After school on Tuesday, Callie and I make a brief stop at the post office before heading to Sonic and work.
I slide the gear into park just outside the front door and fish my large manila envelope from my backpack. I’ve addressed the envelope with my teal glitter marker and decided to use the limited-edition Harry Potter stamps I was saving for a special occasion.
“Nice stamps,” says Callie.
“You don’t have to make fun of me.”
She laughs. “No, really, I mean it. I especially like the Luna Lovegood one. In fact, if Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood had a baby, it’d be you.”
I squint. “I’m not sure you mean that as a compliment, but I’m going to take that as one, because Luna and Neville forever.”
“Totally a compliment,” she assures me.
“Maybe if I just pretend this letter is going to Hogwarts, I’ll be able to muster up the courage to walk inside and mail the dang thing.” Something about mailing this in real life feels irreversible.
Callie grips my leg. “Hey,” she says, her voice no louder than a whisper. “You’ve already done the hard part. You wrote the essay. You did the video. Shit, Millie, you’ve even submitted it online. All you have to do is walk in there and mail the damn thing.” She quickly adds, “And then break it to your mom.”
I glance over to her. “Well, suddenly this isn’t the hardest thing I have to do today.”
“Didn’t you need her signature for the application?” she asks.
“You could say I have a habit of forging my mother’s signature. It’s more of a vice, really.”
“Millicent Michalchuk!” she howls. “That is the most badass thing to come out of your mouth ever.”
“We’ve all got a rotten streak,” I say as I open the door with the envelope held tight to my chest.
I march inside and hand the envelope to Lucius, who’s worked behind the counter here since my mother was a little girl. “I’d like a receipt upon arrival, please.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he tells me.
He rings me up for the cost of certified mail and then he takes it away from me and that’s pretty much it. Good-bye, Daisy Ranch. Hello, University of Texas Broadcast Journalism Boot Camp.
Callie and I rush into work, and Inga squints at the two of us, preparing to scold, but then I say, “I’m so, so sorry. It’s my fault we’re late.”
Inga nods. “Your check is in the office.”
“Getting paid?” mumbles Callie. “What does that feel like?”
I nudge her with my elbow. “Thanks, Inga. Kiss Luka and Nikolai for me.”
“They’re monsters,” she says as she gathers her keys and things. “Little hairless monsters who just eat and poop. Eat and poop. I tell your uncle every day that if men could have babies, we’d be making people in labs instead of bellies.”
Callie nods her head. “Yeah, and if they had to deal with periods, you better believe tampons would be free.”
Inga nods toward Callie. “She gets it.”
Callie keeps a straight face, but I can tell that Inga’s slight approval has not gone unnoticed.
After I grab my check, Callie and I settle in behind the counter to see what’s left of the daily checklist.
Callie gasps.
I look up just in time to see Mitch pull the front door open. He’s not wearing workout clothes and he hasn’t got a gym bag with him.
“Uh, hey,” he says.
“Hi,” Callie and I say in unison.
I shrink back a little when I feel Callie tense up beside me.
Callie holds out the sign-in clipboard. “You can go ahead and sign in.”
Mitch clears his throat. “I’m, um, actually not here to work out today.”
“Okay,” says Callie.
Mitch nervously pops his knuckles until they won’t pop anymore.
I so desperately want to jump in and mediate the situation, but I do everything in my power to restrain myself.
“Could we maybe talk?” he asks.
“Totally!” I say.
They both look to me with raised brows.
I grin sheepishly.
Mitch turns back to Callie. “Maybe in private?”
That’s my cue. “I have so much to do,” I say, taking the checklist. Trying my best not to sound awkward, I turn to Callie and add, “Callie, could you watch the front desk while I work on my super-long to-do list?”
Her eyes are wide with panic, and her cheeks are turning pink, but she says, “Uh, yeah. You go do that.”
I skip around the gym, trying to make myself look busy. I don’t purposely eavesdrop, but it’s not like this place is very big.
After a while, I hear Mitch say, “What about Saturday?”
“Saturdays aren’t good,” says Callie.
“Saturday’s good!” I say before I can stop myself.
