The Nowhere Fair
The silence in Layla’s bedroom wasn’t peaceful; it was suffocating. At sixteen years old, being grounded meant that her entire world had shrunk to these four lilac walls. The soft glow of the device she wasn’t supposed to be using lit up her face as she lay nestled beneath her covers.
She could hear the distant murmurs of her parents downstairs through the floorboards of the townhouse. Sending her to her room early didn’t bother her, since usually she’d be down there washing dishes. Punishments rarely made sense when her father was the one doling them out, which was why he’d only taken her phone away and forgotten to take her tablet.
She couldn’t blame him for forgetting, since she rarely used it anymore. But it would help her get through the next couple of days of being stuck in the house. It was Friday night, and she was trying not to think about all of her friends getting ready to go to Emily’s party. This morning, she hadn’t even really wanted to go, but now, the thought of not being there made her want to cry - though she’d never admit that to anyone.
She didn’t know whether to be relieved or annoyed that she couldn’t get onto her Instagram account on the tablet. She was locked out, couldn’t remember her password, and the two-factor authentication would be sent to her phone. That was okay, though; she didn’t need to see pictures of everyone living their best lives. Instead, she opened up Facebook. This was much kinder to her in terms of jealousy. Most of her “friends”on this app were old - mainly relatives, former dance instructors, and friends of her parents. Kids her age didn’t really use Facebook; most only had it so that their parents could tag photos of them.
She began scrolling absentmindedly, clicking links here and there, looking at photos, and clicking on random tagged faces. Soon, she found herself in a deep dive of her former neighbor’s ex-girlfriend. Cody, a boy she had lived next door to for several years, had moved to upstate New York back when Layla was in middle school. They hadn’t kept in touch, and she only lingered on his profile for a moment before a girl he used to date caught her eye.
Her name was Carley Merritt. Scrolling back through her timeline, Layla tracked the years of photos and events. There was Cody’s high school graduation in 2024. Then, college acceptance posts. Carley had gone on to CUNY, but as Layla swiped further into the grid, the personal updates vanished. Carley didn’t post anything of her own anymore. Instead, she was always tagged by others. This wasn’t unusual though for college students. Most preferred instagram.
Carley was in high school in the first pictures Layla swiped through, but she looked so sophisticated. Layla thought maybe they’d be friends if they met, but then told herself that was probably wishful thinking. She looked nothing like Layla or Layla’s friends. And, honestly, Layla and her friends were popular girls. But this girl was different. She did not look like the type of girl to be grounded by her parents or to be stuck at home on a Friday night internet-stalking strangers.
Carley had straight, chocolate-brown hair that hung past her shoulders with long, thick, blunt bangs that perfectly framed her face. Her nose was slender, ever-so-slightly upturned, and she had the prettiest green eyes. Carley seemed like she’d be into crystals and carry a hobo bag. In every photo of her from high school, she appeared effortlessly cool.
Putting the tablet down, Layla sat up in bed and reached for her water. Taking a huge sip, she stared at the night outside her window. She could hear car horns, people chatting, and a dog barking - all normal sounds for Brooklyn at this time of night. As a child, she would sometimes lie in bed, close her eyes, and try to zero in on one voice. She’d imagine the person it belonged to, what they were wearing, where they were going. She’d pretend she was following them; maybe they’d been out walking their dog and were heading into their home, chatting on the phone. She’d dream up names and jobs - entire lives for the people outside her window. She thought that was sort of what she was doing now: imagining an entire personality for a girl based off of three-year-old photos.
Lying back down, she picked up the tablet and proceeded further down the rabbit hole.
Hours later, she was flipping through Carley’s most recent photos. While she didn’t share much on social media, she was occasionally tagged in family photos around birthdays or holidays. In her sophomore year, she went to Paris. She played rugby one year. She dated a poet and went to his open-mic nights until they broke up. Still, Carley didn’t post. She was always tagged by others in their photos or at locations, as though they sought the documented proof of being tethered to her at some point in time.
Layla realized that for the people in the photos, it probably wasn’t that deep. Carley was just an ordinary friend, like everyone else. But right now, to her, Carley seemed iconic.
