The Thing About Three

chapter nine | someone romantic

DALLAS WAS A big movie guy, a film buff if you would. He had movie posters hung up all around his loft, and kept a pretty extensive DVD collection on display underneath his tv stand in his living room.

That summer, we had binged through some of Dallas's favorite classics, most of which I hadn't seen before.

I wasn't big on movies, especially the classics, but Dallas's enthusiasm and my love for him warmed me to them, and I actually ended up enjoying a few, though I mostly enjoyed when Dallas would pause the screen and tell me interesting facts about a certain scene or one of the actors in it.

But on this particular night, we didn't watch anything remotely close to being considered a classic. Instead, we watched a crappy romance movie.

It was one of those made-for-tv rom-coms with the bad acting, low budget, and cliche plot line, which was our favorite type of movie to watch together, because we liked to make a game of watching it.

Each time one of us noticed a cliche, predicted what happened next in the plot, or spotted a continuity error before the other person did, we got a point.

"Okay, I'm calling it now," Dallas announced halfway through as he pointed at the couple on the screen, "they get together and save the small town from the business tycoon."

"I was just about to say that," I groaned, setting down my Chinese takeout and picking up the notepad we kept score on to give him a point.

He smirked as he poked around in his box of chicken fried rice. "Gotta be faster than that, Claire."

"Okay, well I predict that the lawyer chick is going to quit her job and become a writer," I said.

Dallas narrowed his eyes. "But she hasn't even mentioned anything about writing yet."

"She will, though," I said, "or she'll find something else she wants to do. Either way, she'll quit her job to pursue some lifelong dream."

I expected him to laugh and agree with me, or maybe even throw out an idea of what career she might pursue, but he didn't.

Instead, he stared at the screen with his eyebrows pulled low, his entire demeanor stiff. Something was bothering him, as if a thought was keeping his mind captive.

"Dal, are you okay?" I asked him, scooting closer.

My words seemed to draw him back into reality, his eyes moving from the screen to meet mine. "Yeah," he said, tossing on a smile, but then his smile faded when he realized that he knew he couldn't fool me. We both knew I knew him too well.

He set his food down and laid back against the couch cushions, sighing as he crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't know, I just started thinking about my lifelong dream."

"About becoming a computer programmer?"

"You remember that?" he asked, frowning slightly as if in disbelief.

I nodded. I remembered nearly everything he's ever told me, especially the time he told me he wanted to become a computer programmer.

That conversation between us had been at a upperclassmen party my freshman year after homecoming.

I was stumbling around the backyard of the random's girls house we were at, slightly tipsy from the fruity drink Alayna had handed to me half and hour earlier in a solo cup.

I'd dipped from the party when I lost Alayna and our mutual friend Jillian, deciding I'd rather brave the cold air than stay inside the stuffy house and be jostled around by teenagers any longer.

There were a few stragglers outside, each off in their own respective sections of the yard and chatting quietly to themselves, but my eyes caught on one leaning up against a thick oak tree.