Meet Me at Midnight

by Jessica Pennington

  “True, I guess potatoes are vegetables,” she says, her voice so thoughtful it makes me laugh.

  “You guess?”

  She smacks my arm as we run, and I speed up so she has to push herself harder to do it again. “We’d have to spend a lot of time in the yard to put the potatoes on the grass. It’s not exactly sneaky.”

  “We can go in the middle of the night. Like really late. Three a.m. or something?” I slow down so we’re side by side again. “I bet it wouldn’t take that long … we can get all of the potatoes ready beforehand, so all we have to do is spread them. Even if we do something cool, we could probably be in and out in twenty minutes?” I ram my shoulder into her like we’re bumper cars. “We’d have to buy a million boxes of potatoes, though.”

  “And hope that it rains sometime soon, before the dog eats them all,” she says. “Damn dog.” We run another ten feet before she speaks again. “We could buy the potatoes this afternoon … might need to hit a few stores to get enough. Maybe go to Nadine’s tomorrow night or the night after, once we can think through all the details?”

  Crap. This is the perfect time to ask Sidney what I’ve been trying to work myself up to for days now. Even though we’re acting like normal people who don’t hate each other anymore, it’s still hard to talk to her in person. We’re doing things together now, but only because of the lipstick notes. When we’re together, we mostly talk about our plans for Nadine. Or how weird it is that our parents are experiencing a second-coming of their college years. I’m not sure how to break us out of that. Sometimes I’m not sure why I still want to. But I do.

  We’re running on a side road that stretches into the woods when I clear my throat and come to a stop along the side of the road. It’s a service road of some kind, and it’s unpaved. But it’s also shaded, which makes it perfect for running, despite having to sporadically dodge a tree root cutting through our path. Something rustles in the undergrowth beside me, and Sidney’s eyes snap past me. “I was going to go to the drive-in tomorrow night. They’re showing that new movie, the one with the woman who disappears on the train.”

  She nods with a smile and lets out a long breath. “Yeah, that looks really good.” She shakes her head. “That’s cool, we can do it another night.”

  “Yeah.” I stub my toe into the ground. “I was just thinking, if you wanted to go with me, we could check it out.” The regret is heavy as the words hang between us. This was such a horrible idea. “Just … it’s kind of pathetic to go to the movies by yourself, you know?”

  I can see her entire jaw tense as she swallows. “Um.”

  “Don’t feel like you have to. I just wanted to see it, but seriously, no pressure.” Crap, this is awkward. If we were on the main road at least I could wish that a car would accidentally swipe me and make this end. But no, I decided the dead quiet of the woods was the best place to do this. I’m a genius.

  Sidney bites her lip and doesn’t smile, but her face looks even now. Not interested, but not disgusted. “Yeah. No. I mean, you’re right. It looks really good.” She bites her lip again. “I’ll go.”

  She starts running again without a word, and I follow a step behind, then pull up alongside her. I feel like we’re running in a weird bubble of awkward tension, and I have to pop it before we both suffocate in here. “You know what the perfect movie snack is?” I say, my voice teasing.

  “Popcorn?” Her voice drips with sarcasm.

  “I mean, popcorn is great, but…”

  “Gummy bears.”

  “Yuck.”

  “What?” She sounds personally offended. “No, gummies are the best, come on.”

  “Try again.”

  She laughs. “I’m not making you pancakes.”

  I let out a huff. “Oh, come on.”

  “Nope.” Sidney shakes her head as we make a U-turn at the end of the dirt path. “You’re all strung out on the ’cakes, Marin.” She’s right. I’ve managed to talk her into making them twice this week. The first time by mentioning them to my dad, who asked her, and the second time by agreeing to do two of our dinner dish shifts solo. The only thing Sidney wants to be less than my personal chef is the post-dinner dishwasher.

  “Puh-leasssse?” I clap my hands together as if I’m praying to the goddess that is Sidney, Queen of the Pancakes.

