CHAPTER 5 MOVIES #2
“Mrs. Sheffield,” one of my classmates, Hayley, says. “I’ve seen this. We’ve probably all seen it.”
Mrs. Sheffield looks down her nose at Hayley, who quickly sits back.
“Is that so? Well, tell me, then, who directed it? What kinds of revolutionary filmmaking techniques were pioneered during its production? What impact did it have on the studio or on its star actress? Are you aware that the 2005 film War of the Worlds took its cues from this film?”
“Huh?” Sean grunts from the back row. “The movie with Thomas Cruise?”
Noah twists around in his seat and stares at Sean. “Who’s Thomas Cruise?”
“You know,” Sean says. “He’s in that vampire movie we watched, and he’s always skydiving and flying planes and shit.”
“Enough,” Mrs. Sheffield says. She didn’t raise her voice but the way she said it sounded a lot like shut-the-hell-up-Sean.
Noah turns back around and leans close. “He means Tom Cruise and I swear to god if he’s serious when he said he thinks his name is Thomas, I’m gonna lose my mind.”
“I mean, Tom is short for Thomas,” I say. “And my dad thinks Timothée Chalamet’s name is Tim Chalet.”
Noah almost chokes trying to hold in his laughter.
I want to join him but I think it might send Mrs. Sheffield over the edge.
As she hits “Play” on the projector, I nestle in close to Noah.
The sepia tones of the film’s opening credits can’t compete with the glare from the windows so I get up and go to the side of the room to see if there’s anything I can do.
I wouldn’t mind just staying huddled up with Noah for the next hour and a half but if we can’t see the movie, we can’t prepare for the pop quiz Mrs. Sheffield is definitely going to spring on us.
I pull over a mobile whiteboard to try blocking out some of the light.
It works a little but it’s the sunlight from higher up that’s the issue.
I pull on the tangled cords that are meant to control the shades but they’re so knotted, it barely does anything.
As I’m studying the tangles, trying to decide if it’s even worth trying to undo, I glance up.
The courtyard outside the window is empty and covered in a light dusting of snow.
Beyond it, the road is clear except for one car that’s parked and one person standing on the sidewalk.
They’re bundled up so thoroughly I can’t see their face but they’re turned toward the window I’m looking out of.
Whoever it is, is just off the car’s rear bumper.
“Miss Redwood,” Mrs. Sheffield says.
I turn to look at her. “Yes?”
“I appreciate you trying to help but you know it won’t do any good,” she says. “Please take your seat. We’ll all just have to endure the glare.”
I glance back outside to find that the person has disappeared.
When school lets out, I text my mom to tell her where I’m headed and me and Noah wait for Caleb to pull his car around.
High above, in the cold, clear sky, ravens circle in a group of maybe a dozen or so.
Their squawking echoes down and the other students look to me and then to the birds like it’s my fault.
Cipriana finally joins us, looking irritated.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Peter.” She spits out his name like a curse word. “I invited him to come with us and he said he can’t because he’s going home to take a nap.”
“Huh?” Noah asks, bewildered.
I grimace a little. “Cip, I love you. You know that. So I’m only being honest—”
“You don’t need to say it,” Cip says, holding up her hand. “It’s a lie. I get it. I’m so sick of him.”
“Dump him,” Noah says. “You want me to tell him for you?”
Cipriana huffs. “No. It’s fine. I’ll get around to it eventually.”
Maybe she will or maybe she’ll keep making excuses for him like she always does but I’ve learned that some people have to do things in their own time.
Cipriana is stubborn and thinks she can fix the dustiest boy on Ithaca High’s lacrosse team.
I just wonder how many more times she’s gonna get her heart broken before she realizes that it’s not her job to fix him.
Caleb pulls up and I take a long, slow breath.
Caleb’s car is, like, if somebody took seven different beaters and smashed them all together.
I don’t even know what make and model this Frankenstein of a car is because I’m pretty sure the body, doors, hood, and roof all come from different vehicles.
I’m surprised it’s even allowed to be on the road.
Caleb reaches over and rolls down the window . . . ?like, manually rolls it down. “Get in and don’t slam the doors because the glass will drop down inside it.”
“What does that even mean?” Noah asks.
“Exactly what I said,” Caleb says.
Cipriana slides into the front passenger seat and me and Noah cram ourselves into the back. Noah’s knees press into Cipriana’s seat.
“Can you scoot up?” Noah asks.
Cipriana looks around for a handle on the side of the seat.