Callie twirls around to find me cleaning the mirrors above the hand weights. Our gazes meet in the reflection of the mirror. “I thought we had our thing,” she says through gritted teeth. “You know, our thing.”
I turn around and shrug. “It’s Easter Sunday weekend, so we’re skipping this weekend. Plus Hannah says Courtney is demanding a Saturday date night.”
“Sure, let me just plan my life around Hannah’s girlfriend,” she mumbles.
I smile and shrug.
She whirls around and throws her hands up a little but quickly lets them drop to her sides. “Okay then,” she says to Mitch. “I’m still grounded, so I’ll have to check with my mom, but maybe Saturday.”
Mitch’s rosy cheeks flare. “Maybe Saturday.”
Callie nods. “Maybe. But probably not. You should know I am definitely a glass-half-empty kind of person.”
Mitch thinks on that for a minute. “So it’s a glass-half-empty maybe then?” He holds his hand out awkwardly, like he means to shake Callie’s hand, but then just fist bumps her before leaving.
I wait for the door to shut entirely before I loudly say, “Is that a date?”
When Callie turns around, I expect to find her normally grumpy something-smells-bad expression, but it’s clear she’s brimming with excitement despite how hard she’s trying to keep a lid on it. “Maybe,” she says. “It’s a maybe date. Glass half empty, maybe.”
I rush to her and she meets me halfway, our hands clasped, as we squeal at approximately the same level of sound as a dog whistle.
After work and dropping off Callie, I sit in the driveway at home for a minute to check my text messages.
MALIK: Did you send your application in?
MILLIE: I did! Your directorial debut!
MALIK: Well, that calls for a celebration. Friday night?
MILLIE: It’s a date.
A tidal wave of excitement hits my stomach. A date! Not only does Callie have a date this weekend, but now so do I. What can I say? Love is in the air.
Inside, I find both my parents getting ready for dinner. Now, I think. This is the perfect time to tell them. With Dad here to ease the blow.
My mom spins around the kitchen island just as my dad plants a big, wet kiss on her cheek. “Your father brought home brisket, mac and cheese, green beans, dinner rolls, and peach cobbler from Melba B’s Barbecue, so I guess it’s cheat night for everyone.” She hums “Go Tell It on the Mountain” to herself as she runs back to the kitchen for a few serving spoons.
Melba B’s is my mother’s favorite—food so good she hums!—and if it’s up to her, it would undoubtedly be her last meal, but she so rarely eats it and my dad is usually the only person who can convince her otherwise.
A low sigh slips from me.
I can’t tell her I’m not going back to Daisy Ranch. Not right now. I won’t ruin this perfect night for her.
On Friday night, Malik picks me up for our date. Well, if you ask my parents, it’s a study date, and Malik is picking me up so we can go to Amanda’s, but that’s because I’m not sure what their opinion on dating is. If I had to guess, they’d prefer I just didn’t.
After much deliberation, I settled on a mint-green cotton dress with little daisy buttons sewn all around the collar—my own personal touch, obviously—and a pair of yellow flats.
When I get into his car, Malik hands me a fresh pair of socks. “You’ll need these,” he tells me.
“What are these for?” I ask. “Are we going bowling?”
His lips twitch for a second, like he’s second-guessing himself. “Would it be a problem if we were?”
I shake my head. “Only if you don’t mind getting beat by a girl.”
“Oh, so you’re a smack talker?” he asks. “Well—” His ringtone interrupts him. He glances down at his phone, resting in the cup holder. “I better get this,” he says as he pulls over to the side of a residential street.
“Hello?” asks Malik into the receiver.
I listen carefully, but I can’t make out the voice on the other end, so all I’ve got to work with is his one-sided conversation.
“Well, has he tried taking any medicine? . . . He just has to sit in a dark room and change out the reels. It can’t be that hard. . . . He’s sure he can’t? . . . Fine. Okay. Give me twenty minutes.”
Malik hangs up the phone and turns to me.
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
“Yes. No,” he says. “I have to cancel tonight.”
“Oh.” I try to hide my disappointment, but it’s no use.
“It’s just there are only three of us at work who know how to change out the film reels in the projector rooms, and normally it wouldn’t matter, but one guy is visiting his internet girlfriend in New Mexico and the other guy is hung over. Or maybe he’s still drunk. I’m not sure.”
