Between rides—none were so terrible and terrific as The Monster—they had a soft-serve ice cream cone. They sat on a bench and licked their cones, happily people-watching.
Suddenly, Zing yelped and grabbed the top of her head. Something was happening. Something bad. The top of her head was going to explode. “Oh, it hurts! What’s happening to me? Is my brain going to blow up?”
Miracle laughed. “No, silly, you just have a brain freeze. Stick your thumb on the roof of your mouth.”
“Huh?”
“Stick your thumb in your mouth and suck on it.”
“Why?” Zing said.
“I don’t know why. It just works. Do it,” Miracle commanded.
Zing stuck her thumb in her mouth and sucked. After a few seconds her brain warmed back up.
“Better?” Miracle asked. She had chocolate ice cream on her chin. It looked like a little chocolate soul patch.
Zing nodded. “I didn’t know ice cream was so dangerous.”
“Just don’t eat it so fast.”
“Can I have another one?”
“One’s enough, Zing. Haven’t you ever heard the saying ‘too much of a good thing?’”
“Nope. You have some ice cream on your chin,” Zing said.
“I’m saving it for a snack later,” Miracle joked.
“That’s a good idea,” Zing said. She stuck a blob of ice cream on her own chin.
“I was kidding,” Miracle said, taking a napkin and wiping it off Zing’s chin.
“Oh.”
“Don’t do everything people tell you. It’s dangerous,” Miracle said.
“I did what you told me to do. You told me to get on the rollercoaster and then the Tea Cups and those are dangerous, but I did it.”
Miracle smiled. “I’m different. You can do what I tell you. Come on, there’s a few more rides I want to take you on.” She shoved the rest of the cone in her mouth in one big bite. Zing did the same.
***
Zing lay in bed marveling at the soft smoothness of the sheets. Miracle had given her a new toothbrush, toiletries, some of her ex’s old clothes, and put her in the guest room. Zing was wearing pajamas that had pictures of fluffy little sheep on them. The sheep were jumping over a fence. The pajamas felt really good against her skin.
The thick volume of The Guardian Angel’s Handbook sat on the nightstand. When she glanced at it she felt a pang of guilt. She was supposed to be reading it, but so far all she’d done was go to the world’s best amusement park.
Guilt was a new sensation. It felt bad in her tummy. Zing wondered if it would go away like the scared feeling had gone away on the rollercoaster. Scared had been replaced by exhilaration. Was there a way to stop the guilt and replace it with a different feeling? Maybe if she sucked her thumb it would go away.
“Did you have fun?” Annabelle asked.
Zing jumped. She saw Annabelle perched on top of the dresser. “What are you doing here?”
“I have a message from Bertha,” Annabelle said.
“Oh? How is she?” Zing asked in a futile attempt to derail the conversation. After she said it, she reconsidered her question—perhaps it wasn’t a good one. Bertha had only agreed under much duress and an obvious sense of foreboding to allow Zing a day on earth in a human body. Zing had promised with much hand-wringing and even more tears to remedy what her inattentiveness had done to Nell.
“She’s peeved because you haven’t returned yet and instead you’re down here having fun.” Annabelle picked up the thick book from the nightstand.
“She sent you here to tell me to stop having fun?” Zing patted the space next to her on the bed. “Sit here. It’s a lot more comfortable than the dresser.”
Annabelle joined Zing on the bed. Zing fluffed up one of the feather pillows and placed it behind Annabelle’s head. “Comfy?”
“I’ll say. Pillows are soft,” Annabelle said.
“Yes, they are,” Zing said. She wanted to keep Annabelle off task. Usually, it wasn’t a hard thing to do. All you had to do was divert her attention. “There’re lots of wonderful things here. Feel the sheets,” she said running her hands over them. Annabelle did the same.
Annabelle snapped out of it. “I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to distract me,” Annabelle said. “But it won’t work.”
“Oh yeah?” Zing said. She grabbed her pillow and hit Annabelle right in the face with it.
Annabelle shook her head and sputtered, “Why’d you do that?”
“It’s called a pillow fight. Miracle told me about them. It’s something friends do when they share a bed. Now hit me with your pillow.”