Tabitha’s birthday celebrations began at noon, with everyone meeting up at Sandboro theaters. The cinema complex was a sprawling fifteen-theater establishment sitting just across the four lanes of road from the Sandboro mall, and between these two locations they made this area the bustling place to be on a Saturday for their entire local area, Fairfield and Springton included. As someone who’d lived nearby for an entire previous life, it was honestly the only theater Tabitha was even passingly familiar with, but as always it was interesting to see the contrasts in layout and decor between then and now.

She remembered being here last to see the Worm movies, which released across the late two thousand twenties and early thirties. The entrance area walls had all been glass and the lobby area had been large open space designed to inspire a sense of grandeur in those visiting, with concessions relegated to kiosks along the far wall. Tabitha remembered her movie check-in had simply been her bracelet PC lighting up when she passed through the foyer, requesting payment confirmation for a viewing. It already knew what she was intending to see, based on her time of arrival and more importantly—the comprehensive profile of her that all the various databases had constructed based on her search interests and spending history.

I’ll always remember how I wanted to find that concerning, Tabitha quirked her lip at the memory. But, as always, the sheer CONVENIENCE of all that omnipresent tracking just made those worries so easy to shrug off.

In the here and now, she was discovering a Sandboro Theaters before what must have been several major renovations. Rather than floor to ceiling glass the entrance here was stymied in the center by a row of ticketbooth cubicles so that purchasing actual tickets was done standing outside the building—it was a quaint and antiquated setup, with double-doors for entering the theater flanking the booths on both sides. The lobby was lined with movie posters for coming attractions, and somehow or other an enormous cardboard Godzilla display showing a giant reptilian foot crunching down through a city was still here.

Here in the present of the late nineties, the concession stands were an enormous island right in the center of the lobby, with the sales counter and displays forming a long U-curvature reminiscent of something from a sports bar. Actual video displays suspended above the concessions area featured smiling, excited movie-goers, popcorn pieces flung in slow motion across a starry void, and gratuitous money-shots of Pepsi products being poured into glasses of ice. It surprised Tabitha to see video displays this far back in time, but she knew the phenomenon would soon spread to fast food chains and other retail over the early two-thousands.

I need to give the boys back their Godzilla toy! Tabitha remembered. That was probably the last movie they all saw on the big screen, Grandma Laurie must have brought them here this past summer. The next few years have SO MANY big blockbuster trilogies I want to take them to! Star Wars, Lord of the Rings. THE MATRIX—wow, Alicia and Elena will probably love those ones. Spiderman, X-men, The Mummy. Pirates of the Caribbean. Sooo many trilogies—last time through, the only ones I actually saw in theater were the Lord of the Rings ones, the rest I all either saw on TV, or went through on Netflix binges.

Sure, I’ve seen most all of these already, and that’s a downside to time travel. I was never a film buff really, I was always more into reading, but still—I do enjoy seeing things. But, I want to change watching movies this time into BIG EXPERIENCES I have with my friends. We can dress up for them and have fun. Maybe by the early two-thousands I’ll have dates here!

Cordons directing customer traffic were set up here and there using portable stanchion posts and velvet rope, Kiss Me by Sixpence None the Richer was playing in the lobby, various loops of demo music and video game sound effects were audible from the arcade area set up just east of the lobby, and at noon on a weekend the whole place was already bustling with people. Tabitha was excited. She stood with Hannah and Mrs. Macintire just up by the front windows, so she could spot everyone as they arrived. Each time they did, a surge of happiness made her almost want to jump up and down on the spot. She told herself it was silly to get so worked up about it—obviously most everyone she invited was likely to show up. When they actually appeared though, Tabitha felt incredibly moved somehow all the same.

Although it was ostensibly Tabitha’s plan for her birthday, the actual itinerary for their group was improved upon by Mrs. Williams, who had almost a decade of experience arranging the trips for Springton Methodist Church’s youth group. Only half of those invited to the party knew Tabitha well personally—Alicia, Elena, the four cousins, and Hannah. Matthew and Casey could barely even count as acquaintances, and Olivia, Michael, Clarissa, and Bobby she scarcely knew at all. Ashlee was a wild card in that she was on close terms with a very different Tabitha, and Tabitha felt a little bit helpless as to how she was going to reconcile that. It felt strange to invite people who weren’t close friends to a birthday party, and Tabitha was more than a little apprehensive as to how some of her ambitions would play out.

Everyone seeing a movie together gives us a shared experience to talk with one another about this evening, Tabitha had decided. To help prevent things turning weird and awkward for half the party that actually don’t know me as well.

According to current rumor from Mrs. Williams, Michael and Olivia had recently broken up, but against expectations the pair arrived together holding hands. Michael had short dark hair gelled up into little spikes, and Olivia had dark hair in a ponytail and a fairly severe case of resting bitchface—Tabitha found herself caught off guard each time Olivia spoke, because the girl seemed to be genuinely friendly and personable, despite how incredibly pissed off looking she appeared. Tabitha thought both of them were vaguely familiar from the Halloween party, but re-introduced herself to them anyways, and thanked Michael for his timely tackle. After all, if he hadn’t thrown himself into the fray back then, Erica could’ve gotten a few more swings in. The odds of Tabitha surviving any more of those would have been… slim, and she didn’t like to think about those what-ifs.

“So, again—thank you,” Tabitha bowed her head. “And thank you for coming! I was worried you wouldn’t. I’d… heard you two broke up?”

“We broke up,” Olivia confirmed. “My dad made us break up, so… we are officially no longer boyfriend and girlfriend. As far as anyone knows that I am aware, Michael and I were invited separately, and I couldn’t have known he was going to be here. Because now we’re just friends. Friends who’ll sit next to each other, and share popcorn, and maybe make out during the movie.”

“Olivia!” Casey put on her best affronted look of shock and outrage. “How. Scandalous.”

“Uh-huh,” Mrs. Macintire rolled her eyes. “So, what’d you two get caught doing, that your dad made you break up?”

“We were—” Michael began.

“Nothing,” Olivia said, shooting a glare at Michael.

“Oh, uh, yeah. Nothing,” Michael agreed, nodding quickly. “We weren’t doing anything. Actually, we’re basically just friends!”

“Platonic friends!” Tabitha chuckled. “Yeah, definitely. Cool.”

“There’s nothing between us,” Olivia announced with a confident smile, taking Michael’s hand in hers.

“Well, make sure you two sit way back behind me so I don’t see you two doing nothing,” Mrs. Macintire told them. “And keep it PG-13! Matthew, Casey—you two have Hannah, so she’s gonna chaperone, make sure you guys aren’t doing any smooching.”

“Psst, Hannah,” Casey whispered loudly. “Buy you a box of Skittles at the concession stand if you don’t tattle on us. Deal?”

“Deal,” Hannah said, not even needing to consider it.

“La la la, I didn’t hear that,” Mrs. Macintire mimed, covering her ears. “Don’t give her too much soda either, okay? S’a long drive to Florence.”

Across from them, Elena and Alicia were in one of the lines for the concession stand, scrutinizing Bobby and Clarissa who were waiting in the opposite line. Bobby had showed up in a sporty winter jacket while wearing a huge grin, while Clarissa looked flustered and visibly nervous in her oversized hoodie. The strawberry-blonde girl appeared to have gained fifteen pounds in the short time since Tabitha had last seen her, just some month and a half ago. Seeing the rapid weight gain made her heart ache—Clarissa had been one of the ‘popular’ freshman girls, but looked to have genuinely suffered after her former friends threw her under the bus to avoid taking blame for bullying Tabitha.

Need to get some time alone with her so we can talk, Tabitha decided, drifting along after Michael and Olivia to join the other teens waiting to buy popcorn. I DID have all sorts of juvenile revenge fantasies when I first transmigrated or whatever back here to 1998. Wished the cool pretty girls would have to go through what I went through. But, then when I actually see it start to happen? It just makes me feel horrible. Wretched. Sick to my stomach, and like I need to DO something about it. Need to make sure she’s okay.

