Page 65 of Something Rad
Think about anything else.
The older woman Mr. Ritter was talking to waves back to him. “Hi there, Jack,” she says. “Always a pleasure. Just grabbing some movies to watch with the grandkids this weekend. They’re coming into town.”
“Oh, great! That’s great,” Mr. Ritter replies. “Well, as always, thank you for choosing us.” Mrs. Roper waves Mr. Ritter off, telling him “Of course” before she continues on looking at movies. I sense Mr. Ritter turn in my direction and meet his gaze, smiling and waving. “Hey there, Sara. You doing okay?” he asks.
“I think so,” I reply honestly. “I’m all caught up on checking rentals back in for now, and I think I switched around all the displays that we talked about yesterday.”
“Awesome. Thanks, Sara.”
“No problem,” I say. “Just let me know if there’s anything else.”
“Will do,” Mr. Ritter nods, smiling, before he disappears into the aisles of movies, most likely double checking my work and hoping for more inspiration to strike for ways to reorganize the same few hundred VHS tapes we have in stock to get our same handful of repeat customers excited. The thought brings a grin to my face. The man is passionate about his movies. And I don’t blame him one bit.
Movies. Screenwriting. NYU.
And I’m thinking about it again. Abouthimagain.
Dammit.
I flip open a magazine laying on the counter, trying desperately to distract my mind.
Think about anything else.
I just barely flip through one page, however, before Mrs. Roper appears with a stack of movies in her hand.
“Find everything you were looking for?” I ask her, pushing the magazine aside.
“More than I was looking for, as always. I’m so indecisive. I’ll just leave it up to the kids to choose. How many movies do you think we can watch in one weekend?”
“I think three is a good place to start,” I reply with a smile.
I glance down at the stack of movies one more time before turning to the register. Then I do a double take.
National Lampoon’s Vacation,Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, andPretty in Pink.
I swallow, blinking.
All John Hughes movies.
Hughes. Mr. Hughes. Yearbook. Yearbook editor.
I shake my head.
Nope. Not doing this.
“That’ll be twelve dollars,” I say.
Mrs. Roper fishes the money out of her purse and hands the bills over. I hit the few necessary buttons on the register and it opens. And now I’m staring at stacks of cash.
Cash. Money. Scholarship.
I throw the bills into the register and slam it shut. I hand Mrs. Roper her receipt. “Have a great weekend with your grandkids,” I tell her, my voice slightly shaky.
“Oh, you have a great weekend as well, hon. Surely you’ve got a hot date.”
My wrist slips, knocking over the plastic cup holding our pens and nearly my Jolt can with it.
Date. Dating. Fake Dating–
