Page 92 of I Hope This Finds You Well

“Okay,” I say, taking a deep breath. “So we agree, we can’t do anything right now. We might as well buy them a few sweets.”

The color is starting to return to Armin’s face. “I’m getting a plate of latifeh, but just for me.”

“I don’t blame you.” I smile.

“And some danmarkis too, before you buy them out. What did you order last time, like two dozen?”

I shove him in the side, and he cracks a smile. After securing our pastries, Armin and I join our dads, where we temporarily shovel all our anxieties away with tea. And I get to navigate three more awkward questions about what it is that I’m studying. And why.

Life Rated PG: Pathetic in General

I’m unwinding from my second full Cliff-free day of work by not quite enjoying a burned package of instant popcorn while checking Reddit to figure out who is the asshole, when there’s a knock at my door. I run to open it in case it’s my mom ready to make another scene, but Miley’s eager face is waiting on the other side.

Her gaze weaves past me, jumping from the cluttered coffee table to the erratic shoe party below it. “So, this is your place. I’ve never seen past your shoe rack every time I try and peep.”

My hand braces to slam the door—a purely robotic instinct—but I instead give her a deadpan stare. “What can I help you with?”

Her lips curl upward at the opening. “Glad you asked. I’ve always thought of you as someone who could think objectively about unjust rules and would fight for those harmed by them if you could.”

I let out a hefty sigh. “Miley, please just tell me what I can do for you. I’ve had a rough week...”

She rocks on her toes, her hands clasped behind her back. “You know what’s the perfect cure for rough weeks? Taking your favorite neighbor to the movies.” She splays out her hands.

I back a step away from the threshold. “There’s no way.”

Miley shakes her head. “Please—I’mbeggingyou. I need to see this movie. I’m the only one in my whole school who hasn’t seen it! It’s at seven o’clock, so you’ll be home at a normal hour, I promise!”

I grab for my wallet, splayed on the shoe rack where I dropped it when I got home. “How much? I can loan you the money.”

Miley stiffens, her wide puppy eyes turning to maximum strength. “No, it’s not that. I have the money. But it’s rated R, so I need someone old to escort me in.”

I scoff. “So you basically need me to take a minor into a movie illegally?”

She throws her head back. “It’s a stupid law. You know I’ve seenworse around here than anything they could put in some slasher film.”

She’s got a point. Just behind her, there’s a punch hole in the drywall. Both Miley and I were there when the guy down the hall got pissed because his Wi-Fi broke and he yelled at everyone in the world before taking it out on the communal wall. Its twin hole is in the lobby, from when the couple upstairs broke up, and we all had to hear about the deficiencies of their sex life while personal items were thrown down the stairwell.

Miley presses her hands against the archway to prevent me from closing the door. “Pleaaaase? My mom would do it if she wasn’t too busy to take me.”

I turn my head and look back at my drab apartment. My blinds aren’t up to the job of hiding the sun that’s creeping through. And maybe I could use the company. Things feel so empty since returning to my life before Cliff.

I sigh, and it’s like my resolve crumbles in front of her eyes. “Fine.”

“Yay! I knew you’d do the right thing.” She grabs my arms, but I keep them planted in my hoodie pocket.

“Meet me out front in ten minutes,” I huff.

I throw on a dressier hoodie and jeans for the occasion. Miley’s hopping from foot to foot out front while she waits.

We walk to the theater together. Outside the front entrance, two middle-aged men are smoking and muttering to each other. They stop mid-conversation as Miley and I walk by. I clench my fists, just waiting for them to make some creepy comment. The potential for random shit like this is what’s wrong with the world.

We pass without incident, and inside security isn’t exactly airport standard; they don’t even look at us. Once we’re seated in creaky felt chairs with vintage farts stored in their cushions, the smell of butter drizzle becoming part of us, I say, “Can I sneak out now that the mission is accomplished?”

Miley, who’s busy taking a selfie of herself at the theater, tiltsher phone down. “No way. You can’t leave me alone with a bunch of adults.” She leans closer and whispers, “What if a child predator comes?” Then she silently points at what I’m sure is probably a very nice man with a silky scarf sitting in front of us.

“Fine, but I don’t like horror movies.”

The whites of her eyes widen and glint in the overhead lighting. “Yeah, I don’t like them either.”