Young Writers Society

The guy in front of me leaned back again, bumping into my knees. I looked over at Bailey and rolled my eyes. She leaned her foot over and nudged his back, swiftly looking away as if she wasn’t any part of this. I smacked her arm, but it was too late, the guy turned around, and smiled wickedly at us, me.

“So it worked, then,” he whispered. We were at a movie outside in the park. They project the movie on the huge brick wall of town hall and everyone sits on the grass. The only problem is that it gets really crowded, so it’s annoying when people like this guy take up more space than they should.

“What did?” I whispered back, disliking him already. He looked a little older than me. His skin was a deep chocolate, and he had a nice face, really handsome. He wore an open button-down shirt and plain jeans. He looked pretty muscular. And although I didn’t like him on principle, something about the way he carried himself made me hope he like me anyway.

Not that I would fall for some guy just like that.

“I got your attention.”

“Uhm, yeah. Congratulations. Just keep your back to yourself.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you look like Naomi Fieldman?”

“Yeah,” I said shortly. It wasn’t a big secret she was my mom.

“Are you-” he began, then smiled. “You’re Sam Dwyer, aren’t you?”

I smiled wryly. “Have you seen me in your little Seventeen magazine? That’s so sweet. I’ll sign it for you after the movie, if you want.”

The guy turned back around with a sour look on his face. I turned my attention back to the movie. It was an indie film about this guy who wanted to make a movie, so he secretly taped people he found, editing it and turning it into a movie. It was really creative.

I loved every part of movies. The script, casting, the blocking, taping, editing, the vision.

The guy in front of me coughed and I looked at the back of his head. I didn’t know how he knew who I was. I mean, people tell me I look like my mom all the time, but usually people don’t know my name. I mean, I’m not in magazines or anything like that. I was just trying to shut him up.

He nudged the guy sitting next to him, who turned around and smiled at Bailey. She smiled back. He was definitely her type¾messy mousey hair, thin black rimmed glasses, a white tee shirt that was sort of tight and had some Big Foot on it or something, worn-in jeans, and red Converse All-star shoes. She loved red shoes. He crawled next to her, and whispered a few things in her ear. She giggled and leaned her head on his shoulder.

Next thing I know, they were cuddling and whispering and giggling so loudly that I moved ahead of them just to hear the movie. I towed my five ton purse with me. I always carry books around.

I didn’t forget that other guy was there.

I just didn’t care.

I wanted to see the movie.

Anyway, the second I moved up, I saw him glance over at me and smile. I ignored him and focused on the movie. He inched closer, putting his arm around me.

My head whipped around.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m making a move,” he grinned.

“Well, don’t.” I pushed his arm off me, and inched away, but there wasn’t much space to move. On the other side of me was a rather robust woman wearing a lime green dress. I wondered where one could get such a large lime green dress. But there wasn’t much space between me and her, and I didn’t want to encroach on anyone’s personal space. Not that it mattered much to this guy.

About ten minutes went by where he didn’t say anything else, so I thought I was safe and clear. But then he inched closer again and leaned towards my ear.

“What if I told you I was from the future, and we fall in love and get married there.”

I sighed and turned towards him. His face was closer to mine than I’d have liked, but there wasn’t much place for me to go, so I stood my ground.

“I would say that you probably saw that I have The Time Traveler’s Wife in my purse, and you saw the movie, so you’re trying to use that to better the chances of getting me into bed.”

“Actually, I read the book.”

“Wow. A reader. What a catch.”

He just grinned and reached over to put his hand on my leg. Why won’t he take no for an answer? I took his hand and was going to shove it up his butt, but he intertwined his fingers with mine.

“Gotcha.”

“Why won’t you give up?”

“Because.”

I rolled my eyes. “How about I’ll let you hold my hand for the rest of the movie, if you let me watch it.”

“How about,” he amended, “You let me take you on a date, and I’ll let you watch the rest of the movie.”

“You can’t just hold my hand?”

“Well, that too. I want both. And you have to be open-minded on the date.”

“I’m always open-minded!” I defended immediately. He looked at me skeptically. I narrowed my eyes. “I don’t even know you.”

“Hello, I’m Evan Reznik. Nice to meet you.”

“How do I know you’re not a murderer or something?”

“I can promise you that I’ve never murdered anyone.”

“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?” I challenged.

“Lied.” He smiled. “Especially about being a murderer when I’m trying to woo a lady.”

I smirked, and turned my attention to the movie. Later, when he let go of my hand and put his arm around me, I let him. I even leaned into his chest a little. But don’t tell anyone.