Summer Days and Summer Nights by Stephanie Perkins Page A

Address?”
    â€œYeah, Dave. He waited for Gettysburg to happen.”
    â€œWhatever.” The third gummi bear bounced off my cheek and landed in the Sartresque territory beneath the ice bin. “The point is, you make it the right moment. Tonight’s the last night you’re gonna see her up close and personal. You’ve got two months of summer left, and then she’s off to college, and then you’ll be kicking yourself at our high school reunion because she’ll be married to some heavily tattooed, Bentley-driving rock star and she won’t even remember your name. She’ll be all, ‘Oh, hey, Kyle, right? Didn’t we work together or something? Wait, you’re that lame ginger dude who didn’t have the stones to ask me out !’”
    I yanked my skinny, freckled arms through the sleeves of my regulation red Cinegore usher’s jacket, the one that made me look like a deranged Michael Jackson tribute band member. “Thanks for the encouragement, Dave. You always know just the right thing to say.”
    Dave ignored my sarcasm. “I’m here to save you from yourself. And from a life of perpetual masturbation.”
    â€œDave.”
    â€œYes, Pookie Bear?”
    â€œDie in a fire.”
    â€œYou’re so pretty when you’re angry,” Dave said, and kissed me on the cheek. “Ask her.”
    â€œAsk her what?” Dani had emerged from the bathrooms. She wiped her hands on a paper towel, wadded it into a tight ball, and arced it toward the trash can, pumping her fist when it landed inside, a perfect two-pointer.
    â€œOh, um. We were talking about I Walk This Earth ,” I said quickly, pouring the artificial butter mixture—the I Can’t Believe It’s Not Going to Kill Me—into the popcorn hopper.
    Dani snorted. I found it devastatingly attractive. In the movie in my head, she did that a lot. It was an audience pleaser. She grabbed the tongs and poked with disinterest at the overcooked hot dogs sweating under the heat lamps. “Ri-i-ight. The movie that’s supposed to be cursed. Ooh!”
    â€œHave you never seen Showgirls ? Movies can be cursed.” Dave raised his right hand. “Truth.”
    Dani rolled her eyes. “I didn’t say bad . I said cursed . As in, not supposed to be seen by human eyes. Ever. How did Scratsche get his hands on a copy of it, anyway? I thought it was in some lead-lined safe deposit box somewhere.”
    I broke open a carton of straws and started shoving handfuls of them into the pop-up dispenser on the counter. “Beats me. As for the curse: according to that paragon of journalistic integrity, the Deadwood Daily Herald —circulation eight hundred and two, unless somebody died this afternoon— I Walk This Earth allegedly opens a gateway to hell as it’s played. Kinda like when you sync up The Wizard of Oz and Dark Side of the Moon , but minus the drugs and plus demons.”
    Dani smiled big, and it kick-started my own movie montage.
    SCENE 12: Dani and Kevin run through a meadow of bluebonnets while a sensitive rock-folk band on a nearby hill plays an acerbic but heartfelt love song. Dani wears a white sundress that exposes the cool Japanese cherry tree tattoo with her little brother’s name under it that decorates her upper arm.
    â€œTake this mug I made for you in Ironic Ceramics class,” she says, and hands me a cup that’s completely solid, no hole.
    â€œThanks. I love ironic coffee most of all,” I answer, and the camera catches the sexy stubble that lines my action-hero jaw.
    Our faces move in for a kiss. We never notice the zombie horde advancing toward the emo folk singers.
    I snapped out of my reverie to see Dani looking at me, eyebrows raised.
    â€œAnyway,” I said, blushing. “What with this being the end of the Cinegore, you’d think Scratsche would show up tonight.”
    Dani grabbed two straws and shoved them over