She slows but doesn’t look back. “Why does anyone love movies? The escape, the fantasy, the emotion, the catharsis. Surely you’re not here to interview me on a bygone phase of mine. You want my permission? It’s not going to happen.”
“You’re not even a little open to the idea?” Raindrops begin to splash against the windows behind her; small ones, with little sound, but the clouds they fall from are enough to make the interior of the house grayer than it already was.
“Not in the slightest. I don’t even remember that clear-eyed girl who made that movie. I don’t know what I was thinking when I did.”
A wave of nostalgia ripples through her features, remolding her cheeks into sunken valleys. She glides into the living room, the source of the TV noise.
“Haven’t you ever been to Wiley’s?” I ask. Like a vampire, I don’t dare step over the threshold until she invites me to do so, which means I could be waiting forever. I hover in the foyer to be safe.
“Of course. It’s a Willow Valley landmark. I’ve lived here long enough to have popped in a time or two hundred.”
“What if I told you that landmark was at risk of dying? I want to resurrect your work to bring attention to the drive-in and help save it.”
Her petite nostrils flare. “‘Resurrect’? Why would you use that word?”
“I read it in an interview you did with theFilm Geek Gazette.That’s how you described your movie—a resurrection of an old wound manifested in the zombie character. I did a college paper on it. I’m not some kid asking for a favor. I’m genuinely interested in rewriting a little piece of film history for this town to save one of its best spots. You ran away before another audience even got to see it. You pulled the movie from distribution and canceled the Willow Valley premiere, the first premiere this town would’ve ever seen. If I can make that happen, then…”
“Enough!” she orders.
I close my trap.
Her house shoes squeak on the wooden floor as she crosses to the mantel. There, she grabs a box and turns back to me with an apologetic expression. What’s in her hands has the appearance of an ornate jewelry holder, yet inside there are paper clippings, all carefully preserved and labeled. She hands me theFilm Geek Gazetteprint edition.
“I haven’t thought about this in ages,” she says. Tears prick up at the edges of her dark eyes. The first hint of vulnerability beneath her jagged exterior. Her bags tell a story of struggle I’m keen to hear about.
Mistaking her gesture as an offer, I go to reach for the box. She snaps it shut so fast, she nearly catches my fingers.
“You want this information and my movie? You’re going to have to work for it. I’ve been trying to sell this blasted farmhouse for ages. I can’t work the land. Nobody wants to do the hard labor. Every—real—real estate agent says this place is a money pit. Not that I blame them.” She cradles the box, clutching it close to her chest. “If you come here a few times a week and spruce up the place to help me sell, I will strongly consider allowing you to screen my film.”
“Oh, wow. Um, I don’t know much about home renovation.” Does watchingLove It or List Itreruns with Mom and Claire count as practice?
She gives me a once-over. “I assumed as much, but I trust you’re young enough to figure it out. Yes?”
“Yes,” I say immediately. There’s too much riding on this. I can’t risk her taking herstrong considerationback because of my wishy-washy indecision. My anxiety is not getting in the way of this opportunity. I’ll show up next time in coveralls and steel-toed boots if that’s what she needs. “Yes, whatever I can do to help. Yes.”
Alice appears unamused by my smile. “It’s not ayesthough. Do you hear me? It’s amaybe. It’s a maybe contingent on your performance.”
Optimism cracks open inside me like a fizzy can of Coke.Maybeis better than a straight-upno. That’s more than I could’ve hoped for a week ago. She shows me out the way I came in, and the excitement makes certain I can’t keep my mouth shut. “Thank you, Ms. Kelly. Thank you. You won’t regret this.”
A cynical smirk grows on her face. “Maybe not.” She cackles once. “But you might.”
The door slams shut in my face.
Chapter 8
The admission booth at Wiley’s stands between two lanes of traffic. A lineup of blinding headlights spills out into the street. I slip off my hoodie, hang it up on the hook by my station, and roll my short sleeves up to the peaks of my shoulders.
I’m determined to make my second weekend as manager better than that despicable day one.
Everyone was still snickering at me when I clocked in tonight. The rumors of what went down in that storage closet last Friday are out of control and greatly exacerbated by Mateo’s overreaction. If only they knew I was still a kissless catastrophe. One that refuses to get wrapped up in Derick’s charms.Again.
I commit to doing better. There’s no other option. Not now that Alice is possibly on my side.
“Have a great night,” I say to the family of four who drove in all the way from New Jersey just to experience the magic of our lot. The kids in the back seat were squealing with excitement, this being their first time. I shut the cash till and check on Mateo, who’s working across from me.
From his overexaggerated posture, I can tell he’s faking assurance in everything I’ve shown him. A car peels away from his side. He blunders with the cash stack and ends up drenching us both in a shower of singles. It’s like we’re the world’s least-deserving Chippendales dancers.
As I’m making sure we’ve collected everything, another car pulls up to my side. I recognize it straightaway by the swanky tires with black rims, and I realize there’s no escaping this inevitable interaction.