  “We’re not taking pancakes to a movie.” She’s shaking her head at me like I’m an idiot, but she’s smiling. And the nervous energy is long gone. “I’ll make us chocolate-chip muffins.”

  “Yes!” I throw my fist up into the air. “Deal!”

  “But you’re buying my ticket,” she says.

  “For muffins? Obviously.”

  “I need to save my money for mashed potatoes.” She laughs and rolls her eyes—at herself, which is a nice change from them being directed at me. “As one does.”

  I laugh. “As one does.”

  We don’t talk the rest of the way home, but it’s a different kind of silence from what has become our normal the last few years. Let’s hope spending four hours in a car together doesn’t ruin it.

  DAY 22

  Asher

  The next night, we’re pulling into the Cherry Bowl Drive-In in my parents’ small black SUV. It’s dusk, and the lot is just starting to fill up with cars. The Cherry Bowl is on the edge of town, and it looks like something straight out of a fifties sitcom. The property is circled by wavy sheets of metal that would look like something from a junkyard if they weren’t painted a pretty pale aqua. Inside, there’s nothing more than a big open field that is 60 percent half-dead grass and 40 percent dirt patches. To one side a little painted brick building houses the concessions and bathrooms, and at the far end a giant white screen stretches into the sky.

  In the passenger seat Sidney has a plastic container (which I assume/pray is full of muffins) on her lap. She brought two bottles of water that are now sitting in the console between us. We’ve been quiet the entire drive and I’m hoping this wasn’t the worst idea ever, because this is exactly what I was hoping to fix.

  I back into the first available space, and Sidney unbuckles her seat belt, but doesn’t get out. She twists in her seat and looks quizzically out the back of the car, where the giant screen is.

  I open my door. “Come on,” I say, closing the door behind me and making my way to the back of the car. Sidney meets me as the trunk door is slowly rising above us. And I’m not sure if the look on her face means I’m getting any of those muffins she’s got gripped in her hands, or if I’m out of luck.

  Sidney

  I’m trying to ignore how much this feels like a date, because that’s just ridiculous. Asher and I don’t do dates. A few weeks ago we didn’t do civil conversation. But the back of the car is covered in a soft plaid blanket—the one Sylvie usually packs for the beach—and there are pillows piled up along the back of the seat. I set my container of muffins on the bumper and stare into the comfy yet intimidating space, reminding myself that the only reason Asher bought my ticket is the baked goods I came with. You told him to buy it. One hundred percent not a date.

  “This is—” Weird. Intimidating. Slightly horrifying. “—nice,” I say, my voice more tentative than I’d intended. I climb up into the trunk and wiggle myself into the passenger-side corner. Best to claim my space first. My toes nervously push the blanket back into place where I pulled it up climbing in. Asher climbs in after me and sits on the opposite side, leaning back onto the pillows with his hands crossed behind his head. His feet hang over the bumper.

  There’s a half-foot of space between our outstretched legs, and the trunk is normal size, but it feels claustrophobically small. The smell of Asher’s body wash dances in the air around us, as if it’s taunting me with the fact that I can’t escape it. I would endure torture before I’d admit it to him, but I love the smell of Asher’s body wash. It’s warm and spicy, and it reminds me of summer. Maybe because he reminds me of summer. It’s a chicken and egg thing, I guess. But right now, it reminds me of be
ing in our bathroom in the morning, and the way the smell seems to permeate the entire room, even if it’s been hours since he showered. The way it seems to soak into my skin as I shower. And the thought of being naked in that room sends a shiver down my spine. You’re in a car, Sidney. Definitely not in the shower. Fully clothed. Shake it off, Walters.

  “I just figured if we’re going to be sitting in the car for the next four hours, we didn’t have to be wedged in the front seats.” Four hours. I forgot the Cherry Bowl showed double features. I haven’t been here since my parents took me our very first summer. Asher pries the lid off of the container of muffins, but leaves it where it was, between our knees. He pops one of the tiny muffins into his mouth and moans. “Plus, there’s less pressure not to get food on my dad’s seats now. He’s weird about that.”

