Cotton Candy

The wind is loud today.

It pushes my hair into my eyes and makes the swings squeak like they’re talking to each other. I wish it would stop.

Mommy said I could play until she came back, but not if it got too windy. She doesn’t like it when the wind is loud.

“I’ll be quick,” she said, kneeling in front of me and fixing my jacket zipper. “I just need to buy the things for your cake. Then we’ll go home and make it together.”

I like making food with Mommy. I get to pour things, and sometimes she lets me lick the spoon even though she pretends she doesn’t see me do it.

But I also like the swings. I like how my feet don’t touch the ground all the way and how my stomach feels floaty at the top.

“Okay,” I told her. I promised to stay where she could see me, even though she was already walking away.

The wind pushes me higher. I lean back and look at the sky. It’s white today, not blue, like it forgot what color it’s supposed to be.

I kick my legs harder.

“Hey there.”

The voice makes my feet stop in the air. The swing keeps moving, but slower now. I grab the chains so I don’t fall.

“Whatcha doing?”

I turn my head. Someone is standing near the fence, where the grass turns into dirt.

He has dark hair that sticks up in places like he forgot to brush it. His eyes are dark too. He’s holding something fluffy on a stick.

“I’m playing,” I say. “On the swings.”

He smiles. His teeth are very white. “Yeah, I see that. I’m Bobby.”

“Oh.” I think for a second. “I’m Myla.”

I drag my feet on the ground to stop the swing and hop off. He’s closer now. He’s tall.

“How old are you?” I ask. Tall people are always older.

“Six,” he says. “What about you?”

“I’m turning five tomorrow,” I say. I can’t stop smiling. Saying it out loud makes it more real.

“Tomorrow?” he says. “That’s cool.”

“It’s my favorite day of the year,” I tell him. “I get gifts, I get cake, and Mommy lets me stay up late.”

He nods like he understands. I look at the fluffy thing in his hand. It’s green. I’ve never seen green cotton candy before. Cotton candy is supposed to be pink. Or blue.

“Is that cotton candy?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he says. “Want some?”

My mouth fills up with water. I nod before I remember to think.

“Here,” he says, holding it out. “You can have it.”

“All of it?” I ask.

“I ate too much already,” he says. “It makes my teeth hurt.”

“Thank you,” I say. My fingers get sticky when I take it. It smells sweet and makes my nose tickle.

I take a big bite. It disappears in my mouth like it’s not even there.

“It’s really good,” I say, even though my mouth is full.

He laughs a little. “Careful. You’ll get it everywhere.”

I look down. My jacket has green spots on it now.

“Oops,” I say.

He doesn’t seem mad.

“Do you live near here?” he asks.

“I live with my mommy,” I say. “She went to the store. She’s getting stuff for my cake.”

“Oh,” he says. He looks around the park, then back at me. “That’s fun.”

“Do you want to come to my birthday?” I ask. “I can ask Mommy.”

He pauses. Just for a second. Then he smiles again. “Yeah. That sounds fun.”

I finish the cotton candy. My fingers are very sticky now. I lick them even though I know I shouldn’t.

“I want more,” I say. “Where did you get it?”

“There’s a store over there,” he says, pointing past the trees. “I bought it there. I still have money.”

I look in the direction he’s pointing. I can’t see the store, but I can see a big truck parked near the road.

“I don’t know,” I say. “Mommy said I have to stay where she can see me.”

“It’s just behind that tree,” he says. “We’ll be right back. She won’t even know.”

I think about Mommy’s face when she gets mad. Her mouth goes thin, but she always hugs me after.

I think about the cotton candy.

“Okay,” I say.

We walk together. The ground feels bumpy under my shoes. The wind sounds different over here, like it’s stuck.

My stomach feels funny. Like when I spin too much.

“You okay?” Bobby asks.

“I think so,” I say. “My tummy hurts a little.”

“You probably ate it too fast,” he says. “Hey—wait.”

He stops suddenly.

“What?” I ask.

