The glow of the silver screen highlighted Jodi’s features in the dark. For a beat and a half too long, I sat, turned around in my seat, staring awkwardly up at her. The soundtrack dropped into a minor key.

My head was burning; I felt sweat accumulating under my arms. My brain was so muddled I couldn’t even face the front again, let alone plan a desperate escape route.

Jodi broke eye contact nervously and tried to ignore me. I was slumped over the back of my seat like a drunken puppy, immovable and slobbery.

I decided to ease the tension.

“Hey, ah, mind if I come back there and, um, sit with you?”

Jodi leered at me with a scowl and whispered something to the person next to her. I pivoted my gaze to see who she was with: oh crap.

Mendez. Why did it have to be Mendez. Why was she holding hands with Mendez. Why was Mendez glaring at me with the fury of a thousand suns. Why did I ever come here, to see The Notebook of all movies. Crap.

I recoiled in shock and knocked my Coke into Tom’s lap. Double crap.