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THE CLOSEST THEATER JUST SO HAPPENED to be a showing of Back to the Future, the movie Amara had patiently waited to see for months, and it was under the direst of affairs. The cinema was so packed that Dustin could only locate a few empty seats on opposite ends of the front row. They hurried down the aisle as what looked like a scientist explained to another guy how something had occurred at 88 miles per hour, careful not to disturb the moviegoers who had the luxury of simply being there to watch a movie.
"Okay, okay, okay," Dustin muttered to himself and the others upon reaching the front row. "Amara, you watch Steve; we'll keep an eye on Robin," he decided, determining that the best way to keep them out of more trouble than they'd already been through was to ensure that they looked out for both of their drugged friends. "I'll try and contact the others, and we'll leave once the movie's over. Got it?"
"Got it," Amara nodded, pulling Steve down to sit despite his protests that the seats 'blew,' while Dustin and Erica ushered a giggling Robin across the row until they reached the other three seats. Amara would have preferred for them to all remain together even if some of them had to sit on the floor, but this was the best method for them to remain as inconspicuous as possible.
"Popcorn?" Steve offered, his voice slightly muffled. His face was still battered and Amara had the urge to bandage him up even if he was still drugged. Taking care of Steve was something she'd grown accustomed to; nursing his wounds from his scuffle against Billy, consoling him when his dad refused to see the good in him, organizing a surprise graduation party with the kids to make up for his dismay at not getting into college. It was second nature to her by now – Amara wanted to continue taking care of him.
She supposed that was how her feelings for him manifested themselves; not through intense longing or desire, but a natural instinct to look out for him just as he did for her.
"Where'd you get that?" Amara inquired, eyeing the bag of popcorn warily. By now in the movie, the Libyan terrorists had unexpectedly shown up and were chasing after the main character (what was his name again? Mark?), who was trying to flee from them in the DeLorean.
"The garbage. Duh," Steve chortled with a lopsided grin, scooping more popcorn into his mouth with little consideration for how contaminated it could be. "Want some?"
Amara hesitated before reaching into the bag and taking a small handful. Sure, it had been in the garbage for who knew how long, but she had also gotten within five feet of an energy ray and handled a radioactive substance, and was still alive by some miracle. Plus she was starving, having not eaten anything in days, so she went with it. When it didn't taste half bad she had more, keen to satiate her hunger.
Somewhere within his muddled brain, Steve recalled that this was the movie Amara had been so excited to see. He could barely keep up with the plot but took note of her evolving facial expression, from her laughter to her disappointment to her confusion. She looked so pretty, technicolor catching on the tips of her eyelashes and bathing her in an ethereal glow, but she'd turned away when he'd called her that earlier, hadn't she? With a heavy sigh, he refocused on the movie, consuming enough popcorn to work up a thirst.