“Ain’t no scooting up,” Caleb says. “These seats don’t move.”
“We should take the hearse,” I say. I’m only half joking.
“Over my dead body,” Caleb says. “I bet it stinks in there.”
“It stinks in here , Caleb,” Noah says, annoyed. “It literally smells like open ass.”
Caleb grins. “My gym bag is back there.”
Noah and I exchange glances and then start to laugh as Cipriana pulls her shirt up over her nose.
Noah almost gags as he shoves Caleb’s gym bag as far under the seat as it will go.
“Hurry up and drive so we can get some air circulating here,” Cip says. “I feel like I can taste the funk.”
As we turn out of the parking lot the car backfires and the sound, like a shotgun blast, ricochets through the interior. My heart jumps into my throat and Noah’s eyes grow wide.
“When’s the last time you had this thing looked at by a mechanic?” Noah asks.
“Who got money for that?” Caleb asks. “I make minimum wage at the animal shelter. I can barely afford gas.”
Cipriana pulls her coat in around her. “Put the heat on, Caleb. I’m freezing.”
“Heat only works once the car has been on for seventy-two minutes,” Caleb says. “You know that. Why are y’all in here acting brand-new?”
Cipriana scowls.
“Just leave the heat off,” Noah says. “Otherwise, it’s gonna smell like roasted jock strap in here.”
I almost gag.
“My god,” Cipriana says. “Hurry up and get us to the movies so we can get out.”
Ithaca’s only movie theater that isn’t for university students or an indie place is in the shadowy remains of the Ithaca Mall.
Like most malls, it’s a collection of stores with weird hours and nothing anybody really wants.
All the good places moved out of it and now the local hospital is taking over one of the wings for its admin department.
There’s an Auntie Anne’s and there’s a Claire’s but besides the movie theater, that’s about it.
We get our tickets from the kiosk and go in to find the place mostly abandoned. Two of our classmates are working the concession stand. The smell of popcorn and hot dogs that have been on rollers under the hot lights way too long wafts through the air.
Caleb buys Cipriana a large popcorn and a Coke. I buy Noah a tray of nachos and I grab a bag of Sour Patch Kids for myself. We find our seats in the middle of a mostly empty theater.
“Nobody is tryna see a zombie movie?” Caleb asks. “Cowards.”
Two people are sitting in the back row and one more person is sitting close to the screen.
Cipriana and I sit between Noah and Caleb as a few other people trickle in.
The lights dim as Noah and I split both the nachos and the sour gummies as the previews roll. When the movie finally begins, Cipriana hides behind her hands as zombies get hacked to pieces by the cast of survivors.
“So gross,” Cipriana whispers.
Noah interlaces his fingers with mine and I lean my head on his shoulder. It feels right for me and Noah to be snuggled up as we watch a zombie snack on somebody’s brains. It’s on brand for us. There’s a sudden thud on the back of my seat.
I glance back. The two people from the rear of the theater had moved up and are now sitting directly behind us. Why sit directly behind us in a mostly empty theater? I turn my attention back to the screen, annoyed. I shove a handful of Sour Patch Kids in my mouth.
The theater is bathed in a hazy orange light as the survivors run from a horde of zombies on-screen.
I lean on Noah’s arm and he traces his fingers across my knee.
Cipriana offers me the bag of popcorn and I shake my head but as I do, I catch a whiff of something.
I peer into the bag. It’s just popcorn, and I can smell the butter but there’s something else. It’s not coming from the bag.
My heart ticks up because I think I recognize the smell.
It’s subtle but unmistakable. It is the smell of human rot.
I lean back and try to discreetly check myself.
The smell can transfer to me—my clothes, my hair—if I’m close to a guest for an extended period of time.
I’m super self-conscious about this so I almost never allow it to happen but there have been times when I forgot to cover my hair or wear an apron.
I put my arm up and sniff the sleeves of my shirt.
Nothing. My hair is slicked up so I can’t tell if it’s that.
I lean closer to Noah. “Do I smell funny to you?”
Noah peers at me in the dark. A devilish little grin pulls itself across his face and he puts his nose against the side of my neck, pressing his face into my skin. His lips trail along my jaw as he pulls back.
“You smell great,” he says.
My heart is thudding but for a different reason now. “Good. I thought I smelled . . . something.”
“Probably this nasty ass carpet they got in here,” Noah whispers.
Another hard thump on my seat. This time Noah twists around.
“You wanna put your feet down?” he asks as he stares at the men sitting behind us.
One of the guys laughs but puts his foot on the floor.