5
SHARE SOME SECRETS IN THE DARK
I sat inside my car at the Hartfield drive-in and looked around, wishing I knew what, exactly, was involved in casing a joint. The heist movies I’d seen hadn’t really been very specific. Luckily, though, it wasn’t like this place was unknown to me. Sloane had introduced me to it after she’d only been in town for a month. I had never been to a drive-in before, but I’d loved it after the first movie—the big screen set up at one end of a field, the cars parked in slightly crooked rows, the speakers you could hang over the window of your car, the way they always played double features.
We went a few times every summer, the first year with my parents dropping us off, sitting on beach towels or blankets in front of the screen. But last summer, I’d driven us, and we’d been able to park with everyone else.
I let out a long breath, hoping that I didn’t seem suspicious, and that I looked like I was just there, like everyone else, to see a Hitchcock double feature of North by Northwest and The Lady Vanishes, and not to commit my first crime.
Number three had been a question mark since I first read the list. It wasn’t so much the stealing itself, but figuring out what to steal. But when, driving home from the gas station, I’d passed a billboard for the drive-in, I’d remembered a promise I’d made to Sloane two years earlier, and just like that, I’d known what it had to be.
JULY
Two Years Earlier
“The usual?” Sloane asked, and I nodded.
“Definitely.” Sloane and I had only seen a handful of movies together so far, but we already worked out our routine, snack-wise. She was the one who had introduced me to the concept of shaking M&M’s into the bag of buttered, salted popcorn and using Twizzlers as straws for Diet Coke. I had, in turn, gotten her hooked on the sour gummy candy that I never liked to see a movie without.
We pooled our cash as we made our way up to the concession stand, a tiny building that looked like it had been there forever, and when Sloane reached the front of the line, I took a step back to let her order. “Large popcorn,” she said as I looked around the stand. There were vintage posters on the walls and framed pictures of the drive-in throughout the years. “M&M’s, Twizzlers, two Diet Cokes.” The guy behind the counter nodded and grabbed a bag for our popcorn, and I was happy to see that it looked like a fresh batch had just been made. I was about to remind Sloane to get extra butter when she grabbed my arm and pointed to a sign resting on one of the concession stand shelves, half tucked behind a display of Hartfield Drive-In T-shirts and mugs. “Look.”
It was a small sign, the kind you put magnetized letters on, the kind I associated with bowling alley snack menus. But this one, instead of telling you how much the hot dogs were, read
SLOANE
LOVES
FERRIS
I just stared at it for a moment until I realized that it was a reference to Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. I didn’t understand what it was doing behind the concession stand, but it had a very cool, vintage look to it. “Neat,” I said as I reached for my phone. “Want me to take a picture?”
Someone else brought our snacks around to the side of the cash register, and Sloane paid without taking her eyes off the sign. “Is that for sale?” she asked as she handed our change over to me. I was in charge of the money when we were together. Sloane wasn’t absentminded, but she seemed to have trouble to hanging on to money and was always finding bills in the pockets of her dresses and shorts, which she then treated as something to be celebrated, and would insist on buying both of us the biggest, most extravagant blended coffee drinks that Stanwich Coffee could make.
“Is what for sale?” the guy asked, already looking behind us to the next person in line, who was sighing loudly.
“The sign,” she said, pointing to it. “The Sloane sign.”
The guy looked at Sloane like she was crazy. “No,” he said. “It’s been here since the eighties.”
“Are you sure it’s not for sale?” she asked, giving him a big smile. But the guy seemed immune to this and let out a barking laugh.
“I’m sure,” he said. “First time I’ve been asked that in twenty years, though. Next!”
Sloane’s shoulders slumped and we headed back to our blanket. “Think I should have offered him something for it?”
I shrugged. I wasn’t sure it would be helpful to point out that, after we’d bought the snacks, we had a grand total of $1.35 between us. “I’m not sure it would have made a difference.”
