“The internet. Obviously.”
“Maybe the internet was a bad idea, actually.”
“Considering the crap Grandma and Grandpa post on Facebook, I might have to agree with you.” She leaned back against the cushions as the film started to play. “But this? This is a masterpiece.”
They spent every Saturday morning that way, watching the worst movies ever made and laughing until they cried. Then they’d quote the films to each other for weeks or months after. It was a secret language no one spoke but them.
“What are you going to do when we run out of bad movies?” he asked as he bobbed his head along to one of the movie’s full-length musical numbers.
“Never gonna happen,” Caela said. “The great thing about terrible movies is there are more and more being made all the time.I’ll be coming to visit you in the old folks’ home with a new gem every week.”
“Old folks’ home?” He looked outraged. “You’re going to make your dear old dad live in a home?”
“Heck yeah I am. I’m gonna be too busy going to red carpet events with my hot wife to make you pancakes.”
“Wow. After all I’ve done for you? This is how you’ll repay me?”
“It’ll be a nice home. And I’ll thank you in my Best Director acceptance speech at the Oscars.” Caela ducked, laughing, as her dad tossed one of the couch’s throw pillows at her head. “I’m kidding!”
“You’d better be. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
Caela’s phone buzzed and she swiped it from the side table, cheeks heating up and a smile stretching across her face when she saw it was a message from Eliza, wishing her happy birthday and telling her to be ready to go by eleven.
“Well, looks like you’re off the hook for working on my birthday,” she told her dad. “I’ve got plans now, too.”
“Excellent. Tell Eliza and Grady I say hello. But be back by seven? I’ll bring home dinner for us.”
“Thai?”
“Anythingfor the birthday girl.”
“Sweet. I’ll see you at seven, then .”
After the movie, Caela tossed on a tank top and ripped jeans, threw her long hair into a ponytail, put on some lipstick, grabbed her new camera, and headed out the door to go meet up with Eliza. She took the long way, through the building’s parking garage, to say hello to Jennette, the old red Mustang her dad had stopped driving when he’d gotten his motorcycle, which now belonged to her.
“One more day,” she said, patting the hood affectionately. “Just one more day.”
Eliza was waiting outside, sitting behind the wheel of her mom’s Jeep. She leaned out the window, dark brown eyes peering over the frames of her oversized sunglasses. “Hey, you.”
“Hey!” Caela hopped in the passenger’s seat, glancing in the back, where Grady, wearing his usual backward ball cap and Bengals jersey, sat scrolling on his phone. “Hey, Grady.”
He raised his hand in greeting without looking up.
“I told him you get shotgun since it’s your birthday,” Eliza said. “He’s sulking.”
“Not sulking,” Grady argued. “Looking for inspiration.”
It’sthen that Caela notices the open duffel bag full of spray paint cans lying on the seat next to Grady. “You tagging somewhere today?” she asked.
“The brick wall behind the old movie theater,” he said.
“But only if you’re down for it,” Eliza interjected. “It’s your birthday. We do what you want to do today.”
“I’m cool with it. As long as I can take some footage?” She held up her new camera with a grin. “I want to play with my new toy.”
“Oooh.” Eliza perked up as she backed the Jeep onto the road and started toward the theater. “Will you post it? Make Grady go viral?”
“Makemy artgo viral,” he corrected her. “Don’t get my face in any shots.”
