chapter 18
When Mom and I get home, the television is turned off, but the Pretty in Pink DVD case is still sitting out on top of the player.
I point to it and casually ask her, “Do you mind if I check out some of the extra features?”
“I had no idea you liked the movie so much,” she says. “You looked like you were ready to fall asleep watching it last night.”
I think back to that night so long ago, when I had the luxury of blowing off any deeper meaning that Pretty in Pink might have. “I guess you could say the ending got my attention.”
Trying to hide her excitement, she asks, “Do you want me to watch the special features with you?”
“Would you?” I smile. “Pretty please?”
Mom says, “That’s pretty in pink please. I’ll pop some popcorn.” She grins. “You get your PJs on and get ready for a thorough discussion of this movie. I have many thoughts.”
“You know what, Mom?” She looks at me with anticipation, and I say, “This has been a good day.”
Once we’re all settled in on the big pink couch with our snacks, Mom loads the DVD into the player. As soon as the rolling clips from the film begin to play and those first familiar notes of the main menu tune reach my ears, I flinch. Grabbing the remote from Mom, I click on Special Features.
She gives me a strange look, and I say, “Sorry, just excited to get to it.”
“We should maybe start by watching the interviews with other filmmakers,” Mom says. “They each talk about John Hughes’ influence, and how they all felt the first time they saw his movies . . .”
But I can barely hear her because I’m scanning the list of special features with names like Zoids and Richies and Prom Queen: All About Molly.
Finally, on the second page of extras, my heart starts beating faster as my eyes fall to the menu item labeled The Lost Dance: The Original Ending.
I’m hopeful that the answer to what’s happening to me lies in wait beyond this click. It feels like I’m about to unlock all the mysteries of my universe.
But if this is supposed to be some sort of hint toward what’s happening, it would seem my universe imploded back in 1986 during a dance at a John Hughes prom.
As we watch the cast interviews and deleted scenes, we learn that in the original ending, Andie shows up to the prom, and Duckie is there and they see Blane, but she chooses to dance the moonlight dance with Duckie.
According to the actors, the first sign of trouble was Molly Ringwald feeling sick the day they originally filmed the prom. Grown-up real-life Duckie says the movie almost ended as Pretty in Projectile Vomit.
On top of this, Molly claims there was never any romantic chemistry between her and Duckie. Like, zero attraction. She describes the original ending as feeling like she was hooking up with her brother. So not ideal.
Then, at the test screening, the audience loved the movie but booed at the ending. Actually booed.
Onscreen, Andie and Duckie dance sweetly together at their awesome mid-80s prom, and I am filled with rage.
Stupid, handsome Blane was never meant to get the magical kiss at the end. It was supposed to be Duckie all along. Which makes perfect sense now. He’s the one who deserves Andie. He sings for her and rides his bike past her house and epically dances his heinie off in the record store. He even tries to beat up Blane’s awful jerk friend, Steff.
Duckie is the one who truly knows and loves her.
Everyone involved in making the movie believed Andie should end up with Duckie. But ultimately, they had to give in.
They reshot the prom scene with Blane wearing some awful wig, since the actor had shaved his head by then. And once they edited everything together, the people loved it. Because people are idiots. And Andie ends up with the wrong guy forever.
Just like with me. Instead of spending my summer days appreciating Duckie’s charms, I wasted them chasing after stupid, handsome Colton. One day after another. As if days didn’t even matter.
“Of course she should get the cute guy she wants in the end,” one of the actors says onscreen. “The story is a fairy tale.”
Mom says, “See, Andie. Even the people who were initially against the happy ending came around.”
“This was not a happy ending,” I say. “Duckie and Andie together would’ve been a happy ending. This was just . . . pandering to the lowest common denominator.”
“No, Andie. The movie showed that coming from different social cliques doesn’t mean a couple can’t work things out.”
I think about that for a moment. It’s true I’ve seen that social cliques are overly ironclad in high school. I picture the scene where Andie and Blane hang out in the courtyard together and the whole school loses its collective mind.
I try to envision Tammy and Czyre, or even Petra and Chuck, walking down the hallway together, and can’t help but think my mom may have a point.
“I hear you on the good clique-crossing message,” I say. “But Blane doesn’t even confront his rich friends until the prom, when school is over and none of it matters anymore.”
“He comes around late, but he does come around,” Mom says.
“He comes around because Andie couldn’t ignore Blane’s blue eyes long enough to appreciate Duckie waiting on the sidelines, just loving her.” I don’t add, Just like I was so dazzled by Colton I barely even noticed Tom.
Because I don’t need anyone to tell me that Tom is my Duckie. And now the indifference I showed him will always be too recent for me to ever fix it. I can’t go far enough back to win him over, and I can’t just plop on some prom wig and edit together new footage to make things okay.
Mom says, “Well, I think it’s nice that they broke through the social walls that were keeping them apart, and I like to believe they ended up happily ever after.”
I pull my lips into an artificial smile. “Well, they did say the movie was a fairy tale.”
