by Alex Flinn
“Meredith?”
She jumped. Had he been speaking to her before?
“Sorry!”
“Nah, it’s okay. You looked sort of dreamy. I was just asking what movie we should see.”
She realized she had no idea. “I don’t know. What are the choices?”
He pulled onto the interstate. “Glad you phrased it that way. Choices are sort of limited up here. When I went to Long Island last year, they had a theater with twelve different movies and another with twelve more. I’m betting it’s like that where you’re from too.”
“Yeah, we have a lot of movies. But I don’t really care what I see.”
“That’s good, because you only have two choices, two double features.” He mentioned two kid cartoons, one a sequel to something Meredith had seen, and two superhero films.
“You won’t mind if I choose the kids’ movies?”
“Nah. In fact, I’m kind of nostalgic about that. I saw the first one when I was, like, ten.”
“Then it’s settled,” she said as he turned on his headlights. “You drive very carefully.”
“There’s deer around twilight, which is now. Also, I got a ticket last month, and my mother’s still on my back about it. Most of the money I got for the first photo I sold went to pay it, close to two hundred dollars.”
“Two hundred dollars for a photo, wow,” she said, remembering he’d sold three.
“I know, right? It was actually two fifty, minus the frame I bought. The manager at Telly’s said, ‘Price ’em high so people think they’re worth something,’ and she was right. I’d have sold it for forty dollars or something.”
“What were the pictures of?”
“It sounds dumb. Just a sunrise over Schroon Lake with a canoe. But I took them in fall, so there were a lot of colors.”
“It sounds beautiful.” Meredith wondered what she ever did that was beautiful. “It must be nice, sitting someplace pretty and setting up the perfect shot. One time, when I was little, my dad took me out to Shark Valley in the Everglades. We went in the morning. It was so dark and quiet.” Meredith remembered holding her dad’s hand, afraid that she might stumble over an alligator in the blackness. “We thought we were all alone. But when the sun rose, there were maybe a dozen photographers, snapping pictures right near where we were.” She remembered being there with Daddy. It must have been just a few months before he died.
“That would never happen here. It’s never crowded.”
They drove in silence. Harmon pulled off at an exit. Then, Meredith saw the theater sign.
GLEN DRIVE-IN
“A drive-in?” she asked. “That’s still a thing?”
“Guess we’re a little retro here.” Harmon drove up to the yellow-painted ticket booth.
“Isn’t the drive-in where people go to . . .” She trailed off.
“Make out? Yes, I have also seen Grease. But there’s a bunch of little kids and old people here, so I think you’re pretty safe.” He pulled forward and reached for his wallet.
“Oh, let me pay for myself.”
But she wasn’t quick enough, and he handed the old woman cashier a twenty.
“Who you with, Harmon?” the cashier asked. “Girlfriend?”
“We’ll see.” He took the ticket she handed him. To Meredith, he said, “I’m feeling flush with my photography sales. You can get the popcorn.”
He drove into a patchy field with a giant screen at the front. It was still light out, but people were already lounging on lawn chairs or walking with pajama-clad kids to a brown building, apparently a snack bar. Harmon was right. It didn’t look like a den of iniquity. He backed into an empty parking spot. “We can sit in the truck bed.”
So now she was going to be a girl who sat in truck beds. Who even was she?
“I think even a city girl like you will be okay with the arrangement,” Harmon said. “But check it out, and if you don’t like it, I’ll turn the truck around, and we can sit in the cab.”
“Okay.” She started to get out of the car only to find him there a second later. Was he going to open the door for her every time? And was that gentlemanly? Or sexist? In any case, she let him shut it behind her and followed him to the truck bed, which was lined with patio chair cushions. A small cooler perched in the center. He also had a Frisbee, a football, an old-fashioned big radio, a giant can of Off, and some fishing poles.
He saw her eyeing the fishing poles. “I’m prepared for anything,” he said, grinning. “Should we head to the snack bar?”