“But it might have . . . ,” Sloane said, glancing back toward the concession stand. It was getting dark; there were fireflies beginning to wink off and on in the grass, but the sign, and the letters that formed her name, were still visible, catching the fading light and reflecting it back. She turned to me, and I could see her normal cheerfulness had returned. “Promise you’ll help me get it,” she said, leaning forward. “This is my new life goal.” I laughed at that, and Sloane smiled too, but she didn’t take her eyes from mine. “Promise, Em?”
“Sure,” I said, easily. “We’ll do what we have to. We’ll come here every weekend and wear him down.”
Sloane grinned and grabbed a handful of popcorn. “Awesome,” she said. “We have a plan.”
So I would steal the sign for her. We’d never been able to get anyone to sell it to us, so this was the only option—and this way, I would get to cross something off the list and keep my promise to her, all at the same time. It was a perfect solution—unless, of course, I got arrested while trying to pull it off.
I didn’t get in the concessions line right away, but circled around it, double-checking that the sign was still there. Luckily, it was off to the side where people picked up their food, not where they ordered it. So concession workers were dropping things off, then hurrying away to get other people’s orders. I mentally walked through the mechanics of this, and I realized that I could make it look like I was just reaching for my order, grab the sign, and drop it into my bag. If someone caught me, I could just pretend it had fallen in and I hadn’t even noticed. I had brought my largest purse with me for this very reason, the better to conceal the evidence.
It wasn’t the best plan, but at least it was a plan. I let out a breath and got in the line that was quickly filling up, feeling like everyone around me could tell what I was about to do.
“Emily?”
I felt my stomach plunge as I looked behind me and saw Frank, standing a few people back in line, with a surprised look on his face, raising one hand in a wave. I gave him a small smile in return, but then turned around to face the concession stand again, not caring if this seemed incredibly rude. What was Frank Porter doing at the drive-in?
“Hey.”
I turned and saw that Frank had joined me in the line. He took a step closer to me and said in a low voice, “Mind if I jump the line?” He glanced behind him, at the older couple who were pursing their lips in disapproval, and said, too loudly, “Thank you for saving my place in line, Emily!”
I really wished he’d stop saying my name in front of potential witnesses. “You shouldn’t—” I said, glancing ahead to the counter, and wishing that the line wasn’t moving quite so fast. “I just . . .” I tried to get my head around how to explain that he couldn’t wait in line with me because I was about to steal something. Even though he knew about the list, and this wouldn’t seem quite so random, I didn’t want to have to go into an explanation with everyone in the line able to hear me talk about it. Also, what if Frank was still with me when I had to try and take it, and he tried to stop me? Or he got in trouble too?
“Crazy running into you here,” Frank said, shaking his head. “This place is awesome. Have you ever been before?”
“Yeah,” I murmured, feeling my heart racing ever faster in my chest, getting closer and closer to what I was pretty sure was a panic attack. The front of the line was just three people away, and I hadn’t been able to get rid of Frank or properly psych myself up to commit my first crime. “
A lot.”
“I’m only here because of Collins,” Frank went on, apparently thinking we were just having a nice conversation, not realizing that I was on the verge of an aneurysm. “He’s got a thing for the girl who runs the projection booth. But now that I’m here, it’s really—”
“You know what,” I said, stepping out of line. “I actually . . . forgot something. So you order, and I’ll get the thing I forgot, and, um . . . see you around, okay?” I stepped out of the line and walked in the direction of my car. I glanced back to see Frank looking at me, his brow furrowed, but then he stepped to the front of the line to order, and I went to the back of the line, which now seemed impossibly long. I was no longer sure if I’d even have enough time to do this before the concessions break was over.
I let out a breath and tried to get my thoughts in order. I could still do this. I just had to focus. The line moved forward quicker than I expected, and I realized, my stomach clenching, that there was only one other person in front of me, an older lady who was having trouble deciding between the Sno-Caps and the Junior Mints. I looked at the sign, then down into my huge, waiting bag.