Over the past two years on Carley’s timeline, one thing was consistent. Each month, a girl named Nadia would post a new photo of Carley and a couple of other girls and tag the location. The photos were always similar: girls lined up together, arms entwined, various different outfits, different seasons, sometimes with drinks in their hands. Always smiling, laughing, living. Several of the photos were taken with the sun shining on their faces and some at night. The group of names was always the same, and the location was always the same: “The Nowhere Fair.”
Scanning the background of the photos, Layla could make out a narrow, colorful street or alley lined on both sides with what looked like vendors. Pop-up tents dotted the sidewalks. Brick buildings loomed along each side. In the nighttime shots, strings of lights draped from the brick facades glittered, lacing their way across the narrow alleyway above the girls’ heads.
Zoomed in on one particular photo, Layla saw a woman selling beaded jewelry to the left of Carley, who was wearing a dark green and blue crop top, a chunky gold chain lying on the tanned skin of her collarbone. Layla longed to be this girl. To not be trapped in her bedroom, alone, on a Friday night. To be surrounded by friends who dressed like they were in a fashion magazine. What did they talk about? What were their lives like? She closed her eyes for a moment and imagined the low, rumbling chatter of the crowded street, light music carrying on the breeze, and the way Carley’s friends might laugh while posing.
Layla had never heard of the Nowhere Fair, though it looked like a pretty cool place. She imagined it was in the city, judging by the rest of Carley’s activities. While she was hesitant to leave Carley’s page, she was eager to see if even more fascinating people were tagged in photos at this location. Curiosity won as her finger hovered over the tagged location in blue on her tablet. Then, she clicked…
For a beat, her tablet lagged, the screen freezing. Then, everything went white. Not just on her tablet, but around her, beyond her tablet - the lilac walls of her room, everything, white - with a single loading icon spinning in the center of the screen. Layla gasped, flinching and looking up. In that single second, everything changed.
Suddenly, she was surrounded by people. Slow, smooth jazz music filled her ears. She froze in absolute shock. Her hands still held her tablet, white knuckles grasping it. She glanced down, then back up, her heart hammering. She frantically stabbed at the only thing left on the screen - a giant ‘X’.
With that, she was back in her room, lying on her bed. She shot straight up and clutched her chest. Holy shit. What the hell was that? She looked around her, as if there might be some answer. Had she fallen asleep? She must have dozed off, that was it. Yet, she could still smell the sweet, thick cinnamon in the air, and could still feel the warm night air on her face.
She carefully lifted her tablet off the bed and gazed at the screen, which was once again displaying the photo of Carley and her glamorous friends. She wasn’t sure what came over her or where the courage came from, but without stopping to think, she tapped the location link again. Almost instantly this time, everything went white, and once again she was in the crowded street, soft music playing nearby.
Sucking in a deep breath, she took in her surroundings. People roamed between the booths and down the street. In addition to the sweet, inviting cinnamon was the deep, mossy scent of patchouli. Together, the fragrances filled the air with an intoxicating warmth that made the scene feel entirely unreal. Glancing at the tablet she was clenching, the words “Welcome to the Nowhere Fair” scrolled slowly up the screen and then faded out. The screen went dark, reflecting only the soft glow of the lights swaying in the breeze overhead.
Layla hugged the tablet to her chest, keenly aware that this was her tether back to her life. Then, more curious than afraid, she took a step forward. The world moved with her; she didn’t land back in her bedroom. It was as though she was actually at the Nowhere Fair.
Slowly, she made her way through the alley and then turned back to face the path she had just traveled. Crowds of men and women shopped, laughed, ate, and drank. People smiled at her, bumped into her, muttered quick apologies, and rushed past.
Lightheaded now, she sat on the steps of a nearby brownstone. She lost track of time watching people move throughout the street - some swaying to the music, some clinging to the arms of companions, each seemingly intoxicated with life.
And then she saw a flash of blue and green off to the left, next to a man selling vintage records on a table. A flash of white teeth in a bright smile, gold glinting against tanned skin. Carley.