Malik works at the only movie theater in town, the Lone Star 4, if you’re not counting the drive-in. It’s one of the oldest buildings in town, too, so I guess it should be no surprise that it’s not equipped to play films digitally either. It’s a bummer not to go bowling, but I hate even more that our night has to end before it’s even begun. And then it hits me. “What if I go to work with you? Like, as your assistant.”
“You don’t want to do that,” he tells me. “You’ll be so bored.”
“Not as long as we’re hanging out.”
He blushes. “I guess there is unlimited popcorn in it for you.”
“Throw in some Milk Duds, and we have a deal,” I say.
“Done.” He holds his hand out for me to shake.
Malik parks around the back of the movie theater, near the employee entrance, and we trot up a dark, narrow staircase just inside the door.
I have been to this theater countless times, with its old, dusty Art Deco lobby and plush royal-blue seats, but a few years back, the drive-in on the edge of town reopened, and this place just isn’t quite as busy as it used to be.
“Okay,” says Malik. “It looks like Cameron got all the shows going, so I’ve just got to be here to change out the reels and do the late shows. Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“Not even a little bit,” I tell him.
“Let’s get those Milk Duds I promised you.”
I follow him through a tiny office and onto an even tinier elevator that drops us right into the lobby, which smells like butter and years of soda syrup soaked into the gold, red, and blue carpet.
“There’s no one here,” I say.
“Everyone’s in their movies,” he tells me. “The calm between the storms.”
“Trust me,” says a petite, older black woman behind the counter. “This place turns into a war zone in between shows. And you don’t even want to know what the floors of those theaters look like when we bring up the houselights.” She wears black slacks, a white button-up, a blue satin vest, and a bow tie made to look like the Texas flag.
“Cynthia,” says Malik, taking my hand, “this is—”
“Millie!” she finishes for him. “Darling, he has been singing your song for months now.”
A sharp gasp that comes out more like a laugh tumbles from me and echoes through the lobby. “Months, huh?”
Malik bites down on his lips until they disappear and his cheeks melt into a deep shade of pink. “Cynthia is my coworker.”
“And friend,” she adds.
He turns to me. “And general sentence finisher.”
Malik fills a large tub full of popcorn, pours us each a soda, and retrieves my Milk Duds from the glass case. I know this isn’t how our date was supposed to go and that this is just concession food, but something about this feels decadent. My mom never buys movie theater snacks. Instead, she sneaks in bags of sliced apples or, if she’s splurging, a SlimFast cookie-dough bar.
We take the elevator back upstairs and settle onto a small couch in one of the projector rooms.
“So should I be worried about you and Cynthia?” I ask as the ninth movie in an action-adventure car-chase franchise plays in the background behind us.
He cracks a smile. “I guess we’re not two people who you would expect to be friends, but you try spending half your summer here and not bonding with the closest set of lungs you can find.” He shoves a handful of popcorn in his mouth and washes it down with a swig of Dr Pepper. “But I’d like to think that me and Cynthia would’ve found a way to be friends even if I didn’t work here.”
“Is she married?” I ask. “Any kids?”
“Two kids. A daughter in Houston and a son in Fort Worth. She took a job here after her husband passed away.”
I don’t know if this makes me feel better or worse. Knowing that she has people and is alone anyway. “Why does she stay here then? She could go be with one of her kids. And I’m pretty sure they have way better movie theaters in Houston and Fort Worth. No offense.”
“Oh, I’m offended,” he says. “Experiencing a film on thirty-five millimeter is the purest movie-watching experience there is. Even if it means sitting in our broken seats and your feet getting stuck to the floor. But actually, Cynthia and her husband went on their first date here, so she’s kind of serious about keeping this place up and running.”
That’s so sweet,” I say. “But I had no idea you were such a hipster snob about your movie-watching preferences.”
“If we lived in a big city, I’d be a total hipster snob, but out here, I’m just the weird kid who works at the movie theater and is boring enough to be trusted with keys to the school.”
I take a few pieces of popcorn and toss them in my mouth with a Milk Dud, because I’m an enlightened genius. “I don’t think you’re boring. Heck, I didn’t even know you were this into film stuff.”
