Midnight Movies: A YA Holiday Story
Page 2
Dart McKee! Don’t! Blow! It!”
“Popcorn’s free after 11!” I shout, suddenly inspired. “All you can eat!”
“Really?” he asks, inching one step closer to me.
“And soda’s… soda’s… half-price all Christmas Eve!”
He smirks, looks down at his shoes, fiddles with his feet, looks left, sees nobody, looks right, sees even more of nobody, and finally… shrugs.
“Deal!” he says, nearly tripping over his feet to get back to the ticket window and snatch up all these last-minute deals. “I’ll grab one for… hmmmm… well, let’s see. How’s Satan’s Snow Day?”
“Only all kinds of awesome,” I grin, printing him up a ticket before he can back out and choose something lame like Mrs. Claus Goes On Holiday!
I rip it in half as he hands over the six bucks admission fee, and follow him around to stand behind the concession counter.
I can’t beat him there if I go all the way through the side door and walk through, so I do what we all do when no customers are around: slide over the counter on our fannies.
“Nice,” he smirks, fumbling the last few bills out of his wallet. “I’m sure the Health Department loves that move.”
“Why, are you working undercover or something?”
He smiles quietly, brown eyes still a little sad.
“What can I get you?” I ask, eager to keep the conversation flowing.
Dart’s so lively in school, always bounding down the halls in his tight letterman’s jacket and even tighter jeans, sneakers always squeaking on the hallway tiles as he shoves his pals around from locker to locker with one arm always, always around his main squeeze: Tonia Lockhart.
He says, “Well, that popcorn to start, and a soda of course, and… holy smokes, are those… Doo Dads? Seriously… and… Slow Pokes? Gheez, I haven’t had those since my Dad used to take me here as a kid…”
“Coming right up,” I smile, easing two packs of each out of the tray under the smudged (smudged from my butt, that is!) concession stand glass.
“But… I only have enough for the…” he stammers, too shamed to finish his sentence as he shoves them back across the counter instead.
His fingers look wrinkly, like maybe he’s spent half of Christmas Eve swimming in the inside pool at school.
“Relax,” I say, sliding them back over his way. “Merry Christmas!”
“Really?”
“Yeah, sure. Why not?”
I put the cap on his soda and slide it across as well, then bag up a super-extra-double-large popcorn, just because I can.
“Wow!” he says, eyes wide enough to practically touch those dark brown curls of his. “All that’s FREE?”
“Well,” I mock, twirling a lock of my long, red hair nervously around one finger as I lean in conspiratorially, “don’t feel too special. I just have to throw the extra away at the end of the night, anyway.”
He blushes, a little, or maybe my glasses are fogging up from being so close to him, as he looks past me to the overflowing popcorn fryer, circa 1962.
“Expecting a big crowd tonight?”
“Bigger than this,” I say and, when he frowns, I quickly add, “I mean, not that I’m, I mean… we’re… not glad you didn’t show up! It’s just, well, I kind of convinced my boss that there would be this mad rush of people coming out to see movies after being cooped up with their families all day and…”
“But… all you’re showing is Christmas movies,” he complains.
“Yeah, well, that was my idea, too!”
“But they’re, like, really lame Christmas movies.”
I blush and confess, “Well, I didn’t think kids would be actually watching the movies, you know?”
“You’re not very good at this, are you?” he asks.
“I guess not. Why, what’d you come here to see anyway?”
“The new Space Shots movie.”
I want to groan, but don’t. I thought Dart had better taste than that.
“Too bad my boss already left,” I say. “I could put it back on for you.”
“Naw,” he says, looking down at his ticket. “Satan’s Snow Day sounds… cool?”
“It is,” I say, having never seen it, but with a title like that, how can you miss?
He kind of lingers by the concession stand, his soda, popcorn and snacks still littering the counter I really should be cleaning.
“I feel kind of bad your idea didn’t work out,” he says, and all the while he’s staring at me with those puppy dog brown eyes I’m thinking, Is one of his jock friends filming this or something?
