So we drove to Fall Creek and went to the Movie Dome.
We got seats toward the middle of the auditorium. Brit held back and let August go into the row first, so the seating order went August, me, Brit, and then Dash. When I looked over at Brit, she winked at me just like Heather had before we went to the Yum Yum Shoppe.
“Look at this,” she said, throwing herself down into her seat. “Just like a double date.” Then she popped right back up. “Who wants popcorn?”
We had already stopped at a gas station and loaded up on candy, but I wouldn’t say no to movie theater popcorn. “Get the refill one and we can all share it.”
“Excellent,” Brit said. “I will need money for popcorn.”
I rolled my eyes and fished out some money. Brit grabbed it and ushered Dash out of his seat. “We’ll be back!” she said, reaching up to throw her arm around Dash’s shoulders once they got to the aisle. Dash snaked his arm around her waist, and they matched their steps as they made their way back down the stairs toward the exit, heads bent toward each other in conversation.
August watched them go and then glanced at me.
“Are they dating?” he said.
“Dash and Brit? God no. He’s—” I stopped myself. I wasn’t exactly sure of the logistics of it—being out—but I knew it meant he told people, instead of people telling others on his behalf. “He’s seeing somebody,” I finished. “And Brit …” Is into herself? Into everyone? Into no one? I honestly couldn’t tell sometimes. She had never had a long-term anything before, but occasionally she would disappear with people at parties and come back with color high in her cheeks, her hair mussed. She would have hickeys sometimes and not bother to hide them, but she never really went on date dates, or if she did, she never told me about them.
“Brit does her own thing,” I finished.
It was quiet for a moment, and I thought about last night, the easy conversation outside the Yum Yum Shoppe.
“Would it be so bad, though?” I said. “If this were a double date?”
“Well, apparently Dash and Brit aren’t happening, so half of it would already be null.”
“What about the us half?”
It was very quiet now, aside from the voiceover of the commercial playing on screen, and the squawk of some little kids a few rows in front of us, fighting over a pack of Sour Patch Kids.
“You … seem really nice,” August said after a moment.
“Oh, great. That’s a great start,” I said, and smiled because sometimes that’s all you really can do—just smile because if something is going to suck, it might as well be funny. “Never mind.”
“No, I mean … it’s not you, you’re—” He paused. “I just. I’m not trying to start any kind of … us … stuff. With anyone.”
“It’s fine.” I opened the Twizzlers I had brought and pulled one out, telling myself that I felt absolutely no steady, sinking feeling inside. It was all very chill and unaffecting. “I always used to bite the ends off these and make straws—did you ever do that?”
He shook his head, and it was quiet once more. The smaller kid in front had succeeded in wresting the candy away from his brother.
When August spoke again, his voice was odd. Higher, and maybe the slightest bit unsure. “I could use a friend, though.” When I looked over at him, his eyes were fixed on the movie screen. “If you were … okay with that. That would be cool. Probably.”
I nodded, after a beat. “I could do that.” I took a bite of Twizzler and chewed, watching the corner of his mouth tick up when I added, “Probably.”
thirteen
Sophie:
Did you like Ravi first or did he like you first?
Or was it mutual liking?
Ciara:
Mutual liking, I think
Sophie:
That’s lucky
Ciara:
Oh yeah?
Sophie:
Yeah
Right?
Like what are the chances?
Ciara: Uhhhhh pretty high?
I’M AMAZING REMEMBER
Or have you forgotten in my absence?
Sophie:
Lolol yeah
I just mean it seems like a lot of stuff has to like Line up
In order for you and the person you like to both like each other at the same time And the same amount
Ciara:
Maybe it’s not always the same amount at first Maybe someone grows to meet the other I don’t know though
I’m not an expert
I just got lucky with Ravi Sophie:
Not really
Ciara:
Heyyy!
Sophie:
I just mean he’s the lucky one Ciara:
Bawwwww
Sophie: We should go to the Movie Dome when you’re back Ciara:
Don’t you wonder why they called it that?