  Ah. So this isn’t special, it’s practical. It’s oddly comforting to think that—that this wasn’t some special thing Asher did for me. But that feeling is quickly followed by a strange pang of disappointment that twists in my belly and climbs into my chest. The feeling confuses me, and I tell myself it’s just because of the nice things I’ve done for him. The pancakes multiple times these last few weeks; the runs we’re going on together. That of course I’d want him to do nice things for me, when I’m doing them for him.

  But the pancakes are fun to make. And the runs aren’t any kind of punishment. It’s nice not to go alone. Nicer to have someone there to push me, which Asher and his long legs do, every single time. And I really like running off-road. I’d never do it by myself, because even though I have a right to run anywhere I want, all I can think about is someone leaping out of the woods and dragging me to some creepy cabin, where I’m never heard from again. At least with Asher there I have a 50 percent chance of not being the one snatched.

  But Asher has done nice things for me, too. He saved me at the party by dragging me to that game. Which is dramatic but also an understatement, because I can’t wait to play again. Every morning, swimming or not, there is a cup of coffee waiting for me. It’s all so strange in comparison to before. So is this all just about outdoing each other? I suppose it’s not hurting anything if it is. I pop a muffin into my mouth and nestle back into the pillows behind me. It looks like Asher stole every spare pillow in the house—bed pillows from his room, two square blue pillows with birds embroidered on them from the porch, a few of the colorful throw pillows off of the living room couches. It’s like sitting on one of those really luxurious hotel beds that has way more pillows than seems reasonable for one bed.

  “Thanks. This is definitely better.”

  And Asher really did outdo himself with this setup. I’m noticing the candy now. There’s a giant box of gummy bears shoved into a little black compartment to my side, and boxes of Junior Mints and Starburst on his side. I bet he’s a really sweet boyfriend. The thought makes me literally choke on my muffin. I try to swallow back the cough, and that just makes it worse. One giant cough escapes me, and then a second, and by the third Asher is reaching over and patting me on the back, like I’m a toddler who hasn’t quite mastered chewing.

  Thump. Thump. “You okay?”

  I cough one last time, take a long swig of water, and decide I’m going to survive. The choking, at least. Whether I survive this night and my twisted thoughts is still up for debate. I turn to Asher to explain that I’m fine, and he won’t be needing to Heimlich me, when I realize that he’s now right beside me. Our calves are still separated by the muffin container, but our hips are just inches apart, and our shoulders are grazing. There isn’t even room to put my hand down. Hands, meet lap. Your new home for the evening. You’ll like it here. It’s safe, and you can’t get into trouble.

  “I’ve actually always wanted to Heimlich someone.” He looks over at me suddenly. “And yeah, I know that sounds horrible. I mean … I don’t want anyone to choke. I’m just saying if it happens, and I’m the only one who knows the Heimlich…” He shakes his head like he’s getting off track. Like most swimmers, Asher and I both lifeguard at our pools. Apparently his CPR and emergency training really made an impression on him. “But you know, in a restaurant or something. A stranger. Definitely not a friend.” He pops another muffin into his mouth. “Too much responsibility.”

  A friend. When the hell did that happen? But it has—that’s why there are pillows, and my favorite candy, and why he doesn’t want me, of all people, to choke. It’s why I’m sitting in this car with Asher at all.

  “It does sound horrible.” I decapitate a green gummy bear and let the silence settle around us, because I have a real mean streak. “But also … I totally get what you’re saying.” I still have a muffin sitting in my lap, forgotten during my near-death experience, and I take a bite. Hopefully this isn’t the one that makes Asher’s weird dream come true. “You’d be like a hero sweeping in.”

  Asher smacks his leg, and his pinkie grazes my thigh. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t apologize. “Exactly! It’s basically the closest I could ever get to being some sort of superhero.”

  “‘Asher Marin…’” I use a deep voice like a movie voice-over. “‘Saving diners from their food … one blocked esophagus at a time.’” I grimace. “The tagline could use some work.”

