Today Tonight Tomorrow(19)

“My guess would be Cinerama,” I say. It’s one of Seattle’s oldest theaters. Some more frantic googling. “One sec… There!” I turn my phone to show them, filled with the rush that comes with being pretty sure you have the right answer to a problem. “Cinerama showed the movie in seventy millimeter for two and a half years.”

“To Cinerama!” Kirby says, slapping my dashboard.

While we cruise toward downtown, Kirby scrolls through my music, blatantly ignoring the unspoken driver’s choice rule.

“I knew Howl would fix things. You’re already significantly peppier,” Mara says. She leans her head against the window. “But would it kill Seattle to give us more than ten minutes of sun?”

The clouds have shifted again, the sky a tranquil gray.

“You know what they say,” Kirby says without looking up from my playlists. “Summer doesn’t start in Seattle until after the Fourth of July. Why do you have Electric Light Orchestra on here?”

I grab for my phone, but she holds it out of reach. “Because ‘Don’t Bring Me Down’ is timeless.”

“We might even get rained out in Lake Chelan,” Mara says.

Kirby freezes, turning her head to glance back at Mara.

“What’s happening in Lake Chelan?” I exit 99 North onto Denny Way, landing in the middle of Seattle’s downtown lunch rush.

A pause. Kirby becomes invested in peeling old parking stickers off my window.

“Shit,” Mara mutters.

“We were going to tell you,” Kirby says. “Mara’s parents are going to Lake Chelan for the Fourth, and they invited me to go with them.”

“They invited you,” I say, my stomach dropping. “Just you.”

“Yeah.”

“For the weekend?”

“For, uh, for two weeks.”

Two whole weeks. It’s not that we’ve always spent every day of every summer together. Every other year, Kirby’s family visits relatives in Cambodia, and twice, Mara went to a dance camp in New York. But this summer is our last one, and I thought that meant something.

I had it all planned out in my head. Sand between our toes at Alki and Golden Gardens, daring each other to touch the fountain at Seattle Center like we’re twelve, portabello burgers at Plum Bistro, molten chocolate lava cakes at Hot Cakes, cinnamon rolls at Two Birds One Scone…

“We can still go to Bumbershoot together,” Mara says softly.

I tighten my grip on the steering wheel. “I can’t go to Bumbershoot. I leave for Boston at the end of August.”

“Oh.”

“I just—I thought we had all these plans.”

“We haven’t really talked about it,” Kirby says as traffic crawls forward.

I open my mouth to insist that of course we have—except I can’t actually remember it. We had AP tests and graduation prep and final exams, and now it’s here, our last day on the cusp of our last summer, and I’m losing my best friends much sooner than I thought I’d be.

3. Hang out with Kirby and Mara EVERY WEEKEND!

“Parking spot!” Mara practically shouts, then holds a hand to her mouth like she’s surprised by her outburst. “I mean, there’s a good parking spot. Right there.”

Silently, I pull into it.

The theater takes up nearly an entire square block, despite having only one massive screen, and costumes from various film franchises are on display in the lobby. But my favorite thing about Cinerama has always been—

“Chocolate popcorn,” Mara says, still trying to play peacemaker. “Do you want some, Rowan?”

I shake my head, declining it for possibly the first time in my life.

Student council juniors Nisha Deshpande and Olivia Sweeney are waiting at the entrance to the auditorium. “Rowan, hi!” Nisha says as she scribbles my name on her clipboard. “I’m so glad you made it.”

Fan club, Kirby mouths.

We’re within the first ten to have arrived. With the exception of some hushed conversations, the auditorium is quiet. We grab three aisle seats near each other so we can make an easy escape.

And then we wait.

Our classmates show up mostly in small groups but occasionally solo, and I crouch down low in my seat when Spencer ambles up the aisle. I spot McNair hair—a homing beacon, as always—and a mix of relief and pride rushes through me. He made it, but I beat him.

It’s almost twelve thirty when the last person arrives.

“Lucky number fifty!” Brady Becker shouts, tearing down the aisle with an outstretched hand. A few people reach out to high-five him.

The moment he slides into a second-row seat, the auditorium door shuts with a whoosh and the lights go completely dark.





12:26 p.m.


A FILM STARTS to play. Welcome, a title card says, white letters on a black background. You’ve passed the first test.

The juniors modeled it on a silent film, black-and-white stills interspersed with written dialogue and scored by a jazz piece. They act out game play and demonstrate both proper kills and unsportsmanlike conduct, including an over-the-top chase sequence that ends with a player diving into Green Lake.

“Lights!” someone calls when it ends, but the room stays dark. “Lights,” they say again, more forcefully.