“I wasn’t always, but working here and watching old Westerns with my dad has kind of had an effect on me.”
“I for sure thought you wanted to be a politician.”
He sets his drink down on the floor by his feet and rotates his whole body toward me. “I did. I do.” He shakes his head. “Maybe I still will be.” He holds his lips in a firm line for a moment. “I always wanted to change the world. I know that’s so corny. Of course everyone wants to change the world.”
I place my hand on top of his. “No,” I say, my voice dead serious. “Not everyone wants to change the world.”
“I just always thought the only way I could do that was by being a senator or a mayor or something like that, but there’s something about movies and stories. I want to help change the rules, you know? To help make everything more fair. But no one cares about evening the playing field or changing the rules unless they have some kind of connection. I guess . . . well, that’s what stories do. They connect people. Stories change hearts and then hearts change the world.”
I didn’t think I could fall harder. But I am. I know that lots of folks look at people like me and Malik and think we’re just silly idealists who want more than we have any right to have. But let them think that. “I bet you can have it both,” I tell him. “I bet you can change the rules and the hearts.”
He leans toward me and our lips brush—just as the credits in the theater begin to roll. “All I’m changing tonight,” he says, “are these film reels.”
My heart hiccups. And then I begin to hiccup.
“Are you okay?” he asks, holding back a laugh.
I nod, only a little mortified. “Too much fizzy soda.”
He takes my hand and pulls me up. I follow him to each of the projector rooms and watch as he carefully changes the film for the 9:00, 9:10, 9:20, and 9:30 showings, which is right about when my hiccups die down.
We hang out for a bit in each room and catch a glimpse of each movie: action adventure with street racing, a cartoon about cats, a World War II romance, and a slasher movie about a cheerleading summer camp.
At the end of the night, Cynthia closes up the concessions and the ticket counter while Malik and I sweep up the four theaters.
“I’m sorry this didn’t turn out exactly as planned,” he tells me.
“Hey, at least I got a free pair of socks out of the whole thing.”
“And Milk Duds,” he reminds me.
Cynthia pops her head into theater four. “I’m all done up here,” she says.
“You head on out,” Malik tells her. “Just lock up the front and we’ll leave out the back door.”
“You got it,” she says before turning to me. “Millie, it was a pleasure.”
Once she’s gone, Malik asks, “Do you have to be home soon?”
I glance down at my phone to find a text from my mom asking how much longer I’ll be. I shoot off a quick response to tell her we’re studying late at Amanda’s. That should buy me a few hours. “Nope, I’m good!”
“What’s your favorite kind of movie?”
“Promise not to laugh?” I ask.
“That depends.”
I clap my hands over my face. “Romantic comedies.”
Between my fingers, I watch as he leans the broom against a chair and takes a step toward me. One finger at a time, he pulls my hands from my face. “Romantic comedies,” he says, “are entirely underrated.”
“Right?” I feel my whole face lighting up. “It’s like, just because they’re marketed toward women and end with a happily ever after, they’re somehow silly or frivolous.”
“I’m always game for a good HEA.”
I sigh. He even knows the lingo.
“Stay right here,” he says. “Pick any seat you want.”
As he races up the aisle, I settle on a row in the middle of the theater and even choose the exact middle. I squeeze my hips past the armrests of the tiny old seat. I’m not squished exactly, but I just barely fit. A gold star-shaped plaque on the wooden armrest reads 13P, and the one next to me reads 13Q. It’s such a small detail, but I want to remember these two seat numbers forever. I think about Cynthia and her husband, and I wonder which seats they sat in on their first date.
The houselights dim, and it’s actually a little spooky in here by myself. And then the screen comes to life with intro studio music playing. Malik runs back down the aisle and flops down into 13Q.
“Which movie did you pick?” I whisper. I feel immediately silly, because it’s just us and I can talk as loud as I want.
“Well, I almost chose my favorite,” he says, “which is The Princess Bride, which we keep on hand for annual anniversary showings, but then I figured maybe we should watch one I hadn’t seen. So we could expand my education.”
“Next time we have to watch your favorite,” I tell him.
“In which category? Sci-fi? Horror? Suspense? Bollywood? Comedy?”
