Chapter 12
B efore the third pink tickets were off their spools, Ellie was asking about her gloves.
“They’re white,” she described. “With beaded roses on the wrists.” The ticket boy showed no sign of recognition.
“You know, the decorative type of gloves that quiver in the face of cold weather. Did you find any gloves last week?”
He shrugged as he passed the tickets through the slot in the booth. “Not sure.”
“What do you mean, you’re not sure?” Ellie tried to curb her annoyance. The ticket boy could restock snacks for guests who never came and vacuum already clean carpets, but he couldn’t give a second thought to her favorite, special gloves.
“Do you have a lost and found or something?” Drake asked.
Inside, Natalie confirmed that they did.
The lost and found was near the entrance of the lobby.
Individual items, each with their own descriptive plaque, rested on four tiers of dusted shelves, like a small gallery exhibit.
Ellie’s gloves were waiting in the top left corner of the bright glass case: Ellie’s Good Luck Gloves.
Drake crouched for a better view. “What is all this stuff?”
“It’s the lost and found,” Natalie explained.
She slid behind the case to face them. “Actually, not the. It’s your lost and found.
Things you’ve lost track of or left behind.
” A closer look revealed that Natalie was right.
The lost and found consisted entirely of their forgotten items. Here, their memories seemed to take on a different, more physical form.
“This case isn’t always here, is it?” Ellie asked. She hadn’t noticed it on their first two visits.
“It’s like any lost and found,” Natalie told them. “You have to ask for it.”
Ellie bent down next to Drake and peered inside the case.
On the top shelf, next to her gloves, was a preserved red rose left over from Drake’s Valentine’s Day Fiasco .
Ellie’s mint-green spiral notebook was split open on the next shelf, which allowed a glimpse into her messy handwriting on The First Draft of Ellie’s Book.
She liked to write things by hand when she could, but her penmanship, which she called “drunk chicken,” made it challenging to follow her own train of thought.
“I think I lost this thing on purpose,” Drake said. He was in a staring contest with a plush fox head. Its knowing eyes were pushed up against the glass. School Mascot , the plaque read.
Ellie laughed. “This was your mascot costume? It’s terrifying.”
“Yeah, I’m aware,” Drake said. “They gifted it to me because it was terrifying. The school replaced the costume after my stint.” He ran his hands through his hair. “Parents were complaining.”
Several more exhibits lined the bottom row.
A Do Not Disturb— Writing in Progress sign from Ellie’s childhood bedroom.
A piece of silver hardware from the time Drake and his dad first fixed the kitchen sink together— Drake’s Early Inspiration.
A handdrawn map of the abandoned mansion Ben brought Ellie to when they were teenagers— Midnight Map .
Then, Ellie’s focus moved to something more damning on the bottom shelf.
The plaque caught her eye first, followed by a familiar object.
If the lost and found indicated what they might see on film, this devastating tiny item had confirmed her suspicions.
The reasons she had insisted they go to the cinema would present themselves.
Witness to Ellie’s Accident.
Drake didn’t notice when Ellie jerked away from the glass. “How many things can we take?” she asked Natalie, eager to escape the situation.
“Just take what you need—”
“We need the gloves,” Drake snapped with urgency.
Had he noticed her unease? He must have been more tuned in than Ellie realized.
Only when she met his eyes, the truth revealed itself.
He was looking at the red carpeting and shifting his weight back and forth.
Something inside the lost and found case had rattled Drake as much as it had her.
Ellie tried to figure out what it was as Natalie passed the gloves over, but he was too quick to pull her toward the right-side stairwell.
With the gloves safely on her hands, Ellie and Drake returned to the balcony seats they chose on their last visit. “Looks like this movie is kind of a hot ticket tonight,” he said.
He was kidding. They were the only customers, as always. The lights lowered and they settled in. Nerves swirled in Ellie’s stomach while the Charleston played and the hot dogs danced. Eventually, the screen went black and a new title surfaced.
TICKET THREE: TEENAGERS
A school gym had been done up for a dance. The soaring disco ball made the nautical-themed decorations sparkle. Kids danced in groups, their arms anemone in a sea of heavy bass. An archway of blue and white balloons marked the portal to an evening of fun.
Teenage Drake was sitting on the hallway floor next to a cardboard welcome sign at the dance’s back entrance: SHIP’S AHOY . He was so fixated on something above his head—was it the ceiling?— that he barely noticed when a trail of navy crepe paper slithered past his feet.
