Aldo's Fantastical Movie Palace (3 page)

E
ACH YEAR IS A NEW START
.”

Grandpa stomped on the paint can lid, and a drop of white spattered onto his chin. “Look, Chloe.” He pointed at his wrinkled face. “Aldo would be proud. Even he never thought of using his face as a canvas.”

“I think you should stick to painting your trailer home.” Chloe glanced around the farmyard, quiet and still on the first day of school. She grabbed Grandpa's arm and glared at his watch. “Fifteen minutes until the bus comes. Why do I have to go? I don't want to hear that nickname —”

He lifted a finger to her lips. “I don't think your classmates will call you Sugar-nut.”

“That's not what they say.”

“What do they say?”

Her stomach fluttered. She would not repeat it. Ever. “I, uh — I need to grab my backpack and get to the bus stop.”

“Then go.” Grandpa stroked her head. “And remember, your grandpa Salvador wishes you the most wonderful of days.”

Chloe cleared her throat and ran toward the house.

Most wonderful of days. Most wonderful of days …

She jumped up the steps and burst through the screen door. Clinking forks fell silent. Mom and Dad and five men she didn't know sat around the picnic tables.

Mom rose, grabbed Chloe's face between her hands, and squeezed. “My Chloe. Bella. Now in your first year of secondary school.” Chloe pulled back and grabbed her backpack off the table.

“Just think,” Mom said. “You and the twins in the same building again.”

She didn't want to think about that. Or the bus ride. Or her classmates. Or staring eyes or whispering lips. She wished she could turn off her brain.

“Well, I'm late for the stop. Gotta go.”

Mom slapped Dad on the shoulder. He nodded,
his gaze fixed on the table. “Get a move on then, Chloe. I'm right proud of ya.”

Mom rolled her eyes and grabbed Chloe by the shoulders, then kissed her on both cheeks. “I'll meet you at the Movie Palace. Four thirty. Don't be late.”

Chloe bit her lip, hard.

Only eight hours, forty-one minutes and
… She glanced at the wall clock.
Twenty seconds. Late? Not a chance
.

Chloe nestled down in her homeroom seat. The bus had been quiet, filled with nervous, sleepy kids. Maybe the nickname disappeared over the summer. More likely, with kids from all three towns sardined into one building, the name got squeezed out. She glanced around the room. Riley and Madison were the only kids Chloe knew, and she'd never heard them speak the word.

Ms. Romero lowered her glasses and glanced over the class. Her gaze reached Chloe's face and stuck. Chloe slumped in her chair and shielded her face with a math book.

The door opened and Chloe straightened. Principal Garret came in first, and a walking stick poked in second. Lastly, a dog and a boy. The blind theater boy.

It was the first time Chloe'd seen him up close. He looked like an average kid. Lots of brown hair and a load of freckles. He wasn't tall or short, he was … well, normal, except for the eyes. They stared off in strange directions.

His dog was definitely
not
normal. It was a beautiful golden retriever and it stood statue-still at his side. Its tail didn't even wag.

Ms. Romero and Principal Garret spoke softly and whispers filled the room.

“Excuse me, class,” Ms. Romero announced. “While I get our new student settled, you can locate your lockers. You have assigned numbers, and you'll find your name taped below them. They're on the opposite wall just outside the door. Go store your things, and to start this year right … please leave quietly.”

The blind boy whispered in her ear.

“Oh, and class. Please do not pet the do —” The kid yanked on Ms. Romero's blouse and whispered again.

The teacher nodded. “Excuse me, this is Hobo. So please do not pet Hobo. He's working.”

The class filed out in silence.

Chloe exhaled and reached down for her backpack. Life just got much easier. The blind boy would certainly be the center of attention for a while.

“Ms. Lundeen? Will you please leave the room?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.”

Locker 245
. She double-checked the number printed on her schedule, rose quickly, and scampered out.

The clank of metal and the chatter of students filled the hall. So did words that had nothing to do with her:
blind, dog
.

Grandpa Salvador was right. Each year is a new start!

