Bright Lights From A Hurricane by Grace McGinty

hitching her way out of town on the northbound lane last night. We don’t know where she’s going, we can only hope she gets there safely.” He looked shattered. He shuffled toward the trailer he shared with Ruben, oddly two dimensional. I watched him go with an odd sense of regret and relief. We reopened the carnival again on Sunday, the last day of our stay in Quitman. It was predictably quiet, given the accident on the Sizzler and the subsequent local press. Even though it was the kids own fault, public opinion had swayed, and we were no longer welcomed into local businesses, and hardly anyone but the odd group of teenagers came through the gates. Ruben looked beaten down. Black smudges swept under his eyes, and he looked a decade older. Tear down began, and his face grew stormier and stormier. I could see his worry curling into anger, and I decided to stay well out of his way. Liz’s friends all gave me dirty looks and snide comments, picking up where Liz had left off. I wanted to scream at them that it wasn’t my fault, but I wasn’t so sure that that was true. Plus, a small secret part of me was glad she was gone. C H A P T E R F I V E C A I R O , G E O R G I A Carnival life went on, despite Liz’s rapid departure and the debacle of Quitman. Too many people relied on the living provided by the carnival, so everyone was extra friendly, spruiked harder and encouraged people to visit the midway in order to recoup the losses of the last stop. Dallas spent more time with me after t