“Oh, shoot,” the girl said. She bent and peeled the fallen decor off her delicate black sling heel, then nodded to the spot next to him. “Is anyone sitting there?”
The wow in Drake’s head was almost audible.
The girl was impossibly tall with dark hair pulled into an elegant updo.
Fallen wisps framed her heart-shaped face and expressive brown eyes.
She had a natural self-confidence, Ellie could tell—a person oblivious to the usual pitfalls of being a teenager.
“I could use a break from all the Top Forty,” she admitted, pulling at the tulle on her peach cocktail dress.
“It’s a lot of vocal runs and lofty commitments. ”
Drake nodded to indicate the spot was open. The girl slid her back against the wall and got comfortable beneath a framed photo of a high school basketball hero who went by Mike the Machine. She was inches from Drake, which made him squirm inside his coffee-brown suit, fit for a wedding singer.
“I’m Melinda,” she said. “I’m a senior.”
“I know.” Drake struggled with where to put his hands and settled on his lap. “I’m Drake. Sophomore.”
“Drake Sophomore.” Melinda’s legs tumbled out in front of her. She seemed not to fear the ugly tile. “So, what, Drake? You don’t like cookies?”
“Huh?” He was putting in great effort not to stare at her.
Melinda nodded toward the gym. “They’ve got cookies in there.”
“I like cookies,” Drake said. “I don’t like dancing.”
Her hand searched for something inside of her small black purse and located a napkin-wrapped cookie. She split it into two halves and handed one of them to Drake, squishing her gum into the empty napkin. “Why hang out at a dance if you don’t like dancing?”
Drake took a bite of the cookie. “It wasn’t my idea.” She motioned for him to fill in the gaps. “My mom,” he said. “My mom thought this would be good for me. She used the phrase ‘rite of passage’ a lot on the drive over.”
“Right.” Melinda ate her cookie half in one bite. “Well, if it makes you feel better, I’m a bad dancer.”
“You look good,” Drake blurted. “At dancing, I meant. You look like you know how to dance.” It seemed his strategy for avoiding eye contact was making mental notes of the surroundings. Doorway. Science Lab. Cork board thing.
“I’ve got no rhythm,” Melinda admitted. She shot the napkin into a nearby trash can with surprisingly good aim.
“Plus, I have two left feet.” Suddenly, one of her hands found his.
“But maybe together we’ve got a pair?” Without waiting for his answer, Melinda helped pull Drake to a stand. “Come on,” she said. “It’ll be fun.”
He followed her into the gym. As they swam through the lights to the sound of Dido’s “White Flag,” royal and baby-blue streamers tangled in their hair.
Melinda set her wrists over Drake’s shoulders.
All around them, the auditorium brimmed with summer longings.
Yearbooks split open and ink on nervous hands would soon be replaced by frozen soft serve and kisses on picnic blankets.
“What were you doing in the hallway? Before I sat down?” Melinda asked.
“Oh, uh. I fixed this leak in the ceiling,” Drake admitted. “Just a small one. It’s temporary, but it’ll hold for a while.”
Melinda’s eyes narrowed. “You fixed a leak?”
“I keep tools in my locker,” he said. “My dad says you should always carry tools.” Drake shrugged, growing a little more comfortable. “I guess I can’t help fixing things.”
“Well, as my mom would say, it sounds like you’re a good egg,” Melinda told him.
“I’m not actually too sure what that means.
” Before he could commiserate about the saying, a sky-high, teen heartthrob butted in to dance with her.
This was her boyfriend, it appeared. Of course she had a boyfriend.
But Melinda held off on switching partners until the song played its final note.
“Come on, Melinda,” the large square-shaped boy called. “Let’s get out of here.”
Melinda gave Drake a kiss on the cheek. “Nice to see you, Drake Nielson.”
He’d never mentioned his last name.
When Drake’s parents picked him up, he thanked his mom for making him go to the dance. Back in his bedroom, the memory caved in on itself. The images turned into a fuzzy soup as they had with the first two movies, which meant Ellie and Drake were about to switch places.
Yellow headlights slashed a dark mountain road.
Inside the car, Ben spun the volume knob.
Classical music poured from the speakers; violins and creeping keys were trying to spook each other.
The steep ascent pressed Ben, Ellie, and their dates against their seats, holding their breath for a fast drop that never came.