Just Like the Movies by Kelly Fiore

faces.
    Marijke arches an eyebrow at them. “I’m going to finish studying at Lily’s house.”
    â€œNot too late, okay?” her dad says, glancing at the clock.
    â€œOkay.”
    â€œGood night, sweetie,” her mom says, her voice almost sugary and oddly fake.
    As I back down the driveway, I feel obligated to say something, so I go with, “Your parents seem really nice.”
    Marijke snorts.
    â€œI love them, really. But sometimes they are just . . . too much.”
    I’m not really sure what that means, but I don’t ask questions. Who am I to judge someone’s parents when my mom is probably nominating herself to be the next Bachelorette as we speak?
    Instead, I let Marijke direct me toward where Tommy lives, a few miles outside of town. The farther we drive, the bigger the houses get. When we finally pull into Tommy’s neighborhood, I’m gawking at the McMansions and whistling through my teeth.
    â€œWow. I don’t think I knew there were houses like this outside of the
Real Housewives
.”
    Marijke laughs. “Tommy’s family is loaded. His dad’s a surgeon and his mom’s some kind of ad executive. They make tons of money, but they’re never home.”
    â€œWow. I had no idea he was rich.”
    She shrugs. “He tries to hide it—vintage car, used guitars, that kind of thing. I don’t think he really wants people to know the truth.”
    â€œSo will Tommy be the only one there tonight?”
    She shakes her head. “I think Tommy’s sister is home from college for a couple weeks. And his parents
could
be home, but I’m hoping he hears this before anyone else.”
    I hope that too. Otherwise, this could get pretty freaking embarrassing for everyone involved.
    We move farther into the neighborhood, where the houses back up to a thick line of trees.
    â€œOkay, go ahead and park,” Marijke says, directing me over the grass. “His house is down at the bottom of the cul-de-sac. We can walk from here.”
    I carry the spotlight, which is sort of like a glorified flashlight but bigger. Marijke grabs the speaker dock with my iPod already hooked up. Quickly, we shuffle down the road in the dark. The houses are far enough away from the street that there’s little light revealing us to anyone who might be watching. It’s one of those kinds of neighborhoods without street lamps or sidewalks.
    I gotta admit, Tommy’s house is pretty amazing. Nothing like the thirty-year-old ranchers and split-levels in my neighborhood. It’s blue, I think, although it’s dark so it could just be blue in the dim light. There are numerous windows and a fancy front door. Above it, a stained-glass panel catches the porch lamplight and shoots a golden-rosy glow out into the world. There are a few cars parked in the driveway. Tommy’s is closest to the garage, with a little two-door BMW parked behind it.
    â€œGood, he’s here,” Marijke breathes. “And that’s his sister’s car. So hopefully his folks are out.”
    I just nod as we move around the side of the house. For a split second, I consider the intelligence of this idea—these are the kind of houses with alarm systems and securitycameras. I wonder if someone is catching us on tape right now and simultaneously calling 911. I try to shake the thought from my head.
    We won’t be here long enough to get arrested
, I tell myself.
    Then I force myself to believe it.
    Marijke has me stand in the very back of the yard, where the trees get thick and the underbrush clings to my jeans and twists around my ankles. She stands about fifty feet in front of me, roughly in the middle of the lawn. As she reaches to push play on the iPod, I stop her.
    â€œWait—what am I supposed to do? I mean, if he comes out and you guys are all, like, romantic or whatever.”
    She shrugs. “You can stay or you can go. He can take me home if you