“Uh, well, I have to…” You fucking idiot, Hanna, say literally anything!
“Hanna?”
Welp, too late now, she thought, turning as Milo approached in a faded t-shirt while trying not to notice the way the cotton curled around his biceps.
She wished he hadn’t seen her, wished she’d been clever enough to escape. Chloe was a stranger. Hanna didn’t care if Chloe thought she was insane. She could have bolted.
But Milo, in all aspects, was more complicated.
“Hey,” Hanna breathed, the nerves in her throat clenching on the sound. Maybe a car would pop over the curb and take her out. At least then she could bitch about this to her mother’s face.
“Look who I ran into!” Chloe announced. She bounced in a way that only added to her charm.
“What are you doing in The Mission?” Milo asked, shoving a hand in his pocket.
“Long story,” Hanna mumbled.
Chloe chirped, “I invited her to join us!”
Milo’s face curled in a mix of surprise and concern. “Oh, uh, cool. Yeah. Are you sure?”
Hanna wasn’t sure who he was asking, but she resisted the urge to bark, “No! No, I’m not sure! I actually want the street to open up and swallow me to the depths of hell!”
Instead, she shrugged and whispered, “Totally.”
“Did you tell her what we’re seeing?” Milo asked Chloe.
“No, but you like the classics, right Hanna?”
Of course she fucking did. “I suppose so,” she muttered.
“Great!” Chloe beamed.
“Great,” Hanna repeated, her neck sweating. She followed them to the ticket booth as Milo awkwardly paid for three, despite her protests. Her head spun as they grabbed seats, Chloe placing Milo between them before bouncing back out of the theater for snacks.
Hanna glanced at her ticket stub.
Love Story.
Her stomach churned. Milo must have sensed the boiling anxiety in her chest. He leaned over and said quietly, “You don’t have to stay for this.”
“Uhhh, it’s fine. I’m fine,” Hanna insisted.
“One more and I’ll believe it, Arizona.” He smirked. “I can tell Chloe work called or something. She won’t think twice.”
Hanna took a long, deep breath. Before she could answer, her eyes dropped to his shirt, and she silently cursed her mother. The light off the screen illuminated the remnants of a sunflower field, a pale blue sky peeling from the top under half of a band name she remembered from the early aughts.
Her mother always did have a fucked up sense of humor.
She’d followed the sunflowers that far. She couldn’t give up then.
Was it ideal? Hell no.
Was it better than crying in a park alone? Debatable.
She shook her head. “I’ll be okay. But you have to do me a favor.”
“Anything.”