His face changes. He looks past me, toward the park.

“There’s a dog,” he says. “A big one. I saw it earlier.”

I turn around fast. “I don’t see it.”

“It’s coming this way,” he says. “We should hide.”

My heart starts beating faster. I remember a dog that barked at me once and made me cry.

“Where?” I ask.

“Behind that truck,” he says. “Come on.”

He takes my hand. It’s tight, he’s probably scared too.

We start moving faster.

I hear yelling now. Loud voices.

“That’s probably because of the dog,” Bobby says. “Hurry.”

The ground moves under my feet. I grab his arm.

“Whoa,” he says, putting his arm around my waist. “Careful. Don’t fall.”

His arm is tight, but I think it’s because he’s helping me move faster.

“I want my mommy,” I say.

“She’s fine,” he says quickly. “We’re almost there.”

My ears ring. Everything feels slow. The truck looks very big now.

The yelling gets louder.

“Don’t look,” Bobby says. “Just run.”

He moves faster. Too fast. His hand presses into my side, and it hurts.

“Stop,” I say, but it comes out quiet.

I hear someone shout.

“Hey!”

They’re probably yelling at the dog.

Hands grab Bobby. Someone pulls me away.

I try to scream, but my mouth won’t work right.

Everything blurs. The sky spins.

The last thing I hear is someone shouting a name I don’t recognize.

“Robert Westley, you are under arrest—”

Then everything goes dark.

---

When I wake up, the room smells like soap. The lights are bright and hurt my eyes. I’m lying on a bed with white sheets tucked in tight.

My head feels heavy.

“Mom?” I whisper.

She’s right there. Sitting in a chair next to me. Her hair is messy. Her eyes look red.

“Oh, baby,” she says, standing up fast. “You’re awake.”

She hugs me very carefully, like I might break.

“My tummy hurts,” I say.

“I know,” she says. “You’re safe now.”

There’s a policeman standing near the door. He has kind eyes and a soft voice.

“Hi, Myla,” he says. “I’m John.”

“Uncle John?” I ask.

He smiles. “Something like that.”

“Can you tell us what you remember?” he asks.

I think hard.

“I was playing on the swings,” I say. “And I met Bobby.”

My mom goes very still.

“He gave me cotton candy,” I continue. “It was green.”

John nods slowly. “And then?”

“We were going to get more,” I say. “But my tummy hurt. And there was a dog. We were trying to run and hide from it.”

My mom puts her hand over her mouth.

“Who is Bobby, honey?” she asks softly.

“He’s my friend,” I say. “I met him today.”

My mom closes her eyes.

“Myla,” she says. “What did we say about talking to strangers?”

“But Mommy,” I say. “You said kids are okay. And he said he was six.”

Her face crumples. She turns away.

“Mrs. Hayes,” John says gently. “Maybe you should step outside.”

“No,” she says. She wipes her face and looks at me again. Her smile is shaky. “Baby… who told you he was six?”

“He did,” I say.

She nods slowly.

“You did nothing wrong,” she says. “Nothing.”

Mommy sits beside me and strokes my hair.

“Mommy?” I ask.

“Yes, baby?”

“Can Bobby come to my birthday tomorrow?”

She freezes for a moment, then pulls me into her arms.

“We’ll talk about it later,” she says softly.

I smile.

I feel sleepy again.

As I drift off, I hear uncle John talking quietly.

“He won’t hurt her,” he says. “Or anyone else. Ever again.”

“Thank you,” my mom whispers. “Thank you for being there.”

---

Later, I wake up and the room is dark. A little light comes through the door as it opens.

Uncle John stands there and smiles at me. I smile back. He doesn’t come all the way in.

“Where’s Mommy?” I ask.

“She went to get some food,” he says. “She’ll be back soon.”

Then he looks behind him. “But there’s someone here who wanted to see you.”

My eyes feel heavy and scratchy. Everything is fuzzy. I blink, and the shape next to him gets clearer.

“Bobby!”