“Next!” I looked ahead and saw that behind the counter was a concession worker I hadn’t seen before, a guy who looked college-aged and bored—which was pretty much perfect.
“Hi,” I said, stepping forward, hearing that my voice sounded about twice as high as normal. I didn’t make eye contact with the guy as I said, “Small popcorn with butter and a Diet Coke.”
“Eight even,” the guy said, and I handed the cash I had ready over to him as the register drawer slid open with a ding! “Pickup’s to your left. Next!”
I stepped to the side, letting my bag fall open slightly as I tried to look nonchalant. I pretended to yawn and stretched my arm out for the sign, my fingers just brushing the edge of it. I stretched farther out, almost off-balance, heart pounding, nearly grabbing it—
“Small popcorn and a Diet Coke.” A girl had stepped up with my snacks, and I was so startled by this that I felt myself pitching forward, just barely catching myself before face-planting onto the counter. The sign wobbled and tipped forward, and the girl grabbed it, looking from the sign and then back to me with narrowed eyes. “What are you doing?”
“I . . . ,” I started. I could feel the sweat beading on my upper lip and my heart wasn’t pounding hard any longer, it now seemed to be pumping a lot slower than usual, which struck me as a bad sign. “I just . . .”
“Did you get that arm cramp again?” Suddenly, there was Frank, stepping up next to me. He slid his arm around my shoulders, and this was so startling that any excuse I might have been forming left my head entirely. “She gets those sometimes. Don’t you?”
“I do,” I said, nodding, trying to look as innocent as I could manage. “Yeah. Sometimes.”
“Don’t forget your snacks,” Frank said, giving my shoulder a squeeze, keeping a trustworthy, class-president smile on his face. I picked them up and we both smiled brightly at the girl, who was watching us with a suspicious expression. She went to put the sign back, but then hesitated and moved it to the highest shelf of the concession counter, right behind the popcorn popper, meaning that it was basically now impossible to get.
Frank and I walked away, and when we’d gone almost back to the cars and it appeared the concessions police weren’t going to give chase, I felt myself start to breathe again. I took a long drink of my soda, and it wasn’t until I’d finished that I realized Frank still had his arm around me. He must have noticed this at the same time, because he dropped his arm and took a step away.
“So,” I said, still a little surprised that he had been able to see just when I needed him. “Um, how did you—”
“I have never seen anyone look so suspicious,” Frank said, shaking his head. “Ever. I figured I should probably stay close, just in case.”
“Oh,” I said, looking down at the ground. Even though rationally I knew that not being good at stealing was actually a positive thing, and not something to be ashamed of, it didn’t currently change how I was feeling—like I’d just failed.
“So . . . uh, why were you trying to rob the concession stand?” Frank asked, sounding baffled.
“It’s for the list,” I said, raising one shoulder in a shrug. “Number three.”
Frank glanced back at the sign, and I saw him reading Sloane’s name, putting it together. He nodded and started to say something just as the loudspeakers crackled to life, announcing the movie’s start in sixty seconds and the closing of the concession stand.
“I should go,” I said. I knew that I should probably thank him for helping me, and that if he hadn’t, I might be in serious trouble. But it really is humiliating to fail at something and then need to be rescued, even if that thing is committing a crime. I gave him a small smile and then headed to my own car, glancing over my shoulder to see Frank walking away as well.
I’d intended to make a getaway after grabbing the sign and not stay for the second movie. But it was clear as I got into my car that I wasn’t going anywhere—the people in the rows behind me had pretty much boxed me in, and everyone was watching the movie, and I had a feeling that nobody was going to be happy to move if I tried to get out. So I put my drink into the cupholder and pushed my seat back, settling in. As I did so, I wondered if I was the only person at the whole drive-in who was watching the movie alone.
