It’s… the easiest thing I can think of for now.”
Ocean takes a breath that feels a little too deep for her lungs now, but she knows she needs it to gather herself. “Okay, then,” she nods at Constance. “Call your dad now, so he can get here as soon as possible.” Ocean turns to everyone else. “For now, we should all try to call our own families and let them know what’s going on. I think it goes without saying, but… don’t tell them what we already know about Father Markus. Whatever we’re feeling now, I think we have to put it off ‘til the news breaks.” Ocean drops to sit next to Constance, legs feeling too weak to stand on. “Now that I think of it, everything that ‘happened’ today should stay between us. Who else would understand anyway?”