I go through several more loops trying to win Tom over in my single-day allotment, but it’s pointless. Despite getting very good at playing Rampage with him and his meemaw, I can’t seem to break through the cinderblock walls he’s built around his heart.
The only two things that can even make punch marks in those walls are Tom’s two favorite topics: movies and his meemaw.
He loves to engage her in our conversation by asking questions about her years acting as an extra on television shows in New York City.
“Go ahead, Meemaw,” he’ll say. “Tell the story.”
“I’ve always loved being a background actor.” She turns away from Rampage and looks at me, her eyes shining. “There’s nothing quite like the longevity of a film career that flies way, way under the radar.”
Tom says, “Meemaw was always more about having fun than she was about gaining exposure.”
“Lots of actors turn their noses up at corpse duty,” she says. “But I loved it, and I was one of the best.” She tells me she wouldn’t move or flinch, even between takes. “I was always in character, and if that character was dead, well, I was lying there, staying dead.”
She licks her lips before telling me the story of the time her breathing was so shallow and her eyes so glazed over that the director actually called cut and asked if she was okay. To her delight, he approached Meemaw as she lay there, and she stayed completely still until the man put his fingers against her throat to check her pulse. As soon as he touched her neck, she sprung up and pretended to try and bite him.
“He was so shocked, he screamed like a girl.” She grins proudly. “The camera was rolling and the whole thing is online somewhere.”
Tom has been scrolling on his phone and holds it up to show me the video Meemaw just described. Sure enough, the big, beefy director looks genuinely afraid as he approaches an old woman lying dead on the ground. I can barely recognize Meemaw in her bloated corpse makeup, but when she makes the director startle in fright, there is no mistaking that familiar grin.
I laugh. “That’s the best thing I�
��ve ever seen.”
“Yeah,” Tom says. “Meemaw’s always been a practical joker.”
She tells me about an ongoing prank she had going with one of the other residents until the Maya’s House staff finally started locking up the plastic wrap.
“The people here have so much playfulness and life left in them,” Tom says. “The children and grandchildren who don’t make time to come here are really missing out.”
Finally, I ask why he seems so upset about people not visiting. Apparently, he was here a few weeks ago (by his calendar) and there was a grandpa who was so excited because five of his grandchildren were supposed to be coming to see him.
Meemaw had whispered to Tom that they usually didn’t show up, so he spent an hour playing chess with the old man while he waited. Tom says it was heartbreaking to witness the man’s slow realization that his stupid grandkids weren’t coming.
“Thankfully, the theater was playing Ocean’s Eleven, so I was able to convince Meemaw to go watch it with him.”
“I thought they only showed really old films here,” I say. “I mean, not that the original is all that new. It was released in, what? Two thousand?”
Tom laughs. “The remake was done in two thousand and one.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Remake? You mean Ocean’s Twelve?”
“The original Ocean’s Eleven was released in nineteen sixty and starred Sinatra and Sammy Davis, Jr.”
I slap my forehead. “Now I remember. The Rat Pack, right?”
“Yup.” Tom grins. “Meemaw loves them. She and the guy with the rotten grandkids went together and had a really nice time.”
“Another movie saves the day,” I say, and Tom gives me a wide smile.
He says, “Movies make everything better.”
After a beat, I sense his guard go up, and the spark goes out of the moment as he launches into a benign discussion about movie remakes. He points out how different two films can be, despite having the same original plot. And I laugh so hard I tell him I have to go.
Every day of my life is a remake now, and I’m getting a little sick of the recurring plot point where I lose Tom’s interest.
Tom’s movie knowledge goes even deeper than mine, and as I continue looping through I spend many nights staying up late to watch his vintage film suggestions.
I’m not all that surprised to discover he’s a big fan of John Hughes. Besides supporting my obsession with Duckie and Andie belonging together, he loves my theory that The Breakfast Club could never happen today.
Leaning against the Ms. Pac-Man game he’s playing, I say, “The whole group would just sit around looking at their cell phone screens the entire time.”
Tom laughs and turns toward me, abandoning his game mid-wonka. “I can see the updates now,” he says. “Hashtag ‘this sucks’ with a selfie from on top of that giant metal sculpture in the middle of the library.” He gives me that shy, crooked grin that I’ve come to know so well.
Filled with boldness, I dip my head toward his, hold up my camera phone, and call out, “Multi-person selfie.”
He barely smiles for the picture, then says, “I’m not really into that whole ‘let’s document every second of our lives’ mentality. I like living in the moment.”
“Well, I wasn’t going to post it anywhere or anything . . .” but he’s already turned away to stand beside his meemaw and help her destroy a particularly tall and sturdy row of skyscrapers. I’m torn between feeling sad that I’ve lost Tom’s interest for the night and excited that I finally have a photo of the two of us together.
When I look at it I realize that of course my eyes are closed in the picture.
And, as usual, it’s been deleted from my phone the next morning.
Using my trial and error system, I’m able to determine that not even staying at Maya’s House until later does any good. Meemaw eventually destroys as many buildings as she can in one night, and then lets us know she’s ready to go to bed.
