“Are these what I think they are?” I ask, excitedly popping one into my mouth.
“We still don’t carry Whoppers, but I thought I could make an exception on outside food for one night.” He holds up the tan box and makes it rattle. “A reasonably sized portion, of course.”
With a grin, I toss one of the malted milk balls into his open mouth, and the two of us turn our attention to the movie screen.
On it is a classic scene that has a guy comically dangling from a giant clock face high up on the side of a tall building. The huge iron minute hand he’s hanging on keeps moving around the clock as he kicks his legs helplessly far above the ground.
Tom and I laugh and lean closer together. Without thinking, I lay my head on Tom’s shoulder. He doesn’t seem to mind.
We comfortably share the rest of the box of Whoppers, with me eating most of them. Once they’re gone, we keep watching the movie together in silence, and my eyes gradually grow heavier and heavier.
Tom turns to tell me something, and I can’t make my brain focus enough to understand what he’s saying. Intently, I look into his face, with the screen’s light dancing off of it, and feel as if I’m being hypnotized.
As much as I don’t want this time with Tom to end, I’m losing the fight to stay awake.
“Some roller-coaster ride, huh?” Tom says, and I wonder how many times he had to repeat this before I heard him.
“Yeah,” I say, my throat dry and hoarse. “Some ride.”
I softly smile as I close my eyes and finally, unwillingly, submit to sleep.
When I wake up, the theater is still dark and Tom is lightly shaking me. “Andie? Wake up. Sorry, I fell asleep too.”
I stretch and smile. “No problem. How long was I out? An hour?”
“Oh, Andie.” In the dim glow of the aisle’s safety lights, I can see Tom’s eyes are wide and worried. “You’re going to be in so much trouble with your parents.”
“Trust me. They get over things really fast.” I yawn. “They probably won’t even remember me coming in late by tomorrow.”
“But, Andie,” Tom says, “it is tomorrow. The sun’s already rising.”
I stare at him with my mouth opening and closing. I try to ask what time it is, but no words will form. Is it possible?
I stand up and rush to the theater doors. Flinging them open, I’m blinded by the pink light of early dawn bursting through the opening. I can practically hear a garage band of angels drowning out the choir as they joyfully rock out.
It’s morning. And I’m not on the pink leather couch.
I run back to Tom. “It’s tomorrow!”
Without stopping to think, I grab him by both sides of his face and kiss him directly on the lips. When I pull back, he looks utterly startled.
“Oh.” I blush. “I’m so sorry, I just—”
Tom cuts me off mid-apology by kissing me right back.
My first kiss—my first real and welcome kiss—is not exactly what I’d call movie-perfect. In fact, it’s a tiny bit awkward, and it’s kind of obvious this is Tom’s first kiss too. Plus, we both still taste a little like malted milk balls. But Tom’s lips are soft, and I can’t stop my fingertips from trailing up and down his face. Making sure he is here and this is real.
But I know deep down it is real. And the best part is, it is happening in my tomorrow. “We’re finally here,” I whisper.
Tom pulls back and looks into my face.
Grinning, he reminds me I’ve already agreed to work at the theater again tonight. “That is,” he says, “if you’re not grounded.”
“Oh, I’m grounded, all right,” I say. “But my mom is going to think me working here is the coolest thing ever, so I’m pretty sure I’ll swing it.”
“Well, I’ll keep the shifts flexible to start, but just know that since I handle the scheduling, you and I will be working together . . . a lot.”
I smile. “That’s one Sisyphean situation I’m happy to get stuck with.”
It’s finally happened. The curse is over, and it was never about some miracle kiss breaking it. It was about me discovering where I really belong.
Or maybe it was about learning to not care about fitting in. Or perhaps about making as many people hate me as possible, because now that I think about it, all those truth bombs basically blew up my chances of ever being well-liked at Punxsutawney High. I mean, it’s not like I expected to become prom queen or anything, but this is not exactly the ideal version of reality for me to be left with. Talk about kapow.
I look at Tom. Then again . . . kapow.
Everything that happened yesterday brought me to this moment. Kissing Tom.
Who cares about the fallout back at school? My mind rolls through the outrage that is probably already storming its way across the Internet, and I make a mental note to check in with Mom about any chance of being homeschooled for the rest of high school.
Thinking of Mom reminds me … “I seriously need to get going.”
After a second kiss (and a third), I tell Tom good-bye and rush out the doors. I’m going to be in so much trouble when I get home.
But it’s okay, because I’ll finally get to see my parents as one day older than they’ve been, and there is hope for the future, and anything is possible because this is a brand-new day.
The sky is no longer overcast. For the first time in months, I can see the sun.
Also, I may keep the dress, but there’s a giant pink couch in the living room that is totally getting dragged straight to the curb.
Acknowledgments
To Ammi-Joan Paquette, thank you for connecting this book to the perfect editor, and thank you, Jillian Manning, for being that perfect editor. Special thanks go to the rest of the incredible teams at Blink and EMLA: Jacque Alberta, Ron Huizinga, Sara Merritt, Jennifer Hoff, Erin Murphy, the GANGO, and everyone working to share their love of books with book lovers everywhere.
Thank you to my warrior sisters who know how to move mountains with mustard seed faith: Dorene Pirro, Jamie LeGrand, Katie Melanson, Cathy Bates, Gina Lopez, Katy Moore, Sue Harlin, Vicki Barlin, Sarah Northwood, Mary Pearson, Christine Coscia, Mary Phillips, and so many others. You are true rock stars. To Mom, Gerry, Pops, and the Boyles, Giels, Pirros, Cromptons, Spadolas, and Courtneys: I am abundantly blessed to call you all family.
To the loves of my life: Brett, Trinity, and Aidan. If I could choose one day to live over and over, it would definitely be one spent with the three of you (but probably not on Rodeo Drive—ha! Too soon?). Thank you for loving me despite my Deadline Mommy days. This book should have all our names on the cover.
Pretty in Punxsutawney Page 24