“Uh… sooo, sup?” Bobby asked.

“Yo,” Alicia said.

“Hey,” Elena simply gave an impassive shrug. “Didn’t think you’d be here.”

“Yeah, I’m surprised she invited me,” Bobby admitted. “Cool, though. Definitely didn’t want to be at work today. Tabitha’s cool?”

“Cool,” Alicia gave him a wary look.

“Cool,” Elena nodded. “Hi, Clarissa.”

“Hi?” Clarissa squeaked out. “Elena.”

“So like, which movie are we actually seeing?” Bobby asked, gesturing at the row of poster placards along the Sandboro theater’s wall.

“Pleasantville!” Tabitha smiled. “It looks really interesting. Tobey Macguire! I loved Spiderman.”

“Spiderman…?” Alicia stifled a snort. “Tabs…”

“Oh, right,” Tabitha rolled her eyes. “I don’t know what I’m talking about. Hah. Forget I said Spiderman, for a few years. Silly me?”

“Spiderman?” Bobby asked.

“Uhh, what about Spiderman?” Olivia looked lost.

“Spiderman—that’s Andre Rison,” Michael explained. “Ever since he went from the Green Bay Packers to the Kansas City Chiefs. You remember last year’s superbowl? Opened up with that fifty-four yard touchdown pass? That was him. He goes by ‘Spiderman’ now.”

“Okay…?” Olivia turned her sharp look from her boyfriend to Tabitha and back again. “But—what does that have to do with the Pleasantville guy?”

“Tickets, tickets!” Mrs. Williams called. “Everyone, I’ve got your tickets. Ten for Pleasantville, eight for Mighty Joe Young.

“Whoa, there,” Officer Williams teased. “Shouldn’t it have been nine and nine? I wanted to see the big ol’ gorilla movie.”

“Tough, buster, you’re stuck with me,” Mrs. Williams elbowed him in the gut before holding out a handful of the tickets towards her son. “Pleasantville’s going to be artsy and sophisticated, just like us, only the plebians are watching the one with the big dumb ape. Matthew—can you please make sure everyone in your group has a ticket?”

“Wait, so I’m not artsy and sophisticated?” Matthew pretended to balk as he turned to distribute his batch of tickets.

“Yeah—we’re in the art club!” Casey put on a pout. “Hannah, you tell her. We’re the sophisticated group. Mighty Joe Young looks super cool, and Pleasantville looks boooring, right?”

“Sophisicated means boring,” Hannah decided. “Basically.”

“Sophisticated,” Casey corrected, balling her hand into a fist and then shaking it in a threatening manner. “Like this. Phist.”

“But, Tabitha’s watching Pleasantville…” Hannah frowned, jumping over to latch onto Tabitha. “And, I wanna sit with Tabby.”

“What?!” Casey blinked in surprise. “But, you’re sitting with me and Matthew! Pleasantville looks boooring!”

“Are we okay on time?” Tabitha asked.

“I think those of us seeing Pleasantville can go on in soon,” Mrs. Macintire checked her wristwatch against the show times posted up above the concessions stand. “The kiddos have another thirty minutes, almost. Mighty Joe Young starts a little later.”

“All planned for and taken care of!” Mrs. Williams assured them, taking three rolls of quarters out from her purse and waggling holding them up. “This isn’t my first rodeo—givin’ these to your Grandma Laurie, and she can give them a bit of time at the little arcade here after we go in.”

“Oh!” Tabitha couldn’t help but feel impressed once again. “Thank you. Really—thank you.”

“No thanks necessary,” Mrs. Williams waved her off. “It’s your birthday.”

“Yessss!” Casey pumped her first in an exaggerated way for Hannah’s amusement. “Cruisin’ USA, Area 51—here we come.”

“Please remember not to miss your movie again this time,” Mrs. Williams laughed. “Still can’t believe you kids.”

“We didn’t miss it, we were just fashionably late!” Casey huffed.

“Yeah, we didn’t miss the actual movie, we just decided we could miss the trailers,” Matthew defended himself. “C’mon, we were on a hot streak. I bet our high score’s still up there.”

Having disregarded her younger cousins while greeting everyone else who’d shown up, Tabitha finally led Hannah across to the other side of the waiting group, where the four boys were locked in serious discussion beside an exasperated Grandma Laurie.

“But, if Batman was president, he’d just make crime illegal,” Aiden reasoned. “Superman wouldn’t even do that.”

“He would so!” Joshua argued. “Superman hates crime just as much as Batman. He fights like, a ton of criminals. Way more than lame Batman.”

“Yeah, he has lasers.”

“Batman fights a ton of criminals! It’s all he ever even does.”

“If Batman fights a ton of criminals, then like, Superman fights one hundred tons of criminals. Batman can’t even lift one hundred tons. He’s super weak.”

“You’re super weak.”

“Boys, boys,” Grandma Laurie interrupted. “Please. It’s been ten minutes and your argument hasn’t moved a single inch.”

“Well, then tell Aiden that Superman would be president, not lame Batman,” Joshua snorted. “There’s no way Batman ever would. He doesn’t even have real powers. Plus, Superman is way more popular than Batman—he would get way more votes!”

“Why don’t you boys ask Tabitha who she would vote for, hmm?” Grandma Laurie let out a small laugh. “It’s her birthday, so you all should let her decide this one. You boys promised you’d be on your very best behavior. Remember?”

“Your cousins are all boys,” Hannah whispered up to Tabitha.

“I know,” Tabitha sighed. “They really are, aren’t they?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s okay, though,” Tabitha said. “It’s not their fault.”

“I guess.”

Hannah’s first meeting with Tabitha’s four cousins had been anticlimactic—they had been introduced to each other, they all stared across at each other for a few awkward seconds, and then resumed pretending each other didn’t exist. They were all in Springton Elementary together, and Joshua and Hannah were even both in first grade, but they weren’t in the same class, didn’t recognize each other, and didn’t seem inclined to get to know one another.

Guess at some ages the rift between genders is just too big, Tabitha looked down at Hannah hiding up against her leg and then mussed the little girl’s hair. I bet they’d be fine with each other if they got to playing tag or something on the playground. Well, Hannah might only be into it if I am, so that might be a while, yet.

“Nuh-uh, no, it’s way different, criminals killed Batman’s parents,” Aiden said with conviction. “Batman hates crime—it’s what made him become Batman. Superman would get kryptonite thrown at him and die like a wimp. ‘No! Stop! Not the glowy green rock that doesn’t even really do anything to anyone else! Errrrghh—BLEGH.’

“Yeah so like one stupid thing is Superman’s weakness, but Batman’s weakness is bullets and explosions and getting punched too hard into the sun and a billion other things—all kinds of stuff that wouldn’t even make Superman blink,” Sam rolled his eyes. “Plus even if Batman was president, Superman could just like, challenge him for the title belt and take it. You can do that, just usually no one hardly ever does, ‘cause grown-ups are dumb.”

“Okay, okay, boys,” Tabitha finally decided to intervene, seeing that the boys were unwilling to approach while Hannah was stubbornly guarding Tabitha’s personal space. “Now, who do you think would be president?”

“Superman.”

“It’d be Superman.”

“Batman.”

“Superman’s the strongest.”

“I’m afraid in this case… Bruce Wayne would become president,” Tabitha revealed with a small smile.

“What?!”

“No way! No way.”

“Yesssss! In your face!”

“What? Why?!”

“Well, boys—Clark Kent isn’t a native-born United States citizen,” Tabitha explained. “He was born on Krypton. It’s a requirement to hold office that our president must be born here in the US.”

Hannah seemed irritated that the cousins were interacting with her Tabitha, but also thrilled that Tabitha had a clever response that none of them had thought of—the dark-haired seven-year-old radiated so much smugness that it was as if Tabitha had just dunked on the boys. I really do need to think of a solution to the whole BOYS ARE ALL DUMB she seems to have and the GIRLS ARE ALL STUPID that they’ll pick up in reaction to that. Just. Not today—c’mon, today’s my birthday.

