“Think about it… the only reason he thinks that is because someone else told him that. But did you see that shot earlier where her eyes cut to him when he said something about the body they found in that sleeper car?”
“Shit,” I mutter.
“Sorry, I’m ruining it for you.”
“No, I didn’t even notice that. I wonder what else I missed.” And I really do, because I catch so many more clues after she says that. When the movie ends we spend intermission raging over the big twist that neither of us saw coming, and which ultimately ruined a great movie for both of us. When the nextmovie starts—a rom-com about identical twins who fall for the same boy while at summer camp—we spend the movie pointing out all of the implausible bits, and we talk through the awkward make-out scenes.
During a particularly steamy scene, Sidney cuts in with a confession.
“If you ever tell anyone, I’ll deny it, but I’ve always wanted a hurricane named after me.”
It comes so out of the blue, I wonder how long she’s been sitting next to me, contemplating if she could admit that to me after my Heimlich confession. And I don’t know what it means that she did. Maybe just that it’s awkward as hell to watch people make out on a fifty-foot screen while sitting next to someone you don’t make out with. “You’re a monster.”
She slaps my leg but laughs. “I know, right? Sort of like you, though… I don’t want it to be a devastating category five or anything, just something that sweeps off the shore”—her arm sweeps out in front of her—“and is super scary, but then magically dissipates before it ever gets close to actually hurting anyone.”
“Tropical Storm Sidney.” I pop another Junior Mint into my mouth, trying to ignore that it feels like she branded my leg by touching it. Telling myself I shouldn’t try to make another joke just to get her to do it again. “I like it.”
She smiles, and fidgets her hands on her thighs before casually plucking the box of mints out of my hand and holding them in her lap. Hurricane Sidney makes it official: Operation Movie Night is a definite success.
DAY 23
Sidney
I stare at the text on my screen, trying to decide if he’s asking me out on a date again, or just being friendly. Hanging outdefinitely isn’t the same asgoing out,Sidney. It’s 3 p.m.
I should say yes. I should get out of this house, and remind myself what it feels like to be a person who doesn’t spend all of her time with her nemesis. We eat breakfasts together, swim and run together, do dishes every night. Less than twenty-four hours ago, I willingly sat in a trunk with him for close to five hours. It’s very possible that my brain is being subjected to something like Stockholm syndrome. A million years from now I’ll be telling my grandkids about this:And then, I made my captor pancakes. With chocolate chips, because that was his favorite.And they’ll say,Grammi, what was wrong with you?I don’t even know how I’d answer that. Whatiswrong with me?
Captive or not, the idea of hanging out with Caleb doesn’t interest me after last night. I do feel like seeing someone whoisn’t Asher, but it’s not Caleb. I shoot him a quick,Sorry, I’m busytext.
I meet Kara at River Depot at eight o’clock, after her shift. They have the best ice cream in a twenty-minute drive, and she’s assured me that Caleb isn’t working. A boy-free ice cream trip is exactly what I need right now.
“So about the party,” Kara says, her eyes looking up from the giant cup of ice cream we’re hunched over. It’s her dinner, but I have my own spoon, and I’m dedicated to excavating every piece of cookie out of this cup. Kara lets me because she’s the best.
“The party you begged me to go to and then basically bailed on?”
“The party you went to with Asher.”
“The party Idrove towith Asher. I was going withyou.” I stab the spoon back into the quickly disappearing mountain of cookies ’n’ cream.
Kara holds on to the wooden bench and leans back, like she’s trying to stretch. I don’t know how she stands around all day on the concrete and doesn’t want to cut her feet off. She tips her head back up and angles her head at me. “Okay.” One corner of her mouth tips up into the faintest hint of a smile.
“Okay, what?”
She shrugs. “Okay, it sounds like you’re not ready to talk about it.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Okay.”
I point my spoon at her face. There’s something weird about it, like she wants to smile but won’t let herself. “I don’t like your attitude.”
She finally smiles. “I don’t have one.”
There’s a long stretch of silence as we finish the ice cream, scraping at the sides with our spoons as the trickle of the river fills the air. River Depot is quiet at night, once the docks are closed for the day. It’s just us and a few other groups and families eating ice cream on the dock overlooking the river. A few kids are sitting by the gas fireplace on the deck one level up.
Kara flicks my arm with her pink-nailed finger and bites her lip. Words come out of her in a rush. “But thingswereweird with you and Ash at the party, right? You know, if you two are…” She waves her spoon in the air and her eyebrows will blend right into her hairline if they stretch up much farther.
“Arewhat?”
