Fade Out Read Online Free Page A

eyes: being born, first word, first step, that time with Taylor and the Play-Doh, that time on the jungle gym when I almost broke my arm, learning to snowboard up on Hunter Mountain, learning—fine, failing —to play bass guitar, first kiss (practice), first kiss (clumsy but real), that time I held Maya’sankles when she did sit-ups, that time she held mine, that time I tripped over my shoelaces outside the school library the first week of seventh grade and fell flat on my face and everyone laughed and I wish I could forget it but I can’t, that time my best friend moved away, that time I found out someone was lying and that someone was my dad.
    You’ve got a little time to dwell, in a movie. Right now, not so much. Here I am walking into Theater 1, and yeah, it’s dark, but I’m definitely not getting any flashbacks.
    What I see is that the film’s rolling, which means Jackson’s up in the projection booth, as usual. The theater’s practically empty. I take a few steps down the aisle. When I look back up at the booth I can see Jackson’s shadow through the tiny window, just his head, the film reel spinning slowly beside him. From that window, a bright tunnel of light shoots out at the screen. It’s near impossible to look at, like staring straight up at the sun.
    I take an aisle seat. The movie’s nearing its end—we just found out that Ingrid Bergman is being poisoned by her evil husband and his more evil mother. Cary Grant is there to save her. All this time he wouldn’t admit he loved her, but now, just before it’s too late, when she’s weak and can’t stay awake and could die practically any second, he says he does.
    “I was a fatheaded guy full of pain,” he tells her. Then he takes her away. It’s never too late, I guess is what the movie’s saying, to say you’re sorry you had a fat head.
    When the gray title card appears, announcing THE END , I stay put. There are only two other people watching the movie. They sit halfway across the theater from each other—but before the house lights even come on they get up and head for the exit.
    While the credits roll, I think about Mom. And Dad. I think about how this is the worst summer, like, ever , and I think about the three mosquito bites I’ve got—no, wait, four—and I think about Maya, and Jackson, and then Austin, which has me thinking about aliens, but that just makes me think about Mom and Dad all over again.
    I’m still thinking when the credits end and the lights go on, which is only making things worse, so I stalk up the left-hand aisle to the projection booth and knock on the door on that side. If Jackson lets me hide in there, he can talk about cars all he wants—maybe by the time he’s done Dad will have left town without me.
    Jackson opens the door a crack. I see one eye—but he won’t open the door any farther. He’s got sandy-colored hair that’s always falling in his face, and he wears these suit jackets withT-shirts, like he’s going somewhere important at the last minute but forgot the whole rest of his suit at home.
    “It’s not my fault,” Jackson says. “The reel got jammed.”
    “What reel?” I say, confused. “It’s me, Dani.”
    He opens the door a little wider. “Oh hey, D, didn’t know it was you.”
    Jackson’s the only one who ever calls me D—I kind of don’t mind it. He’s the only person alive who could get away with giving me a nickname.
    He glances around to make sure the theater’s empty. “The reel didn’t get stuck,” he admits, pushing hair out of his eyes. “I just got distracted and forgot to change it in time. So they had a little intermission, no big. My aunt didn’t see, did she?”
    “I have no idea…. Distracted by what?” The way he’s keeping the door open only a minuscule crack of a crack makes it so I can’t see for myself.
    “Nothin’,” he says. “So what’s up? You want something?”
    “Why do you say that?”
    “You knocked.”
    Oh, right—guess I did.
    I