“I just barely got my hearing back from the last movie we went to.” He rubs his ear and glares at Stephanie.
She rolls her eyes. “Oh, please. I don’t scream that loud.”
Several people surrounding the fountain shout out their confirmations of Stephanie’s screaming abilities. Her scowl quiets the group.
“See,” Rowan says. “I’m not alone.” As if sensing Stephanie is about to implode, he changes the subject. “So, Trevor.”
“Yeah?”
“I found another one.”
Trevor sighs. “Give it a rest, Rowan. It’s over. Come on, let’s get our seats.”
As we walk, Rowan still between Trevor and me, he says, “Just hear me out. His name is Neal Summers. He blew out his knee at the beginning of this season.”
“Rowan, it’s football; people get hurt. Lots of people. There’s no connection.”
I have no idea what Rowan is referring to, and it doesn’t seem like Trevor feels like explaining—not even after I give him the yes-I’m-curious head tilt. So I just work on maintaining a comfortable distance between Rowan and me. Despite my efforts, he still manages to brush against my shoulder several times.
The boys pause at the door, and as I look over my shoulder at them, confused, I remember why, too late. My face meets the glass with a thud. “Ouch.” I step back, rubbing my cheek. This place is so confusing. Why are some of their doors automatic and some not?
“Addie, door handle. Door handle, Addie,” Rowan says, opening the door for me. “You two should get to know each other.”
“Funny,” I mumble.
“You okay?” Trevor asks.
“Fine.”
Inside, Rowan holds true to his word and sits next to me. Stephanie somehow ends up on my other side, separating Trevor and me by a seat. I really want to sit next to Trevor but can’t think of a good excuse to seat hop.
The lights lower.
“Do you want some popcorn?” Rowan asks, putting his hand on my forearm. I’m sure he did it just to get my attention, but my reflexes are faster than that thought, and I yank my arm out from under his, bumping the popcorn he’s holding. It spills all over.
“I’m so sorry,” I say.
He laughs. “It’s okay. You’re nice and jumpy. You’re going to be more fun to watch this movie with than I thought.”
“Is it buttered?” I ask. “I hope I didn’t ruin your clothes.” Considering Rowan is dressed nicer than I am, I really do hope his jeans aren’t splotched with grease stains.
“Nah, they’re fine.” He stands and shakes himself off, then sits back down.
I fold my arms. “I promise to keep my out-of-control limbs to myself for the rest of the night.”
“No, no, no. It’s okay. Here, have the armrest.” He pulls one of my hands over to the armrest and places it there, patting it twice as if it’s some sort of pet he has asked to stay put. Then, much to my relief, he passes the popcorn down the aisle to Lisa and places his own hands on his knees.
I know why I’m jumpy. It’s that it’s dark, and the last time I was in the dark sitting next to a guy, it didn’t end well. It wasn’t just that Bobby got handsy and rough, although that was bad, it was that I froze. It took me several minutes to defend myself. And then several more to free myself. To be able to push him away and walk out of his house. And that reaction—my inability to react—scared me more than anything. Even though seconds later I snapped out of the Search, it still felt so real.
Stephanie looks over, and in a loud voice says, “Could you two get to know each other after the movie? I’m trying to watch here.”
I look at the screen, my face hot. The movie hasn’t started. I want to tell her to chill, that it’s just the previews, but then Rowan might think I actually want to get to know him and that I’m mad at Stephanie for interrupting. So I just say, “Sorry, popcorn dilemma.”
Trevor leans forward and says, “Yes, Addison, pay attention. There’ll be a zombie-hunting quiz after the movie.” He smiles, then leans back.
Stephanie scowls, but I don’t care; those two sentences make me feel infinitely better. That is, until halfway through the movie when Rowan’s arm decides it wants to share the armrest with mine. This time I resist the urge to jerk away. Nothing is happening. It’s just an armrest. People share them all the time. I once shared one with a hairy-armed old man, and I managed that just fine. I count to ten and then move my arm.
The guy is undeterred though, and he leans over me to tell Stephanie, “I haven’t heard any screaming yet.”
“That’s because this movie is lame.”
“Claustrophobic,” I say.
Rowan laughs and pulls back. I lean a little closer to Stephanie, who is leaning really close to Trevor.
I put all my energy into watching the movie, which so far hasn’t been too gruesome.
One of my friends at the Compound has a photographic memory. Everything she ever sees, reads, or hears, she remembers forever in perfect detail. I used to be so jealous of that ability when I took tests. I begin to realize that her ability might not be as great as I once thought. She probably has to be really careful about everything she lets enter her mind. And what about her Bobby-like experiences? Does she remember them perfectly forever?
The graphic image of a boy getting his head bit off by a one-armed zombie makes me cringe away from the screen. Next to me, Stephanie screams and grabs onto Trevor’s arm, burying her face in his shoulder.