I’m trapped in a clear plastic bubble of shock, and everything feels too loud and bright as Jake and I set about cleaning the snack counter. We sanitize the hot dog maker and shine every inch of glass and chrome in the whole concession area. The two of us spend almost an hour exclusively scrubbing the soda machine without speaking.
Underneath my stupor, I’m still seething with anger toward Lana. I cannot believe she got exactly what she wanted: driving off with the Skylark all to herself.
When Wes walks back in with an armload of bags filled with candy, he has an amused look on his face and seems distracted. Jake and I try to explain the strange anomaly with the movie screen, but he just shakes his head.
“I knew Gwen and Brad were going to be a nightmare.” He opens the glass door and calls out toward the projector shed, “You two are a nightmare!”
Gwen’s voice streams back. “Just a few more hours to get everything online.” Which is exactly what they’ve been saying all day.
“See,” Wes says as he begins unloading the candy into the glass case. “No poltergeist. Just ordinary incompetence combined with a poor work ethic.”
“You don’t understand,” I say. “Jamie Lee Curtis was there, but not as she appeared in any of her slasher movies. I mean, Freaky Friday is not the first thing that comes to mind when you think of Jamie Lee Curtis.”
“The ultimate scream queen,” Jake says.
“That’s exactly what I said.” I flash him a grin, but the way Jake looks at the ground reminds me of our near-kiss 2.0. Why must I mangle everything?
Wes says, “Let’s just hope the projector is rolling properly by showtime.” He clears his throat. “Speaking of which, Ricki. I’m wondering if you happen to know your aunt’s favorite film. I’d love to have it cued up as an after-party bonus movie following tomorrow night’s double feature.”
“I don’t really feel all that well,” I say, because if we’re going to have a post-show flick it definitely should not be The Wizard of Oz. But also, I genuinely don’t feel well.
As we go back to cleaning, Jake keeps asking if I’m okay and giving me worried looks. And to be honest I’m worried about me too. Something is definitely wrong.
I am absolutely to-the-bone tired and I keep getting vaguely confused. Like, I’ll have my hand on a tall stack of cups and suddenly forget if I’m in the middle of lining them out in rows or if I’m supposed to be gathering them up in a tower. Or I’ll start cleaning out the inside of the popcorn maker, and the light gleaming off the metal makes me feel so claustrophobic and panicky that I need to run outside for some air. Then I forget what I came outside for.
I ask so many odd questions and end up undoing and redoing things so many times, Jake and Wes eventually begin taking over every task I start before I get a chance to mess it up.
Finally, after I’ve dropped a tall stack of oversized popcorn buckets for a third time, the final traces of calm euphoria leave Wes. He growls with frustration as he tries to catch the cardboard pails rolling along the tiled countertop and asks Jake to please just drive me home already.
“I’m sorry,” I tell Jake as he helps me into his Bronco and buckles my safety belt. “I know there’s still so much work to do. I’m just all fogged in right now.”
“We need you healthy and at your best for tomorrow.” Jake walks around the front of his vehicle, and I marvel at how cute he looks through the windshield. Opening the door, he shoves his bangs out of his eyes and I struggle to remember what’s so important about tomorrow.
As he climbs in the driver’s side I say, “Wait, tomorrow’s Friday? I can’t miss the grand reopening!”
“No, you can’t.” Jake starts the engine and pulls out of the Starlight. “Who else am I going to impress with my old-school Wolf Man costume?”
“Wolf Man?” My brain goes blank for a moment as we drive.
I picture the two of us standing in front of a big, white screen, talking about horror movie costumes. And then I remember the moment had something to do with an embarrassing attempt at a kiss. “That’s right,” I say. “The Wolf Man and I almost kissed.” I pinch my fingers together and hold them up. “We were this close!”
Jake’s face goes red and I scramble to remember if I was the one trying to kiss him or vice versa. He is so cute! It must’ve been me trying to kiss him.
But then I remember it was him trying to kiss me and proudly announce, “But I ducked!”
“Heh, yeah,” Jake says. “Twice.”
I realize I’ve just reiterated our most awkward experience and cover my face with both my hands. I really need to stop talking now. I drop my head against the side window of his Bronco and can hear my loud snores just before releasing consciousness.
When I wake up we’re already at my house. I’m so unsteady, Jake has to help me climb down from the passenger seat. He keeps an arm around me as we make our way up the walkway to my front door, and it feels as if my wooziness is now from being so close to him. I really, really want. To. Kiss. Him.
“You smell good,” I say.
My mom flings open the door just as I’m puckering up and closing one eye to take aim. In my mind I’m getting ready to plant a kiss directly onto Jake’s lips. Except I’m moving in slow motion, and as I watch helplessly, his face moves farther out of reach. He’s trying to hand me over to my mother, but I won’t let go of him.
“Are you okay, honey?” Mom asks in a concerned tone as she wrestles me off of Jake’s arm. “Wes called from the drive-in and said you weren’t feeling well.”
“I’m fine,” I say, trying to wave her off. “Jake-Jake-Jake-Jake . . . Jake, you are a thank-you boy!”
I reach out to pet his face and he laughs. Squeezing my hand, he says, “Ricki, you are a you’re welcome girl,” which makes no sense, but he’s already turning away and walking back to his red Bronco.
“No, but . . . Friday is coming!” I call after him, trying to convey a lot of very important information about our first kiss and magic and the drive-in. “Jake!” I repeat, “Friday is coming!”
He gives me a thumbs-up as he climbs into his truck. But I don’t think he understands.
I start making loud kissing noises in his direction and Mom says, “Okay, Ricki, that’s enough of that,” as she practically carries me inside.
I’m discouraged but at least things can’t get any weirder between Jake and me.
Mom shifts into Nurse Mom mode and says, “Let’s get you all fixed up.”
My mother always rates between “adequate” and “quite decent” on the mothering scale, but when I’m even the slightest bit sick, she pops solidly into “world’s best” mom zone.
She tells my dad to fend for himself, and locks Zelda away in the bathroom while explaining in a high-pitched baby voice, “Sowwy, but my other baby girwl is sick.”
Me feeling queasy right now is Mom’s time to shine.
I’m barely inside my bedroom when I find myself tucked into bed in my comfiest flannel jammies with a spoonful of mystery medicine sliding down my throat. The ringing in my ears gradually stops, and my perfectly darkened room gently hums with a humidifier blowing a soft cloud of mint mist into the air.
My head finally stops spinning and my thoughts turn to how unfair it is that Lana gets to keep the Skylark. I desperately want to tear off her fake makeup mask and show the whole world what a big, selfish phony my cousin truly is.
I can’t believe we were ever besties, or that Aunt May thought things between us were fixable. I wish Lana and I weren’t even related. From now on, I plan on seeing as little of my cousin as humanly possible. In fact: I’ll have no problem completely avoiding her all summer.
Into my darkened room, I actually growl a sarcastic, “See you at Thanksgiving, cuz,” just before rolling over and going to sleep.