Just Like the Movies by Kelly Fiore Read Free Book Online Page B

he’s on-screen. Like, literally. Things like, “Oh Gerard, why can’t you live on the East Coast?” As though that’s what is keeping a famous movie star and my mother apart—geography.
    There’s a beep in my ear, then my mom’s breathy voice.
    â€œHey Lil, it’s Mom. Listen, I’m really sorry for the short notice . . .”
    I already know what’s coming, even before she says it.
    â€œ. . . but Jim called and he got some last-minute tickets to see a Journey cover band that’s supposed to be really good. I didn’t get a chance to get movies or cook, but I’ve left some money on the counter. Mac is still going to Nathan’s after soccer, so you can take advantage of an empty house—order pizza, hang out, whatever. Love you, call me if you need anything.”
    When I press end, I realize I’ve balled my free hand into a tight fist and my face feels hot and sort of prickly.
    I’m pissed.
Really
pissed. My body just realized it before my brain did.
    It’s been forever since Mom and I really spent time together. I love Mac, but he’s always around and he’s younger, which ensures the majority of Mom’s attention is directed at him. Having a night alone with her, where I could talk about things—school, grades, my insurmountable crush on a motocross racer—was more valuable than I’d realized.
    That is, until I lost it.
    Tears prick the corners of my eyes, and I furiously blink them back. No, I will
not
let myself get worked up about this.
    No longer motivated to rush home, I decide to drive through downtown. It’s one of my favorite places to be—thewindows of the old row houses glow with a warmth you can practically feel. People saunter without rushing toward a particular destination. Restaurants throw open their doors and create dining rooms on the sidewalk. I love seeing the life and the vibrancy.
    I’m sitting at a stoplight when I glance over to the left and do a double take. Through the window of a popular pizza joint, I see Joe Lombardi. I’m starting to wonder if seeing him is kismet or something—like the universe is trying to tell me something. Then I notice who is sitting next to him:
    Mindy Kellogg. Blond and tan. Thin and perfect. And, frankly, dumb as a box of rocks.
    He is laughing at something she’s saying, and she reaches over to touch his arm. I feel a shudder of jealousy bolt through my body.
    The truth? I can’t compete with that. I’ll
never
be able to compete with that.
    Still, I can’t get myself to look away until, moments later, the driver of the SUV behind me lays on his horn. Everyone in the restaurant turns to look, and I slam on the accelerator, speeding through the intersection like I’m being chased.
    Despite my desire to run home and drown myself in Ben & Jerry’s, I stop to throw some pennies in the fountain at the center of town. We’ve always called it the Square, even though it’s actually a circular area of brick walkwaysand perfectly manicured grass surrounding a large stone fountain. I think of some potential wishes. Should I go for something outlandish? Realistic?
    I decide on happiness as a vague but somewhat lofty goal and, with gusto, launch the handful of coins at the surface of the water. They all plop in, save one that skitters along the stone edge before falling into the abyss of a crack in the brickwork.
    With my luck, that will be the one that was lucky.
    The scrolling lights of the revival movie theater catch my eye. I’ve always loved the old-school charm of the building, which was a bank or something before they converted it. The guy who owned it was a big-time movie-industry person who grew up here. The revival theater was his contribution to the town—his legacy. He left enough money to keep it going and promptly died of some kind of overdose. That’s Hollywood for you.
    I’LL NEVER LET YOU GO, JACK! is