Analee, in Real Life by Janelle Milanes

Author:Janelle Milanes [Milanes, Janelle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781534410312
Publisher: Simon Pulse
Published: 2018-09-18T07:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

ON FRIDAY NIGHT SEB PULLS into the entrance of Midtown Cinema, and I’m sitting next to him, sucking on my fifth spearmint Altoid. I feel jittery. I’m going to kiss Seb Matias today. Not that I like him in that way, but inside, sixth-grade Analee is thrilled with this development. The most handsome boy in school is going to lock lips with me in a darkened theater as romantic movie music swells in the background.

Seb nabs a parking spot by the theater’s entrance. I pop another Altoid. It’s just kissing. Lips on lips. Seb’s lips. Seb’s tongue.

Jesus Christ. I can’t do this.

“You okay?” he asks as we get out of the car.

“Peachy,” I reply.

Midtown Cinema used to be a cool indie theater. They ran midnight showings of cult classics and foreign films, and their lobby had a bunch of old Hollywood memorabilia on display. At some point last year the theater changed ownership. Now it plays tired superhero sequels along with every other theater in the East Bay area. It’s what living here does to all people and places—whatever is different will be squashed and molded until it looks identical to everything else.

“What are we watching?” I ask Seb as we wait in line.

“Gregor the Lion: Journey to Africa.” In sync we scoot up as the line moves forward.

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“Why are we watching a kid’s movie?”

“Because we’re not here to actually watch a movie,” Seb says. “We have work to do.”

Sixth-grade Analee shrivels and dies at his words. Kissing me is in no way pleasurable. It’s not fun, or enticing, or even tolerable. It’s work. Like taking a final.

Seb pays for my movie ticket when we get to the window.

I pull out my wallet. “I can—”

“Nope.”

“But—”

“Shh.”

I roll my eyes and stick the wallet back into my purse. Seb makes zero sense. He makes kissing me seem like this laborious effort, but then he acts all boyfriendy. It must be leftover instincts from the days of Chleb.

My mind shoots back to Chloe again. She’s a dancer, which means she knows how to do all kinds of things with her body. Plus, she’s always wearing this yummy pink-tinted lip balm that makes her lips look extra inviting. Kissing Chloe must feel like eating strawberry shortcake. Except this strawberry shortcake knows how to move her mouth the perfect way and has a perfect model body and says the perfect thing at the perfect time, and you know what, fuck strawberry shortcake. I’m a girl who always preferred a hearty steak over dessert.

“You want some popcorn?” Seb asks as we walk into the lobby.

I look longingly at the golden kernels overflowing from the popcorn machine. I inhale the butter-soaked air.

“I can’t,” I say.

“Why not?” He frowns. “Don’t tell me you’re on a diet.”

“No,” I say, “although I probably should be.”

“Oh, stop it. I like your body.”

I momentarily forget how to breathe. Guys like Seb don’t look at girls like me, not in that way. I don’t look like the girls on the covers of magazines.

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