Once we’ve tucked her away back in her room, Tom turns to me and says, “Welp, time for me to head over to the theater.” And it’s as if by mentioning the theater, he’s reminded that I’ve been flirting with Colton there all summer long. Every single time.
No matter how far or friendly we’ve gotten on any particular day, we never get beyond that point without his expression going blank. Even when I say, “I was thinking of stopping by to catch a movie,” his only response is to shrug and tell me that he thinks Colton’s on the schedule before turning to walk away.
And he never looks back at me from the doors again.
I even try looping through as a cheerleader, staying for practice and agreeing to go to Maya’s House with the girls this time.
When I arrive at the retirement home with the other cheerleaders, I look around the lobby for Anna and Petra. It takes me a moment to remember they only show up when I tell them about the cheerleaders coming here.
Dawn smiles at our group from behind her desk and gestures toward the rec room. “You know the way,” she says. “I’ll be down in a minute.”
Tammy thanks Dawn and then calls the rest of us to come on over and huddle up. We obediently move to the center of the lobby and make a circle.
Leaning our heads together with our arms around each other, we wait for Tammy’s instructions as we breathe in the air freshener that’s not quite able to cover up the underlying scent of rubbing alcohol. Tammy focuses on each face and stops at mine.
“First, I want to welcome Andie again.” Everyone smiles at me and the circle hugs in a tiny bit tighter. It’s not the first time I’m hit with a wave of affection toward these girls. I was a bit rusty while working on the routine after school, but they stepped in to help me along. Particularly Tammy.
“This is the most important thing any of us will do all week,” she says now. “Your goal is to spread as many happy memories as you can.”
“Yeah,” Jacynda says under her breath. “Whether those memories last or not.”
Tammy shifts to give her a small shove.
“Just saying.” Jacynda shrugs. “My favorite dance partner in there has introduced herself to me at least a half-dozen times.”
“Hey, all we have is right now,” I say. “That’s true for every single one of us.”
“Yes! Let’s make it count.” Tammy grins at me and nods. “Ready?”
We all call out, “Okay!” as we rise from the huddle.
Tammy starts a slow clap and leads us as we make our way down the hall toward the rec room.
Jacynda whispers to me, “If any of the residents gets overly excited or out of breath, Dawn is the nurse you want to deal with. She considers her patients’ experiences more important than following protocol, so she usually won’t report minor incidents.”
Our synchronized clapping picks up speed as we get to the end of the hallway and, finally, we burst through the double doors into the rec room together. The smiles that greet us are positively glowing.
The music kicks up a notch, and I move toward the man wearing his non-ironic suspenders. There’s pure happiness in his grin, and I find odd comfort knowing I’m not the only one here who’s just living for the moment. Building permanent memories isn’t always the point.
Sometimes, we’re simply enjoying whatever day we happen to be in.
chapter 19
I’m surprisingly filled with hope the next morning when I peel my face off the pink leather arm of the couch, dressed in my scratchy polka-dot dress.
Tom wasn’t overly impressed by my cheer outfit when I broke from the group partying in the rec room to “accidentally” run into him and his meemaw in the arcade last night. It wasn’t until he saw how awesome I am at playing Rampage that I managed to catch his attention.
But revisiting my old cheerleading skirt reminded me of something else. Tom is literally the only person in the whole school who doesn’t change how he treats me based on how I’m dressed. Sure, he especially loved the pink dress and my own individual pa
jama day, but he’s been nice to me from heels to veils and everything in between.
To everyone else, belonging to different cliques means I’m a completely different person.
And yet, if I’ve learned anything from my time at this school, it’s that the students at Punxsutawney High are more similar than they are different.
Just like Anna finally seeing that the cheerleaders aren’t as bad as she thought, all everyone needs is a chance to see each other more clearly and learn each other’s stories. They only need someone to draw them all together.
And now, I think I have an idea of just how I can do it.
Last night, Tom told me again how much getting visitors means to the residents of Maya’s House. And it was like his words formed the missing puzzle piece that clicked all the others into place.
This isn’t only about breaking myself out of the cycle anymore. It’s about using all my experience and knowledge and especially my wide range of contacts to create one day that will enlighten as many people as possible. It’s about making the time I’ve spent spinning around in my hamster ball finally count for something.
After a quick shower, I pull on dark jeans and a black shirt. While I consider my reflection, my mind rolls over my still-forming plan. Dressing in a way that strikes the perfect balance is crucial to step one.
Since I’m the point person, I’ll need to be able to cross back and forth over social barriers. I must create a look that the goths will relate to, without alienating all the other groups who populate my school.
And yes, I do realize that categorizing and manipulating people based on labels and looks and cliques is hurtful and isolating and seriously not cool, but at this point I need to gain every advantage I possibly can.
All the makeup tutorials I watched online are about to majorly pay off, because my look needs to be just right. Expertly, I create a slightly smoky eye paired with dark lips I can mute to a lighter shade once I’ve secured the goths’ support.
My first mission is to convince Czyre to draw a cool cartoon for the flyers promoting the giant gathering I hope to arrange.
Pretty in Punxsutawney Page 20