He smirks at me. “I’m glad the random-room-assignment gods paired us together four years ago. You’re a good friend, Wren. At least when you’re not blowing up my spot in front of a sold-out drive-in movie theater or sending me lovey-dovey emails.”
“That’s onlytwofriendship strikes!” I counter. He chuckles.
“It may have worked out for the best anyway. Rosevale summer stock called. The dude they cast as Bobby came down with laryngitis after their first weekend of shows, and they didn’t hire an understudy, so…I’m in!” His tea spills a little from unbridled excitement.
“Oh my god! Mateo, that’s incredible! Congrats! Uh…” I grab for a drink cup. “To laryngitis!”
“To laryngitis!”
A summer of so many toasts, and somehow this is the only one that rings true. The night of my birthday, I acted out of hormonal panic. The day of my graduation, I acted on impulse. Today, I’m finally going with my gut—my steady, sure-of-it gut. I’m ready to start trusting myself for once.
We sip in silence for a few seconds.
“Have you heard from Derick?” he asks.
“I’m ghosting him. Giving him a taste of his own medicine.” It sucks that it doesn’t feel nearly as satisfying as I hoped it would.
“Babe, I hate to traffic in clichés, but two wrongs don’t make a right.”
“Says the guy who practically moved out of our apartment so he didn’t have to share a wall with me!”
“I was pissed and you were a wreck and poor Avery would’ve been in the middle of it. I did us all a service.” He pulls out his phone. “You’ve said his family is overbearing and demanding. His dad, most of all. If he’s still living under their roof and fighting off their expectations, he might not have much of a choice in the matter. I know that’s a shitty excuse, but it’s not nothing, right?” He taps into the Wiley’s Instagram page. “This didn’t even exist in May, and it already has over three thousand followers. If he was only here to fuck shit up, don’t you think he would’ve done a bad job like I did?”
“Funny. I had the same thought last week…”
If Derick was pulling incorrigible stunts, he’d have been actively working to destroy the lot, but his social media engagement numbers went up and up and up. Duplicitous or not, maybe there’s more to the story.
“Are you suggesting that this was all an inside job to build Wiley’s business so his dad wouldn’t tear it down?”
Mateo looks at me likeDuh, how am I the one who thought of this first?
There is an unsuspecting sense to it. Derick wants out from under his father’s thumb. Doing a bad job at Wiley’s would look poor to future employers outside of the nepotism sphere, so as a kiss-off to his dad, he went to great lengths to make sure his position did the opposite of what his father intended. It’s devious and almost inspired.
That doesn’t explain why he didn’t tell me though. He had ample opportunities to come clean.
Mateo shows me the Twitter feed with its well-designed header photo and steady stream of well-loved tweets. His coordinated boost campaigns. His perfectly edited TikToks. It’s all the work of someone who had a digital media plan. Someone who knew how to tell a story, engage with his audience, and evokepathos.
Wait. That’s it!
This is an absolute Aristotelian turn of events. I scramble back to the circle where I left my tote bag. Inside, I grab my bullet journal and flip frantically through the pages.
“Wait, what’s happening right now?” Mateo asks. Everyone stops what they’re doing, but I’m too busy unburying the obvious answer to all our problems.
The Borough Council meeting is at the end of the week. There’s a big chance they’ll see the economic benefit of a commuter parking lot outweighs the historical significance of Wiley’s and the upkeep of the historic district. If that’s the case, Mr. Haverford will erect the plaque and then bring in the wrecking ball.
All that would stand in the wake of the screen and the snack shack would be a commemorative tombstone that no one would read as they boarded a bus to Philadelphia. Majorly depressing.
Not just to me though—to legions of film fans everywhere onsocial media.
This online novice is about to take everything Derick taught me and twist it for my own gain.
“We should launch a social media campaign. A full-scale attack evoking nostalgia and a love of the movies,” I announce to the group. Eager murmurs from the Wiley’s team erupt almost immediately. “If we appeal to people’s emotions, they might want to get loud online with us.”
Avery is the first to speak up. “I love it, but we’re not influencers. Nobody here has over a couple hundred followers. How do we get the word out?”
“By expanding our core audience. Signal boosting our cause.” A longing pang strikes my chest, but I don’t let it crush my newfound crusader status.
A new title appears on my mind marquee:
