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Trey gives me an apologetic shrug. “What can I say? He’s an asshole.”
“Just to me, it seems,” I mutter to Fiona.
She smiles, her emerald eyes crinkling at the corners. “You do get on his bad side for some reason.”
I frown. “Isit just me?”
“I don’t know where all his sexy hate for you comes from,” she says, shrugging. “Honestly, it’s like he spews some sort of vitriol and then looks at you like he wants to eat you when your back is turned.”
Trey barks a laugh at her comment.
“What?!” I whisper yell at her. I glance at Trey as my cheeks flush. “He doesnotdo that.” Fi just gives me a look that screams,If you say so.
While it’s true that Lincoln still seems intent on nagging me to do menial tasks around the theater—last week he made me reorganize the movie posters alphabeticallyandby genre—his cold exterior has cracked some over the past couple weeks. But then again, I’ve been avoiding him and Trey after embarrassing myself on Halloween, so maybe he just hasn’t had a chance to aim his usual hate my way.
“Whatever,” I say doubtfully. “I’m going to avoid Link and grab the new marquee letters from upstairs.”
It’s Thursday night, so the movies change over before we open tomorrow, and I have thesuper-funjob of updating the signage outside. Note the sarcasm.
I stare at the chaotic sway of the trees as I walk by the large glass windows. November in Washington is definitely what I like to call “box of chocolates” weather—you never know what the fuck you’re going to get. The other day, the drizzle changed to sleet and then it was sunny for twenty minutes before it started snowing. Now, it’s a mix of wind and sideways rain.
I trudge up the stairs and stop when I reach the first projector. “Shit,” I say, shaking my head. On the ground, shiny, jagged pieces of film Mylar litter the floor, winking up at me inthe flickering light. “Trey strikes again, but I’m sure Lincoln will tellmeto clean that up later.”
I walk to the manager’s office. The door is closed, but next week’s movie docket is taped on it. I stare at the list:The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers, The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King.
“For fuck’s sake.”
Do we even have that many letters?
I turn away, cursing Lincoln for his movie choices and J.R.R. Tolkien for his lengthy book titles. Then I remember something John said a couple of weeks ago about showingThe Hobbittrilogy first.
“Better double-check,” I mutter to myself and ease open the office door.
Lincoln’s sitting at the manager’s desk, the room illuminated by a table lamp instead of the usual overhead fluorescents. He’s slouched in the rickety rolling chair, his sleeves pushed up and his tie loosened. Next to a pile of discarded papers, Link’s laptop sits open, and I recognize a scene from Baz Lurhmann’sRomeo + Julietplaying.
I realize that I probably should have knocked, and I’m just about to back out of the room when I hear him sniff. I pause and study him more closely. He has a hand over his mouth, his elbow resting on the table, and I catch his eyes shining with each flicker of action on the screen. He sniffs again and raises his thumb to his cheek.
He’s crying.
It’s so unexpected that I just stare, watching the emotions run across his normally cold, vacant features. And while he’s obviously sad, there’s a hint of anger in the set of his brows—but it’s not like the hatred he throws my way—this anger looks like betrayal. Someone hurt him.
But he doesn’t care about my feelings, so why should I care about his?
But I do.
I decide to follow my initial instinct and leave, but the office door creaks as I start to pull the handle, and Link’s head turns, his eyes snapping to mine.
He slams his laptop closed with one hand and scrubs his fist across his cheek with the other.
“Don’t you know how to knock?” he snaps with barely veiled rage.
“I-I’m sorry.” I take a few steps back.
“What do you want?” he snaps, rolling across the room to flick on the overhead lights.
I squint at the sudden brightness. “I was just wondering if the movie list for next week is right. I thought your dad said we were showingThe Hobbittrilogy first,” I try to look everywhere but his face.
“Yeah, I vetoed that garbage.The Hobbitmovies are mediocre at best.”
