Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Ginger and I sat contently in my SUV, busting our vocal chords by screaming "Top of the World" from Tuck Everlasting. Sure, we received several horrified and amused glances---and most likely some thoughts about calling the police about two lunatics driving on the highway---but we couldn't have cared less what other people thought of us. As long as we looked idiotic together, it was alright.
As an abrupt Spotify ad blared throughout my car, Ginger hastily turned down the volume. We sat, for several minutes, in a thoughtful silence as ad after ad played.
Ginger cleared her throat and said, "So---are we going to see Newsies in March?"
"You're joking?" I asked with widened eyes and arched eyebrows. "There's no way I can show my face at another Newsies show. Not for one hundred years!"
"Angie, relax. I'm positive no one remembers that anymore." Ginger released a huff and slumped irritability in the passenger's seat like a pouting child.
"You've seen the live streams---the interviews," I stated. "They're able to remember all the gifts that fansies, who met them for like three minutes, gave them at different shows. None of them spilled coffee over Benjamin Cook and had the video go viral! Any argument," I added calmly after settling my frazzled nerves, "you make is invalid."
"Angie, you can't hide forever. Some day you're going to look back on it and realize just how big of a deal you're making out of it."
"Says the person who didn't go viral and was turned into memes," I muttered, my hands subconsciously clenching around the steering wheel.
"There were like six," corrected Ginger coldly. "Besides, it's not like you did it on purpose. Ben was nice about it. I'd think you'd be glad that the Newsies would remember you---if they still do!"
"But not like that!" I exclaimed. "I would rather be remembered as a sweet, attractive fangirl than a clumsy idiot that spills lattès over people."
A Nordstrom sign beamed intensely in the stormy distant, mounted on the side of a beige building. I directed the car into the parking lot and scanned it for a vacant spot.
"Still," Ginger said at length; "this show is only coming to Boston once. And don't you wanna see it again? Tours only last for so long."
I parked the vehicle and removed the key from the ignition. "If I see a newsie again, it'll be too soon."
With an impatient sigh, Ginger---nearly---kicked open her door.
"Oh!" she cried, slamming the door shut. "I forgot it was raining. Do you have an umbrella in the back?" Her previous vexed state had entirely diminished, and now her sweet personality had returned. Obviously, she had been overexaggerating her annoyance. Typical.
"I might," I said doubtfully. I mentally kicked myself for not bringing a couple from our apartment. I guess when your car is sheltered in a parking garage, you forget above bringing umbrellas.
