A Tragic Kind of Wonderful. Eric Lindstrom

I remember the novel correctly, which I do, and if they didn’t change it much, and they haven’t yet, we’re coming to a part that’s going to be longish, quietish, and unbearable without any ish whatsoever.

      I can’t take it much longer, this sappy nonsense playing out on the big screen in front of us. Somebody has to do something about it. For everyone’s sake. But no one will. It’s up to me.

      I scrunch down and cup my hands around my mouth …

      “In a world …”

      Holly’s head whips around.

      “… of sobbing twelve-year-old girls …”

      People laugh and heads turn. I’m definitely not the only one. It’s not just guys laughing, either. Being immune to this Kool-Aid is an equal-opportunity agony.

      “… based on the book that changed your life forever … in the seventh grade …”

      Declan laughs. Holly swats my leg and hisses, “Stop it!” but I can’t stop now …

      “… comes a movie about a love so strong it defies believability, reason, the ability to digest solid food …”

      “Quiet!” someone yells up front. Tearful. Definitely no older than thirteen.

      I’m unmoved. These people need to know life’s nothing like what’s on this screen. Besides, too many people are laughing now, pent up from silently enduring an hour of this feature-length Hallmark commercial. They get it.

      “And the guy’s a pussy!” some dude in the back shouts. His friends shush him but they’re laughing, too.

      “Shut up!” another crying girl yells. She can’t be more than ten. I guess some people’s lives were changed in elementary school. “He’s going to die for her!”

      “Spoiler!” someone yells, laughing.

      “Snape kills Dumbledore!”

      “Shut UP!”

      Roars of laughter and a room divided. Holly covers her eyes with one hand.

      I press on. “The story of a girl pursued by a dreamboat she doesn’t love whose sole purpose is to die for her … with a smudge of dirt on his cheek and perfect hair …”

      “Be quiet!”

      “Don’t be quiet!” More laughter.

      The room’s in chaos, the laughing faction joking loudly, the sobbing sisterhood whispering indignantly. A woman storms the exit. No way she’s alone. She’s a mom with her kids, her daughters—at least I really hope so—and she’s going to tattle.

      “See you outside,” I whisper and head for the aisle, crouching low.

      “You’re not leaving me here,” Declan says.

      Holly comes, too. Cheers and jeers follow as we walk quickly up the aisle. We pass behind the mom who’s bitching out some poor guy who only knows how to scoop cold stale popcorn into thin cardboard boxes.

      We escape into the cool night air. They’re laughing. I’m not.

      Holly says, “That was mean.”

      “Then stop giggling,” Declan says.

      “I’m not giggling. And I didn’t say it wasn’t funny. I guess I’m a bad person.”

      “Not as bad as Mel!” He holds his arms up to protect Holly from me. “I think we need to call an exorcist!” He drops his arms and laughs. “Man, what was that in there? I can’t even get you to raise your hand in class when you know the right answer!”

      “Yeah,” Holly says, looking sideways at me. “Is this what you’re like when you’re bored and we’ve just never seen you this bored before?”

      “The movie didn’t bore me.” I try to sound more casual than I feel. “It offended me.”

      “It’s just a fantasy,” Holly says.

      “She didn’t love him,” I say. “Being in love with someone who doesn’t love you back is a tragedy. A fantasy is having someone understand the real you and love you anyway.”

      “Yeah,” Declan says. “And having someone be exactly what you want every single moment is a perverse fantasy … like dating your English butler.”

      Holly thinks about this until Declan says, “Forget it, Holly. Your life isn’t a movie.”

      She sighs. “Sure isn’t.” Then she stops his reply with a quick kiss. “Okay,” Holly says to me. “I didn’t know you had it in you, but maybe you saved lives in there. A much-needed wake-up call.”

      “Maybe,” I say, starting to come down from the adrenaline of my outburst, getting my head back, and feeling the first pangs of regret. “But it’s not nice to go to someone else’s church and make fun of them. I knew the movie would be like that. They didn’t force me to come.”

      Declan says to Holly, “I guess it’s our fault, then.”

      “It’s nobody’s fault,” Holly says firmly. “Movie Roulette. Whatever starts next, no exceptions.”

      “Yeah,” I say. “Except we made that rule.”

      “You made it,” Declan says to Holly. “It’s your fault.”

      “Fine,” she says. “Want me to go back and apologize, or drive us to get frozen yogurt?”

      “I don’t feel like yogurt,” I say, hoping to bail out early. Even on normal days I can only socialize for so long without recharging. Although that wasn’t always true. I never needed to recharge when I was with Zumi.

      “Something else, then?” Holly asks. “I’m not going home till midnight no matter what. There’s no way I’m going back before curfew just to get stuck between Angie and Vicki’s never-ending argument.”

      Declan says, “You don’t know how good you’ve got it. I wish I had siblings to reduce my time under the microscope and my parents’ questions.”

      “I can’t remember the last time someone at home asked me a meaningful question,” Holly says. “With sisters who’ve been fighting since before I was born, I’m ignored like dining-room furniture.”

      “I could use some ignored time,” Declan says. “Apparently I’m an only child on purpose. My mom says it’s because they couldn’t improve on perfection. My dad says I was a terrible mistake they didn’t want to repeat. What about you, Mel? Why didn’t your parents have any other kids?”

      The question catches me off guard. I hope I don’t look startled.

      “I don’t know,” I manage to say. “It’s not a conversation we’ve ever had.”

       * * *

      I ask Holly to drop me off at work so I can check on something, which is true. They know it’s a 24/7 kind of place, and not a long walk from my house, so they aren’t surprised.

      Standing outside the Silver Sands makes me think of Grandma Cece. I wonder if Holly invited me out tonight to make up for what Declan said yesterday about stealing cancer brownies. Grandma Cece died around the time I met them. I only mentioned it to Holly once but her superpower must be remembering stuff.

      Inside the Silver Sands, most of the residents are in their rooms. I walk down the hall to Room 108. The crack under the door is glowing. I knock lightly. Ms. Li said she wasn’t hard of hearing.

      Her muffled voice says, “Hello?”

      “It’s Mel,” I whisper. “Just checking on you.”

      Shuffling footsteps. The door unlocks and opens. Ms. Li wears a floor-length red-and-black