Just Like the Movies (8 page)

“I'm sorry, what's your name again?”

I sigh. “Lily. Lily Spencer.”

“Right,” she sniffs. “Lily.”

“So, um, anyway, are you going to be okay, or . . . ?”

I trail off as Marijke stands up and runs a hand through her damp hair.

“I just . . . I don't know what to do. He just left me here. I yelled at him about the text messages, and he said I was overreacting. And then he just—he said—”

Whatever “he said” is lost in the wake of Marijke's sobbing. Sighing, I glance around the courtyard where we're sitting.

“I'm going to go grab a coffee,” I say, nodding toward The Coffee Grind, a little café next to the theater. “Do you want something? We could go sit down for a minute and . . . talk. I mean, if you want to.”

Marijke glances uncertainly at the coffee shop. “I guess a slice of lemon cake would make me feel a
little
better.”

The Coffee Grind is warm inside and the scent of freshly roasted beans floats through the air. Once we've gotten our drinks—my large Americano drip and Marijke's froufrou frozen whipped-cream-topped monstrosity—along with a huge wedge of cake, I sit in a leather armchair. Her tears
seem to have subsided as she plops down in the chair across from me and digs into the fluffy white icing on her lemon cake with a spoon. One bite later, she groans.

“This is amazing. You want a bite?”

I shake my head and she shrugs.

“Yeah, I shouldn't eat it either. Gotta stay in shape for states.”

She takes another bite, then she looks up at me.

“Listen, if I tell you something—I mean, if I talk to you about some stuff, can you keep it between the two of us?”

I blink, then nod. “I, uh, sure. I mean, you don't have to say anything you don't want to.”

Marijke closes her eyes for a second and exhales. Her expression is pained.

“I love the track girls. I mean, they're like my sisters,” she says. “But I can't really talk to them about my boyfriend troubles. They'd just tell me to break up with him.”

“Do you want to break up with him?”

“No,” she says, “but I'm afraid he's gonna break up with me.”

She sucks in a shaky breath before continuing.

“I found these texts on his phone that were from his ex-girlfriend, and they were all about how she wants him back. But when I asked him about it, he said that it was nothing and that I'm being ridiculous and jealous. He said that he couldn't keep having the same fight with me over and over.”

She trails off as the tears begin to fall again in earnest.

“The thing is,” she whimpers, “I really do trust him. I don't think he's cheating—hell, every social networking site would explode with the confirmation of
that
rumor. I just . . . I just hate how every other girl in the school wants him. I feel like I'm always on high alert, waiting for some girl to try to snatch him away from me.”

Outside, the rain has started to pick up and the drops splatter against the window, blurring the movie theater's sign into a fuzzy, fluorescent mass. Marijke reaches out and traces a heart through the fog that's beginning to form on the glass.

“What about you?” she asks, looking over at me.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Er, no. Not really. I mean, no, not at all.”

She cocks her head. “But there's someone you want to be with, right?”

My brow furrows. “Why do you say that?”

Marijke shrugs.

“You've got that look.”

“What look?”

“The swooning look. The love-struck look. The look that says you've been crushing hard for a while.”

I blink, then look down at my hands.
She could see all that in a look?

“Well . . .” I twirl a dark curl around one finger, “there's someone that I sort of like, and I—I've never really had the chance to talk to him much . . .”

“Who is it?”

I feel uncomfortable. “I don't know. I've never told anyone—”

“Seriously? I've been spilling my guts to you. I promise I won't tell a soul. If I do, you've already got a boatload of intel on me.”

I sigh. “Sworn to secrecy?”

She nods, and I look down at my hands.

“Joe Lombardi,” I whisper.

“Who?”

“Joe Lombardi,” I say again, a little louder this time. I glance around the almost-empty café as if someone might have heard.

“Wow,” she says, leaning back in her chair. “I'm . . . surprised. Joe is definitely hot, and he's got that sort of dark-and-dangerous thing going on. You just seem so . . .”

“Studious?” I arch an eyebrow.

“Straight-edge,” she says, crossing her arms.

“Yeah, well, it doesn't really matter anyway. He doesn't know I exist.”

We both look out the window then, watching the theater sign scroll through its message.

“You know what would be great? If life could be like the
movies,” Marijke says with a sigh, scraping up the last bit of icing onto her fork.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, why
can't
relationships center around big romantic gestures and sweep-you-off-your-feet moments?”

“Such as?”

“Such as you meet the love of your life and he asks you to prom in a hot air balloon or on top of a mountain or something,” she suggests.

“Or the guy you've had a thing for finally learns your name and falls for you too?” I suggest.

Marijke nods. “Exactly. Is that really the kind of stuff that only happens in movies? I mean, the movies must have been inspired by real-life events, right? Think about it—
Titanic
was a horrible disaster in history, but Hollywood turns it into one of the greatest love stories of all time. That can't be a one-shot deal.”

And that's when I get the idea.