“You’re into Bollywood?” I ask. I’ve only seen a few on TV, but to say I like what I’ve seen would be an understatement.
“Strictly the classics,” he says. “I don’t do remakes.”
And then the opening scene starts before I can ask for more details. We see the back of Drew Barrymore’s head as the camera pans down to reveal she’s standing on a baseball mound as she narrates. “You know how in some movies they have a dream sequence, only they don’t tell you it’s a dream? This is so not a dream.”
“Oh my gosh!” I squeal. “Never Been Kissed! Drew Barrymore plays a journalist—well, technically a copy editor—who goes undercover at her former high school. You’re going to love it.”
“We’ll see,” he says. “I’m kind of annoying to watch movies with. At least according to my sister. She says I find a flaw in everything. But we had this one on hand for a Drew Barrymore marathon.”
“Just watch,” I tell him.
We’ve held hands. We’ve kissed. And still my stomach is spinning in circles when I hold my hand palm up on the armrest—the universal sign to oh-my-gosh-please-hold-my-hand-already!
It takes as long as it takes Drew Barrymore to show up to school with her fresh makeover in her outlandish white fur outfit before Malik’s hand inches closer to mine and our fingers finally intertwine.
We sit there and watch the movie—the whole thing. I quote along to a few lines before I can catch myself, and I don’t even get up to pee because I’m scared I’ll somehow ruin this moment and it won’t be the same when I return.
After the credits roll, I let out a big, unstoppable yawn.
“Just one last thing,” Malik says. “I just have to show you one more thing before you turn into a pumpkin.”
I yawn again, but I nod. “Okay.”
He takes me back through the employee staircase we initially went up, and then he leads me to an even narrower staircase. Before he opens the heavy metal door, he reaches for a brick sitting on top of the doorframe.
He grunts as he opens the heavy door and holds it for me as I step out onto the rooftop. Carefully he wedges the brick in place to stop the door from swinging shut.
“The best view in Clover City,” he says.
I take a few steps closer to the edge of the roof where the LONE STAR THEATER letters stick up over the roofline. A few of the letters have little birds’ nests inside and a couple of the lights need replacing.
But he’s right. The view is amazing. At this hour, only a few buildings are still lit up, but you can still see all the way to the edge of town, and then it’s like the rest of the world is just swallowed up in darkness. Like this little town exists on a planet all by itself.
Malik pulls over two old office chairs. “Cameron and the other guys take their smoke breaks up here,” he explains.
The two of us sit down, and for a few minutes we just live here in this moment without a word between us.
Finally I break the silence. “How is it I’ve lived here all my life and I’m just now seeing this view of Clover City?”
A soft smile plays at Malik’s lips. “You think you know a place,” he says. “You think you’ve got it all figured out, but it’s like with camerawork. You just adjust your position, even slightly, and suddenly you’re telling a different story. Seeing a new world.”
And funny as it may be, this reminds me of Callie. I thought I knew just the kind of person someone like her was. I thought I had her pegged. Pretty girl, dance-team assistant captain, dream boyfriend, and just sharp enough to intimidate you. But that was only the story of herself she wanted me to see and not the Callie I’ve come to know.
“Perspective,” I say. “Perspective is everything.” I want to stay here forever, but I can’t stop myself from yawning again. I glance down at my phone to see that it’s well past two in the morning.
“I better get you home.” Malik stands up and offers me his hand.
“Only if you promise not to be greedy with this view.” I take his hand and stand.
“We can’t tell too many people,” he says. “Can’t have everybody trying to steal our spot.”
My mouth goes a little dry. I’ve been waiting for another chance to kiss, ever since we were interrupted by the movie coming to an end earlier. We haven’t kissed, like really kissed, since we filmed my audition tape. I thought kissing him again would get easier, but try telling my nerves that.
If Malik’s nervous, it doesn’t show. His head tilts to the side as he pulls me closer to him, holding me tight. It’s way too warm out to have this many goose bumps, but my body defies science as Malik’s lips meet mine. I almost forget to breathe through my nose as he deepens the kiss and combs his fingers through my hair.
I can have it all. I decide in that moment. Everything I want can be had.