Chapter 18
Dafne
“ This is … picturesque, ” I say, the only word I can think of that won’t sound outright snobbish. I had almost forgotten that Ethan was going to take me out today, and I’m not sure if it’s because my brain is refusing to take in any more information or for some … other reason.
“I know, right?” Ethan beams, sounding so proud of himself for taking me here–and I’m certainly not about to clip his wings, but I also wonder how I never noticed this place before. It’s not exactly subtle, and I thought I knew the West End from the inside out.
The Pop Factory, the name in cursive red neon lights, is located at the very end of an alley right next to the Royal Opera House. A giant tin box covered in swirling red and white stripes, filled to the brim with just as much solid plastic popcorn, towers at the entrance. It strikes me as odd, and rather specific, how a lad would take a girl out to a popcorn place on a … date, for a lack of a better term. I wasn’t expecting a gourmet restaurant–most students need to put a mortgage on their kidneys ju st to pay for APDAS’ tuition–but I was thinking of the cinema or a pre-dinner (non-alcoholic) drink. Maybe I’m just too old-fashioned and this is the proper way to court someone now. I certainly wouldn’t know.
“Come on, I’m a v.i.p in here,” he says, and I don’t manage to comment on that, because he’s pulling me by the wrist towards the pearly, white-painted wooden doors. Once we’re inside, my jaw drops. I’ve never seen so many popcorn references in my life.
I reckon not even the person that invented the snack has. Ethan walks in front of me as I peel my coat off and stare wordlessly at two walls covered entirely in plastic cases, each of them containing popcorn of every imaginable color–navy blue, lavender, burgundy red, charcoal black.
“Impressive, huh?” he grins, as I remove my wool beanie and pass a hand through my hair to tame the frizz, courtesy of the outside humidity.
“Quite,” I reply, already wondering if they’ll have even coconut-flavoured popcorn. I know, I have a problem. As my eyes roam over the infinite possibilities,Ethan offers me a silver tin and says, “Whatever you want, it’s on the house–the house being me,” and before I can object, he’s already moving to the end of the wall and grabbing a load of popcorn with a small shovel. Right.
I notice the different flavours are categorized alphabetically, so I head towards the beginning of the wall, in Ethan’s opposite direction. “Caramel apple, carrot, cherry pie…” I murmur, passing over the name tags with a finger, “cilantro–yuck, cinnamon … oh, cinnamon.”
My mind immediately wanders to my hot chocolate date with Theodore–no wait, it wasn’t a date. It was the result of an unforeseen event, is all. As was that kiss.
As I finally locate the coconut popcorn tank, I grab the small shovel and stick it inside with a bit too much force to be casual.
“Stupid Theodore Price, with his stupid hands and stupid kisses and stupid bloody cinnamon,” I mutter to myself.
“Wow, you must really hate it,” Ethan appears next to me, an eyebrow raised.
“ What? ” I ask, the possibility that he heard me knotting my stomach up in a matter of seconds.
“The popcorn,” he nods towards the steel grip I still have on the shovel.
“Oh,” I huff out a laugh, “no, I’m sure it’s great. I’m just a little on edge, you know–with opening night coming up and all.”
Ethan makes a noise that tells me he wasn’t listening, then waves a hand to something behind us. A few seconds later, a pale girl with bleached blonde hair who can’t be more than eighteen walks up to us, high-fiving Ethan with one hand, holding a small table scale in the other.
“My man,” she says in a thick American, Mid-Western I think, accent. “Shall I put your order on your tab? Pepper and vanilla, the usual?” I try to keep my face neutral, but my brows furrow at the combination. And Ollie calls my food choices disgusting.
“You know it, Kay, but add my good friend’s order as well,” he says, gingerly taking the tin bucket from my hands and handing it to Kay so she can weigh it.
“So you’re the good friend. E mentioned he was bringing a lady here but I thought he was joking.” E ?
“Apparently not,” I smile, unsure of what else to say so as not to embarrass both of us. He looks perfectly relaxed though, so I tell myself there’s no need to look for hidden meanings. I’m supposed to have fun–and not think about Mr. Polo Neck if I can help it.
“Here you go! Enjoy,” Kay winks, handing me the bucket back. And it’s me and Ethan alone again. As alone as one can be with an army of popcorn looming over us, that is.
“Do you want to sit or eat on the go?” he asks, and although it’s cold outside, I think the more fresh air I get, the better, and I tell him as much. He holds my bucket as I fix my beanie back on, then we begin our stroll around the theatre district.