“Ohhhhh.”

“What? That’s stupid.”

“It is not! What, do you—”

“But, wait—” Samuel shook his head. “From when they made Kalel’s secret identity in the first place or whatever, his stuff would’ve all said he was born in Kansas. So, it’d still count, ‘cause everyone thinks he was born here.”

“No, because Superman would know the truth,” Tabitha shook her head. “He’s a total boy scout, and that rule would matter to him. And, even more importantly, Bruce Wayne’s superpower would be a lot better for getting him into office.”

“What? Batman doesn’t even have a superpower,” Joshua frowned.

“He’s rich!” Tabitha shrugged. “Clark Kent is some nobody journalist from a little midwestern town. Bruce Wayne is this super wealthy industrialist with all kinds of connections to the elite and upper crust of society. Which do you think has a better chance of having their huge multi-billion dollar campaign and lobbying to get the most votes?”

“Yeah exactly,” Hannah nodded her little head, turning a withering whatever Tabitha just said is right, SO THERE look of disdain towards the boys.

“Uhh…”

“I mean yeah I guess.”

“I still wouldn’t vote for Batman.”

“She’s kinda got a point, though. I mean, it’s money.”

Hannah had been so obedient and charming for Tabitha in the past few weeks that it was painful being reminded that Hannah was also actually a total brat sometimes. While Tabitha had felt sure that she was making a big impression on Hannah and was encouraging major improvement in her behavior—seeing Hannah with the boys made her wonder if perhaps she was overly optimistic. Something to work on.

Tabitha glanced out again at the various antiquated-seeming vehicles as they pulled into the theater’s parking lot and disgorged passengers with trepidation, but Ashlee Taylor never appeared. Makes me sad, but. Probably for the best?

“Matthew, Robert, get over here for a second,” Officer Williams called. “Gotta talk to you boys. You all—Tabitha’s cousins—whichever one of you’s the oldest, you come on over, too.”

“It’s Bobby,” Bobby let out a long-suffering sigh.

“Not right now, it isn’t,” Officer Williams clapped him on the shoulder as one of the cousins approached. “Alright, now—which one are you?”

“Sam,” Samuel stated, looking nervous to have been singled out from his brothers.

“Alright now, huddle up here with me boys,” Officer Williams instructed. “You all know what happened at that Halloween party, how Tabitha got attacked outta nowhere? Well, that just ain’t gonna happen again, and we’re all gonna make sure nothing catches us unawares. Now, Tabby isn’t gonna want me hovering over her this entire time without making her whole birthday feel like it’s in a police state, so instead I want at least one of you boys nearby her, all the time.

“I mean it—both here at the movies and this evening when we’re in Florence, if one of you has to go to the bathroom, you signal or make eye contact or somethin’ with somebody here, make sure they know to step in and keep an eye out in your place. If the girls’re talkin’ and anything seems like it’s gettin’ heated at all, raised voices or anything—put yourself physically between them, lead the other girl away, say you need to tell ‘em something or have somethin’ to say in private, I don’t care what. There’s any problems, you separate them off away from Tabitha.”

“Do you think something’s going to happen?” Matthew glanced back at the others with a wary look.

“No, I don’t—but we didn’t expect anything would happen back at the other party, either,” Officer Williams said. “So, we’re taking no chances, here. Anything at all happens, there’s three of you boys. One of you stands himself between any problems and Tabitha, one of you discreetly asks whatever and whoever you think’s gettin’ to be a problem to follow you somewhere away from Tabitha, and the third one o’ you’s gonna make sure you get my attention. I’m gonna be keeping my eye on everything from a ways back, but just in case you make sure I know if anything’s happening. You all get it?”

“I’ll sit next to Tabitha,” Bobby volunteered. “Totally on it.”

“Best behavior, too,” Officer Williams warned. “If you think it’d be funny to get handsy or anything like that, all of us will very, very unhappy with you, Robert.”

“Bobby, sir,” Bobby corrected him with mock salute. “It’s really just Bobby. Seriously it is, on my ID, on my birth certificate—I’m just Bobby, was never a Rob or a Robert or a Bob.”

“Casey and I can run interference on anything that comes up, sure,” Matthew shrugged. “I’m guessing you want to keep an eye on Clarissa?”

“And that other Taylor girl, if she shows up,” the Officer let out a sigh. “Dunno how she does it, but Tabitha’s some kind of trouble magnet.”

Michael and Olivia led their group down the sloping aisle of the theater for the Pleasantville showing, choosing an empty row in the middle to sidle into. Elena and Alicia shuffled in after them, followed by Tabitha, Bobby, and Clarissa. The three adults accompanying their group hung further back, selecting a distant batch of seats to give the teens some space, and as Tabitha pulled down the seat-cushion and settled into it, that bubbly magic energy of excitement she’d experienced when back at the mall had returned.

I’m in the nineties, at the movies—and with a bunch of friends, Tabitha could help but smile. It’s just, it’s so AMAZING. Like another one of those NORMAL TEEN THINGS that I always wanted to experience, but never did. I’m even sitting next to Bobby!

They were all still early, the theater still had most of its lights on, and though the projector was running, it was simply displaying a slideshow of advertisements and occasional movie trivia questions. Scattered groups of moviegoers were seated throughout the predominantly empty seats, but a slow trickle of people were still making their way in. Plenty of people were speaking at once in hushed voices, and a few rows behind them someone let out an “UGH” of dismay. Tabitha twisted in her seat to discover Mrs. Macintire tossing a piece of popcorn in the direction of Michael and Olivia, who were already unashamedly making out.

“Popcorn?” Bobby tilted his tall bag of popcorn towards her.

“Uh, no thanks,” Tabitha gave him an apologetic smile. “...I’m actually trying to quit.”

“Damn, my bad,” Bobby laughed. “Yeah, the addiction is real. Can’t even stop.”

“Popcorn?” Alicia grinned from Tabitha’s other side, offering out an identical tall bag from the concessions stand.

“Uh, no,” Tabitha winced. “Sorry, I only thought up the one joke for refusing popcorn.”

“C’mon, mine only got like, six squirts of butter on it,” Alicia goaded her. “It’s practically still good for you. Healthy, even. Almost.”

“Blegh,” Tabitha couldn’t help but make a face.

“Hey—have you seen this movie before?” Alicia leaned in close to whisper. “Pleasantville. Like, did you already see it, but in the future?”

“Yeah, a bunch of times,” Tabitha admitted. “It used to play on basic cable, I know TBS had it on all the time. It’s a pretty good movie, though, I always liked it.”

“And, you haven’t seen it yet here,” Alicia asked. “So, if we ask your parents if they or anyone else has taken you to the movie theater recently, they’re all gonna say no?”

“They’re gonna say no,” Tabitha confirmed with a small nod.

“Okay, so,” Alicia’s eyes seemed to dance. “Prove you’ve seen it—tell me something you could only know from having watched it before.”

“Yeah, sure,” Tabitha paused for a moment and considered. “Okay, this bit from the ending stands out in memory. The Pleasantville part had basically concluded, but we weren’t back to the real world, yet; the husband and the wife were sitting on a park bench or—no wait, I think it was supposed to be a bus stop. The husband says something like, um, ‘what do we do now?’ The camera pans over to the wife and she’s like ‘I don’t know.’ But, when the camera goes back to where the husband was sitting a second ago, it’s another guy sitting there instead, the diner guy. And he kinda shrugs and goes ‘I guess I don’t know either.’

“It really stood out to me, because while before the movie played with metaphor, this scene stood out as trying to say that it was just a metaphor for how things went, and wasn’t really depicting what was literally supposed to be happening in the scene. If that makes sense. It felt a bit out of place, but I think the movie was out of time, and things just wanted to wrap up?”

“Okay, cool,” Alicia grinned. “Got it. And, there’s no way you could’ve known that, right? Without seeing it. You haven’t been talking with people who have seen it, or anything?”

