Mr. Demers continues with his lesson, and eventually I sit up and slouch back in my seat. Tom leans over and whispers, “I’d heard you were making quite the impression around here today.”
I turn and look at him with rapidly blinking eyes. “I think I’ve been falling in love with you.” Kapow . . . truth bomb.
At lunch, I continue my tirade, reaching new levels of anger and honesty.
“Take your blinders off,” I tell Anna and Katy while pounding the lunch table. “You’re not the outcasts you think you are—you are the pulse of this school. You have the power to connect everyone. Don’t divide the yearbook into sections by groups. Focus on the similarities between us all.”
I move my face close to Anna’s. “Forget about Colton—you can do so much better. And delete that stupid picture of Kaia enjoying food. A girl deserves to eat in peace.”
Petra is watching me, and I shift in front of her. “You need to stop operating in Anna’s shadow and think for yourself for a change. Petra, you’re a good person. You should be free to date whoever you want. And, by the way, you and I could’ve been best friends in a different life.”
Taking a step back, I look around. “Just . . . try to do better.”
I make my way over to Tom’s table. He hasn’t said anything to me since the big confession I dropped on him in English class.
“Well, if it isn’t our newest dramatic actress,” Chuck says. Tom must’ve told the rest of them about my outburst.
“My psychologist father would call it more of a histrionic episode.” I shrug. “Thankfully, he doesn’t believe in diagnosis during adolescence.”
Tom scratches the back of his head and asks, “Is that what made you say that thing about liking me?”
“What I said was that I’m falling in love with you.” I move in close to his face. “I just wish I’d realized it this summer, before it was too late.”
“What’s too late?” he asks, and I check the clock on the wall. Glancing over, I see that Kaia and Colton have already left their table.
“Looks like I’m late.” I head for the cafeteria doors without looking back.
I walk into the bathroom with such swiftness, the girls preening at the mirror stop and turn to look at me.
With all the authority I can muster, I ask, “Do you mind clearing the room?”
One of the girls leans over, and I hear her whisper to her friend, “That’s her. The one I was telling you about.”
I say, “If you’ve heard about me, you know I’m not playing around today. Please leave.”
The girl’s friend puts her hands on her hips. “Do you really need the whole bathroom to yourself?”
“I just want to talk to Kaia privately.” I glance over and see her kitten heels underneath the usual stall door. I sigh and tell the girls, “You all look great. Now it’s time to please make your way to the exit in an orderly fashion.”
Everyone stands in place until I’m forced to yell, “Go! Live your lives!” My voice must sound desperate, because the girls finally start scampering past me into the hallway.
The stalls open one by one and girls quickly rinse their hands on their way out of the bathroom. Finally, Kaia’s stall door is the only one left closed.
I take a deep breath, trying to figure out how I’m going to deliver this particular truth bomb. It scares me more than any of the others, even telling Tom I’m falling for him—because I can’t just kapow Kaia. Dropping truth on someone whose thinking is distorted can be unpredictable, and explosive, and may cause even more damage. But I have to do something to help her.
Walking down the row, I’m trying to remember all the stuff my dad has talked about and the things I’ve learned about eating disorders. I give a soft knock. “Kaia?”
Holding my breath a moment, I wonder if she’ll just ignore me. The only sound is the faucet’s steady drip. Finally, the toes of her kitten heels move into view, and with a metallic click she unlocks the door, opening it partway.
She peers at me through the opening. “How do you know my name?”
I move back to give her space, and she opens her stall door wider.
“I know more than your name,” I say. “I know what you were about to do in there. And I know that bulimia can be extremely dangerous.”
She moves back, pulling the stall door halfway closed.
“Wait.” I put up my hand. “I’m not going to say anything about this to anyone. I just . . . I really want you to know that you deserve so much better. You only get one body, and it should be treated with kindness and nourishment and love.”
“You don’t know anything,” she says, but opens the metal door a tiny bit wider.
“I know that you probably have a distorted body image, so telling you how amazing you look won’t really help anything. Although I’ll still go ahead and say you look amazing.”
She strides past me and up to one of the sinks, where she starts washing her hands.
“And one more thing I know. The shame surrounding an eating disorder often keeps sufferers from seeking help.”
Kaia closes her eyes a moment, and when they open they meet mine in the mirror.
“Listen,” I say. “If there’s a name for something, it means someone else has already done it. You are not the first girl to ever have bulimia.” Kaia winces at the word. I go on. “But you don’t need to be defined by this. Getting help is scary, and it may be embarrassing, but from what I’ve seen, you have the strength to kick this thing.”
In the mirror, Kaia’s gaze slides from me to herself. She stands, looking into her own eyes until they begin tearing up. “Who are you?” she asks her reflection.
I whisper, “You are Kaia, and you are going to break free from this oppression, and you are going to be okay.”
She turns to me. “No, I mean who are you?”
“I’m your new friend, Andie. And I’m rooting for you.” She gives me a small, if confused, smile, and I turn and walk out of the bathroom.
When I pass Colton, I say, “Be there for her.”