She walked down the row of bright green lockers, squinting at the tiny numbers.
236, 237 …

Melmanie Secondary wasn't a big school, but it was a green one. Green carpet. Green lockers and green-flecked brick. Chloe hoisted her pack higher on her shoulder and glanced around the forest. Nobody stared back. This was turning out to be the best first day in years.

239, 240 …

Up ahead, a laugh. It wasn't the nervous laugh like the ones she'd heard all morning. This was different, and her steps slowed.

241
.

A small group of students clumped in front of her.

“Excuse me.” She weaved between them.

242, 243 …

Chloe froze.

Two girls stopped snickering and stepped back. Chloe moved in front of her locker. Her shiny, new, green locker. The one with 245 on the top and a sheet of paper taped to the front.

She stared at the word, the one scribbled in big letters and with permanent ink.

Chloe dropped the pack, and her head fell against the locker with a bang. The name found her here, today.

On the most wonderful of days.

C
HLOE'S AFTER-SCHOOL BUS
rumbled by Aldo's Movie Palace. It used to stop right in front of the theater, but apparently the blind kid sitting in back changed all that.
If only I could get off this bus now
. The steady taunts from the back of the bus had worn thin miles ago.

Bus brakes squealed and the vehicle hissed to a stop.

Oh, wow
.

The blind boy's parents must have bought Finnegan's farm, the nicest property in the county. Set on two hundred acres of gorgeous rolling hills, the farm had solid brick outbuildings, two new barns, a horse ring, a pond, and a beautiful view of the Rum River. Not only was it her idea of the perfect
house, pleasant memories filled that place. Before Mr. Finnegan died, he gave the locals free sleigh rides along his stream.

Mom said it would sit empty. She said nobody from around here could afford the land, not these days, and since people rarely moved up here that pretty much sealed the deal.

Chloe craned her neck out the window to see over the wrought iron gates. Even in September, Mr. Finnegan's annuals and wildflowers splashed the green lawn with color.
A blind kid's going to miss a lot of beautiful
.

“Nick Harris, isn't it?” Big Tex took his hands off the wheel, peered up into the bus's mirror, and then muscled his body around. “We're at your stop. Welcome to the neighborhood.”

The boy shuffled up the aisle, Hobo at his side. He paused at the front seat and turned toward Chloe, as if he could sense her.

“Why do they call you Scarface?”

She slumped down and rolled her eyes.
Even blind kids know that name
.

“Are you mute too?” He waited, shrugged, and stepped toward the door. Tex grabbed his arm, but Nick yanked free. “I can do this myself.”

“Easy now,” Tex warned. “What with the dog and
the new stop, I was just trying to help. And you need to be okay with that, young man.”

Nick eased down the steps, reached gravel, and turned toward the bus.

“You can't help. Nobody here can help.”

Tex glanced at Chloe and shrugged. She stood and hoisted her pack onto her shoulder. “Thanks, Tex. You comin' to the theater this weekend?
The Vapor
is a first run.”

“You know I don't do that frightening stuff. Stop trying to scare the tar out of me.
Bambi
. Show
Bambi
and I'll be there, front row.”

The thought of an ex-marine, tattooed bus driver watching
Bambi
made her smile. She hopped down and the bus pulled away. Neither Nick nor his dog had moved.

“Your house is right there.” Chloe pointed, and lowered her hand.
That was dumb
.

“I know where it is,” he muttered. “I really want to know about the Scarface thing.”

“Well, I want to know about the blind thing.”

Nick's brows lowered. “That's none of your business.”

“Well, what people call me is none of
your
business.”

“Fine, because I don't care anyway.”

“Good, because I wouldn't tell you!” Chloe stomped toward the theater.

“Nick! You're back.”

Despite herself, she peeked over her shoulder and watched as Nick's mother joined him at the end of the driveway.

“How was the first day? Did you make any friends?”

Nick ripped off his backpack and slammed it down onto the dusty road. “I hate it here. I want to go back to Rochester. Take me home.”

Nick's mom hugged him, and he wriggled inside her arms. “Oh, honey, weren't kids kind —”

Nick broke free, fumbled for his pack, and passed through the gate, his voice ringing out extra loud and clear. “I did meet a … Scarface!”

