“Does anyone like sitting through the adverts?”
“I don’t think so.”
He puts his phone away and slides his fingers through mine. I’m captivated by his smile. He looks so damn happy. So am I. I’m relieved we’ve found a way to move forward, and while the awkwardness hasn’t vanished into thin air, what’s left is a different kind of awkwardness. The awkwardness of getting to know each other in a different way.
We walk hand in hand to the cinema. Casey buys the tickets and gets us popcorn—salted for him, sweet for me—and drinks. We can’t hold hands while we’re juggling so much stuff, but we walk into the screen, arms brushing, until the moment we find our seats. We’ve missed the adverts, but not the trailers. We whisper to each other as the trailers play, discussing which films look worth seeing and which are ones to miss. Casey scoops up a handful of my popcorn and then tries to feed it to me. It’s messy and makes me laugh, and of course I have to do the same to him. It’s the dorkiest thing I’ve ever done, but it makes me feel like I could float off the seat. My eyes meet his in the flicker of light from the screen. I lean closer, desperate to kiss him, but hesitate. He closes the gap, pressing his mouth to mine in a soft, sweet kiss. His lips taste of salt. As the film starts, we break apart, giggling like school kids as the people behind us shush us in irritated whispers.
I lean my head on Casey’s shoulder, and he rests his head on mine. We stay like that for a lot of the film, occasionally feeding each other popcorn. The film is fun and light-hearted. It’s a typical American teen movie, which plays into stereotypes in a big way. The songs are catchy, and the choruses are easy to remember. It’s hard to resist the urge to sing along, but I manage. I laugh so hard my belly aches. Casey chuckles from time to time too, which means he doesn’t hate every second of it.
When the credits roll, most people get up and leave, but we stay where we are. Our popcorn is long gone, the tall boxes standing on the floor at our feet. I like sitting through the credits for two reasons. The first is that I feel like I owe it to all the behind-the-scenes people who only get recognised in the credits. The second is that, sometimes, there’s fun stuff during the credits or right at the end. Most of the time, there isn’t, but I’d always be wondering if I’d missed something if I left the moment the film ended.
“This was fun,” I say in a soft voice, even though we’re pretty much alone. The people who shushed us earlier were among the first to leave. “Thanks for suggesting it. And for watching a film you didn’t want to.”
“I did want to.”
“Only because I wanted to.”
“That’s a good enough reason for me.”
My heart swoons. That’s possibly the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard. It’s definitely the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.
“Did you like it at all?” I ask.
“Yeah, it was funny in places.”
We discuss our favourite bits as the credits roll, and the lights slowly get brighter, which ends up with me in stitches again, barely able to speak for laughing. Casey cups my cheek and pecks my lips. It’s a swift, barely there kiss, but it’s enough to make my lashes flutter and stop me from laughing. I put my hand on the back of his neck and pull him closer for a longer kiss. Our lips remain firmly closed. It’s nothing like the heart-racing kisses I share with Auggie. It’s gentle, beautiful, and makes my heart patter.
Someone clears their throat, making us part and look up.
“The film’s over,” a spotty-faced teenager says in a nasal voice. He’s holding a bin bag, which he’s already put our popcorn boxes and empty drink cups in. I’d guess he was sixteen or seventeen, so barely younger than us. “We need to clear it up before the next film starts.”
Casey and I glance at each other and giggle.
“Well, I feel suitably told off. Don’t you?”
Casey nods. “We’re going.”
We put our coats on, hold hands, and hurry out of the screen.
“Do you want to get something to eat?” Casey asks.
“Could something be burger and chips?”
“Whatever you want.”
We walk to our favourite burger place on the opposite side of town. Technically it’s fast food, but it’s expensive, so we don’t go very often. The burgers are amazing, the best I’ve ever tasted. The portions of fries are huge, so we share. The milkshakes are thick, creamy, and cost an arm and a leg. We share one of those too, something we wouldn’t have done before.
I find myself staring at Casey as we eat. He looks relaxed and happy. His eyes sparkle with light and warmth. They often change colour, sometimes appearing more brown, other times greener. The green is especially prominent today.
“What?”
“I was just thinking about how beautiful you are.”
His smile is shy. “So are you.”
Of course I blush. Why didn’t he blush? Why am I the one whose face always goes nuclear?
He picks up a chip and dips it in a dollop of ketchup. “I was thinking—”