  Asher laughs. “Yeah, that doesn’t sound very sexy. Superheroes are supposed to be sexy.”

  “You’d have to make up for it with a killer costume.”

  “You just want to see me in spandex,” Asher quips, and it’s my turn to laugh.

  “Am I that transparent?” I say mockingly. We’re back in familiar territory, him teasing me.

  “Only when it comes to the way you lust over my body.” Asher throws his arm behind me, and even though it isn’t touching me, I know it’s right there on the pillows. “I feel like I should apologize…” He turns to me, and our eyes lock.

  “For what?” I say, so soft it’s barely a whisper. The list of things either of us could apologize for is long. Way too long to hash out before the movie starts, maybe even before the summer ends.

  “My overwhelming sexual presence.” His mouth quirks up in a half smile, and he winks. Pressed up against me, his shoulders shake with unreleased laughter.

  And suddenly, it feels like we’re playing a whole new kind of game. I really wish I knew the rules.

  Asher

  It’s true that I didn’t want to come to a movie alone. But I would have. I don’t know that many people around here, so if people think I’m a weirdo, well, I’ll survive. And I could have asked Trevor, if all I really needed was a body in the car. But it was Sidney I really wanted to see this movie with. Because she notices everything, and this is one of those mind-screw movies where you have to watch it four times to catch all of the little hints and extras they’re giving you.

  “I think she can secretly understand everything,” Sidney says in the middle of a dramatic scene.

  “What? No way. She doesn’t speak English.”

  “Think about it … the only reason he thinks that is because someone else told him that. But did you see that shot earlier where her eyes cut to him when he said something about the body they found in that sleeper car?”

  “Shit,” I mutter.

  “Sorry, I’m ruining it for you.”

  “No, I didn’t even notice that. I wonder what else I missed.” And I really do, because I catch so many more clues after she says that. When the movie ends we spend intermission raging over the big twist that neither of us saw coming, and which ultimately ruined a great movie for both of us. When the next movie starts—a rom-com about identical twins who fall for the same boy while at summer camp—we spend the movie pointing out all of the implausible bits, and we talk through the awkward make-out scenes.

  During a particularly steamy scene, Sidney cuts in with a confession.

  “If you ever tell anyone, I’ll deny it, but I’ve always wanted a hurricane named after me.”

  It comes so out of the blue, I wonder how long she’s been si
tting next to me, contemplating if she could admit that to me after my Heimlich confession. And I don’t know what it means that she did. Maybe just that it’s awkward as hell to watch people make out on a fifty-foot screen while sitting next to someone you don’t make out with. “You’re a monster.”

  She slaps my leg but laughs. “I know, right? Sort of like you, though … I don’t want it to be a devastating category five or anything, just something that sweeps off the shore”—her arm sweeps out in front of her—“and is super scary, but then magically dissipates before it ever gets close to actually hurting anyone.”

  “Tropical Storm Sidney.” I pop another Junior Mint into my mouth, trying to ignore that it feels like she branded my leg by touching it. Telling myself I shouldn’t try to make another joke just to get her to do it again. “I like it.”

  She smiles, and fidgets her hands on her thighs before casually plucking the box of mints out of my hand and holding them in her lap. Hurricane Sidney makes it official: Operation Movie Night is a definite success.

  DAY 23

  Sidney

  I stare at the text on my screen, trying to decide if he’s asking me out on a date again, or just being friendly. Hanging out definitely isn’t the same as going out, Sidney. It’s 3 p.m.

  I should say yes. I should get out of this house, and remind myself what it feels like to be a person who doesn’t spend all of her time with her nemesis. We eat breakfasts together, swim and run together, do dishes every night. Less than twenty-four hours ago, I willingly sat in a trunk with him for close to five hours. It’s very possible that my brain is being subjected to something like Stockholm syndrome. A million years from now I’ll be telling my grandkids about this: And then, I made my captor pancakes. With chocolate chips, because that was his favorite. And they’ll say, Grammi, what was wrong with you? I don’t even know how I’d answer that. What is wrong with me?