My truth bombs continue getting less explosive until they’re barely truth grenades, which gradually in turn become truth suggestions.
I tell a sullen teacher monitoring the hallway, “Appreciate your blessings.”
One girl, I just walk up to and hug. “You are worthy of big love. Believe in you.” She immediately begins to cry.
The whispering murmurs behind my back make me glad that nobody will remember me tomorrow. But there’s one person who doesn’t seem to mind all my blatant honesty.
When I go to my locker at the end of the day, Tom’s standing there waiting for me.
“I heard you told Colton off about not deserving to work at the theater,” he says.
“Yeah,” I say. “It’s the truth. That must be the coolest job on earth, and the guy doesn’t even know what a meet-cute is.”
“Tell me about it.” Tom traces a finger along the edge of my locker door. “So then why did you spend half the summer there doing his work for him?”
“I thought I liked him.” I shrug. “But I finally realized I don’t.”
“So, you won’t be coming by the theater anymore?” Tom asks.
“You just try keeping me away.” I don’t specify if I’m talking about him or the theater, but I mean both.
He smiles. “Well then, I was wondering if maybe you’d like to pick up a shift or two of your own.”
My mouth drops open. “You’re actually offering me a job at the movie theater?”
“You’ve proven you can be a hard worker,” he says. “I think you’d be great. We may have to do a background check since you eerily seem to know something about everyone in this school, but it’ll probably be okay.”
I smile. The first one since I woke up this morning. Apparently, I was wrong about today being an awful day, because this is a very nice surprise indeed.
chapter 22
I tell Tom I’m free to lend a hand at the theater tonight, and he says
he’ll meet me there to show me the ropes later. After he visits a “very special girl.”
I think he’s trying to either throw me off or make me jealous, but I just smile and say, “She must be a lucky girl too.”
Before the school bus even reaches my house, someone has already posted my cell phone number to my classmates. I’m immediately inundated with text messages asking how I know the things I know. And who do I think I am. And a couple of other blistering endearments.
Mom is impressed by how much my phone keeps buzzing and assumes I’ve had an amazing first day. I decide to let her have that one, particularly since I’m borrowing her car to go to the theater tonight with the warning I’ll be home late.
I think Dad is forcing her to watch some sort of documentary with him about an outrageous thing that’s happening in the medical . . . snore . . . whatever . . . never mind.
When I walk through the theater doors, Tom greets me with a grin, and I ask how his very special girl is doing.
He blushes. “She’s my meemaw. I went to play a video game with her.”
My smile is genuine as I picture them together. “So then, I was right,” I say. “She is lucky.”
It’s already late, so the two of us get busy tidying up around the counter. Since I was here all summer, I pretty much know how things run. As we work, I keep glancing over at him, then looking away at the exact moment he tries to catch me watching. We’re both acting pretty smiley.
Next, I follow Tom as he gives me the official tour, explaining the equipment and sharing little anecdotes about his experiences at the theater. Apparently, he’s been working here since he started ripping tickets at fifteen.
“Welcome to the heart of this whole operation,” he says as he ushers me into one of the small projection booths. An enormous machine taking up the center of the space whirs with a trivia reel that’s being mostly ignored by the audience in the theater below us.
“This is beyond cool,” I say as my gaze tries to take in every detail of the booth. “Like magic.” I feel my eyes glowing like a cat’s as I look out the little window, following the beam of light to the giant screen.
When I turn back, Tom is watching me. “I knew you’d love this.”
“I do,” I say simply.
Tom smiles. “The retirement home where my meemaw lives has a little theater inside.”
I keep my expression neutral. “You don’t say.”
He points to a stack of smaller reels in one corner of the shelves. “I help out by running the movies there when I have time, and in return they loan us some of their classic reels every now and then. They run on the old projector, not the digital one, but they’re pretty cool.”
“I’d love to watch a few of those.”
He smiles. “I’m predicting we’ll get the chance at some point in the future.”
I wish, I think. But at least we have right now.
The two of us stand there grinning at each other. Tom’s eyes wander over my face, and my heart starts to flip-flop.
So naturally, that’s right when Tom’s cell phone rings. The tune sounds hauntingly familiar, but I can’t quite place it.
He answers the phone. “Oh, hey, Colton.” His brow furrows a moment, and after a longer pause, he says, “Okay, got it.” Pause. “No, really, it’s fine.” Tom looks at me. “Yeah, we’ve got you covered. Good luck.”
When he hangs up, Tom explains that Colton can’t come in tonight.
I think of Colt hanging out at the rowdy house party and realize he’s been blowing off the late shift at work this entire time.
“He was on the schedule to close,” Tom says. “But he said something about his girlfriend, Kaia, needing him. Apparently, she’s going through some stuff.”
I’m hopeful this means our talk today inspired her to ask for help. And that Colton is being supportive.
“I don’t mind pitching in,” I say.
Tom smiles. “Thanks, Andie. It really sounds like you’ll be helping him and Kaia out.”
“Glad to do it,” I say, and mean it.
I’m glad it’s a slow night, because it gives Tom and me a chance to talk while we work. As he guides me in setting up the projector for the last show of the night, he tells me how much he loves this theater.