Chloe stroked her cheek, faced the Palace, and started walking.
Go back to Rochester? What an idiot. Everyone here treated you and that dog like a rock star
.

She stopped and spun. “Well, I met a blind —”

Papers littered the road in front of Nick's gate. The light breeze slowly carried them into the ditch and the bushes and —

“Wait up, Nick! Papers must've slipped out of your backpack.”

Chloe raced back to the spreading mess and gathered frantically.
There's like a hundred sheets here!

She stood, the dog-eared, dusty mess in her hands, and walked toward the gate. “Open up! You left something!”

No answer.

“Great, now I'm a maid for the kid.” She straightened the stack. “No page numbers? That's good thinking.” She glanced over the top sheet and read.

Chloe leafed through the pages.
A screenplay? You're writing a fantasy screenplay?

“That's actually kind of cool,” she whispered and looked back up through the iron bars. “I'll, um … I'll keep it safe for you.”

She nodded, tucked the stack of papers safely beneath her arm, and walked toward the Movie Palace.

Mom's truck clinked by. She slowed, grinned, and waved. Q saluted her from the back, and Grif, standing, gave his brother's head a whack. No wonder they'd been banned from the bus last year. Chloe shook her head and joined Mom in the lot.

“Well?” Mom opened up her arms.

“I hate it here.” Chloe dropped her gaze. “I want to go back to Rochester.”

Mom squinted and brushed the hair off Chloe's face.

“Forget it. Just heard the blind kid say it, and it felt about right to me too.”

Mom pursed her lips, and Chloe continued. “Same old. Same name.”

“If you want to move to Rochester, I'll help you pack,” Grif jumped down and winced. “I tell you, that old man started something —”

Mom froze him with a glance.

“Do you know I had to stand in every class like a dunce?”

“About time they put you in the right place. You get one of them dunce caps to wear?” Q grinned.

“Inside, you two. I asked you to help on opening night, not to drive customers away. And Grif, that old man is your grandfather.”

Chloe tossed her backpack into the truck and slammed the door.

“Maybe Nick will end up being a friend.” Mom unlocked Aldo's and they stepped inside. The dank, cool air enveloped Chloe. Safe at last.

“Doubt it. Nick's worse than the others. He talks short and angry.” Chloe stared down at the screenplay. “I just don't think —”

“He's been through a lot.” Mom exhaled long and slow. “Don't give up on him.”

Whatever. I never started with him
.

Chloe cranked the handle of the hot dog heater to activate the motor. “I have enough problems at school. I don't need more.”

Mom nodded. “I'm sure you'll figure it all out. I did invite Nick's family to dinner Friday, so try to make nice by then.”

Chloe stopped cranking. “You didn't.”

“They're new to the neighborhood. You know how your father likes to be hospitable.”

“To everyone but me!” Chloe ran up to the
projection room, set down Nick's play, and lifted reel one into place.
What do you think? Should we invite Nick over? Let's ask Chloe how she feels
. “A little courtesy would help around here!”

A cough echoed from the theater seats. Chloe glanced out the window. Mr. Simonsen.

“You all right up there, Chloe?”

“Yeah, sorry.” She clicked the reel and dimmed the lights. “Never better.”

Dinner with Nick. That's a real horror movie waiting to begin
.

She slumped to the floor and Streak jumped onto her lap. “Been waiting for me? Sorry. I've been cleaning up after Nick.” Streak licked her front paw. “Don't worry, you don't want to know him.”

Chloe peered up at the screenplay, thought for an instant, and reached for the stack. Soon the sheets spread out over the entire projection room floor.

“Streak, there has to be some order to these, but I can't figure it out.” She picked up two papers and glanced back and forth. “There's hardly any description of this world. It's all dialogue. Where do these river dwarfs come from? And here, what's a Calainian?”

She held a sheet in front of Streak, who curled up and closed her eyes. “Take these guys who live
underground. He calls them Quints. I have no idea what they look like or —” Chloe bit her lip and grabbed a pen off the counter. “Quints. Sounds like Quenton. They'd be short and fat.” She scribbled a few lines in the margin.