APRIL
Two months earlier
“How much did you offer this time?” I asked, as Sloane came back to the car, without the sign but holding an armful of our snacks.
“A hundred,” she said with a sigh. “And they still wouldn’t take it. I swear, at this rate, I’m going to need to bribe one of the employees.”
“Or you could start working there,” I suggested, as I took the popcorn from her and grabbed a handful off the top. “And get hired under a fake name. And it could be an inside job.”
Sloane grinned at me. “I like the way you’re thinking,” she said. “What name?”
I thought about it, just enjoying the game. We were there to see a double feature of Clueless and Troop Beverly Hills, which meant that there were almost no guys in attendance at all. It seemed to be moms and daughters and groups of friends, like us. Since Sam had arrived on the scene, it felt like it had been a long time since just Sloane and I had hung out, and I’d been looking forward to this for weeks. “Alicia,” I said, after thinking it over. “Alicia Paramount.”
Sloane threw her head back and laughed. “I love it,” she said. “I’ll apply next week.”
I started to walk around to the back of the Volvo. Once I’d gotten my license and we didn’t have to watch on the grass any longer, we’d figured out the ideal movie-watching routine—my car turned around backward, the hatchback open, and both of us in the back, lying on pillows and blankets that would inevitably smell like popcorn for days afterward. “Coming?” I asked, when I realized that she was still standing outside the car, looking around.
“Yeah,” she said, following behind me. But she didn’t get into the back, just stood outside it, craning her neck like she was looking for something, fiddling with her keys—including the personalized SLOANE mini license plate keychain I’d special-ordered for her birthday—which was what she did when she was nervous.
“You okay?” I asked as I opened the Twizzlers and pulled one out, biting both ends off and then sticking it into my Diet Coke.
“Sure,” she said. “I’m—” But she didn’t finish this, as her phone beeped with a text. She pulled it out immediately and read it, smiling down at the screen as she typed a quick response back.
“Sam?” I guessed, taking a drink through the Twizzler.
“Yeah,” she said, pocketing her phone and looking at me. There was a flush in her cheeks and I noticed how much more alive she now looked—happier, and more excited, like now things were actually happening, whereas before, they hadn’t been. “So here’s the thing,” she said talking fast. “I told Sa
m we were going to be here, but I wasn’t sure if he was going to come or not, but then—”
“Hey, you.” There was Sam, sliding his arms around Sloane’s waist and kissing her cheek.
“Hi,” Sloane said, smiling wide as she turned to kiss him, and I could hear the happiness in her voice so clearly. “You’re here! I wasn’t sure if you were going to show.”
“Of course I’m here,” he said easily. He slung his arm around her neck, letting his fingertips rest on her arm. “Oh, hi, Emily,” he said, as if he’d just noticed me.
“Hey, Sam,” I said, trying to sound excited to see him, like I was happy he was here, not like I was disappointed that my night with Sloane had suddenly come to a crashing halt.
“Nice straw,” he said with a short laugh, nodding at my cup with the Twizzler poking out of it. “Wow. God. I haven’t seen that since I was, like, eleven.”
“Yeah,” I said, with an embarrassed laugh. “It’s . . .” I wasn’t sure how to finish this, so I just let my voice trail away. Sam was still looking at me, raising his eyebrows like he was challenging me to finish the sentence. He gave me a pitying smile, then squeezed Sloane’s shoulder, threading his fingers through hers. “Come on,” he said, nodding toward the far side of the field. “I’ve got a great spot.”
“Oh,” Sloane said, looking from me to Sam, some of the happiness fading from her expression. “I was thinking we could all watch together, maybe?”
Sam just laughed again, and I noticed, maybe for the first time, that he used his laughs to score points, like a punctuation mark, not because he found something funny. “I think Emily will be fine,” he said, looking over at me, already starting to steer Sloane away from me. “Won’t you, Em?”
Since You've Been Gone Page 14
