Free All Fixed Up by Linda Grimes Page B

get sick, only that the “I’m having fun” part of her brain was temporarily overriding the “I’m turning green and am gonna puke” part. But I had more important things to worry about.
    Crap. Now I was glued to my seat, experiencing the g-forces for which the ride was named. Huh. Not as bad as the Vomit Comet—Billy was right about that—but still not my preferred way to spend six minutes of my life.
    During a brief period of relative calm, when I was almost certain we were right-side up, I once again attempted to tell Billy to turn around, this time using a spinning hand gesture. Bad move. The cockpit—whether coincidentally or by human intervention—seemed to take it as a signal to ramp up the rocking and rolling.
    Forget warning Billy. If Loughlin didn’t kill him, I would.
    *   *   *
    Molly and I exited the ladies’ room on legs a lot steadier than when we’d stumbled in after the ride. Neither one of us had actually tossed our cookies, thanks to the judicious application of cold water to our necks and wrists, but it was close.
    I hadn’t noticed Billy—or Loughlin either—between the ride and the restroom. Then again, finding either of them hadn’t exactly been paramount in my mind right then. Or Molly’s. But now our stomachs were settled, and I had a thing or two I wanted to say to my significant other.
    Which would be a lot easier to do if he hadn’t disappeared.
    â€œMan, I can’t wait to tell Sinead and Siobhan we did it without puking,” Molly said, her natural ebullience returning along with the color in her face. Kids. They bounce back fast. “Now maybe they’ll take me on the Cyclone next time we go to Coney Island!”
    Better them than me. “Let me know if you need me to back up your story. Say, do you see your brother anywhere?”
    She craned her neck, searching every direction. “No. Huh. Wonder where he went. Hey, I know—he’s probably in the other simulator.” She ran back, ducking between tourists. I stuck to her heels, an uneasy feeling building inside me, one that had nothing to do with motion sickness and everything to do with sudden, overwhelming worry.
    Both g-force simulators were in full swing; neither monitor showed Billy in a cockpit. Had he picked up on my warning about Loughlin? Was he following him right now?
    I dug my phone out of pocket and called him, leading Molly by the hand toward the nearest exit, and heard the nearby strains of Randy Newman’s “Short People”—Billy’s special ringtone for me. He’d teased me with that annoying song for years when we were growing up, and claimed he was sentimentally attached to it. He had to be close. I twirled in place, dragging Molly around in circles with me. Still no sign of Billy.
    â€œThere!” Molly said, pointing down. On the floor, near the Plexiglas barrier to the simulators, was Billy’s phone, faceup, with a picture of my smiling, lightly freckled face on the screen, playing the opening notes of the Newman song over and over.
    A cold fear slithered down my spine. Where was Billy?

 
    Chapter 7
    My phone buzzed in my hand, quickly followed by the James Bond theme song. Billy (of course) had programmed it into my phone as a ringtone for Mark, whom I could only hope was calling to tell me he’d had to pull Billy away suddenly, and was now looking to retrieve his dropped cell phone for him.
    â€œTell Billy I found it,” I said. “You know, if I were inclined to take a page from Mom’s handbook, I’d mention losing his phone was God’s punishment for setting me up on that god-awful ride.”
    â€œHowdy, what are you talking about? I’m calling because I couldn’t get through to Billy, and I knew he had planned to spend time with you and Molly today. Are you telling me he’s not with you?”
    Cue the return of the cold fear.