Double Feature

Dad agreed to the truck without questioning it.

This meant Noelle got to sit in the front while Chandler and I took the back, which was totally fine. That’s just how it worked out. It didn’t really matter.

The drive-in was about twenty minutes from town, past where the streetlights stopped and the sky opened up like it does when you’re far away from everything. Emory drove himself along with Maekynzie and Tinsley in his mom’s Subaru and somehow got there before us, claiming it was due to his superior navigation skills, while Maekynzie said it was because he ran two yellow lights.

The parking lot was already half-full when we arrived, with cars and trucks parked close to the low speaker poles, and people setting up lawn chairs and blankets in the truck beds and on hoods. The air was filled with the smell of popcorn, freshly cut grass, gasoline, and that unique outdoor-night scent that didn’t really have a name but signified that summer was still hanging on. Two kids in front of us were bickering over which spot had the best view of the screen. An older couple had set up a full folding table next to their SUV, complete with plates and everything, which I thought was pretty dedicated.

Stetson parked in a spot in the middle row. It was a good angle, not too close, but close enough to the speaker poles to catch sound from the next car if the clip didn’t work. He had been to this drive-in enough times to know all this without even thinking.

Chandler laid out the blankets in the truck bed before anyone else had even stepped onto the asphalt. He did it casually, just shook them out and layered them, then sat against the wheel well like that was his usual spot, which it was. I climbed up and sat next to him, pulling the blanket over my legs, not making a big deal about the fact that my leg was already hurting.

Emory had the camp chairs out of the Subaru before Maekynzie even finished reading the concession stand menu out loud, which she was doing in a voice like she was announcing a royal feast.

“Loaded nachos,” she remarked. “Funnel cake. Corn dogs, which I won’t be ordering, but I respect the boldness.”

“You should get the funnel cake,” Emory suggested.

“I’m definitely getting the funnel cake.”

Tinsley had already staked her claim against the side of the truck bed, her blanket neatly arranged, radiating the vibe of someone who had come prepared with strong opinions and was ready to share them.

“The issue with modern horror,” she declared to no one in particular, “is the color grading. Everything is teal and orange, and it dulls the fear factor.”

“What does that even mean?” Emory asked.

“It means you stop feeling scared because everything looks so similar.”

“I’m still going to be scared,” Emory insisted. “No matter the color grading.”

“You’re just going to cover your eyes.”

“I will be scared first and then cover my eyes, in that order, which is the right way to do it.”

Maekynzie was already making her way to the concession stand, quietly listing items to herself. Chandler got up from the wheel well without a word and followed her.

I watched Emory struggle with a camp chair that clearly had no intention of cooperating, which was entertaining in itself.

They returned together. Maekynzie had gathered a pile of food that indicated she had taken the term snacks quite liberally, with funnel cake, nachos, two sodas, and something wrapped in foil that she chose not to explain. Chandler held out a white paper bag with the concession stand logo toward me without any fanfare.

“I didn’t order a burger.”

“Extra pickles,” he replied. “And waffle fries.”

My usual order at every drive-in we’d ever visited. I accepted the bag.

“Thanks.”

“Mm.” He leaned back against the wheel well. The first movie was beginning, the sound crackling from the speaker attached to the side of the truck, and Stetson’s arm reached through the open cab window to adjust the volume without anyone asking.

I reclined and pulled the blanket up a bit more. The night was warm enough to be outside but cool enough to need it, and the screen was showing its opening credits with orchestral horror music that was more amusing than frightening from this distance. The burger was tasty. I hadn’t thought I’d be hungry, but I was, which felt like a small win, my body choosing to cooperate for twenty minutes.

Emory: “This is going to be awful.”

Maekynzie: “This is going to be amazing.”

Both, as it turned out.

The first movie was undeniably bad in a way that was really fun. The monster’s motives were confusing. Several characters made choices that went against basic survival instincts. At one point, the main character ran upstairs instead of out the front door, and Emory got up from his camp chair.

“Sir,” he said to the screen.

Maekynzie: “He can’t hear you.”

“I know he can’t hear me. I’m just sharing my feelings.”

He provided live commentary for the rest of the movie with the dedication of someone doing color analysis for a sports game, and Maekynzie laughed at things thirty seconds before the rest of us caught on, which meant she’d either seen it before or just processed horror comedy faster than everyone else. Through the open cab window, I could hear Noelle and Stetson speaking in hushed tones, the specific rhythm of two people who had stopped pretending they were just chatting.