Meredith glanced at the cooler, wondering if it was full of worms, but she followed him.
“I used to come here every week in the summer, growing up,” he said. “There were so many of us we took two cars, and we’d park near other friends from school and tailgate.”
“How many of you?”
“Six of us boys. I’m the youngest. After me, they stopped trying to have a girl, and my mother taught me to knit and bake.”
“You knit?”
“Should I make you a scarf? I do bake. In fact, I made the blondies in the cooler.”
The boy was full of surprises. They reached the old building. Some people their age were crowded there. Harmon introduced them and said, “Guys, this is Meredith. She’s from Miami.”
“Ooh, city girl,” a guy he’d introduced as Nick said.
“Miami,” a girl named Kelly said. “You ever see a drug bust?”
Meredith shrugged. “Some girl at school got busted selling her ADD pills, but I didn’t really know her.”
“You don’t look very tan either,” Kelly said.
Harmon turned to Meredith. “What do you want? I recommend the Slush Puppie. That’s what I’ve always gotten since I was a kid.”
Meredith ordered two blue Slush Puppies and insisted on paying.
“So do you know everyone here?” Meredith asked as they walked back to the car.
“Pretty much. That’s how it is in a small town. Don’t you know people in Miami?”
Meredith laughed. “Hardly anyone. Just the drug dealers.”
“Really?”
“No, not really.” Meredith took a swig of her Slush Puppie. “It may surprise you to know that I have not seen a single shoot-out in Miami.”
“Not even a little one?” Harmon feigned shock. “Yeah, Kelly watches too much TV.”
“Uncle Harmon! Uncle Harmon!” a tiny voice yelled as they passed.
“Are you Uncle Harmon?” Meredith asked.
“I might be. Depends who’s asking.” Harmon turned toward the voice. “I am!”
A little girl with red pigtails ran up. “Uncle Harmon, I lost a tooth!” She lifted her lip.
“So you did.” Harmon scooped her up. “And have you won any spelling bees lately?”
“No, silly. It’s summer.”
“Daisy is the spelling champion of her grade,” Harmon told Meredith.
“Wow! What grade is that?”
“Second. But I’m going into third.” To Harmon, she said, “Give me a word to spell.”
“Maybe Meredith has a word.” He started to carry her toward her parents’ car.
“Um . . .” Meredith thought back to her own spelling bee days. “How about gleam?”
“Easy. G-L-E-A-M. Gleam. Give me a harder one.”
“Okay.” Meredith thought. “Together. That one was hard for me when I was your age.”
“Together,” Daisy repeated. “T-O-G-E-T-H-E-R. Together.”
“Great!” Meredith clapped. “I can see why you won.”
“Ask me another.” Daisy kicked Harmon in the ribs as he carried her.
“Ouch! No, sweetie. She’s done for now. You stumped her.” Harmon put her down.
“Aw!” Daisy ran to a man who looked like an older, bearded version of Harmon, who was with a little boy. “Daddy, ask me more words!”
“Meredith, this is my nephew, Noah, and my oldest brother, Colt.”
“Be careful around him,” Colt said. “An
d have his blondie, if he made them.”
Harmon took Meredith’s hand. “Come on.”
They continued through the crowd. The setting sun turned the sky pink. Harmon pulled Meredith toward him. “Watch out!” She realized it was to avoid an oncoming Frisbee.
“Hey, buddy.” It was Nick from before. He walked ahead of them, sort of getting in their way. “So tell me about yourself, Melissa.”
“Meredith,” Harmon said.
“Meredith. Meredith from Miami. What do you do in Miami, Meredith?”
This guy was weird. He seemed like he was purposely trying to waste their time.
“She trains alligators to be lifeguards,” Harmon said. “Why are you messing with her?” To Meredith, he said, “Sorry. Nick’s a little clueless. It’s what happens when siblings marry.”