“I know Mrs. Williams has seen it already, but she definitely wouldn’t get into that kind of discussion with me before she thought I’d had a chance to see it,” Tabitha shrugged. “She’s not the type to want to spoil things.”

“Are you okay with me checking with her on that?” Alicia pressed. “Like, I mean, I believe you. Obviously. But, I want to have something super solid as proof, ‘cause Elena’s such a skeptic.”

“Yeah, you’re just hilarious.” Elena leaned forward to arch an eyebrow at them. “You guys realize I can hear you whispering, right? Bobby’s right there, too. He can hear you.”

“Yeah, I can hear them, but I wasn’t listening, that’d be rude,” Bobby interjected, popping forward from the other side of Tabitha. “When two cute girls sitting right next to me start getting all secretive and whispery about who’s seen what movie or whatever? I just completely tune all that out, ‘cause I’m respectful and their private conversation is none of my business.”

“Thank you, Bobby,” Tabitha rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t matter if people overhear things at this point, anyways. No one would believe the truth, and if anyone even does and starts pressing me about it, I can say we were just messing around or making it up. Alicia—Elena’s not going to believe in it with little things like songs or movies, and honestly, that’s okay. Big things are coming in the next few years, and she’ll believe me then.”

“Alright,” Alicia sagged in her seat and shook her head with a wry smile. “Whatever. Just want you to remember, Tabs. I always believed you. Right from the very beginning, almost. And, Bobby… did you just call me cute?!”

“You are cute,” Bobby confirmed. “Just, you know, not quite so cute as Tabitha of course, on account of today being her birthday and all. I’m sure you understand.”

“Well, yeah, obviously,” Alicia agreed. “I mean, it’s her birthday. Tabitha’s super cute.”

“Thank you, everyone,” Tabitha chuckled. “It’s nice to have at least one day of the year where I just have… flattering sycophants on every side of me. I really appreciate it. I’ll cherish all of these sweet lies for the whole rest of the year.”

“You do look good today, Tabitha,” Elena said. “But, not gonna call you cute, that’s super weird. Alicia wants to be funny, ‘cause she thinks she’s just totally hilarious, and then Bobby’s just looking for any excuse to flirt with you. Just so you know.”

“Hey!” Alicia tried to look aggrieved. “I wasn’t just being funny. I was totally flirting, too.”

“Yeah, and I wasn’t just flirting, I was also being funny,” Bobby chimed in. “We can be both, I’m always funny. But also, Tabitha if you do want to hold hands or anything, for the scary parts of the movie? Listen—I am here for you. Makin’ sure to only grab popcorn with my right hand, and you’re on my left so things won’t be weird and buttery at all, I promise.”

“Bobby gross,” Elena made a face.

“What?!”

“Shit, then I need napkins,” Alicia groused, looking down at her hand. “Did one of you grab napkins? I wanna hold birthday girl’s hand during the movie.”

“Gotcha covered babe—I grabbed a whole bunch,” Bobby leaned forward, passing a handful of napkins past Tabitha over to Alicia.

“Thanks, uh—” Alicia snorted. “Thanks, babe? Sugah? Hot stuff?”

“Whichever is fine,” Bobby said with a serious face. “I’ll answer to all of those.”

“Tabitha, you should switch seats, let those two sit next to each other,” Elena remarked in a dry voice. “And, what the hell, Alicia? Weren’t you all against Bobby coming?”

“I… was not!” Alicia’s smile turned sheepish as she wiped her hands. “We’re, uh, we’re friends from class. Kinda.”

“What!” Tabitha sat up in her seat. “You told me you didn’t have any classes with Bobby!”

“I uhhh, well, I fibbed,” Alicia turned her face away. “I wanted to see if like, you’d even actually invite him. If we didn’t do it for you.”

“Wow,” Bobby shook his head in disbelief. “Woooow. No, you know what—gimme those napkins back.”

“No,” Alicia said in a haughty voice, having finished cleaning herself up and giving her outstretched hand an imperious look. “No, I don’t think I will.”

“I thought you were different, Alicia,” Bobby lamented. “I thought we had something special. You really didn’t even want me to be invited?!”

“Alright, alright, we get it—you’re both very funny,” Tabitha smiled. “Both of you sit back and quit talking past me. I am… open to holding both of your hands throughout the movie.”

“Slut,” Elena muttered out.

“Elena!” Alicia chastised her. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Wait, did I say that out loud?” Elena remarked in her now well-practiced sarcastic deadpan. “I meant to keep that to myself as like, just me giving you guys this judgemental stare. My bad.”

“Just for that, I’m holding your hand, too,” Alicia decided. “There. Now you’re a slut, too. Slut. Where’s your soda?”

“Holding hands is fine, but I am not sharing my drink with any of you,” Elena established her boundaries. “That’s just gross. Backwash, and all that.”

“Not even a sip?!”

“It doesn’t backwash if you use a straw,” Bobby chimed in. “That’s just science.”

“Actually, yeah it still does,” Elena argued. “And your mouth is still on the same straw, so it’s still just as bad.”

“Share the same drink, but use two different straws?” Bobby suggested a compromise. “That’s uh, that’s romantic, right?”

“Nope,” Elena shook her head. “There’s still backwash. It’s gross.”

“Um, isn’t doing that basically like an indirect kiss?” Tabitha laughed.

“Indirect kiss?”

“Because your lips touch the same thing? Hah!”

“Jesus, Tabs—you are a slut.”

“Michael and I are sharing our drink,” Olivia called over from a few seats past Elena. “And we’re not even dating!”

“You two were literally sucking each other’s faces for like a full minute just now,” Elena pointed out. “You only just finally came up for air. Girl, if you’re going to share your drink, at least use the cup and straw.”

“Pfffttt!” Alicia doubled over, bursting into laughter. “Shit, were they really?”

“Elena, gross, we were tastefully just kissing, as a friendly greeting,” Olivia shot back, amusement in her voice. “It’s a European thing, you wouldn’t even get it.”

“I’m actually one-sixteenth European,” Bobby said. “On my uncle’s side. He accidentally—”

“I’m just saying,” Elena said. “Olivia, you leave Michael’s retainer right where it is.”

“Hey—! I have braces, not a retainer—”

“Yeah, she was just checking out his tonsils in a friendly way. They’re not dating or anything.”

“Bobby—gross.”

“Jesus, tonsils, ew. That’s even worse. Ew ew ew ewww—”

“Well, I’m not European enough for all that,” Alicia shared a teasing grin with Tabitha. “You cool with just holding hands?”

“Same, yeah,” Tabitha laughed, taking Alicia’s hand. “Let’s just take things slow.”

“Cool,” Alicia beamed. “Cool.”

Remembering that there was still a teenager missing from the silly banter flying back and forth before the movie started, Tabitha then scooched forward on her seat so that she could peer past Bobby.

“You alright, Clarissa?” Tabitha asked, struggling to make out the girl’s expression in the dark.

“Oh! Yeah, yes, I’m fine,” Clarissa answered. “I just—yeah, I don’t know what to say.”

“Are you okay being next to Bobby?” Tabitha suppressed a quirk of her lip as Bobby’s face grew comically indignant.

“What’s that supposed to mea—”

“Yeah,” Clarissa said quickly. “Bobby’s cool. Everything’s cool.”

Somewhere deep in Tabitha’s psyche, her vindictive inner fat girl wanted to take petty comfort in Clarissa’s apparent misery. Then pangs of guilt smothered that pettiness in empathy and genuine sorrow for the poor girl. What Clarissa had done stealing her binder and trying to trash it was thoughtless and more than a little cruel, but wasn't a large part of that simply the influence of the friends she’d had?

When gathered up together, sometimes teenage girls could be unbelievably thoughtless and cruel. Emboldened by such peers, Clarissa became a bully. But, when isolated and ostracized from that same circle, Clarissa was instead a lost and vulnerable young girl. One now struggling with stress acne and sudden weight gain, which further exacerbated her deteriorating social situation. Clarissa wasn’t quite stoic enough to conceal how fragile she was right now, and Tabitha ached at seeing it.