If my life were a movie, you'd see a lightbulb appear over my head or a lightning bolt strike my body. Regardless of the source, inspiration hits me with a force that's practically electric—an idea that's impossible to ignore and might be just crazy enough to work.

If you'd asked me a few hours ago what I'd be doing right now, I would have guaranteed it wouldn't be this: baring my soul to a girl whose name I didn't even really know until tonight.

Lily is sort of staring off into space, and I take another bite of my cake. She's the last person I would ever have expected to confide in, but it
is
actually kind of comforting to talk to her.

“What if I told you there was a way to get your wish?” Lily asks me.

I raise my eyebrows, confused. “What do you mean?”

“What if you could pick some of the strategies they use in the movies,” she says. “Some of those big, mind-blowing, attention-seeking strategies—and put them into play?”

“Huh?”

Her eyes are bright. “I'm serious. If you want Tommy to see that you're the only girl for him, you need to show him.
And what's the best way to do that? Through grand gestures! I mean, if guys can make dramatic stuff like prom proposals work, why can't we pull some ideas from our favorite movies?”

I just stare at her for a minute.

“You're serious?” I finally ask.

“Yeah. What do you think?”

“I love Tommy,” I say slowly, “but I'm not sure upping the drama is the best way to make our relationship work.”

“But it could be,” Lily argued, leaning forward. “I mean, what could it hurt? You just said that movies have to have a basis in reality. Why would it be in the movie if it was totally unrealistic?”

“I don't know . . .”

“I just think it's worth a shot.”

I frown, trying to weigh my options. “Let me think for a minute.”

I consider the facts. First, I hate that so many girls flirt with Tommy, and he really doesn't shoot them down as much as I'd like. I need to get him to focus on me and only me. Not to mention that I want him to love me. And I want him to say it out loud. Preferably with an audience of many so they'll know he's off-limits for sure.

But to make that happen, I know I need to try something different (especially considering that what I'm doing now isn't getting me anywhere but alone and crying in the rain).

I look at Lily as she sips her coffee. It's true that I barely
know this girl, but maybe it's better that way. It's like in the movies, where two people are supposed to be somewhere else but end up in the same place at the same time and the whole plot changes because of one chance encounter.

“So we'd be in this together, right?”

Lily frowns. “Well, of course—I can help you if you want.”

I shake my head. “Uh-uh. No way. If I'm going to attempt this craziness with Tommy, you've gotta do the same thing with Joe.”

Her eyes grow round. “Wait a second! I didn't mean—I wasn't going to be a part of this whole thing—”

“That's the only way I'm doing it,” I say, interrupting her. “If I know you've got as much to lose as I do, then we can help each other—no one would even suspect it. It's not like we're friends or whatever.”

Lily cocks an eyebrow.

“Okay. So say I agreed and I said I'd do it. Does that mean you're in?”

I look at her face and I recognize that hopeful expression. It's almost like looking in a mirror. Slowly, a smile begins to spread across my face, until it's transformed into a full-fledged grin.

“Oh yeah,” I say, nodding. “I am
so
in.”

We stay in the coffee shop until a very irritated barista tells us they're closing. At that point, we've brainstormed maybe fifty different movies—sappy dramas, quirky comedies, indie films, eighties classics: almost nothing was off-limits. Some of the movies were mutual choices, like how we both loved
Never Been Kissed
. Other ones we had argued over—I'm dead set against Disney movies, considering most of them need magic carpets, mermaids, or singing, dancing household appliances. Marijke begrudgingly admitted that I was probably right, although I know she's still holding out for a glass slipper or magical rose or something.

In the end, we come up with a basic goal. We have three weeks before prom, which isn't much time. By then, if we do this right, Joe and Tommy will have fallen ass-over-eyebrows in love with us and we'll have Hollywood to thank for it.

“Okay, so . . .” I look down at the notebook I've been using, then back up at Marijke. “What do we start with?”

“Well, I don't know about me, but
you
need a meet-cute,” she says.

“A what?”

“It's from
The Holiday
—you know, that movie where Cameron Diaz and Kate Winslet switch places? There's this old producer guy who talks about meet-cutes in the movies he used to make. It's when two people meet for the first time in a unique way, a way that makes them remember each other.”

“Well, yeah,” I say doubtfully, “but Joe and I have already met. We've had classes together. I've run into him in the stairwell and managed to make an ass of myself . . .”

“Yeah, but does he
remember
you? Could he pick you out of a lineup of girls with dark curly hair?” Marijke presses.

I grimace.

“Okay, I see your point.”

“So there needs to be a meet-cute. A way to put the two of you together so that he'll never forget your name or your face. So that he'll be
intrigued
by you.”

“And how do we make that happen? Aside from using hypnosis.”

She shoots me a dirty look, then grins. “Don't worry
about that. Meet-cutes need to be spontaneous. You just leave all the details to me.”

“Oh, God help me. I don't know about that . . .”

“Listen,” she says, “if we're going to make this work, we're going to have to trust each other.”

“Yeah, I know,” I sigh. “Okay, a meet-cute it is. What's next?”