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“I found it,” he says, nodding to the iPod.
“Your iPod?” I ask, smiling in case I’m way off base—maybe he’ll think I’m joking.
“Funny,” he says. “No, the song.”
“Oh!” I say, pretending to remember a conversation that Ella failed to mention. I’m mad for a second until I remember that she did tell me a lot—obviously it’s hard to remember every word she’s uttered to Dave and vice versa. “Yes, you did.”
“See? I told you it was good. Pretty killer, right?”
“The killer-est.” In my opinion, the original is much better, but I can see Ella liking this one.
“It reminds me of you,” Dave says, which reminds me of Sean. Those same words from Sean’s lips would give me shivers; from Dave, it’s a line. How many songs have been dedicated to how many girls in this pristine Lexus?
“That’s sweet,” I say, looking out the window. I try to think of something else to talk about.
“San Diego is so much better than Florida,” I say out of nowhere.
“I forget which city you said you lived in,” Dave says as he makes a left; I can see the theater down on the right. “Were you close to Miami?”
“Unfortunately not.” I flash back to the one-story house outside of Clearwater where I spent most of my young life. “We lived in a small town you’ve never heard of. Lots of alligators and lawn flamingos.”
“Alligators? Serious?”
“Dead. There was one in our front yard once. Animal control in Florida is about a lot more than lost kitties.”
“That’s so badass,” he says, nodding, then getting this faraway look like he’s imagining himself wrestling an alligator with his bare hands. He pulls out of the quick daydream and adds, “But it’s good that you moved… that you’re here now. You’re a nice distraction from Milo’s sinuses in student government. Man, that guy would so get eaten by a gator.”
I don’t have first period with Dave now, but I did before the trig quiz and the switch, so I know who he’s talking about. And I know he’s being mean.
“Milo can’t help his breathing problem,” I say frankly. We’re in the lot now, and Dave’s searching for a spot; he’s focused on turning into one that’s too small for the car.
“He sounds like a pig,” Dave says distractedly.
“He does not,” I say, shaking my head. Dave turns off the car and looks at me, and it’s like a lightbulb goes on in his head. He backpedals.
“Naw, I’m just kidding,” he says. “Milo’s a good guy. I know he can’t help it. Did you know he’s getting an operation to fix it?”
“Really?”
I want him to tell me about how he and Milo go way back. I want him to tell me that they hang out sometimes, and that’s how Dave knows about the operation. I want him to redeem himself, because as much as I don’t like him, Ella does. And I don’t want her to like a bully.
Instead, Dave just nods, then opens his door. “You ready?” he asks.
No, I think. But I say…
“Can’t wait.”
Dave lets me pick the movie; I go for the expected romantic comedy. I could’ve acted cool by choosing the sci-fi thriller or the indie about the druggie race-car driver, but I haven’t seen anything in the theater in over a year and I’m taking the opportunity to girl out a little.
We sit in the middle, just off the left aisle, and Dave immediately stands again to go buy snacks. I turn off my ringtone, then alternate between rocking preshow trivia and watching the other moviegoers choose their seats. There are couples of all ages, from the cutest old man and woman I’ve ever seen to parents with an afternoon babysitter to a pair of tweeners who probably got dropped off at the mall by one of their moms. There’s a four-pack of girls from school; I’ve seen them around, but I don’t know any of their names. One of them keeps turning around and looking at me, probably because I’m with Dave, who everyone seems to know. And there’s one scruffy-looking guy sitting alone who makes me nervous until an even scruffier-looking woman sits down next to him.
There’s someone for everyone, I think to myself as Dave reappears.
“Here you go,” he says too loudly for the quiet theater.
“Thanks,” I say, taking my frozen Junior Mints and water from his outstretched hands. I rip open the candy box and start munching.
Dave eats some of his popcorn and we don’t talk for a few minutes. I wish the movie would start so the silence wouldn’t seem so obvious. Instead, Dave clears his throat.
