“I still have the same number I did in high school, so you can text me. Did your number change?”
I reach for my phone. “Uh—”
“Could I get two cherry slushes and a medium popcorn?” asks Freddie as he slides in beside me. “Ramona, you want any candy?”
CarrieAnn studies the two of us suspiciously.
I shake my head, relief marred with guilt sinking deep into my chest. As Freddie pays for his order, I slink back behind him and Saul.
“You two lovebirds set a wedding date yet?” Saul asks under his breath.
I punch him in the butt cheek.
“Ow!” he groans. “But kind of nice, too.”
After we split ways with Saul, Ruthie, and Hattie, I turn to Freddie as we walk into the last theater at the end of the hallway. “Thanks for stepping in back there.” I sip the slush he bought me.
“Yeah. Wasn’t sure what that was about, but whatever it was, it was awkward.”
We choose middle seats in the third row from the back, and we have the entire theater to ourselves.
“It’s weird,” I say. “She’s kind of, like, obsessed with me.”
He shakes his head, laughing a bit. “Don’t tell me you’ve turned into one of those girls who thinks everyone is obsessed with them.Uggggh,” he mimics, “everyone’s just, like, so obsessed with me.”
“No! Shut up. You know that’s not me.”
He smirks before shoving a fistful of popcorn into his mouth.
“But CarrieAnn really is obsessed with me,” I say.
The screen in front of us plays the same trivia on a loop until the movie starts. The theater is dark and damp, so I take the flannel shirt I’ve got tied around my waist and put it on backward like some sort of blanket-shirt hybrid. Weboth stuff our faces with popcorn and shout trivia answers back and forth.
And then, out of nowhere, Freddie asks, “So, girls, huh?”
“Yep.” I should say something more, but there’s not much else to say.
“You’ve never dated any guys?”
I shrug. “Haven’t even kissed one.” And then I add, “Well, in recent years.”
“Then how do you know you don’t like guys?”
“I don’t know, Freddie,” I say, trying to hide my irritation. “How many boys did you kiss before you realized you were straight?”
He shakes his head. “That’s not what I meant. You know it.”
“So what did you mean?” The lights dim, and the previews start. Still, it’s only us in the theater.
“I meant that, like, boy-girl is kind of the default that people go for even if it’s not how they were born or whatever.”
“It wasn’t my default. Or whatever.” My voice is sharp.
He doesn’t say anything. Instead, all I hear is the crunching of popcorn.
The movie starts in a French-cooking class, and I immediately decide that the only thing that could make this movie interesting was if smell-o-vision was a real thing, which means not only are we feeling awkward, but we’ll most likely be bored, too.
I don’t get rom-coms. It’s not that I don’t believe inromance or love stories, but for once—just for once!—why can’t the girl sweep the girl off her feet? Or why can’t the fat best friend get the guy? Why can’t two guys get into a pillow fight in their underwear? It’s the same old shit every time.
