Free Cinderella Steals Home by Carly Syms

chimes and clangs of the carnival games that there's way more to it than just being a simple driving range. Picture any game you can imagine; I'm sure you'll find it here. Screaming children run in every direction and the sickening sugary smell of cotton candy turns my stomach.  
    I'm not sure if it's from the sweetness of the food or the nerves I seem to get whenever I'm around Doan.  
    But I feel my head start to pound almost instantly. Doan leads me through the maze of games and kids, and out back to a patio where we get in line to buy tickets for mini golf, bumper boats, sand volleyball courts and the batting cages.  
    "Oh, mini golf," I say without even really thinking about it. I turn to see if I can spot the courses. "I love it so much. I haven't played in such a long time."  
    He looks over at me. "Really? I do it all the time on weekends."  
    I don't know why, but this surprises me. Doan doesn't really strike me as the type to spend a Saturday night on the putt-putt course.  
    I'm about to say something else when the customer in front of us steps aside and Doan walks up to the window, pays for the cages and hands me a helmet.  
    "I have money," I say, reaching into my bag for my wallet.  
    "Don't be dumb," he replies, holding the helmet out to me.  
    "Seriously?" I ask, looking at it in his hand.
    He nods. "Same thing as in a game. Those balls are still coming at you fast, you know."  
    I sigh; I'd never balk at wearing a batting helmet in a real game, but I feel incredibly dorky putting it on over my hair now.
    Doan tucks his own helmet in the crook of his elbow and I follow him over to the batting cages.  
    "Start with this one," he says. "The pitches will come at you at 80 miles per hour." We walk inside a chain-link enclosure and he shows me where to stand on the home plate.  
    Doan feeds a machine several tokens, then takes a step back.  
    "Are you ready?" he asks, shooting me a small, unexpected smile.  
    I take a deep breath. "Ready as I'll ever be."  
    Doan gives me a funny look, but I'm barely paying attention to him right now. My knees are bent, arms about shoulder-high, bat raised above my head, eyes trained on the machine that's about to send balls flying at me from across the park.  
    The rotating arm winds up and fires the first yellow ball at me. I keep my eyes focused on it as it flies toward me. I bring my arms around and swing as hard as I can.  
    The ball hits the vinyl screen hanging on the fence behind me with a thud and I realize that I completely whiffed on the pitch.  
    I can't stop a small, frustrated sigh from squeaking out between my lips. I don't know what happened to me; I used to be money with a baseball bat in my hands. Now I can't even make enough contact with the ball to foul it off.
    "It's okay, Holly," Doan says from my left. "Just get ready for the next one."
    I square up to the machine a second time and wait for the pitch. It flies toward me and I close my eyes and hack at it.  
    I'm not surprised when it slams into the vinyl behind me.
    Doan's chuckling softly when I open my eyes.
    "That's a different strategy," he says, and I look at him sharply but there's no malice in his eyes, just a friendly, easygoing twinkle I'm not sure I ever remember seeing from him before. "But maybe we should try one that's a little bit more, uh, effective."  
    I laugh despite my frustrations. "I don't know what's wrong here."  
    He walks over to the token machine and hits the red pause button. "Okay," he says. "I know you didn't really ask for my help but I'm here and I think I have a few ideas."  
    I shrug. "It's not like I can get any worse."  
    He nods, and I think about being offended that he's agreeing that I suck but decide it isn't worth it.
    Besides, he's not wrong.  
    He comes up and stands just slightly behind me, close enough that I think I can feel his breath on the back of my neck, but I'm also not sure if that's just the warm desert breeze.
    "Right now,   your