Before

He didn't see the girl again, even after the show.

He'd been ambushed with a few customers while the show was going on, and apparently time had flown by because by the time the sword-swallowers had declared their exit, she and her brothers were gone.

Maybe there had been an emergency they had to attend to. Or maybe they'd just gotten bored and decided to go home. It was getting late, and no one could stand being out in the heat for longer than necessary.

He was sure his entire face was sunburnt by now. His skin had turned golden from all the days he'd spent in the sun, but it wasn't doing him in any good now. He just knew he looked like a boiled lobster.

The carnival closed at nine. People started filing out at around eight thirty, and workers began packing up their booths for the night. He did the same, returning to the camper to find his father counting out the money they'd made this past week.

Stacks of bills sat on the small wooden table in the center of the kitchen. Hank hadn't even looked up from his counting to acknowledge his son come in. He was saying the numbers under his breath, and Patrick wasn't daring enough to say a thing, too afraid of messing up his counting.

He stalked towards the fridge silently and helped himself to a cold bottle of water. He twisted off the cap and took a swig, his eyes latched onto the money on the table.

Lots and lots of money, yet no food in the fridge.

He shoved his anger inside a box and taped it shut. He wasn't in the mood to get into an argument with his father about his spending habits. His stomach grumbled, but he ignored it and walked off to his small bunker.

Nights like this were normal for him. There were a few days in the week where he didn't eat much, maybe an apple to hold himself over. He was lucky if he found sandwich meat in the fridge and half a loaf of bread on the table.

His father still didn't acknowledge him. He most likely hadn't even noticed he walked in. Sighing, Patrick flopped back onto his bed and willed himself to stare at the ceiling of the camper until he drifted off.

All that he dreamt of was a pair of captivating green eyes.

——————

A week later, an hour before the carnival closed, the girl returned.

She looked exactly the same as last time, aside from the new hoodie she was sporting. It swallowed her whole and fell to her knees. Even in the ninety degree weather, her skin was as pale as snow.

He'd almost toppled over behind his booth when he saw her. He hadn't expected to ever see her again, but that didn't stop him from hoping she would one day show up.

"Hey, Wonder Boy," she grinned, showcasing her pearly whites. "Nice to see you again."

His heart was pounding so loudly he was sure even she could hear it. He felt the tips of his ears grow hot. "It's Boy Wonder," he corrected her half-heartedly.

She shrugged. "Same thing."

He didn't bother to correct her again. Instead he drank her in, from her silky-looking hair down to her sneaker-clad feet.

She was truly beautiful. He'd seen many beautiful girls roam the carnival, but none of them compared to her.

He cleared his throat, trying his best to overcome his nervousness. He'd never been tongue-tied before. This girl bring things out of him he hadn't even known existed.

"I see you didn't bring your brothers this time." He didn't stumble his words like he'd expected to, but he knew his cheeks were as red as they felt.

"They're all busy," she said, picking at a chipped fingernail. "Or at least as busy as kids under the age of ten can be."

"Ah." His eyes fell on her hands. Dainty fingers but dirty nails, as if she'd been digging in dirt. He smiled at the thought.

"So, who all have you managed to fool with your trickery today?" She plopped down in the grass with no hesitation, immediately picking at the blades to give her hands something to do.

She talked to him as if they'd been friends forever, even though they'd only met once. And strangely, he didn't mind it.

If anything, it made his chest bloom with warmth to think that she already considered him a friend.

"It's not trickery," he insisted, slipping out from behind his booth to meet her in the grass. "What I do is one hundred percent real."

She snorted adorably. "Please. Other people may be stupid enough to believe your act, but I'm not."

"You believed it the other day, when I told you about your mom."

"It wasn't really that hard to figure out." She ripped out a blade of grass and studied it like it was a rare flower. "So you guessed that my mom died. Do you want a medal?"

"I also figured out your home life."

"Yeah, abused by an alcoholic father. I'm sure this is the first time you've heard something like that." Her words dripped with sarcasm.

"No," he admitted, "it's not. But I'd be lying if I said I didn't care."

Her eyes shot up to his. An emotion he couldn't read danced across them before they darted back to the grass.

Quickly, she changed the subject. "So. Have you figured out my name yet?"

He would never admit it to her, but he'd spent the past week trying to guess her name. It wouldn't leave his mind, so whenever his brain wasn't filled with other things, he used it to think of what her name could be.

"It starts with T," he stated with certainty. "At first, I thought something unique, like Tamara, but then I realized that while you are unique, that isn't a name you've be given. It has to be something warm. Free-spirited, because that's exactly who your mother would want you to become. Nourishing, because she'd want you to be selfless and caring."

Her emerald eyes are fixed on his, slightly wide with surprise. He knows he's on the right track.

"It took me a while, but I feel like this name suits you the best, and your mom definitely thought the same. She knew who you'd become. She guessed you'd be like Mother Teresa, thus your name is Teresa."

Her mouth dropped open. "That's...actually really cool," she admitted, her lips quirking up into an impressed smile. "How do you do that?"

