The In Between

Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Tara

I dress and undress four times. After a phone consult from Gabby, I land on a pair of black skinnies that she made me buy because she doesn’t think she’s skinny enough for skinny jeans and wants to live vicariously through me. I pair them with a ruffled tank top.

I watch Justin drive up from my bedroom window. I squint but I still can’t see if he’s alone in the car; there’s no way to tell from here. I race downstairs and out the door as quickly as I can. The last thing in the world I want is for him to have to get out and greet my mom, which would not only be totally cheesy, but might make him think I think it’s date. Which it may or may not be. 

“Home by ten-thirty,” my mom reminds me as I slide through the front door.

“Eleven,” I call back, slowing my steps on the walkway so I don’t seem too eager as I approach the curb.

“Ten-thirty,” she insists.

I officially have the earliest curfew in Illinois. It’s no use fighting it, though. My mom is my mom. She’d call out the National Guard if I were five minutes late. She probably has them on speed dial.

As soon as I get close, I see Justin is alone in the car. My heart skips a beat. He reaches over to open the door for me and I slip in, all jittery.

“Hey,” he says as he puts the car into drive.

It’s weird… he’s not exactly being unfriendly but he’s different from the other day in my room. He’s right next to me, but seems so far away. I don’t have the slightest idea of what’s going on in his head. 

 I keep expecting him to pull over to pick up someone else. I wait for the turn toward Amanda’s house but we stay on Forsythia Lane, which leads right into town. Then I think maybe we’re meeting everyone at the theater. But when we get to the parking lot, Justin doesn’t look around for anyone else, he just leaps out of the car and opens my door for me.

He opens the door to the theater, too. I turn around looking for Amanda, Luke, or any of the other Awesome-Nots while he buys the tickets—two, just for us.  

“You okay?” he asks as he hands me the ticket.

“I’m good,” I say, sighing a little. It’s just us. This is a date.

He buys popcorn and cokes. I nod when he points to the butter and salt, and he gives me a gamely high-five. We walk down the aisle, our shoulders brushing against each other in the dark. We choose seats in the front, talking all the way through the previews. I’m listening to him, but I am painfully aware of the space between us—a sliver that I’m desperate to close.

As the lights go down, a thought slams through my head: what about Amanda? I feel insanely guilty for something I’m not even completely sure I’m doing. I can see that Justin is nervous, too. His right leg is jiggling up and down non-stop. I sink a little lower in my seat.

I can hear him breathe. I can feel the heat of our legs inches apart as we sit side by side, staring at the screen. The movie is terrible. I glance at his profile, but the half of his face I can see seems to be actually absorbed in the film.

When the lights go up, we smile awkwardly at each other and head out of the theater.

“What did you think of the movie?” Justin asks.

I shrug, tongue-tied, as if this is a pop quiz and I don’t know the right answer. 

“You hated it.”