Page 75 of Elusion

He winks. Quite possibly the first time I’ve ever witnessed him do so.

I grab the flowers and go pick up Felicia. She gives the reaction they deserve. She gushes, hugs me, and rushes to put them in water.

We drive over to a theater. The marquee holds no words I know or even attempt to pronounce. I simply tell the guy selling tickets, “That one,” and point to what she wants.

No matter what movie she chooses, it will be far superior to the animated puppies or the chicken documentary.

Oh, those poor chicks.

A stale bag of popcorn and two sodas later, we settle into our squeaky theater seats.

“You’re going to enjoy this,” Felicia whispers as the lights dim.

But when the screen lights up, I groan so loudly that the heads in front of us turn. The film not only requires subtitles but is also in black and white.Jesus. She misunderstands the wordenjoy. Another definition-deficient person who needs a dictionary for Christmas. The list continues to grow.

Three years in the future, the French avant-garde film ends, and what the fuck did I just watch? None of it made sense. None of it.

“We should do this every week,” she says, climbing in the Jeep.

“Absolutely not, Gibson. I’m not letting you choose the movie ever again.”

“Never?”

“Never.”

She crosses her arms, pouting. Technically, I owe her for the rest of my life because of her help with Callie, but a lifetime of reading and trying to follow an obscure plot sounds unbearable. A few blocks of silence makes me glance at my still-sullen sidekick.

Damn it.

“Maybe, if I pick three in a row, then we go to one you choose.”

Her somber expression holds fast.

I sigh. “Switch off every other?”

Just like that, her face brightens. “Callie told me pouting would work.”

Great. Devious women have overrun my life.

She stays chipper the rest of the way to Java Quest. We order coffees and sit at a table up front near the windows. In the midst of her explanation of the symbolism of the shadow on the wall during one scene in the movie, Felicia stops talking.

“And then?” I’m almost intrigued now that I understand the basics of the storyline. When she doesn’t continue, I look in the general direction she’s staring and notice a burly guy wearing a fedora. “A fedora? Really, Gibson?”

“Shut up.” Her smile falters when she kicks me under the table, but she glues it right back on. “He’s cute, but he probably thinks we’re together.”

I rotate around, checking out the guy who’s checking out my date—extremely rude of him, might I add. His eyes flick from Felicia to me, and his face falls.

“Yeah, he definitely thinks we’re together.”

She shrugs, gazing forlornly at him over my shoulder. “Oh well.”

“Text me when you need a ride,” I say, getting up.

Her eyebrow arches. “What?”

“Go flirt your heart out, get the guy, text me, and I’ll come pick you up.”

“You’re sure?”

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