Movieland

Chapter 8

Everyone at school had bigger fish to fry than my new cast, for good or for worse. Excited classmates passed flyers around like candy at a parade.

"Max! Nice cast. Are you coming tonight?"

"Whoa, Purple Rain, what's happening? Contest drawing tonight. Be there or be square."

Back in the day they might've read: "Save the clock tower! Save the clock tower!" Now they read, "LIVE TONIGHT AT STARLIGHT!"

I felt the positive vibes from everyone except Peter.

If given one superpower, I'd take Spidey sense, if only to know when he was approaching. Until then, I got a warning cackle, a head lock, and "Magee, you chump. You went and got my favorite color on a cast and didn't tell me."

His headlocks weren't particularly vicious. His barbs never too prickly. Like a glacier moving across land, he'd worn me down and reshaped me. Instead of it taking thousands of years, he'd managed to do it in six.

No one else seemed to understand. Not Frankie. Not Carolina. Maybe I was being stubborn. After he left to go across town, our quartet dropped into a trio. Mom thought my fits of anger were signs of adolescence. I hated to admit the crack in my door was from missing my friend.

The separation solidified Freshman year when I thought a year away would wind back the clock. When I tried to sit with him and his new friends at lunch, he said, "Can't sit here," and meant it.

After that, it was never that we didn't get along. It was hard to experience him overcompensating for differences in social stature by giving me a hard time. If you asked Mom or Frankie, he just missed me. They were both smart, but sometimes they said crazy things.

Six years of knucklehead behavior continued into present day. He nudged me against my locker. "Check this out, Magee. Ladies and gentlemen! Ladies and gentlemen!"

The flyer frenzy paused.

Mandy and Carolina walked up from opposite sides of the hallway. Mandy wore a pink t-shirt with the flyer printed on it. Carolina's hair was uncharacteristically fashioned with a white ribbon.

Years ago, we were watching some romantic comedy and she wasn't buying the couple's reconciliation. She said, "If you ever see me wear some crap in my hair to get a guy, kill me."

And here we were. Frankie was right. He was always right. What the hell was wrong with me? How predictable had I become? The hot blonde and the understated brunette? Spend a long enough time living in film, you can't see the forest from the trees. Or some shit. How did I miss it? Me. Carolina. Me and Carolina. Carolina humoring my dumb ass. Was he right about Peter, too? About getting the crew back together?

The hallway of bustling classmates slowed into a waking dream. The noises distorted then hushed. Peter's smile froze into a Joker's grin. The colors of the crowd bled into liquid. Carolina sparkled like a lens flare. The bustle sped up and noise smashed back. She made confused eyes at me and mouthed, "What are you doing?"

I broke my gaze. Peter continued his charade:

"I, Peter Johns, of sound mind and body, am pleased to bless Max Magee's purple cast. Others will follow but let me be the first. Marker, please!"

He raised his hand with one finger up, like 90s action star and local hero Standard Lane. A buzz filled the hallway. He raised a second finger. Pockets were emptied. Backpacks unzipped. Three fingers. Locker doors opened. Four fingers. Doors slammed and a sharpie soared across the hall. His fifth finger and he snatched the sharpie out of the air.

The crowd roared.

He feigned a thank you wave and focused on my cast.

"How about your signature?" I said, feeling the pressure from so many sets of eyes. "That should be worth something someday."