They walked about five feet before another guy was in their way. “Hey, Harmon, Coach Palermo wants to know if you’re going out for football this year.”
“Still no.” He smiled and tried to steer Meredith around the guy.
“Who’s your girlfriend?” the guy asked. “Are you new in town?”
“Not exactly,” Meredith said.
“Well, Harmon here is a great guy, no matter what people say. I’m Zack, by the way.”
“What do people say?” It was so weird having all these people talk to them.
“That he’s a wimp who won’t go out for football. Can you talk him into it?”
“I don’t know. He seems pretty stubborn.” A lot of her friends played soccer or lacrosse to make themselves look well-rounded for college. Football seemed really violent. “He’s probably just aware of the risk of neurodegenerative disease from repeated head trauma.”
Zack looked a little surprised, which made Meredith pause. Too late, she realized he’d obviously just been teasing Harmon about football. She was being too serious and saying this guy had a head injury. Why was she such a nerd? “I mean . . .”
“Good point,” Harmon said. “My mother would agree with you.”
They were almost at the truck, and even more people were talking to Harmon. Meredith wondered if this was what it was like to be popular. “Is your whole school here?”
“It’s a summer tradition.”
“It’s so different here.” In Miami, there was no place where everyone was. She’d lived there eight years now, and even at school, most people were still strangers. When Britta had spoken to her that day in the library, it was the first time in five years she’d talked to someone outside her little clique of AP class friends. Yet she didn’t feel close to those people either.
“They don’t get many new people here, so you’re different and exotic.”
“So exotic.”
“Well, you do have blue lips.”
“You do too. I guess it’s a new style.” She looked at him, grinning with his blue lips, and she wondered what it would be like to kiss him. Not that she’d kissed anyone before. She wondered if he would try. And, if so, would she let him?
Probably, she realized. Probably.
They reached the truck, and he offered his hand. “Help you up?”
“Oh, I can . . .” She looked at the truck bed. She had no idea how people got in. “Okay.”
“Just hold here.” He gestured at the side next to the open tailgate. “And put your other hand on my shoulder. That’s it.” He helped her hoist herself up.
She heard a pop as she got off the tailgate and wondered if she’d broken something. But she felt okay and stumbled onto the cushions. Harmon followed. There was another pop, then another. And an even bigger pop as she sat down. “Oh!”
“Those guys!” Harmon was laughing. He sat and there was a huge burst. Someone had put balloons under the cushions. Harmon stood and stepped on another one. “Real funny!” he yelled into the night.
“You know we love you, or we’d have put water balloons!” a girl’s voice said. Kelly. Suddenly, everyone they’d run into surrounded them, laughing, offering popcorn.
“Guy can’t just leave his truck unattended,” Colt said.
“You got the kids in on this?” Harmon said.
Meredith looked at Daisy, who was with her father. “And I thought you really wanted to impress me with your spelling!” she said in mock outrage.
“I did!” To Harmon, she said, “Tell her I did want to I-M-P-R-E-S-S her.”
“I believe you.” Meredith laughed. “I’ll even think of words for next time I see you.”
“Aha!” Colt said. “There’s gonna be a next time.”
“I noticed that too,” Harmon said. “I think the movie’s about to start.”
“You want us to leave?” Colt asked.
“Kind of. I don’t want you to scare her away,” Harmon said.
After they left, Meredith settled into her place and Harmon started unpacking the food.
“I’m sorry about the balloons,” Harmon said. “Did they startle you?”
“It was funny.” No one had ever played any kind of prank on Meredith or included her in on one either. She knew they pranked other girls. Last year, the football team had moved—actually lifted—a cheerleader’s Mini Cooper out of its parking space and into the courtyard of the school. And one of the history classes had barricaded the classroom with signs that said “Vive la réforme” when the class studied the French Revolution. Lots of people got their houses toilet papered. She bet Britta had. But people took Meredith seriously. “You have nice friends.”