“You and me both,” I say just because, hey, I’ve always wanted to.
“I should call all my friends,” he says, still leaning against the customer side of the counter. “That would impress your boss, huh?”
“It would,” I say, wondering why I’m not more excited about his bright idea of his.
“But… it’s kinda late,” he hems.
“Real late,” I add, the idea of having Dart to myself for the rest of the evening suddenly a billion times more important than, you know, my actual job.
“Plus, I mean… you’re not really showing anything good and they’d all hate me if I got them out of the house for nothing.”
Now it’s my turn to look all offended.
“Just kidding, Sasha,” he says, avoiding my eyes again. “I thought you could take a joke.”
I’d come back with something snappy but I’m too busy being flabbergasted by the fact that.
Dart.
McKee.
Knows.
My.
Frickin’.
Name!
“You probably don’t have all that many friends anyway,” I crack, if only to prove to myself I can still speak.
“Oh yeah,” he snorts, reaching for the cell phone outlined in the front pocket of his dark chocolate pants. “Sorry if I’m not head of the ‘Official I’m Too Cool for Friends Club’ like you!”
“I have friends,” I argue, secretly happy when he gives up on digging the phone out of his blissfully snug pocket.
“Yeah, name one,” he challenges, in no hurry to rush and see the opening credits of Satan’s Snow Day. “Sorry, wait; name one who isn’t a teacher, counselor, principal or PE Coach!”
Crap!
“I hang out with that one girl in Home Ec class,” I argue.
“That One Girl?” he chuckles. “Really, Sasha? Is that what it says on her birth certificate?”
“Or how about that new kid from Wisconsin? I hung out with him for a whole day last week!”
“Only because Counselor Wiggum asked you to show him around the school on his FIRST DAY.”
“Okay, so, if you’re rolling in friends, where’s your girlfriend Tonia tonight?”
He shrugs and says, “We kind of broke up.”
“What?” I say, perking up a smidge. “When? Why?”
He cocks his head and looks at me funny.
“What? You didn’t hear?”
“Hear what?”
“Or read about it? In the paper or anything?”
“Read about what?” I ask.
“Quit pulling my leg,” he frowns.
“Dart, I’ve been working nonstop since Christmas break started last week. This is usually our busy time, and until my Mom gets home from rehab, well, I’ve got to handle all the bills myself, so…”
I pause, hardly believing I’ve let that much slide.
He looks up, at least, past the giant tub of popcorn and matching, gurgling giant soda and says, “I’m sorry, Sasha; I didn’t know.”
“Why would you?” I kind of snap, not intending to. He flinches, a little, but not too much. “I mean, I kind of can’t even believe I said all that right now. Out loud. To… you… of all people.”
He waits me out while I tell the sordid tale; at least, the edited version.
When I’m done, he says, “I never knew all that was going on at home, Sasha. You just always have it so togeth
er.”
“Yeah, well, looks can be deceiving. You think I’d be working in a dump like this if I didn’t have to pay the frickin’ rent on a double-wide at the Snowflake Motor Court?”
He winces; I guess I am a little shriek-y suddenly.
“Sorry,” I grumble. “I didn’t mean to hijack your big news.”
“Well, you’re about the only person who hasn’t heard it, so I suppose it still is news.”
“What’s news, Dart?”
He blinks, looks down, then up, and says, “We had practice, you know… first weekend of Christmas break? Coach was punishing us for losing that big meet last month. Anyway, I guess over Christmas break the janitors clean out whatever’s left in the lockers. Well, when I got to practice, coach was waiting for me outside; Coach and a couple cops!”
“What?”
“Yeah, I guess the custodian found half a dime bag or something in my gym shorts, called the cops, then called Coach. He was steamed.”
“Did they arrest you?”
“I can’t believe you didn’t see the mug shot, Sasha; it was on the front of the sports page! I mean, not to brag or anything. Hell yeah, they arrested me; cost my Dad like three grand just to bail me out, on top of he lost his job before Halloween and we haven’t made a house payment since Thanksgiving. He’s freaking out!”
“So, what’s gonna