Tinsley, to her credit, was right about the color grading.

I had the burger. Extra pickles, waffle fries, just perfect, and I consumed most of it without considering the appointment or the X-ray or the word malignancy that felt like a stone I had grown accustomed to carrying in my chest. My leg hurt. I adjusted my position once, merely shifting my weight, nothing too dramatic. Chandler was focused on the screen.

He noticed. I could tell because his jaw moved, that little thing he did when he was processing something and choosing not to say anything. He kept quiet. I stayed silent too. The movie continued playing.

That was the thing about Chandler. He never made my issues his own unless I offered them up, and even then he treated them like secrets entrusted to him, not like something he had taken. I had known him my entire life, and I still sometimes found myself observing how he managed that, the effortless way he carried other people’s burdens without making them feel like a load.

I finished the last waffle fry and didn’t think about the seventh floor.

I thought: this. This is it. Everything right now, the awful movie and Emory’s comments and Tinsley’s opinions on cinematography and Noelle’s voice fading through the cab window. This is exactly what I refuse to lose.

I didn’t complete that thought, because doing so would mean acknowledging what I was really up against, and I wasn’t ready for that tonight.

The first movie ended with a collective groan that was at least half for show. Emory found the monster’s choice in the third act to be personally offensive. Maekynzie finished the funnel cake while standing, with powdered sugar on her jacket that she either didn’t see or didn’t mind. Tinsley gave a quick yet detailed critique of the lighting in the last scene that nobody asked for, but everyone listened anyway. Noelle climbed out of the cab and hoisted herself into the truck bed, with Stetson right behind her, both of them settling in comfortably like people who had been pretending to be just friends for so long that the act was starting to wear thin.

Noelle plopped down next to me. “How’s the leg?”

“Fine.”

She looked at me like she was skeptical about something but had chosen not to press it for now. “Okay.” She swiped a waffle fry. “The second one’s supposed to be better.”

“Tinsley believes the cinematography will save the franchise.”

“I said it has potential,” Tinsley replied, without looking back. “That’s different.”

The second film began darker and quieter, focusing more on atmosphere than on spectacle. Tinsley made a pleased sound in the first five minutes and didn’t say anything else for the rest of it, which was a review in itself.

At some point in the second act, I shifted so my shoulder was against Chandler’s arm. He felt warm through his hoodie. I adjusted my position again, my leg doing its own thing, and he didn’t say a word or ask anything. He just moved his arm a bit to give me more space to settle in.

I’m not sure when I dozed off.

I remember watching the screen and then suddenly not watching anything, and when I came back to it, the credits were rolling, Emory was saying something, Maekynzie was laughing, and the night had grown darker and colder, but Chandler hadn’t moved.

His shoulder felt firm beneath my cheek. His arm wrapped around me in a way that was both relaxed and cautious, like you would hold something fragile. I paused for a moment in that drowsy state before everything flooded back to me.

The leg. The appointment. The word lodged in my chest.

All of it right where I had left it. Patient. Waiting.

I lingered for just one more second. Just one. Then I sat up.

Chandler passed me my cold drink without glancing my way, and I accepted it, the chill of the cup in my hand fully waking me up. Around us, the parking lot began to come alive, engines revving, headlights flickering on. The screen had gone dark.

“Good nap?” Stetson called from the back window.

“I wasn’t asleep.”

“You were definitely asleep.”

“The film had a vibe.”

“You snored,” Noelle chimed in helpfully.

“I don’t snore.”

Chandler remained silent, which somehow felt louder than anything else.

I turned to him. He was focused on the screen, trying hard to keep a straight face but not quite managing it. The corner of his mouth was twitching.

“Don’t,” I warned.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

“I really wasn’t.” He met my gaze then, and I saw that look in his eyes, a mix of amusement and something more serious beneath. “Get some sleep tonight, Sloane.”

He said it casually, as if it didn’t matter. But it felt different this time, because it wasn’t just about tonight. We both understood that. Neither of us would admit it.

The screen faded to black. The parking lot buzzed to life, engines and headlights and the soft hum of a hundred evenings coming to a close.

I stared at the blank screen for one last moment before I climbed out of the truck bed. My leg protested. I kept my expression neutral.

Three more seconds of this. Then the drive home. Then tomorrow.

I could manage three more seconds.