Harmon placed the blondies between them. It was dusk, so the movie would start soon. “How about you? I don’t know anything about you except you’re kind to animals and look cute in a bathing suit.”
Meredith felt her face warm. No one said things like that to her.
“What do you like to do?” he asked. “Like, if a job application asked for your hobbies, what would you say? Three things.”
“Oh, that’s easy.” She’d been working on her resume practically since birth. “I’m on—”
“Not stuff you think sounds impressive to colleges. What do you actually like to do?”
That was harder, and Meredith hesitated. “Three things, huh?”
“I’d settle for two good ones.”
Meredith thought about it. “Okay, well, first off—and this is going to sound super nerdy, but—I’m on the bowling team.” Harmon started to speak, but she interrupted him. “Now, I know what you’re going to say. It started out as a resume thing. My mother thought I should be on a team, and my freshman English teacher coached bowling, so I did that. But I’m actually good at it. Also, if I’m mad at someone, I can think about them when I’m throwing the ball.”
“Ha. Good thing you don’t know Krav Maga.” He mimed a right hook.
“Krav Maga would look really good on my college applications, though.”
“I never think about that stuff.”
“Everyone I know thinks about that kind of thing all the time.”
Harmon nodded. “We are very different. So what’s your high score?”
“I broke two hundred once, two oh two.” Meredith found it hard to keep the pride out of her voice. “But usually, in the low one fifties. I was second team all-county last year. But the funniest thing is, when I was in grade school, I went to a bowling birthday party, and I got the highest score of anyone there.”
Meredith smiled, remembering. It was in fifth grade, the last year people invited the whole class, which was why she’d been invited. She’d barely known the birthday girl.
“I only got an eighty-five. I was probably the only one taking it seriously. So the bowling alley gave me a bowling pin as, like, a trophy to take home. The birthday girl was mad. She said, ‘Eighty-five’s not even that high a score.’ I said, ‘It’s higher than you got.’ So that ruined my social life for the rest of fifth grade. I didn’t care, though. I’m a little competitive.”
“You?” Harmon looked pretend shocked.
“Is it that obvious?”
“We
ll, yeah. You only noticed me when you thought I had a girlfriend.”
“That’s not true exactly.” She had definitely noticed Harmon before that. How could she not? But she probably wouldn’t have looked at him in Miami. Why was that?
“Exactly?” he asked.
“It would be hard not to notice you, the way you were stalking me.”
“I was not stalking you. I had a perfect right to—”
“Okay, but you showed up a lot,” she said.
“Coincidence.”
Meredith gave up. “You’re not the type of person who’s usually interested in me.”
“How so?”
Of course he’d ask. How could she say that handsome, popular, fun guys usually thought she was a boring nerd without sounding like a boring nerd? Or, even worse, like she thought he was dumb, which, she was starting to realize, he wasn’t at all.
Finally, she said, “I guess I don’t really know anyone like you.”
“What am I like?”
Busted. “Can I have a blondie?” Or buy a vowel?
“Absolutely.” He handed her the container, and she chose a big, fat one.
She took a bite. “Wow. It lives up to the hype.” She hoped maybe he’d forget his question. He’d been right about the drive-in not being a particularly intimate date. In the car next to them, two little boys were fighting, and one of them was trying to climb onto the roof.
“So what am I like?” He hadn’t forgotten.
“You just seem like you have a lot of fun.”
“Don’t you?”
“I guess. But all my friends are obsessed with the future, and I’ve gotten that way too. Like I thought coming up here would be a good opportunity to work on college essays. You can’t just write about something normal, like volunteer work or your favorite teacher. You have to be ‘unique’ and ‘interesting,’ like write an essay about Target. Or maybe do it in the viewpoint of a squirrel or in the form of interpretive dance, something like that. My friend Lindsay said I was lucky that my dad was dead because I could write about it.”