“Bobby, if you want to hold my hand during the movie, you have to hold Clarissa’s hand, too,” Tabitha decided at the spur of the moment. “After making sure that’s cool with her.”

“Uhhh—”

“Great, yeah, let’s just everybody hold hands,” Elena muttered. “Next we can all sing Kumbayah.”

“Pssh, okay Wednesday Addams. Gimme.”

“Shut up, Olivia. Slut. No—I’m not holding your hand, cut it out.”

“It’s totally cool with me,” Clarissa blurted out. “I’m not a big deal of—I mean, I’m—it’s not any kind of big deal, or anything. I can hold hands.”

“Well, shit, I—” Bobby paused. “Alicia seriously, gimme some of those napkins back.”

“You gave me all of yours?” Alicia asked. “I crumpled them up, I thought you had more. Just wipe your hands on your pants like a normal person.”

“What the hell, Alicia?” Elena’s mouth fell open. “Don’t tell him that, that’s gross. And it’s Bobby, he’ll probably actually do it.”

“Damn, now what’s that supposed to me—”

“Elena, you’re unexpectedly prissy today. Why don’t you—”

“Shut up, slut. I’m normal, everyone else’s just being gross.”

“Holding hands isn’t gross,” Bobby protested. “It’s beautiful; it’s how babies are made. You see, when a man and a woman love each other very, very much—”

“Look, this is exactly what I’m talking about. You’re all bein’ gross.”

“Elena—can we all just be dumb teenagers, please?” Tabitha laughed. “It’s my birthday.”

“No way, they’re all being gross. Olivia’s hand is all gross and slutty, it’s—ew, it’s probably got Michael cooties all over it. No offense, Michael.”

“What did I do?! Hey, pass this napkin over to Bobby.”

“Fine. Bobby, here.”

“Thank you.”

“Now gimme that,” Olivia finally managed to snatch Elena’s hand. “There. Is that so bad?”

“Yes?” Elena scowled for a moment. “Actually, no? Jesus, your hand’s really nice. How are you so friggin’ soft and smooth?”

“I use super nice moisturizer, duh. Hate my skin getting all dry in the winter. Burt’s Bees, their Almond and Milk hand creme. You want to try?”

“Yeah, kinda? My mom just buys us Avène, I think, but I know I always love Burt’s Bees. My lip balm is—”

“Damn,” Bobby’s brow furrowed. “If I’d known we were all gonna be holdin’ hands, I woulda brought chopsticks for the popcorn.”

“We are not all holding hands for the whole damn movie like a cult of weirdos.”

“You don’t have to—” Clarissa started. “Uh, I can run out and grab us some more napkins, if you want?”

“That’s… actually a really good idea,” Alicia perked up. “Clarissa, see if you can grab a buncha straws while you’re up. We can use straws as chopsticks!”

“Yeah, sure. Straws and more napkins?”

“You’re—Alicia, you’re a genius,” Bobby declared. “I take back almost all the mean stuff I said behind your back.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Wait, I can’t use chopsticks. I don’t know how.”

“The hell? Olivia, have you never had Chinese before ever?”

“No. I mean yeah I have, but I just use a fork?”

“Blasphemy.”

“I love you guys,” Tabitha sighed, giving Alicia’s hand a squeeze. “You’re all a bunch of jackasses.”

The teens went quiet as the lights dimmed and movie trailers began to play, some advertising films Tabitha remembered from a lifetime ago, and many that she’d never heard of at all. In the illumination of one particularly bright screen moment she realized Bobby’s hand was casually outstretched and offering—with a small smile, she put her hand in his. It was… nice. On the other side of her, Alicia had leaned in towards her to occupy the armrest between their two seats, and her artist friend made a small noise of aggravation when Pleasantville began to play in earnest.

“No Phantom Menace trailer?” Alicia whispered. “Lame.”

Tabitha was very briefly both excited and nervous about holding hands with a cute boy, but as the movie played, she kept finding herself drawn into it and forgetting about Bobby completely. By the time she thought about it again—they weren’t holding hands anymore, at some point they’d stopped and she hadn’t even been aware of letting go. Whoops. Well, it’s fine! Normal. It’s not even a big deal after all.

Her row of friends was mostly silent throughout the movie, with only a whispered ‘Who is that? He looks familiar’ from Olivia to Elena when Don Knotts appeared on screen in his cameo as the TV repair man. Tabitha herself let out an audible bleurghh of disgust when Toby and Reese’s characters were asked to eat the comically large spread of what looked to be every conceivable breakfast food on the table. Alicia had been silently laughing at that already, but let out a snort at hearing Tabitha’s reaction—the two shared a grin before turning their attention back to the screen.

To her surprise, Bobby was completely engrossed in the movie, leaning forward with interest as the plot developed and letting out small sounds of appreciation with the rest of their group when the bold colors began to appear with prominence within the black and white story. The movie had always been a pretty good one, but the effect it had on Tabitha felt magnified being able to share the big-screen experience with friends. It’s so much more… fun! It’s hard to not feel the movie when you’re surrounded by others who’re interested and really engaged.

Laughter rolled around the theater in response to Betty Parker’s apparent orgasm making a tree outside burst into bright flames, and although some of it was from the kids in her row, Tabitha could definitely hear Mrs. Macintire way back there behind them. As scene after scene played out and the movie progressed towards its conclusion, Tabitha found herself savoring each and every minute. This was one of the few times in her new life that Tabitha could just relax and enjoy something for what it was! A large part of her was simply hyped up on being here with friends to see it on the big screen, and then another part of her was analyzing and appreciating the subtle and not-so-subtle allegories Pleasantville seemed to be packed to the brim with, from the perspective of a writer.

It was a very welcome distraction, once again allowing the fresh and exuberant new teen part of her and the aged and weary traveler from the future to blur at their edges for a little while. A startling amount of the film’s themes applied to Tabitha’s circumstances, with a person transplanted back into a different era muddling through preconceptions, misunderstandings, and personal change. The fit wasn’t perfectly analogous to her situation, but it didn’t have to be—Tabitha found the whole experience incredibly cathartic all the same.

Before she knew it, Pleasantville was already concluding.

“So, what’s gonna happen now?” Mr. Parker finally asked, prim in his suit up on the big screen as he sat beside Betty on the bench.

“I… don’t know,” Betty Parker replied after a moment of visibly wrestling with the question. “Do you know what’s going to happen now?”

“No,” Mr. Parker admitted with a chuckle. “I don’t.”

The shot panned from him towards Betty who’d begun to laugh as well, and Tabitha felt a wave of relief and embarrassment when the camera returned and Jeff Daniel’s character—the diner guy—had replaced Mr. Parker, somewhat like in Tabitha’s earlier prediction.

Alicia was tapping at Tabitha’s arm in frantic excitement, but Tabitha simply wanted to facepalm. She’d remembered quite a few of the details wrong—she’d told Alicia this part happened before Bud returned to the real world, while it actually happened afterwards. The quotes she’d provided earlier were paraphrased and not quite right, and instead of decisive details from future experience this was… it was simply vague and unreliable. Alicia seemed thrilled and satisfied all the same, and with a wincing smile Tabitha held her friend’s hand and tried not to feel too embarrassed.

I… KIND OF remembered, at least? C’mon, it’s been years and years and years! Of COURSE most everything I know is vague and unreliable.

“Holy crap,” Alicia stood and stretched out her arms as the credits rolled and the crowds of moviegoers around them began to shuffle out of their seats and towards the aisle. “That was cool.”

“Yeah, damn,” Bobby lurched to his feet and then stooped to grab his empty popcorn bag. “That was really good. You like it?”

“Yeah!” Tabitha smiled. “It was really well done.”

“Tabs was right ‘bout the ending, too,” Alicia said to Elena. “She totally called it.”

“Doesn’t even count,” Elena shook her head. “It’s already been in theaters for weeks. Anyone could’ve called it.”

“Tch,” Alicia pouted. “Well, I believe her.”

“Duh, we know. I should’ve gotten up and went to sit on the other side,” Elena grumbled. “Over with Clarissa. These two over here? They were getting handsy.”

