Tonight wasn't perfect. Far from it. My brother, Eli, was only supposed to stick around until the logical and boring guy from school showed up for our date. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed when he didn't show. Even more disappointed since he hasn't responded to me. For someone who was supposed to just be a post–high-school fling—he's moving out of state for college—leaving me on read feels especially stupid. Jason should at least have a spine enough to face me like a man.
"You know the price—two dollars," the carny says, clearly overworked. Seventeen, maybe—I can't blame him for being so uninterested. At least he could mention that the game isn't in our favor. We all know it isn't, but what Eli has spent could've covered the cost of the stuffed animal I've been eyeing. It's probably covered the cost of the whole booth.
"Eli…" I whisper. He has that look on his face—the one where I know he's calculating. His eyes are darting back and forth under his thick, round glasses, like he can will bottles to fall over with his mind.
"Probability of winning…" He pauses and sticks out his tongue. "Zero-point-zero-three percent."
"Then why try?" I ask, reaching into my pockets for the money I don't have. I ran out after my own first attempt. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out two more dollars, and hands them to the carny. I want to snatch the money out of his hand before the transaction is complete, but he's quicker than I am. He always seems to know what I want to do next.
"Attempt seventeen. Here you go." The carny picks up three more baseballs and steps to the side. He pulls out his phone and starts tapping away. Eli tilts his head to the side and takes a deep breath.
"Why try? Because you smiled at the purple one," he says as he cocks his arm back and lets the first ball fly. It knocks the top bottles off the stack. That isn't a surprise by now, though. Eli is certainly no baseball pitcher, and the first few attempts completely missed everything. The game was rigged against us from the beginning, and honestly, so were we. But, like a robot calibrating itself, he has fine-tuned his throw. He just hasn't finished his throwing update to get the last bottle down.
Eli throws the second ball, which nicks the last bottle standing, but it barely moves. It certainly doesn't move the way it would if it were empty like the others. Eli closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Then, in one motion, he opens his eyes and lets the last ball fly. It does the same thing, nicking the bottle that barely acknowledges physics. The carny looks up from his phone. He nods, bites his bottom lip.
"One more go," Eli says before anyone else can. The carny pauses for a second and then wanders over to the stack of bottles.
"Eli…" I protest. "You can just buy me one online, and it will be bigger and better than this one."
He shakes his head. If I thought that walking away would stop him, I would. He's nearly as stubborn as I am, maybe more. He just picks the strangest hills to die on. I think that's what I love about him. Despite the stupidity of the situation, he's relentless in looking out for me. For someone he loves. Not many people get to see that side of Eli. They see a cold, calculating version. They see a robot.
"This one is different, though. I can buy it online, sure, but it wouldn't mean the same thing." Eli cracks a smile. "You told me one time, if you really love something, chase after it. I suppose I could reconfigure the variables: If you really love something, throw some baseballs at a couple of weighted bottles."
A solid thud comes from the back of the booth. My eyes jump to the carny. He has a childish grin on his face. My eyes follow his gaze. On the ground is a metal bottle with black sand pouring from a hole in the top.
"Well, would you look at that!" His eyes wander from the bottle back up to me and Eli. "We have ourselves a grand prize winner."
I jerk my head over to Eli, who's clearly calculating again. I know he wants to argue—math, physics, probabilities, something to prove that it was his own will that won. It's impossible for him to accept that sometimes the universe is kinder than he thinks. I reach up and put a hand on his shoulder.
Without moving his head, his eyes dart over to mine. I pray that my gaze can communicate everything that I feel. I know it can't. I still pray anyway. He opens his mouth, and I know he's going to say something stupid. Then, at the last second, his lips curl up into a smirk.
"We will take the purple one," he says. I laugh as he nods. The carny reaches up, grabs the large purple dinosaur off the top shelf, and hands it to me. I thank him, and Eli and I start walking.
The night air is calm, peaceful. Like it's welcoming us home after a long journey. Screams still echo through the air, crickets still chirp, and everything still smells like it will give you a heart attack, but at least now I have something. A thing that Eli got for me.
He's leading the way through the crowds. He doesn't look back to make sure I'm still there—he knows I am. He just keeps walking.
He spent thirty-four dollars to win a three-dollar stuffed animal. I'm not letting it go, not anytime soon, maybe not ever. It's worth more than he will ever know.
"Hey, Eli, don't leave without me!"