"If I tell you, I'd have to kill you," he joked, mirroring her smile. He still felt like a lovesick idiot, but he no longer felt embarrassed around her. She made it easy to be himself.

The last person to do that was his mother.

He tried not to focus so much on the freckles painting her face. "Do you enjoy coming here?"

She gave an indifferent shrug. "It's alright. I mostly come here with my brothers. They love this place."

"Lots of kids do," he nodded. "If I wasn't born a carnival kid, I might love it too."

Her eyes drifted to one of the fried food stands. The air smelled of chili cheese dogs and funnel cake. "You were forced to do this? The Boy Wonder stuff?"

"Pretty much," he sighed. "I never really had much of a choice. My father basically breathes this place. He wouldn't leave the carnie life for anything, except maybe money."

"No offense, but it doesn't sound too great, working here all day, every day." Her eyes met his again, head tilted to the side. "I'd probably die of boredom or heat stroke."

"I've come close," he grimaced. "But the money is good, so I guess I can't complain."

Silence surrounded them like a fog, but it wasn't awkward or uncomfortable. He'd love to sit with her like this forever, but unfortunately that was impossible.

The rumbling of her stomach soon broke the silence. She looked up sheepishly, her cheeks tinted pink. Her long eyelashes brushed her cheeks when she blinked and he felt his heart nearly catapult out of his chest.

"Someone's hungry," he chuckled, pushing himself off the ground and dusting off his khaki shorts. "Come on, let's get you something to eat."

"It's fine," she waved him off. "I'll eat when I get home. Besides, I don't have any money."

"Did I say you needed money?" He flashed her a mischievous grin. "Working at a carnival does have its perks."

She raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

He held out his hand for her to take. As soon as he took her small hand in his, a jolt of electricity shot up his arm, leaving a tingly feeling behind.

He ignored the sudden rush and pulled her to one of the food trucks. A beer-bellied man popped his head out to greet them, his eyes lighting up once they landed on Patrick.

"Patty, my boy!" He grinned, revealing a chipped front tooth. "What can I do for ya?"

Patrick smiled at the man's enthusiasm. He'd always liked Ted. He was like the father he wished his own was. Loving and giving and nice to everyone around him.

"Could we get two hot dogs please?" He gestured between Teresa and himself.

Ted's eyes suddenly fell on Teresa, and his smile grew even bigger. "Well, I'll be. Never thought I'd see the day of Patrick getting himself a sweetheart."

"We're just friends," the two tweens exclaimed simultaneously, sharing a shy glance afterwards.

Teresa was the first to look away. "We just met a week ago," she informed Pete.

"Ah," Ted nodded, but Patrick could tell he didn't believe they were just friends. "Well, two hotdogs coming right up."

He turned away from them to prepare the hot dogs. The sun was glaring down on them, and he desperately wished Teresa didn't look so miserable in her fully-clothed state. The hoodie she was wearing was in no way good for this heat, but she refused to take it off.

The bruises.

His fists clenched at his sides. He didn't want to think about her being abused at home, especially from someone who was supposed to love and care for her. There were no excuses for a father, or for anybody, to hurt someone else.

"Two hotdogs," Ted called to them, ripping him out of his thoughts.

He took both from the man's outstretched hand. "Thanks, Ted. How much do I owe you?"

Ted shook his head. "It's on me. Have fun, you two."

Patrick tipped his head in thanks and handed one of the hot dogs to Teresa. As they walked back to the Boy Wonder booth, he couldn't stop the question from tumbling out of his mouth.

"Why don't you tell someone?"

Her eyes snapped up from her food, locking with his, wide and confused. "What?"

He wet his lips. "The bruises," he said softly. "Why don't you tell someone about the abuse?"

She shook her head, locks of dark hair falling into her face like a curtain. "There's no one to tell. No one who will care, I mean."

"Someone will care."

"I don't want to tell someone," she snapped. "If I do, my father will go to prison, and me and my brothers will be put in foster care. They could be taken away from each other, taken away from me. I won't do it. I won't."

He frowned. She cared about her brothers dearly, possibly more than she cared about anything else. She'd sustain all the abuse as long as it meant she'd be with them.

He approached his next question carefully. "Your father...does he hit your brothers?"

"No." She stared at her uneaten hotdog. "I always step in before he can. He can hurt me all he wants, but he won't lay a hand on them."

"That's noble of you." He looked at her again, and she met his gaze warily. "You don't deserve to be hurt. I hope you know that."

Her green eyes held so many secrets, like a book he was dying to read. Instead of agreeing with him, she simply plopped down on the grass and said, "I forgot to get ketchup."

"Not a mustard girl, huh?" He teased.

She scrunched her nose in disgust. "Ugh, no."

He chuckled and went to get some ketchup for her, extra, because he could sense she'd smother the hotdog in the stuff. When he got back, he handed it to her and she accepted it with a smile that tickled his chest.

"Thanks." Just as he'd predicted, she lathered the hotdog with ketchup, the meat not even visible after she was done. "Y'know, you're kind of cool, Wonder Boy. Just a little."

He watched her with a grin, his own hotdog left untouched, because he didn't want to tear his gaze from her. "You're kind of cool too. Just a little."