It's not like he's going to see it
.

“And then there are five massive cities. Medahon, Shadowton, the City of Reckoning … and some I can't quite pronounce. No description.” She looked out the small window into the expanse of Aldo's Palace. “Let's make Medahon a city Aldo would love.”

Chloe scrawled
Notes on Medahon
on the back of a page.

The door to the projection booth flew open, Streak shot off her lap, and Nick stumbled forward, his screenplay crinkling beneath his feet. He released Hobo and turned a complete circle.

“You can't be up here,” Chloe hissed.

“Please tell me you have my movie script and please say I'm not standing on it right now.”

“You dropped your script, and I was
kind enough
to save it. As for stepping on it … yeah, you are, but people don't just burst up here, and I was only trying to get the pages in order. What kind of screenplay has no page numbers?”

“What kind of person steals my script?”

“The same type who tried to return it, but the owner was too busy whining to come out and get it!”

“So now you're using it for a rug?”

“Chloe!” Mr. Simonsen hollered. “Hold it down, please.”

“Sorry!” Chloe yelled down, still facing Nick. “Here!” For the second time that day she scooped up the papers, this time stuffing them into Nick's hands. “Take your stupid script. I'm so sorry for trying to help you! Why do you carry it anyway? You can't read it.”

“Again, none of your business.” Nick hugged the script.

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

Nick spun to leave, and Hobo moved to the front of the open door. “Let's go home, boy.”

Chloe pushed her hand through her hair. “Hold it. Okay, I shouldn't have put it on the floor, all right? And I shouldn't have looked through it or … made minor notes in places.”

Nick froze. “You made notes.”

“I just thought some of your descriptions needed spicing up —”

“If I wanted your help —”

“You'd ask for it. I know. I'm sorry, I just thought —”

Nick walked out, slamming the door behind him.

“Well.” Chloe took a seat. “We can continue this delightful conversation over dinner at my place.”

The week at school passed slowly and painfully.

It wasn't much better on the farm.

Dad's over-the-top sense of hospitality turned Nick's visit into a major event, and by Friday cleanup reached fever pitch. Mom even closed Aldo's Palace for a day to help with the straightening.

Chloe finished feeding the animals and cleaning their pens, and stood in the middle of the farmyard.

We are an Italian version of the Addams Family
.

Dad mowed the yard with his new invention: the Green Machine. He bragged, “No damage to the environment.” And he was right on that point. Of course, two slow-moving cows pulling an old tractor pulling fifteen fainting goats that chewed up grass was mighty hard to control.

“Plus, she don't take an ounce of gasoline. Now, I
admit to an uneven chew — er, cut — but Plum Cake, I think I'm on to somethin'.”

Yeah, more public humiliation
.

Q snuck cigarettes behind the chicken coop, and yelled “boo” when Dad's contraption passed. All fifteen of those fainting goats toppled to the ground. So did Q, in fits of laughter.

Near the field, Grandpa repainted his home, covering it with blue windows.

“Everybody's losing it.” Chloe tongued the inside of her cheek and glanced at the house. On the porch, an angry Grif cleaned his pellet gun, occasionally aiming at Grandpa Salvador's backside, and in the garden Mom fought wet wood to start a bonfire.

Yep, the strangest family in Kanabec County. Good thing Nick won't see any of it
.

By late afternoon, all was in order. Which was one reason Chloe dashed outside at the sound of Dad's idling truck. Her brothers hooted and hollered and threw each other against the side of the truck bed.

“Where are you guys going? Dinner is in a few hours!”

“Fishing.” Q stepped toward Chloe. “Um. Dad said he wanted a fish fry when your friend comes over.” He paused. “You want to go dig some crawlers? He didn't ask you to come, did he.”

“When does he ever ask me?” Chloe felt her jaw tighten.

Q exhaled. “It's been a while.”

“Hey, Q, get my tackle box!” Grif shoved his brother, who stumbled into Chloe. “Oh, didn't see you there, sis. You might want to make yourself scarce. Dad'll be here soon and it might be awkward, him not wanting you along and all.” Grif raised his eyebrows, grinned, and climbed in the cab.