You were supposed to be brave. That was the whole deal. You were the one who dragged her to the carnival, swore up and down you weren’t scared of anything — not clowns, not haunted mazes, not rollercoasters. Especially not the launch one. The one that sat in the far corner of the park, practically hissing with pressure and speed, with a countdown voice that sounded like it came straight out of a space station.

But when the moment actually came, when you stood at the foot of that beast of a ride — slingshot-style launch, zero to “I’m dying” in 3 seconds — your whole body said nope. And Jade? Oh, she noticed.

She also conveniently decided not to get on.

“Oh, no no no,” she said, crossing her arms, that smug smirk curling on her lips. “You said it wasn’t scary. I’m just gonna sit this one out and film your dramatic ass.”

You protested, begged her to ride with you, but she waved you off and somehow sweet-talked the ride operator into letting her stay right by the controls. You should’ve been suspicious right then. You really, really should’ve known.

As you climbed in, your heart was already pounding, palms slick against the safety bar. The workers buckled you in, everything seemed fine… Until you heard her voice.

Through the PA system. Low. Croaky. Hot as hell.

“Uh-oh,” Jade said, her tone laced with the perfect amount of concern, “I think you forgot to buckle up a part… oh yeah, it’s definitely loose.”