Read Just Like the Movies Online
Authors: Kelly Fiore
Just Like the Movies
For Katie
For Lauren
For Carly
You girls are my heart.
Thanks for being my sisters.
Part One: The Following Preview has been Approved for all Audiences
Part Two: And Now, Our Feature Presentation
The music practically floats out of the speakers; it fills up the fenced yard, flies over the swing set, and spins into eddies under the deck. Peter Gabriel's voice is gruff and soft in all the best ways, but my arms are already tired and I've been holding this speaker dock over my head for less than a minute. How did John Cusack do it with a boom box three times this size?
Behind me, Lily shifts in the overgrowth at the edge of the Lawsons' property. The spotlight she's holding stutters, then points up at the trees. I turn to glare back at her just as she fixes her aim. I'm immediately blinded by the beam of light.
“Sorry,” she says in a stage whisper. I shake my head and turn to face the house. Peter's just reached the chorus, but there's still no sign of Tommy.
I'm starting to second-guess this approach.
Say Anything
is a classic movie, but I have no idea if Tommy will get the reference or if he'll understand how devoted the main character, Lloyd, was to his true love, Diane. If he'll know that the words of this song say everything I'm feeling about him. If he'll realize that it says everything I want him to feel about me.
No lights in the windows, no doors opening. I glance back at Lily, who shrugs.
“Maybe no one's home,” she suggests. I shake my head.
“They're home. Maybe it isn't loud enough . . .”
I lower my arms and practically groan with the relief of a renewed blood supply, then switch the volume up five more notches. I take a deep breath and raise the speaker dock back up over my head. It's hard to remember why we thought this was a good idea, now that I can't feel my fingers.
And then a light goes on in one of the bedroom windows, shining a hazy golden glow over the yard. I suck in a breath and push the speakers even higher, as though that will make all the difference.
The light doesn't go off, but no one comes to the window and no other lights turn on. I squint up at the second floor, trying to calculate which bedroom it's from. Tommy's house is so big that it's really hard to figure out, especially since his room is in the middle of half a dozen others. I bite my lip. I really hope I didn't wake his snotty sister, Gina,
who's home from college this weekend. The last thing I need is to explain myself to Tommy's family.
“Marijke? Is that you?”
A man's voice calls out from the darkness. A man's voice that isn't Tommy's.
The back door is open now and there are footsteps on the deck stairs. I peer at the pale-blue-robed figure moving toward me. Behind him, another one follows. Unsure of my next move, I lower my arms and press pause on the iPod. The immediate silence is unsettling, and I can suddenly hear my racing heartbeat.
Tommy's parents are standing ten feet away from me. I swallow. They don't look mad, exactly. But they don't look happy either. How am I supposed to explain this to them? At least, how can I explain it in a way that doesn't sound completely insane? I consider my options.
I want your son to love me, so I'm acting out movie scenes.
Say Anything
is just the beginning. There are a dozen others I'm willing to try.
Haven't you ever wished you could fall in love like they do on-screen?
I set down the speakers. This is something Lily and I didn't plan for. It's ten at night and I'm standing in front of my boyfriend's parents. If this were a movie, the director would call “Cut!” But this is real life, not a movie set, and there isn't a script to follow.
There's something you should know about me: I've spent my whole life leaping tall buildings in a single bound.
Well, replace
leaping
with
hurdling
.
And replace
tall buildings
with
hurdles
.
And replace
my whole life
with
the last three years
.
Still, I feel like Supermanâor Super
wo
manâstanding here at the starting line. This is itâthis race is the one that will or will not qualify me for the Virginia State Track and Field Competition, or “states” as it's called by most of my teammates. I'm lucky that the county track meet is at Molesworth High School, my home school, because I know this track better than I know a lot of my friends. I certainly spend more time with it lately than I do with them.
As a rule I don't really get nervous, but clearly my opponent does. She's pouring sweat like there's a prize for
Heaviest Perspirer. I turn to face the track and gaze out at the hurdles. The first one is fifteen yards from my feet, this line, and the sweat-soaked girl next to me. It's nothing new or different, but the distance is always worth acknowledging. Just like how I have to greet each of the hurdles. Since you have to shake hands with your human rival, I figure you should recognize your real opponents on the track. In high school, there are eight hurdles over the course of three hundred meters. An hour before every meet, I walk the whole track and give a little nod to each and every hurdle. Once they've been acknowledged, they can be dismissed.
I'm a sprint hurdler. To me, the distance races are sort of a yawn. It's like the difference between taking a shortcut versus the scenic route, and when the destination is states, I'd like to get there as quickly as possible. But first I've got to wait for the jumpers to get their highs and longs on. Once they finish leaping over their tall buildings, I can get back to mine.
I look over at the bleachers on the sidelines. My parents are sitting on their favorite bench in the third row. Dad says it has the best angle for the video camera, which is currently trained on me. When Mom sees me, she elbows him, points at me, and they both wave manically. They're wearing matching Molesworth polo shirts, and my mom has spirit ribbons woven through her blond braid. Even from here, I can tell that they're holding hands. My parents have
been together since they met here at Molesworth High almost twenty years ago. It's the kind of love story you've seen in a dozen romantic comediesâMom was head cheerleader, Dad was the quarterback of the football team, they were king and queen of their junior and senior proms, and they were voted Cutest Couple in the yearbook.
On all sides of my parents are cheering, excited fans. It's hard to believe how many people actually came out for the meet today. Girls' track has become such a big deal at Molesworth that the varsity cheerleaders were recruited from boys' basketball to give us some encouragement. I glance over at the long line of girls decked out in black and gold-that-isn't-really-gold-but-actually-just-dark-yellow and notice a streak of blue breaking up the school-spirit rainbow. My boyfriend, Tommy Lawson, lead guitarist of our school's hottest jam band, has stolen a set of pom-poms from one of the sophomores. The sparkly accessories clash with his vintage Aerosmith T-shirt and ripped jeans. The girlâJenny? Mary?âgiggles and swats at him as he pretends to do a cheer. He just grins at her and dashes down the line, bopping each girl on the head with a pom-pom along the way. All the girlsâand I mean
all
the girlsâturn to give Tommy a smile or a wink or a flirty little wave. This is what I get for dating one of the hottest guys in school. The competition is fierceâand it's wearing spandex and eyeliner.