“We were not!” Olivia cried out. “You take that back. Michael and I are just friends, okay?”

“You missed half the movie ‘cause you were making sloppy kissy noises,” Elena said in a deadpan voice. “It was like hearing a dog at a water dish.”

“Pffft!” Alicia laughed. “Jesus, guys.”

“We were not sloppy, Elena, gross,” Olivia looked affronted. “I told him before it started that I’d give him a little kiss every time I saw something in colors. How was I supposed to know the whole third act was all practically in color?!”

“Oh my God,” Clarissa shook her head.

“But, then you two missed so much good movie!” Alicia laughed. “Seriously.”

“Yeah, their loss,” Bobby spoke up. “Movie was way better than I thought it’d be. Gonna have to tell my brother ‘bout this one.”

“I liked it,” Tabitha nodded along.

“I liked it too,” Clarissa added.

“Ending was kinda weird,” Michael said. “Like, Bud’s got this family that loves him and this world where he’s this, I dunno, Jesus figure to his peers almost, and he has a girl who’s totally into him—and he’s all like ‘whelp, I should go back to the real world.’ Like, why? Bro.”

“Dude,” Bobby laughed. “Most unrealistic part of the movie, yeah. And then he’s back like, comforting his real world mom and acting all wise and cleaning up her makeup? And her immediate response to that isn’t accusing him of being stoned?”

“Hahahaha!”

“Oh my God, I was thinking the exact same thing!” Alicia squealed. “He was totally acting like he was so high there at the very end. I would’ve thought that, too.”

“Like maybe the whole jaunt into Pleasantville was just a crazy trip,” Bobby chuckled. “Did he really get sucked into the TV show? Did he?”

“You guys are dumb,” Elena rolled her eyes. “I thought it was sweet. He was like—the stuff he went through made him realize that yeah, even moms are also human beings with vulnerabilities, and stuff they go through and all that.”

“Yeah,” Clarissa said.

“Is there a sequel?” Alicia turned to Tabitha. “Or, is that it?”

“No sequel,” Tabitha apologized. “Sorry—that was it.”

“Damn,” Alicia groaned. “Well. Still. It was pretty good.”

“What I wanna know,” Olivia said, “Is—did all those changes to Pleasantville play out on TV? Like in the real world? Did he just mess up that trivia contest for all the people watching the marathon that night?”

“Huh, I totally forgot about that,” Alicia admitted. “What was it? A thousand bucks?”

“I think so,” Tabitha said, turning to follow Bobby and Clarissa as they began to sidle out of the row and into the aisle. I want to ask if that was a super young Joseph Gordon-Levitt that was cast as Bud’s random real-world friend. But, no one will have any clue who that is. Ugghh. No Google, either! Always frustrating.

Shuffling up the dark aisle amid all the other people as theater patrons filed out of their seats and started toward the exist, Tabitha saw that they had lingered longer than their chaperones—Mrs. Macintire and Mr. and Mrs. Williams’ seats were already empty. Bobby paused with Tabitha by the side as they waited for Michael and Olivia to bring up the rear of their group, and all at once it occurred to Tabitha that from the posture and body language—Bobby was escorting her, like a gentleman. Ensuring she wasn’t alone or unsafe, or that he would be within arms’ reach if she needed to get his attention for anything.

Awwww. Bobby!

It was sweet and endearing and also startling and strange. Tabitha had been acclimating to people actually caring about her for once this whole new life, and yet the subtle different ways that care actually manifested always took her by surprise. Being drawn to the forefront of everyone’s lives was both heartwarming and a little scary—because as bitter as she had been about living the life of mediocrity and being beneath everyone’s notice before, she had also learned to use that anonymity. Tabitha had largely exempted herself from stressful things like socializing, avoided any kind of tense confrontation, and was invisible to most public scrutiny simply because she was completely under everyone’s radar. The way Bobby now stood at her side, waiting on her, was yet another reminder that this life was very different, and she was going to have to continue to unlearn many of her old habits.

Also a reminder that I should probably be more mindful of where I keep sprinkling my little breadcrumb trail of FUTURE HINTS, Tabitha thought as the procession of teens caught up and they all made their way out of the theater room together. The reference to Tobey Macguire someday being Spiderman was good enough. It’ll just seem like random teenage noise to those who don’t care. But, for those I want to someday prove I’m from the future to, it’ll hopefully stand out as SOME kind of evidence. I hope. Just, if there’s ever any—

A dark-haired teenage girl across just at the edge of the movie theater’s lobby was staring at her.

The group of friends Tabitha was walking with dissolved in different directions all at once, Olivia and Elena making a beeline for the ladies room while Clarissa trailed after them, Michael going in the opposite direction to the other restroom, and Bobby attempting to make a three-pointer shot with his crumpled up popcorn bag—it bounced off the lip of the waste bin in a spectacular miss.

“Ohhhh—he shoots; he misses,” Alicia taunted.

“Not fair at all,” Bobby grumbled, stepping over to pick up the bag. “You totally psyched me out. You were givin’ me the eye.”

“Oh, the eye?” Alicia opened one eye as far as it could go. “Like this?”

“Ah, see? Stop it,” Bobby threw again, missing once more. “Damnit. You’re like—listen, I got this rhythm for setting up the perfect shot, but when cute girls are all scoping me out—”

“Oh, scoping you out?!”

“Basically. I mean, I don’t blame you, but—”

Tabitha noticed the dark-haired girl across the way from them again, and then disregarded her, as her distracted mind was still dancing back and forth between the movie they’d just walked out of and halfway paying attention to the casual banter exchanging back and forth between Alicia and Bobby. But, an unsettling feeling seemed to creep up her back, and when Tabitha glanced over again—the girl was still staring.

Does she—? Tabitha froze. Oh, fuck! That’s ASHLEE!

With a jolt Tabitha started forward, hurrying over across the stretch of carpet, then past the metal stanchions and velvet theater rope that demarcated the lobby and concessions area from the hall that required tickets for entry. Ashlee Taylor wasn’t someone Tabitha remembered that well to begin with, and with her hair hanging down to hide her amblyopic eye, she almost wasn’t recognizable at all. She was wearing what must have been someone else’s borrowed athletic raincoat and sweatpants, neither of which seemed to fit, carrying a large gift bag, and—focusing on Tabitha with an expressionless stare.

“...Ashlee?” Tabitha asked with a sheepish tilt of her head, still not completely positive she’d correctly identified the girl.

“Yeah,” Ashlee answered. “You invited me, didn’t you?”

“Yes, of course, but—have you been waiting out here this whole time?” Tabitha felt aghast. “I’m so sorry. I thought that—”

“Whoever told my Aunt about all this said Mighty Joe Young,” Ashlee shrugged. “She dropped me off right before it was supposed to start, and, well. Didn’t see you anywhere. So, I just waited.”

“Shit—Ashlee, I’m so sorry,” Tabitha groaned, putting her good hand to her temple. “We—”

“Yeah,” Ashlee shrugged again.

“Hey, everything okay?” Bobby rushed into place standing between them, looking more than a little alarmed. “Uhh—and you are?”

“Bobby, no, it’s okay,” Tabitha gently pushed him back out of the way. “It’s Ashlee. Ashlee Taylor. We invited her, but… someone must have told her Aunt we were watching Mighty Joe Young. Ashlee, we just got out of Pleasantville—part of our group, my cousins, my Grandma, and a few of the others, they didn’t want to see that one and went for Mighty Joe Young instead.”

“Okay?” Ashlee asked, looking irritated. “Yeah, I didn’t see you.”

“Yeah,” Tabitha winced. “Uh, well—”

“Who’s this?” Alicia stepped up beside Tabitha, all but bristling at Ashlee’s presence for some reason. “Does she have a problem?”

“Oh, no—Alicia, this is my friend Ashlee,” Tabitha introduced them as panic and a sense that this situation had escaped her control welled up within her. “Ashlee, this is Alicia. And this is, uh, this is Bobby.”

