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looking for a spot. Cara jams her foot on the brake, and we come to a screeching halt as three girls with matching cheerleading jackets, identical ponytails, and ribbons suddenly appear in front of our car. “God! Watch where you’re—” Cara cuts herself off, sticks herhead out the open window, and purrs in the most over-the-top chipper voice, “Girls, you look so cuu-uute.”
    The girls pause. They turn in unison, giving Cara smiles as sugary as her compliment. The one in the middle with the black hair and perfect face says, “Grassy-ass, bay-bee.” She blows Cara a kiss and then folds in half, laughing herself to pieces. Cara starts clapping and giggling. My eyebrows are sewn together in what-the-hell-is-going-on-here confusion.
    The black-haired beauty straightens herself and holds out her arms. Her friends, as if by magnetic force, link arms with her. They skip through the parking lot like they’re in a field of wildflowers.
    “Holy crap, Dell, that was Brandon Levitt’s little sister. The pretty one in the middle. Maybe she’ll put in a good word for us.”
    I can’t look at Cara because my face will show how I feel inside—nauseated. I keep my gaze straight ahead. “Wow.”
    We end up having to park really far away from the movie theater. “Bring the map in case we get lost,” I joke. I’m trying to snap myself out of how disgusted I feel after watching that phony interaction. Cara doesn’t respond to my attempt at humor. She’s busy studying her face and puckering her lips in the visor mirror. Then she walks the entire way to the theater door on her tippie toes, scanning the rows of cars, obviouslylooking for “everyone.” Remarkably, the only people we see from school are the other freshman cheerleaders. They seriously all have matching ponytails and ribbons. Yeah. I mean, my softball team used to wear our team T-shirts to school on game days, but I’ve never gone out in public, just for fun, dressed the same as someone else.
    Standing in the line for food, I stare at the illuminated menu. If I had thirty dollars in my pocket, I could easily spend it: large popcorn, large soda, two boxes of candy, and a hot dog. I only have a ten, though. Small popcorn, a box of candy, no drink. I douse my popcorn in butter. It’s so much better with the butter.
    I follow Cara like a puppy dog through the hallway, lost in my own thoughts. Maybe I’ll get a job now that softball doesn’t have a chokehold on my time. Then I could buy whatever the hell I wanted at the movies. I could even save for a car. I’d drive and drive and drive—to get away.
    Cara stops suddenly just inside our theater, and I bump into her. “Dell, God, watch where you’re going! You made me spill my soda.”
    “Sorry.” I hand her the wad of napkins I’d grabbed for eating my popcorn, and she wipes off her jeans.
    For how crazy the parking lot and lobby were, our theater is pretty empty, only a few older couples and those cheerleadersin the back row, and that’s it. “Everyone” must be seeing something else.
    Cara squints and mumbles, “Where is everyone?” I follow her up a few stairs and we take our seats. Cara offers me one of her soft-pretzel bites.
    I take one and dip it in the warm cheese sauce. As the spicy cheese has its way with my tongue, I wonder why food that isn’t good for you tastes so damn delicious. Green beans or cheese sauce? Cheese sauce, please. I’d eat the green beans with the cheese sauce. No doubt.
    Those girls in the back row are being obnoxious, laughing too loud, squealing, shouting. “I hope they don’t do that during the movie,” I say.
    Cara drops her feet from their perch on the seatback in front of her and turns completely around.
    “Oh my God, Cara, don’t say anything,” I whisper and shrink down a bit.
    Cara’s face lights up, and she starts waving. “Hold this. I’ll be right back.” She hands me her pretzel-bite tray, scurries across the aisle, and disappears up the steps. I