“How did you find out about that place?” I ask, because it is truly beyond me how I never noticed it before. “I used to work there,” he says as he loudly munches his awful snack, so I take it as an opportunity to speak again.
“Can I ask you something else?” I’m rather confident he’s not going to say no, you cannot. He proceeds to make a mmh sound I assume means yes.
“Why did you ask me out?” I ask simply. “Don’t get me wrong, I appreciated it, but … why now?”
He swallows, then throws me a lopsided smile. I briefly think it’s the kind of smile girls would sigh over, but I can’t lie to myself. It does absolutely nothing for me.
“It wasn’t a trick question, I’m genuinely curious.”
I say with a shrug.
“Fine, I’ll tell you the truth,” he replies after a beat, as I pop another piece of coconut-flavoured popcorn into my mouth–which is really good, by the way, take that, Ollie–
“I didn’t make a move before because I thought you and Price were a thing.”
I very nearly choke.
“What?”
“I don’t know, everyone knows that you fight. I thought it meant history, dude–”
Everyone?
“History,” I repeat, blinking a few times.
“You know, stuff,” he says over the chewing, and I want to say that I definitely do not know .
I look back in front of me just in time to dodge a lamp post about to hit me dead in the forehead.
If that’s what Ethan, the least perceptive person I know, thought because apparently our … disagreements are common knowledge, after what happened between Pr ice and I, is everyone going to think we’re one step away from marriage? This is bad, right?
Ethan seems oblivious to my thoughts, because he goes on, not even noticing my quasi-incident with the lamp post.
“But if you two aren’t kicking it,” he resumes.
“Nope,” I say quickly. It’s not untrue.
“Then this is cool. We could do it again, if you’re not like, swamped.”
“Sure,” I say. And as we walk past the Apollo Victoria Theatre, I imagine my face on the marquee someday.
Theodore
When Devon comes back from the deli, I’m studying Act Five. I’m in the middle of fake-taking the poison vial when I hear the keys rattle in the lock, and I quickly stuff my script under the bed, grab my laptop and position myself to look as if I hadn’t been going over lines on a Saturday night while he was concocting who knows what between Dafne and Ethan. If only he knew.
“Theo,” he greets me as he removes his bomber jacket and flings himself onto his bed along with the contents of his grocery paper bag. “Enjoying yourself?”
I throw him a bored look. “Not as much as you, I’m sure,” I say, channeling a relaxed vibe my insides truly do not reflect right now. From the corner of my eye, I see him roll onto his side to look at me.
“I’m told the date went great, in case you’re curious,” he chuckles, no doubt hoping to elicit more questions from me–a satisfaction I simply refuse to give him. “Ethan said he’d let me know more later.”
My fingers still on the keyboard where I was pretending to write absolutely nothing, but I can’t deny I am itching to know what in the world they could have possibly talked about. I once overheard him explaining to someone that aliens will invade us and make us all wear party hats; I’m not sure conspiracy theories are Dafne’s preferred topic of discussion.
However, before I can indeed give in and ask what he means by that, his phone pings with a new notification. “Speak of the devil … he forwarded me Dafne’s text.”
I clear my throat, still not straying my gaze from the computer screen. Naturally, Devon stretches to shove his phone into my face.
Thank you again for
the popcorn–my friends will be
delighted to know a place like that exists. :)
I’ve just been so stressed about everything,
tonight was a much-needed distraction.
See you around x
Sent 21:24 p.m.
X ? A bloody kiss ? Did they kiss? No, they didn’t. But if they did … hell.
Stressed about everything. Am I part of that everything? Have I been stressing her out? Can my brain be quiet for ten seconds?
“Earth to Romeo,” Devon says, pretending to speak into a walkie-talkie. “Nothing happened, if that’s what you’re trying to decipher, and nothing will happen, if you’d put your blasted pride away and asked her out yourself.”
I close my laptop, and start towards the bathroom.
“ She’s not opposed to the idea,” Dev mumbles, and I turn around as if he’d thrown a brick at me.
“What did you say?”
“You heard me.”
“What about see you tomorrow. Kiss ?” I’m aware I sound like a petulant child. I can’t stop it. Devon is smiling so widely that I think his face might split up.
“Dev. Why would you say that?”
“Just a hunch,” he shrugs, “but that is an awful lot of interest for someone who claims not to be interested, so if you want to throw in the towel…”
At the challenge, I find my composure again. I smile, give him the middle finger, and close the bathroom door behind me. I won’t admit it even under torture, but there is no escaping the bitter taste in my mouth: jealousy.