“It’s not like we ever have a lot of good stuff here,” she was saying, “but I figured there’d at least be a frozen pizza or something.”
“So what you’re saying is,” Graham teased, “there’s no lobster?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Very funny.”
“It’s fine,” he said, moving beside her to examine the contents of the pantry. He pulled out a nearly empty box of crackers and a can of tuna. “We’ll have a smorgasbord. A little of this and a little of that.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, leaning against the sink. “We probably should’ve gone into town. I can’t believe I’m feeding you stale crackers.”
“Are you kidding?” he said, sweeping an arm around the room. “Not just anyone gets to eat at Chez O’Neill. I’ve heard this is one of the most exclusive establishments in Maine.”
“That’s true,” she said with a grin. “We only cater to A-list celebrities.”
They rummaged through the refrigerator, spilling everything out onto the counter and then standing side by side as they assembled the meal, a random assortment ranging from microwave popcorn to apple slices, two leftover pieces of pizza, and some frozen peas. What looked less than appetizing went right to Bagel, and the rest made it to the kitchen table, where they arranged the dishes in front of them as if it were a buffet.
“So,” Graham said as he pulled out a chair. “Did you ever figure out if you’re doing that poetry course?”
Ellie looked surprised at the question, and he smiled, because it was the same way he’d felt when she mentioned his drawings earlier, like she’d plucked the thought straight out of his head. She stood on tiptoe to grab a bowl from a high shelf, and when she turned around again, she nodded.
“I’m going in August,” she said, but there was a catch in her voice. “I’m pretty excited about it. They have this one professor there that—”
“So you figured out how to pay for it?” he asked, and Ellie went stiff. She turned her back to him again, dumping a partially empty bag of tortilla chips into the bowl. Already, Graham was regretting the question. When they’d talked about this over e-mail, it had been so easy for her to tell him these things, but something had shifted now, and the question no longer felt quite right in person.
“Not exactly,” she said lightly. “But I’ve got another month or so to figure it out.”
“How much more do you need?” he asked, and she looked embarrassed.
“Enough,” she told him, her face coloring. There was an awkward silence, and Graham realized his mistake. Part of him had wanted to rescue her, to swoop in with the money she needed, but he could see now that this would only make it worse. And by bringing up the issue of money so casually, he’d managed to remind her again of who he was: not the boy on the other end of the e-mails, but the movie star who was sitting in her kitchen. He could feel the easy rapport between them turning brittle, and he cleared his throat as she set down the bowl of chips, desperate to change the subject.
“This looks good,” he said, and he could see her shoulders relax. “I’ve never had fortune cookies with chips and salsa before.”
“Well,” she said with a slow-blooming grin, “we’re on the cutting edge of the Chinese-Mexican fusion movement here at Chez O’Neill.”
“I like it,” he said. “Three stars.”
“What?” she said, sitting down across the table from him. “Only three?”
“That’s the most you can get, I think.”
“That doesn’t seem like a lot,” she said. “I’d prefer ten.”
“How about two thumbs up?”
“Now you’re confusing this with the movies,” she said, licking some peanut butter off her finger. “Speaking of which, how’s it going?”
“The movie?”
She nodded.
“Okay,” he said.
“You don’t sound very excited about it.”
“No, I am,” he told her, reaching for an apple slice and popping it into his mouth. “It’s nice to be doing something different. And the director’s really… interesting.”
“Think you’ll work with him again?” she asked. “I mean, you must get your pick, right?”
“I guess,” he said. “But I haven’t figured out what I’m doing next.”
“Well, what do you want to do?”
“Something that matters.”
She tilted her head to one side, considering this. “You mean something that matters to you?”
He nodded. “Hopefully.”
“You’ll know it when it comes along,” she said. “But it must be kind of fun to be playing a new character. I saw the trailer for the first movie, and there was that part where—”
Graham sat forward. “Wait,” he said, laughing. “You only saw the trailer?”
Ellie reached for her water and took a sip, hiding behind a blue plastic mug that was emblazoned with a smiling whale.
“You never saw the movies?”
“Well, the third one isn’t even out yet,” she said, setting her mug back on the table and picking up a fortune cookie.
“Yeah, but the first two?”
She shrugged. “Quinn tried to drag me to the first one, but it’s not really my kind of movie.”
“I thought every teen girl in America was obsessed with them,” Graham said, amazed. It had been an embarrassingly long time since he’d met someone who hadn’t seen those films, or at least pretended they had.
“You’re thinking of you,” Ellie corrected. “Every teen girl in America is obsessed with you.”
He laughed. “So I take it you’re not a big Graham Larkin fan?”
“I am now,” she said, cracking open the fortune cookie. She drew out the little strip of white paper with a frown, then laughed. “It says: You will receive a fortune cookie.”
“No way,” Graham said, and she passed it over so that he could look for himself. “That’s the best fortune ever.”
Ellie took a bite of the cookie. “Well, it’s the most obvious, anyway.”
“Most fortunes don’t ever come true,” he said, shaking his head at the tiny scroll. “But this one already did. I mean, would you rather have a fortune that promised you a delicious cookie and came true instantly, or one that promised a million dollars and never came true at all?”