Pretty Wanted by Elisa Ludwig

bird was supposed to represent love and fairness for the “least” among us. And the words were Missouri’s state motto.
    Remembering, I touched my own little bird pendant, making sure it was still with me.
    “Can we go? I want to see what else is in here.” Aidan was like a little kid, bouncing on the balls of his feet. I told him no screwing around, but who was I to deny him? This place, with its colors and textures and unexpected treasures at every turn, was completely awesomesauce.
    We passed into an indoor “skateless” area, a skateboard park where you could run around.
    “Tre would love this,” I said out loud, and the thought of him brought on a pang of homesickness. I missed him, and I worried that he wasn’t in our corner anymore.
    “Forget that guy,” Aidan said, like it was that easy. “He dissed us.”
    “He didn’t diss us,” I said. “He’s just doing what’s best for him.”
    “Well, I’m doing what’s best for you,” Aidan said.
    Was he, though? Or was he using me to get back at his parents?
    With that thought, I felt my mood darken again. Aidan, however, was too busy pulling me onward to the next room, which was filled with carnival memorabilia from the twentieth century. We walked through a neon-lit area called the Shrine of Shameless Hucksterism.
    To our right was an old-school machine with a gypsy lady hovering over a crystal ball pulsing light. She beckoned us over with jerky robotic movements. Aidan pressed the button on the front of the console. Her glittering head rotated back and forth, her manicured hands opening over the ball as she “looked” into our future. A ticket popped out of the machine.
    BEHIND EVERY STORY IS A CHAPTER UNTOLD . KEEP AN EYE ON THE THINGS YOU CARE ABOUT . PASSION IS THE ENEMY OF GOOD JUDGMENT .
    “Generic,” Aidan said, handing the thick card to me.
    Reading it again, I couldn’t be so sure. I put the fortune in my pocket, just in case. Anything right now could be a sign, good or bad. Was she talking about me and Aidan? Or something else?
    I turned around and Aidan was gone. Completely out of sight. Where did he go? I turned around a full three hundred and sixty degrees. Suddenly, my head was spinning. It was too much, the lights, the people, the action. I was overstimulated, underrested. Everything was hitting at once.
    I turned and then pivoted again. Still no Aidan. Had he left me here? Without him, I was really lost.
    I passed by pinball machines, blinking arcade games, clattering hockey tables. People’s faces loomed large in front of me. Colors blurred together. My legs felt unsteady. I thought I might faint so I closed my eyes and counted to ten, told myself this wasn’t really happening.
    When I opened them again, he was right in front of me, carrying a paper bag. Almost like I conjured him up. “There you are,” he said.
    There I was ?
    “I think—I think I need to sit,” I said.
    He grasped my shoulder. “Okay. But let’s find our hiding spot first.”
    It was close to five P . M . and the museum was shutting down and the crowds began to disperse. There were innumerable places to choose from, really—the whole place was like a jungle. We ducked into a supply closet on the second floor, behind the snack bar. Our backs were pressed up against shelves of paper goods, ketchup bottles, and sugar packets. It was dark and uncomfortable, but even so, I was glad to be out of the chaos and into the quiet. Here, I could at least regain control over my senses.
    On the other side of the door, we could hear chairs being propped on tables, brooms sweeping, the voices of gossiping employees.
    Eventually, all of that died down, the lights outside the door flicked off and footsteps echoed away. We waited for what felt like another hour, not daring to speak to each other, just to be sure. Sweat dampened my hairline and my palms. I felt Aidan next to me all the while, his muscles as tense as mine. All it would take was one security guard, one