Layla was on her feet, moving toward the girls from the photo without realizing what she was doing or what she would do. As she neared, she saw the woman selling beaded jewelry behind Carley. The girls were all laughing - one too loud, one too much, another just barely. But Carley laughed freely, her head tipping back ever so slightly before leveling and tilting to the left for the photo. A man with a camera slung around his neck took the shot, then took another. He handed one of Carley’s friends a card and disappeared into the crowd. A small, blonde-haired girl grabbed Carley’s hand and pointed into a nearby storefront. Carley gave the faintest nod and smile, allowing herself to be led inside. Layla didn’t follow, but she didn’t stop watching.
At the threshold of the shop, Carley paused, a manicured hand resting on the doorframe, and looked behind her. Her green eyes scanned the crowd, searching it for a moment, and then she took a step backward into the shop and turned away.
Something about the finality of that moment gave Layla goosebumps. She watched as the doorway blinked into total darkness, with no sign of the storefront that had lain beyond just moments ago.
With a sudden sense of urgency, Layla hit the ‘X’ in the center of her tablet. The lilac walls of her bedroom came rushing in around her. Her room was dark, dead silent, and devoid of any scent or sound. With her heart hammering against her ribs, she picked up her tablet. The screen was frozen on the photo, the blue geotag laughing up at her.
October 2024. Two years ago.
A cold sweat broke out across the back of her neck. It didn’t make sense. It was impossible. You couldn’t click a link and be transported through time. Her mind rejected the experience, telling her she had dozed off, that it was a hallucination brought on by the suffocating silence of being grounded. But her skin was still warm from the city air. Her lungs still burned with the ghost of patchouli and cinnamon. It wasn’t a dream. And that terrifying acceptance made her stomach drop.
She didn’t sleep for the rest of the night. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw those green eyes scanning the crowd. The next morning, driven by both a desperate need for confirmation and urge to get out of her room, Layla pulled on a hoodie, grabbed her backpack, and snuck out of her house while her parents were out shopping. The concept of sneaking out while grounded felt ridiculous when compared to the fact that she had gone to a strange street fair in the middle of the night.
Following the route she’d planned, she took a bus to the location she’d copied from Carley’s tagged photos - from the link to the “Nowhere Fair.” The ride was a blur of gray highway, concrete barriers, traffic cones, and endless clatter, her dread mounting with each passing stop. When she finally disembarked, she walked quickly toward St. Mark’s Place.
As she turned the corner, her breath immediately caught. The street was identical. The dark brick facades, the narrow roadway, the exact shape of the brownstone steps where she’d just sat hours before.
But there was no fair. No marketplace. No strings of glittering lights or vendor stalls. No heady aromas and no jazz music echoing between the brick facades. The throngs of people were gone, replaced by the cold, harsh daylight and a couple of lone pedestrians
Then, she saw it.
Taped to a metal light pole, right where the vintage record booth had been - the exact spot Carley and her friends had stood last night, but also two years ago - was a weather-beaten, faded flyer.”
Layla knew before she even moved toward the sign. She knew the moment she recognized the slender, slightly upturned nose, and the eyes that seemed to glimmer even in a tattered photograph.
MISSING, the bold letters screamed. Carley’s smiling face stared back at her.
Last seen at this location: October 2024.
Layla didn’t have to double-check; she knew. The date matched the timestamp. She remembered the way Carley’s eyes had searched the crowd before entering the shop. That same shop now stood empty, with “For Lease” signs lining the darkened, dusty windows.
Layla was overcome with sadness, a sudden grief for a girl she hadn’t even known existed twenty-four hours earlier. She took a photo of the missing person’s flyer with her tablet and turned to leave, unsure of what else to do. Just then, an older man rounded the corner, a newspaper tucked tightly under his arm. As he nodded slightly to her, she paused. Her voice trembled as she asked him about the Nowhere Fair.
“I moved here in the eighties, and there hasn’t been any type of fair here in that entire time.” he said. “But you’re not the first person to ask.”
“No?” Layla asked.
“Nope. That girl right there,” he said, nodding to Carley, memorialized on the light post. “She came around asking back in October of 2024.”