“We’re doing well,” he says, “but independently owned places like this are really suffering financially.”
“So that’s why you nearly forced me to eat a whole carton of malted milk balls when we first met,” I say.
“I couldn’t lose that snack bar sale.” He laughs.
“That was humiliating.”
“Come on, the chocolate drool was adorable.”
Our smiles both fade at the same time, and I imagine Tom must be remembering Colton wiping my drool with a napkin, just like I am. I can’t believe that gesture made me swoon so hard and for so long, it kept me from even noticing Tom.
The projection booth suddenly feels too stuffy, and Tom says we should go downstairs to get ready for our final wave of moviegoers.
And just like that, another magic moment has passed me by.
While cleaning up the final theater after the last movie ends, the two of us discuss the differences between watching a movie at the cinema versus at home. We both agree it isn’t just about the size of the screen.
“The movie theater is all about the shared experience,” he says.
“Exactly!” I hold up my broom in triumph. “I’ve noticed the same film can have a different feel at different showings, depending on the audience.”
Tom smiles. “There’s one woman who comes in here who has the biggest, most infectious laugh.”
“I know the woman you mean,” I say. “I love when she comes. I swear people who experience comedies with her in the audience are so lucky. She enhances the show for everyone.”
Tom nods in agreement. “And then it’s so cool when people come out of a movie talking a mile a minute about the film.”
“It’s like riding an hours-long roller coaster together,” I say. “By the end, you know each other’s screams and hopefully laughter, and even if the movie isn’t what you expected, or if you happen to forget it the next day, you’ve shared something with a roomful of strangers.”
“I love that,” he says, and the two of us stand there smiling at each other some more. Finally, he says, “I’d better go make sure everyone’s gone and lock up.”
After he’s been gone a few moments, the screen of the theater I’m in whirs to life with a black-and-white film. It must be one from the retirement home.
When Tom comes back, I’m sweeping a small mound of spilled popcorn that was left on the theater floor. “Nice touch,” I say, pointing to the screen.
The movie makes the shadows and light dance over the empty theater seats in an eerie way. I feel lightheaded as I slowly sweep the popcorn into a long-handled dustpan.
From across the aisle, Tom says, “Sometimes the movie itself isn’t as important as who you’re watching it with.”
He’s studying me in the flickering light. I stand up straight and get another small wave of dizziness.
He points. “The garbage is just outside the door.”
I look down at my pan filled with popcorn and say, “Oh. Thanks.”
As I walk up the aisle toward the exit doors, I wonder if we’ve just hit that point in the night when Tom remembers how I’ve acted all summer. I sigh as I push open the door, thinking, Well, it was nice while it las—“Aaaaahhhh!!”
A man is standing directly in my way, and I blindly swing my dustpan at his head.
It isn’t until I hear Tom’s laughter from behind me that I realize I’ve just assaulted Victory Man. Or rather, the cardboard cutout version of Victory Man. I spin around, tingling with adrenaline.
Tom is laughing so hard he can’t catch his breath. “I’m . . . sorry. I couldn’t . . . resist.”
Dropping my weapon, I pick up the limp cardboard cutout of the masked superhero and begin hitting Tom wit
h it. Which only makes him laugh harder.
“Are you kidding me?” The release as my adrenaline drains makes me feel more disoriented than ever.
The two of us stop a moment, breathing hard and looking at each other. The mirth that sparkles in Tom’s eyes reminds me of his meemaw, and I have to twist my mouth to hold in a smile.
“Really, Andie. I didn’t think you’d react that strongly.” He lets out a small laugh and tries to look serious. “Pranks are really big around the theater, and I just thought . . .”
Finally, the endorphins that were set loose after my big scare take over. I feel my face break into a wide smile.
“You’re . . . okay?” Tom starts laughing again, and this time I join him. We laugh long and hard as he throws the cardboard cutout on the ground and starts beating it up.
“Defending my honor now?” I tease.
“I’m really sorry.” Tom says. “But that was so worth keeping Victory Man around.”
Between laughs I ask, “Did you learn that prank from your meemaw?”
He stands up to look at me. “How did you know she’s a big practical joker?”
Whoops. I stammer, “Oh, well, you know. You just went to visit her and all . . .”
He steps closer. “Andie, you are a surprising girl.”
“You know what?” I look down at Victory Man’s remains and think back to when Tom was only “boss-man” to me. “You surprise me too,” I say. “And that’s really saying something.”
He smiles. “Wait till you see the pranks my meemaw taught me using plastic wrap.”
“Well, you just wait for the payback,” I say. “Prank war starts now.”
Our laughter pops back up in small bursts as the two of us clean the popcorn I’ve respilled and make our way back into the theater. We sit down side by side to watch the black-and-white movie still playing onscreen. It’s one of those old, grainy slapstick comedies. This is definitely one of those cases where who I’m watching it with is the part that really matters.
“Hey, Andie,” Tom says quietly. “Open your hand.”
I do, and he pours a stream of perfectly round balls of chocolate into my palm.
Pretty in Punxsutawney Page 23
