Believe it or not, this was the first time Seto had ever left Domino City, and the first time he'd ever traveled somewhere without his little brother. Mokuba was too little to go. He'd cried and cried, and Seto had almost stayed behind, but he just couldn't pass this up.
Seto was also too young to go (technically). And too misbehaved (probably). But from the moment the orphanage staff had announced the trip, he'd shaped up. He could do that when he wanted to. He was smart, he was mature for his age, and when it came down to it, he could get his way.
Two whole months of turning the other cheek, of sequestering Mokuba in private rooms to avoid unnecessary encounters with bullies, of staying in bed all night and sitting at the freakin' homework table till every last kid finished—God, it was all paying off now!
Because Seto could see, through the grimy bus window, the spine of a dragon rising out of the trees. A real, honest-to-God roller coaster. Domino had a Ferris wheel, but that was it. Not a roller coaster.
A roller coaster! Would he be tall enough to ride it?
It was early summer, still chilly in the morning, and drowsy crowds were only starting to form at Aqua Star Amusement Park. The orphans were split into groups of four, tagged with paper wristbands, and led through the front gate. Stirring music rose from hidden speakers; park employees smiled and waved; nautical sculptures and shop windows beckoned them, drawing them in without overwhelming them.
Seto lingered in the entryway, arrested by an eddy of inspiration. It was all so perfect. The three surly teens in his group got tired of waiting and left him. Fine by Seto—if a chaperone saw him, he'd just say he got lost. How could they waltz right past all this? How did they not care?
Seto plucked a map from the nearest kiosk and unfurled it with a flick of his wrists, the way his dad used to open the newspaper. Amidst colorful icons and peppy font choices, he sensed the ghost of a blueprint manifesting before him. The symmetry, the elegance, the sheer level of detail—down to the number of steps it took to walk from one attraction to the next—wow! Just wow!
He'd read about "sight lines," about standing anywhere in a park, looking in any direction, and always finding an inviting view. He looked up from the map and followed the curves of the rooftops with his eyes. Their casual arcs flowed into a blue-gray horizon, engraved with rune-like silhouettes of rides.
More and more people poured past him—he was a twig among rapids, caught midstream. He zipped and unzipped his jacket, wired with excitement, and took his first step into paradise.
All the kids on the trip got two 500-yen coins to use in the park. They were supposed to meet the chaperones at the cafeteria for lunch and dinner, so they wouldn't have to spend the money on food—they could use it how they wanted.
It was 5:49, and the bus left at 6:30. Seto was at the opposite end of the park, alone on a bench, sulking. He hadn't gone to lunch or dinner. Instead, he'd graphed out his map (creased and earmarked to pieces by now), paced himself, and managed to see every attraction and ride every ride.
All but one.
Too short! Dammit! He hated being short! It was From the Abyss, the coaster he had seen over the trees, the one he sat beneath now—themed after an evil octopus, a menacing tangle of tentacles painted a gleaming dark pink. You had to be 137 centimeters. As straight as he could stand, he was 131. Max. Maybe, maybe more like 131.2. Not that it mattered.
A car barrelled down the track overhead, trailing screams of laughter and delight. Yeah, rub it in. Dammit. He'd been so close.
Seto sighed and rose from the bench, feeling dizzy. He chugged the rest of his ripoff, 500-yen water and crammed the bottle into a recycling bin (even the bins were designed with purpose, discreetly placed, blending seamlessly with their surroundings). He had to speed-walk the 1.8 miles to the entrance. There was another disappointment: They were leaving before the fireworks.
Half a mile from the bus, jolted as though by lightning, he remembered his promise from that morning. The only thing that had (pretty much) got his brother to stop crying. Crap!
Seto burst into the nearest gift shop. What should he get? What would Mokuba want? What could Seto afford in such an overpriced place with a measly 500 yen? Not much. He flipped over one unviable price tag after the other, tearing through the displays.
His cheap plastic watch said 6:19. That was NOT enough time. Would they wait for him? No. Even if they did, he'd never be allowed to come back. So Seto shoved his anxiety into a corner and marched to the counter. Thank God nobody was in line.
"What costs five hundred yen?" he asked the cashier, a tall guy with a ponytail and glasses.
"Huh? Five hundred?" The cashier rubbed his goatee, taking his sweet time. Then he reached under the counter. "Well, we got these overstock jumbo pencils. And keychains."
PLONK. He set it down before Seto: a container full of pencils and keychains the color of fruit punch that all bore the declaration, I SURVIVED FROM THE ABYSS.
"They got last year's date on 'em," said the cashier, shrugging. "But I can give you one apiece."
Seto had no time to curse heaven and earth and everything in between. His coin hit the counter with a clattering tailspin.
"Deal!"
The bus ride helped Seto calm down. To be honest, after doing the whole park (almost) and sprinting to the bus (he made it at 6:29) he was exhausted. He rolled his jacket into a pillow and leaned his head against the rattling window.
Beneath intermittent beams of passing streetlights, Seto inspected his haul. The pencil wasn't bad. And the keychain was kinda cool, one of those ones filled with dyed liquid with a little floating octopus inside. Mokuba couldn't read yet, anyway. He wouldn't care about the words.
The cashier had thrown in a sticker, too—a tiny starfish going down a waterslide. It was cute. Seto smiled a little. He'd ask Mokuba if he could keep this one.
He took out his map one last time. With an index finger he retraced the route he'd taken, a thoughtful, lilting motion. He wanted to study the details some more. Maybe tomorrow...he yawned. He just didn't have it in him right now.
Then he did the thing that babies did, that he was too old to keep doing but too tired to care about. He pretended his mom was there, sharing the seat with him.
"It was fun," he whispered to her. "I wanna build a park one day." He imagined her smiling down at him, playing with his hair. "I'll give you…" He yawned again. "...free passes."
His head bobbed; his hands fell limp upon the map. The last thing he noticed before he fell asleep was an odd, boxy shape among his souvenirs. It caught the light and winked at him. It looked like gold.
When had he picked that up...?
PIECE #7: THEME PARKS
Doctor's Note: This one turned out to be one of my favorite chapters. (In my mind, Seto was pretty much the shortest kid till overnight he shot up and became the tallest kid.)
Thank you for reading! - Dr. MP