“Friend?” Ashlee asked.

“We went in a little early for Pleasantville, and then Pleasantville started some time before Mighty Joe Young, so—” Tabitha fought the urge to fidget. “So, I’m sorry. I did look, I was uh, on the lookout for you, but I didn’t think to… I didn’t think to tell the other group to keep an eye out, or—there must have been some misunderstanding with whoever talked to your Aunt, or—”

“Okay,” Ashlee said. “Well. Happy birthday.”

The scrawny dark-haired teen pushed forward the gift bag, and Bobby intercepted it. He was still standing uncomfortably close, as if he expected Tabitha and Ashlee might launch into a close-quarters scratching and clawing catfight the moment he relaxed his guard. Letting go of the bag, Ashlee’s single visible eye flicked from Tabitha to Bobby and hung there for a moment in silent evaluation before returning to Tabitha.

“Thank you,” Tabitha said. “Really. Thank you for coming. And—I’m so sorry you missed the movie.”

“Sure,” Ashlee continued to stare. “My aunt said she wasn’t picking me up until late at night, and it’s not even dark out yet—so, what now?”

“Oh! The actual party itself we’re having in Florence,” Tabitha revealed. “Getting dinner and doing presents and a lot of fun stuff. I think we’re about to head over.”

“Tabitha—what did you think of the movie, hon?” Mrs. Macintire squeezed between a passing couple and another small group exiting the Sandboro theater and joined them. “Oh, hello there. Are you a friend of Tabitha’s?”

“This is Ashlee,” Tabitha said. “She—we went in too early and we missed her. She was out here this whole time.”

“Aw, shoot—honey, I’m so sorry!” Mrs. Macintire frowned. “This whole time?”

“Like, an hour and a half at least,” Ashlee said. “My Aunt thought it was supposed to be Mighty Joe Young?”

“That’s such a long time to be here waiting!” Sandra exclaimed. “I’m so sorry—are you alright?”

“It’s fine,” Ashlee all but bristled. “Used to it.”

Nobody has cell phones, Tabitha wanted to groan in frustration. So, when you can’t find someone you’re supposed to meet up with—you’re just out of luck. Ashlee could have asked the people at concessions if she could use a phone, or put coins into a payphone, but. She’d have no one to contact but her Aunt, really. To come pick her back up. There’s no way whatsoever to reach me, or Mrs. Williams, or any of us if we’re not home at a landline. How did ANYONE manage get togethers back in these days?!

“Sooo, what’re we doing, what’s the plan?” Alicia asked, putting on a hesitant smile now that Mrs. Macintire was here, but still apparently refusing to acknowledge Ashlee.

Why is everyone being so…? Tabitha looked from friends to Ashlee. Tense?

“Florence Fundome, pizza and presents,” Mrs. Macintire perked up. “Some of you girls can ride with me, then I think the Williams can take some of you, and Olivia’s mom’s here, too. Where is everyone?”

“Restrooms,” Alicia hiked a thumb back down the hallway. “We’re just waiting on Elena and all them.”

“Cool, cool cool cool,” Mrs. Macintire said. “Well, me? I’m already starved, and we’ve got a ways to go. Hope everyone’s hungry for pizza!”

While half of their large group had watched Pleasantville with Tobey Macguire and Reese Witherspoon in the final week of its theatrical run, Grandma Laurie, Matthew, and Casey shepherded Tabitha’s four cousins and Hannah over to instead see Charlize Theron in Mighty Joe Young. That one was rated PG, and seemed more appropriate for holding the attention of the younger ones than the somewhat raunchy drama and dark comedy of Pleasantville. However, splitting up to catch different screenings also meant that that part of their party wouldn’t even get out of their showing until a half hour later.

When weighing the options between waiting on them or driving out to Florence, Kentucky ahead of the other group, consensus turned out to be that everyone was hungry and wanted pizza sooner rather than later. Thus, three vehicles departed from the Sandboro theaters in a little convoy, because the trip out to where the rest of the birthday celebration would actually be turned out to be a long one, their destination just shy of an hour’s drive away.

Thankfully, Mrs. Macintire and the three teenage girls with her now had plenty to talk about on the drive.

“Golly, It was really good!” Sandra couldn’t stop smiling. “Thought I’d hate Pleasantville, because the trailers on TV made it seem so—well, you know. Artsy.”

“Gosh darn, you’re right,” Alicia laughed. “That sure was a swell movie.”

“The keenest!” Tabitha said.

“Uh… gee whiz?” Elena delivered in her best gothic deadpan.

“It was good, though,” Tabitha agreed from the passenger’s seat. “The acting was amazing, and the casting was outstanding. Great cinematography, too. Color grading. But, at the same time—it’s… hmm. I don’t know.”

“It was cool,” Alicia decided. “It was a lot of things. I thought at first the use of color and black and white would be real gimmicky, and it kinda was, but then what they actually did with it, and like, the way it told its own story just at a glance from scene to scene, that was really well done! Also just—no offense guys—white people 1960s stuff was just creepy as hell.”

“1950s, you mean,” Mrs. Macintire laughed. “The swingin’ sixties was Kennedy, Vietnam. Hippies and flower power. Very very different eras. You’re not wrong about how creepy some of the stuff in that movie was, though! That one bit where Bud goes into the kitchen to find the mom? Like, when the dad was entertaining the mayor guy? Everything was all quiet and still and even before the Mom turns around, you can just tell something’s gone really, really wrong. Dreadful! Gave me chills!”

“Yeah, that part was really good,” Alicia said. “Elena? What’d you think?”

“It’s a lot to process,” Elena admitted. “I liked the mom. Like, right in that kitchen scene you’re talking about—her acting was really incredible. She was just so clearly terrified and she kept trying to force up that smile, because that’s all she knew how to do—”

“Oh, yeah!” Tabitha chimed in. “She went from the most cardboard character to just having so much depth. I was really surprised.”

“So, you liked it?” Mrs. Macintire beamed.

“Yes! And no,” Tabitha pursed her lips. “Pleasantville really excelled in what it was trying to do—just, it also felt like a lot of the time they were so focused on putting it all into a certain theme or allegory that they did so at the expense of… you know, the logic, the internal consistency of the story. All of the allegory was well done, but you can’t say they weren’t real heavy-handed in how thick they heaped it all on. At the expense of some of the narrative!”

“Oh?” Alicia’s eyebrows rose.

“Like—and this is just one example,” Tabitha twisted in her seat so she could better see the two friends behind her. “That bit where the husband gets home, closes the door, and the lights are off? Thunder rumbles menacingly. Horror movie vibes; there’s no dinner. He’s at this complete and total loss. He wanders through the house, calling out ‘where’s my dinner,’ louder and louder, right?”

“Yeah?” Alicia asked.

“Well, the whole point of that scene was that he came home and the house was empty, and they tried to just clobber you over the head with that idea,” Tabitha held up a finger. “But, think about it. The house wasn’t empty. The sister—Mary Sue—was upstairs that whole time. We even get a shot mixed in of her during that other part, standing at the window, reacting to the rainfall from that same storm.

“She should have, no, would have come down at hearing him yell, and would’ve at least tried to be in character enough to calm the guy down and talk him through things. Or thrown together a quick dinner for him out of whatever they had there. We get emotional scenes with Bud and the Mom, but then there’s this great opportunity for them to do something similar with Mary Sue and the dad, and then they just—don’t. It’s baffling.”

“Huh,” Alicia said. “You’re right, she was there, wasn’t she?”

“Sorta,” Elena spoke up. “The sister kinda just drops out of the story partway through, and then shows back up towards the end in a oh yeah, I’m still here too sorta way.”

“Maybe they… yeah, they probably didn’t want you to even think about her too hard,” Tabitha shrugged. “She was kind of the villain, in my eyes. Her first hooking up with the basketball captain kid? Man, that was just not okay. He had the body of an eighteen-year-old, maybe, but right from the beginning they portrayed him as having this complete childlike innocence.