It’s not like there’s imax or anything Nothing about that place is domed Sophie:
What would you call it?
Ciara:
The Movie Pit
Sophie:
That’s so much better
Ciara:
What can I say, it’s a gift
fourteen
People got together at Jake Weaver’s house on Thursday night. It was outside of town, and I had to borrow my dad’s car to get us there, seeing as we now surpassed carpool capacity in the Cutlass.
“Now where are we going?” Dad said when I asked, looking up from his paper. He and my mom did crossword puzzles like they were an Olympic sport.
“I am going to Jake Weaver’s house.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Do we know Jake Weaver?”
“He’s from school.”
“Oh, from school. That clears it up. Take my keys. And my debit card too, let’s give Jake Weaver from school free rein over our bank account.”
I laughed. “You know his mom. She has the bakeshop? By Dr. Aniz?”
“Oh, Sally?”
“I guess?”
“Sammy.” He snapped his fingers. “Patty. Patty Weaver. Oh yeah. She makes a great lemon tart.”
“I heard she also makes responsible children.”
My dad grinned. “Be careful on the road.”
I jumped up and went for the keys by the door.
“Soph?” he called as I started out.
“Super careful!” I said, looking back. He nodded and returned to his crossword.
“‘Nine letters, cryptid,’” he murmured.
Brit and Flora met me outside, Flora in even more improbable shoes than last time. They made her almost as tall as Brit, which I knew Brit hated.
Height is the only thing I have over her, she said once. She’s cuter and nicer and smarter and people like her more and her hair is shinier. If I can’t be taller, I have nothing.
You definitely run faster than her.
That doesn’t count. I run faster than everyone.
I texted August—because we did that more often now, texting casually, like friends—and he emerged from the Conlins’ house, two doors down, and gave us a wave.
“So is this a permanent thing?” Brit said as he approached. “We’re officially adopting him now?”
“I think he’s nice,” Flora said.
“Shocking,” Brit replied, and got in the front seat.
* * *
We split up inside Jake’s house, pulled in several different directions as a guy from the football team waved Brit down, and Flora spotted some junior girls. August and I wandered a bit, eventually making our way to the kitchen to get drinks.
A group of guys was gathered there in a rough circle. They were, apparently, discussing how to crush a can on your forehead.
“You have to squeeze it first,” the guy nearest us said.
“Nah, that’s like pre-crushing. That’s cheating.”
“You have to! Or else it won’t do it!” he insisted.
“I got this, I got it.” One guy finished off his drink quickly. His name was Dylan, and he was a sophomore in the brass section. All eyes were on him as he held up the can for the group to see and then raised it dramatically in the air and aimed it toward himself.
Next to me, August shifted forward. “Hey, maybe don’t—”
Dylan slammed the can straight at the center of his forehead, and then let out a yelp, the decidedly uncrushed can falling to the ground.
The group erupted as Dylan clutched his head:
“Wooooooow.”
“I told you, you have to crush it first!”
“Coach Junior,” someone said, and they all cracked up.
“Fuck you guys,” Dylan said, face angled downward, still holding his head.
“No, that was a Coach Junior right there, even you have to admit it.”
August cut past me as the guys kept talking, went to the fridge, and got out a couple of cans of soda. Dylan had shuffled to the side.
I watched as August moved toward him. He pulled Dylan’s hand away from his head—Dylan, who was blinking rapidly, let him—inspected his forehead for a moment, and then held the soda up against it. “Just hold it there.”
Dylan looked confused—pained and probably drunk. “To crush it?”
“In case it swells up,” August said.
“It’s gonna swell?”
“Not if you hold that there.”
Dylan nodded dutifully, and August returned to me.
“Who’s Coach Junior?” he said, handing me the other soda.
The guy nearest us heard him. “The coach’s kid? He was a few years ahead of us. He tried to kill himself senior year by jumping off a garage. All he did was break his legs.”
August frowned. “Is that … funny?”
“It’s funny ’cause he lived. If he died we wouldn’t joke about it, obviously.”