I headed straight for the new release wall. Turned out I was far too confident. The entire section was stripped bare. Of course it was. Friday night closing time. Everyone in town had come through before me. Fine. Action aisle it was. The movie didn’t need to be new. It just needed explosions, blood, and ideally a body count high enough to drown out the night. No luck. Every war movie, horror flick, or thriller worth a damn was gone.Platoon,Aliens, evenCommando. Was every guy in Venice Beach going through a breakup tonight?
Manhunterwas there, obviously; the one sad video nobody ever touched. And sure, it technically offered what I needed, but I wasn’t convinced I had the mental fortitude for two hours of a dude whispering every line like he’s readingGoodnight Moonto his kid. So I kept walking. What was left? Romance. In abundance. Entire shelves of pretty people in pastel lighting, staring into each other’s eyes like love hadn’t yet gouged their hearts out. And then there it was.Sixteen Candles. Yeah. Fine. I was curious about this Jake Ryan guy and what he had that I didn’t.
Tucking it under my arm, I walked to the counter, mentally preparing to be humiliated.
“That was eight minutes,” the clerk said flatly. Then he glanced up and froze. “No way! Are you the lead singer of Rabid Jackal?”
I blinked… then nodded.
“Dude, I heard the concert was raided tonight. Cops swarmed the place. Everybody’s talking about it. Didn’t the entire band get arrested?”
You know, at this point, I might as well lean into it.
I nodded grimly. “Just posted bail.”
“That’s gnarly. You’re a legend, man.”
I set the VHS on the counter. He looked at the title, and the admiration drained from his face. I had one chance to salvage this.
“My chick’s in the truck. She loves this one, if you know what I mean.” I tossed him a wink.
Respect instantly restored.
“Right on,” he said, fist-bumping me. “This one’s on the house.”
I shovedtheSixteen Candlestape into the VCR hard enough to make it squeal. Michelle’s “type.” Jake freakin’ Ryan. Cracking open a beer, I dropped onto the couch and hit play. Ten minutes in, I already hated the guy. Even his problems were rich. Every scene got worse. Jake standing around his mansion, all broody and privileged like life was so hard.
“Try making rent, buddy,” I said to the screen.
I was halfway to hitting stop when the party scene came on. Up till then, I’d pegged him as the Michelle of the story, born with the backstage pass. But standing there in that wreck of a house, he didn’t look rich or lucky. He looked… like me. Just some hapless dude trying to pick up the pieces of his life.
But then Jake lost me again when he whipped out the Porsche and magicallysawthe girl. The same chick he’d been ignoring all movie.
“Yeah,” I grumbled, “try that with the Shaggin’ Wagon as your wingman. See how far that gets you.”
But eventually I realized it wasn’t just about his face or his car. Michelle’s ideal man was a safe, sensitive soul, a guy designed in a lab with the brain of a girl, the body of a movie star, and the income bracket to afford a Porsche. She waschasing a fantasy. I took a long swig, bitter settling in my stomach. Probably better that I got out when I did.
By the time the credits rolled, I was hunched forward, elbows on my knees, staring at the blank TV. My reflection glowed back at me—red-eyed, wiped out, and not half as tough as I pretended to be. Michelle’s face cut through the static, and I pictured my fearless dream girl on that rollercoaster.Again.Her laugh. Her hand on my chest. The way she’d looked at me like I was something more than I’d ever been. God, I was gonna miss that. Miss her. Miss who I became when she was around.
There was a rustle at my side, and I looked down.
Zonk, perched beside me, was staring up at me like,Bro. Romance? Really?
“Don’t judge me,” I said. “Your love life’s not exactly thriving either.”
The VCR auto-clicked into rewind, the mechanical drone filled the room. I leaned back, eyes closing, Zonk’s warm little body against my thigh like we were two washed-up losers in a buddy movie.
“That didn’t make me feel any better,” I sighed, my eyelids heavy. “Should’ve rentedManhunter.”
I woke with a start,daylight streaming through my one window. Was it morning already? My neck ached, and the movie case sat open, the tape still halfway inside the VCR. For one clean second, I forgot everything. Then it all came rushing back. Michelle. The breakup. The fantasy guy I could never measure up to.
I rubbed my eyes. “Oh. Right. That.”
Then I heard something. A whisper? Maybe a shuffle. Mybrain was still turning on for the day, but then I caught the sound again. It wasn’t the TV. Someone was outside.
And then—
The bang.