“He wasn’t real, wasn’t like a complete person, he didn’t have even concepts of sex or any of that, and that bit at Lover’s Lane where she’s first seducing him? It’s like—it was terrifying, it’s like for a bit there, there was this real fear in his eyes, there was this total alien stuff being pushed on him from levels of reality beyond his ability to process, let alone consent to, and—it was just not okay.”

“So, is that kinda how you think about…?” Alicia probed. “You know. Dating stuff? From what we talked about on the phone the other day?”

“Ughh, ew, ew, uggghh,” Tabitha made a disgusted face and pantomimed gagging. “Don’t even go there. Ugghhhh. God, I hope not. I just—what the hell?! Not cool, ‘Licia!”

“What?” Elena looked from Tabitha to Alicia. “Dating stuff?”

“It’s nothing,” Tabitha blew an errant tangle of red hair out of her face with an angry puff and then combed fingers through her hair in aggravation. “I’ll tell you later. Or never. Probably never. I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Well,” Sandra cleared her throat and tactfully changed the subject, “I didn’t like the dad guy. The husband. They tried real hard to make you feel sympathetic to him towards the end, but it’s like—no way, nope. After the whole where’s my dinner bit, and then him trying to lay down the law for his wife and tell her how things were gonna be? Nope, lost all my sympathy there, and never got it back.”

“I’m not sure that’s completely fair,” Tabitha argued after a moment of consideration. “You have to remember—he wasn’t a complete person. Like a lot of them, he was just these surface level parts of a person, suddenly thrust into the trials and tribulations of trying to be a whole person. When he was going ‘where’s my dinner,’ it wasn’t out of anger or entitlement, or not completely, he was just at this total loss. Like a fish out of water.

“He literally had no concept of dinner, outside it being something his wife made every single night, for the entirety of his existence. He didn’t have a past, or a childhood, or young adult life where he might have learned to cook or any other experiences to draw from. It wasn’t just him not knowing how to cook, it was him not understanding those full concepts, because they weren’t written as part of his character from the original Pleasantville show. Even if he accidentally opened the refrigerator, or the pantry when looking for food and saw the uncooked stuff or the ingredients or whatever? He might not recognize that stuff for what it was. Not without having the wife or Bud or Mary Sue explain it to him.”

“Hmm,” Mrs. Macintire mused with a skeptical shrug. “Maybe you’re right? I didn’t see it like that. Still don’t like him though, hah. Maybe it’s just the actor they chose?”

“I can see what you’re saying with them all starting out as characters and not real people, exactly,” Elena said. “But also, the movie didn’t treat that very consistently. Like, the whole town made the leap in logic from ‘we have no idea what fire even is’ to ‘let’s have a nazi Germany-style book-burning.’ Within the span of a day or two.”

“Ooh, yeah, that was another one of those,” Tabitha nodded. “Where logic goes out the window, because they want to pile on allegory for stuff that looks cool on screen. It did all look great, though.”

“What? No way,” Alicia said. “I thought that made sense. As the days went on in town, books and knowledge and stuff started to like, fill in to match. It showed that. So, I thought every time something new to them was introduced, it like, soaked in and then became part of their reality.”

“Hmm,” Tabitha copied Sanda’s doubtful tone. “I dunno about that.”

“No, it has to be like that,” Alicia insisted. “Right towards the end, even, the sign to another town appeared and a 1960s style bus just like, materialized, out of nothing but… introduced concepts? Heck, the sister chick who stayed behind was going to some college that appeared in that reality out of nowhere, apparently.”

“I guess you’ve got a point,” Tabitha conceded. “Fine.”

“1950s bus,” Mrs. Macintire corrected. “I was born in the late sixties, and obviously I’m still young. So, the sixties can’t have been that long ago. Right?”

“Golly, yes!”

“Of course, Ma’am!”

“Oh uh—obviously. Yeah. Gee whiz?”

“Very funny, guys,” Mrs. Macintire rolled her eyes. “Should’ve had you all ride with Karen instead, then you’d be gettin’ the real history lessons. And she’d have you listening to the Beatles the whole time—also a sixties thing. So. Count your blessings.”

“That song at the end of the movie was actually a Beatles cover,” Tabitha pointed out. “That was definitely Across the Universe.”

“Yep, that does it. On the ride back, I’m stickin’ you guys with Karen and them,” Mrs. Macintire joked. “I’m not much of a Beatles fan, if you couldn’t tell.”

“Sooo—” Tabitha quirked her lip into an awkward smile. “You grew up in the seventies, so you’re more… what, a Bee Gees kind of girl?”

“Pffft, Jesus Christ, kid,” Sandra snorted. “Not only no, but hell no. I’m a Led Zeppelin kinda girl, all the way. Someone roll down the window and toss Miss Tabitha’s bad taste outta here, we’ve gotta get to the party without bein’ so weighed down by all of it.”

“No no, Led Zeppelin is great, too!” Tabitha teased. “I, honestly, I enjoy all Oldies music. I’m not particular.”

“Oldies? Ow. Ow,” The driver pulled a hand back from the steering wheel to clutch at her heart in mock pain. “Right where it hurts! What the hell, I don’t like you when you’re around your friends. You’re mean, girl. What happened to the nice and polite Tabitha, who’s so sweet around Hannah?”

“It’s her birthday,” Alicia explained. “So, yeah. She gets to be as mean as she wants. Birthdays are like a get out of jail free card.”

“I’m actually really curious, Mrs. Macintire,” Elena spoke up. “If Pleasantville was like the fifties, and then the sixties were like hippies and Austin Powers—how did it get from there to there in only ten years? That seems so… drastic.”

“Look at this, now you’re all being mean to poor Sandy!” Sandra complained. “I told you, I was born in late sixties. All of that was before my time! Go ask some dinosaur like Karen, she’ll have all your answers.”

“Pleasantville wasn’t what the fifties were like, Pleasantville was a satirical take on what fifties sitcom television was like,” Tabitha gave them a wry smile. “Clean-cut, patriotic. Anything that didn’t sing the virtues of the nuclear family might as well have been commie propaganda. What we saw with Pleasantville was blatant stereotype, sprinkled with the most anachronistic-to-us 1950s set dressing they could find, for flair. The super retro kitchen appliances, the grandma hairdos, poking fun of the weird fashion stuff of the era like those pointy vintage bullet bras, all that.”

“It was still cool to see,” Alicia added. “Cool but creepy?”

“I think as movies go, Grease was probably a more accurate depiction of the fifties,” Tabitha concluded. “Something like the aesthetic you’d expect all the way from Elvis exploding into popularity, to how things look on The Brady Bunch.”

“Oh—so, more like Bye Bye Birdie?” Elena asked. “My mom—”

“Whaaat?!” Mrs. Macintire jumped back into the conversation. “No way, Grease was a straight-up seventies movie, they only put in this token effort at their fifties depiction. Happy Days is closer, but still has a bunch of seventies tells. Brady Bunch is flat out a seventies show, too—Tabby, your whole estimation there is like, twenty years off the mark.”

“No, I mean like—they’re not accurate, they’re just more accurate than Pleasantville?” Tabitha spread her hands in a helpless gesture. “Closer to the reality?”

“So, what era is That 70s Show supposed to be set in?” Alicia joked. “Kidding! It’s actually crazy to think about though, with how much everything changes from time to time. The way everything looks, the whole cultural side of that in general. I mean, the fifties was forty eight years ago. Can you even imagine how much different from now things will be in the future, like forty-eight years from now? Huh, Tabs, huh? What do you think?”

“I… honestly don’t like to think about it at all,” Tabitha sniffed, turning again to make a face at her friend. “But, if I did consider it—well, I can only promise that we’ll all live to see man-made horrors beyond our comprehension.”

“It’s gonna be okay, honey,” Sandra gave her a bitter smile. “No need to be that dramatic. I feel the same way every birthday, and look at me—I’m still young!”

“Hey, as of today I’m fourteen,” Tabitha held up her hands in defense. “As far as I know, this is exactly how dramatic a fourteen year old girl should be.”