Every Little Thing

19

I arrive feeling oddly self-conscious about my attire, and even though I know the theatre will be dark and nobody will care, there's a certain feeling you get walking into public looking like you should be in bed.

I shove the thought from my mind as I see Georgie and Hale, standing with their arms around each other, as always. My friend, her eyes narrowed to slits, does a quick scan of my outfit, brows raised in a silent, judgmental really?

I ignore her, returning Hale's enthusiastic wave and taking a place beside them, clearing my throat.

"Nice outfit," says Georgie, with more haughtiness than probably intended. I take note of her wardrobe, which consists of a carefully-selected red halter top and high-waisted jeans, the ones with intentional rips in them (a concept I have yet to understand).

"Great to see you, too," I reply, laughing. Her lips purse, but she says nothing else.

The air grows uncomfortable as Hale and Georgie start up their conversation, and my eyes wander absentmindedly around the theatre lobby, taking in posters, the smell of popcorn, the kids chasing each other around the lounge in preparation for their movie to start.

Come on, Reed, I think, shooting a sideways glance at the couple, happily interested in each other and in no rush to include me in conversation. This was a bad idea.

And then, miracle of miracles, that's when he walks in. I catch his eye, raising my hand to wave, but stop short. My heart stutters, and Georgina looks up quickly, pulling a face.

"Jesus Christ," she mutters. "So he's in on it, too?"

I can hardly believe my eyes. Reed Bishop is dressed in sweatpants, tied tightly at the waist, and a sweatshirt so large that it nearly falls off of his shoulder with every step.

"Did I miss the 'matching outfits' memo?" Hale asks through a laugh, as Reed reaches us and they embrace in that weird handshake-slash-hug thing that guys do.

"If that's even considered an outfit," Georgie said, and it wouldn't have meant anything if not for the fierce venom underlying her tone. I turn to her, wide-eyed in surprise, but she suddenly becomes extremely interested in her acrylic fingernails.

"It's a movie theatre," Reed says in response, as he moves to me, a smile spreading across his face. "Once the lights go down, Georgie, no one will even notice."

Georgina breathes in deeply, as if exasperated by our childish behavior, and turns to order popcorn and tickets. Meanwhile, I look at Reed, who grins at me.

"I didn't want you to feel alone in your grand search for the social acceptance of wearing sweats in public."

I laugh, loudly.

This goddamn boy.

"We look homeless," I admit, and he lifts an indifferent shoulder.

"It's better than looking like Marylin Monroe over there," he says, his tone low and mischievous. I follow his knowing gaze to Georgina and have to physically choke down my laughter.

"She's not in the best mood," I say, and he nods.

"Mm." A slight pause, and then, "Why is that?"

I pause, wrestling with my thoughts, trying to answer the question that I've been asking myself since I got here. And even after several minutes of contemplation, I am still at a loss.

"I don't know," I tell him, and he shifts in his place as I repeat myself, softly. "I really don't know."

________

Georgina buys us tickets for a rom-com about a guy and a girl who meet at a coffee shop and fall in love, the classic cliché that is beloved by audiences all across the globe. Hale looks less than enthusiastic, and he claps Reed on the shoulder bracingly as we enter the theatre.

"The things we do for women, huh?" He jokes, and it doesn't take but a second for Reed to respond.

"Who said rom-coms were only for women?" He says, with that signature smirk of his, "I've heard Kate Winslet is fantastic in this."

And with that, he steps into the theatre. I bite back a smile, trying not to look too satisfied at the dumbstruck expression that crosses Hale's face. Georgie rolls her eyes.

We make our way to our seats, distribute popcorn and drinks, and then the commercials start. After sitting through the overplayed ads and previews, the movie starts. The curtains are pulled back to create a larger screen, a hush falls upon the crowd, and there is silence, save for the opening music.

And somewhere between the movie and the wide-screen shots of coffee shops and the close-ups of Kate Winslet and the fact that Georgina and Hale are in their own little world, his fingers running over her hands, over each knuckle, their eyes turned more towards each other than the movie itself—I look at him.

My heart jumps against my ribcage as I realize that he is already looking at me.

"Hi," he whispers, voice just barely audible.

I swallow the lump that has decided to lodge itself in my throat. My voice comes out hoarse as I reply,

"Hey."

He smiles, and even in the overwhelming darkness, I see the glint of his teeth and the crinkles surrounding his eyes, three perfect little creases that line up exactly right.

He doesn't look away, even though we've both been staring for far too long. But neither do I, and all of a sudden the rest of the world fades away and it is just me and him, looking at each other in this movie theatre, faces illuminated only by the screen and the glowing red of exit signs.

I suck in a breath to say something, to do something, but that's when he turns away, a small smile gracing his features. Clearing my throat, I turn back to my original position, somewhat embarrassed and yet enthralled by the odd, ecstatic feeling that has been injected into my bloodstream, churning through my veins.

For the rest of the movie, all I am able to think about is him—his proximity, his smile, his eyes.

And it really is kind of a shame that I'm not able to pay attention. Because I'm sure Kate Winslet is great in it.