Summer Days and Summer Nights by Stephanie Perkins

peeled off my jacket and draped it around her shoulders, as I did practically every shift.
    â€œThanks.” Dani threaded her arms through the sleeves and gave my jacket a surreptitious sniff. I hoped it didn’t smell bad, but she smiled, so I figured it was okay. She picked up a Cthulhu plush figurine from the elaborate horror diorama she’d been adding to over the months. In his current incarnation, Cthulhu wore a Strawberry Shortcake dress. “Is it weird that I’m gonna miss this place so much?”
    â€œNo. It’s not weird at all.” I couldn’t help hoping that I was included in the things she’d miss. “Maybe we’ll have to get together on Friday nights and dress up in our uniforms and throw Coke on the floor just to relive the experience.” I tried to make it sound like a joke, in case she wasn’t interested.
    â€œI’ll spray some Scorched Popcorn air freshener so we can have that feeling of being nauseated but strangely hungry at the same time.”
    â€œFor sure,” I added, my hope making me a little dizzy. “And then one of us can shout, ‘Please deposit all trash in the receptacles. Thank you. Good night.’”
    My imaginary movie cranked up again. This time, we drove a vintage Mustang through the desert like a couple of badass outlaws.
    â€œDo it, Kevin,” Dani says, sliding behind the wheel while I jump up through the sunroof, my sawed-off shotgun trained on the semi full of undead trying to force us off the road. “How do a pack of revenants know so much about driving?” It’s a legit question. Dani’s a smart girl.
    â€œI don’t know, baby. I’ll work it out in post,” I say, and toss a hand grenade behind us, where it explodes in a fireball of zombie-infused glory. “That’s for remaking Psycho with Vince Vaughn!” I shout.
    Dani was playing nervously with Cthulhu Shortcake’s dress. “Hey, um. I’ve never really said thank you.”
    â€œFor what?”
    She used Cthulhu to gesture toward her diorama. “You were the first person to ever take my art seriously.”
    I shrugged, embarrassed. “That’s because it’s awesome. You’re awesome. I mean, an awesome, awesome artist. Your art is … awesome.” Jesus.
    â€œStill, it meant a lot,” Dani said, thankfully ignoring my babble. “You’re the reason I applied to UT and got that art scholarship.”
    I was the reason she was leaving Deadwood. Great.
    â€œYou should let me draw you sometime.”
    My face went hot at the idea of posing for Dani, maybe on her bed. Shit. I did not want to get sprung now. “Um. Like in Titanic ?” I splayed my hand against the wall. “Jack! Ja-a-ack! ”
    Dani laughed. “Just for that, I’m never giving back your jacket. It’s mine now.” She pulled it tight around her. Her eyes shone with challenge. The inside of my chest was a cage match between heart and breath, and both were losing.
    â€œMoot point now,” I said. “Keep it.”
    Dani nodded, but her smile faded. “It’s sad that all this history can be gone just like that.” And I knew she didn’t mean the Cinegore.
    Six months before Dani had landed in my homeroom, her mom and her little brother had been flying to a family wedding in Mexico City. The weather had been shitty, thunderstorms up and down the Gulf. They’d just cleared Corpus Christi when lightning struck an engine. The plane had floated, powerless, and then plunged. The wreckage had been scattered for a mile along the pretty spring break beaches of South Padre. Up in the dunes, somebody found the wedding present Dani’s mom had been carrying. It had washed ashore, perfectly intact.
    I rifled through the dusty cardboard box for a pair of black-framed 3-D glasses. “So, um, apparently? These help you see things that are invisible otherwise,” I said,