"Look," Lane said, "I'm the one he messed with. I'd like to just forget about it, all right? It's over. It's finished. Now, why don't we talk about something else and enjoy ourselves?"

"I'm gonna kill him," Jim said.

"Shut up about it!" Lane snapped.

He did.

There was a long silence.

Finally Lane said, "I guess I'm lucky to have friends like you guys. I don't want anyone trying to nail Riley Benson because of me, but it's nice to know you care enough to be pissed at him."

"I'll piss on him," Jim said.

"Hey!"

"Okay, okay, I won't."

"Besides," Henry put in, "Benson would probably enjoy it. He'd be right in his element."

"Hen," Jim said, "I'm starting to like you."

"You're not so bad yourself."

"The jock and the nerd," Betty said. "What a pair."

"You got a nifty pair yourself there," Henry said, and Betty squealed as he did something to her.

Jim glanced back and grinned.

"Keep your eyes on the road," Lane warned.

Betty cried out, "Don't you... ! Ow!"

"Oh, that didn't hurt."

"Did, too."

"But this might."

"Don't you dare!" She shrieked, then giggled. "Are we having fun yet?"

"No! Yes! No, stop that!"

"Hope they don't act like this in the movies," Lane said. "They'll get us all kicked out."

"Oh, I'll be a model of decorum," Henry assured her.

Betty yelped. It was followed by a smack, and Henry said, "Ow! You didn't have to slug me."

"Want another one, four-eyes?"

Jim looked at Lane and shook his head.

It was Henry's idea that they sit in the last row of the movie theater. "That way," he explained, "you don't have to worry about who's behind you."

"The dink won't sit anywhere else," Betty said, following Lane into the row. As they sat down she added, "He's paranoid."

Leaning forward, Henry looked past Betty and said, "Did you read Curtains?"

"Dad's book? Yeah."

"Remember he had that lunatic sitting behind people in the movies and slashing their throats? Makes a person think, you know?"

"Makes me think you shouldn't read that kind of book," Lane told him.

"Better a wall at your back than a stranger. You just never know.

Until it's too late."

"Spare me," Betty muttered.

"I may be sparing us all. You'll thank me for it when nobody rips open your jugular."

The theater darkened and Previews of Coming Attractions started.

"Want some?" Betty whispered, lifting her tub of popcorn toward Lane.

"No thanks." Though it smelled good, the popcorn would make her thirsty and she had no drink. She and Jim had decided to wait for the intermission before getting snacks.

Jim stretched an arm across her shoulders. As he caressed her upper arm, she leaned closer to him. He tried to push his hand under her arm, but she pressed it tight against her side. "No funny stuff," she whispered, "or I'll trade places with Betty."

"Anything but that," he said. He brushed his lips against the side of her forehead, then turned his face toward the screen.

About ten minutes into the feature attraction, he stopped stroking Lane's arm. The film was Night Hunt, about a young woman being stalked through the woods by a heavily armed killer. Jim seemed engrossed by it. The heroine was beautiful and running around in torn clothes. Lane suspected that had something to do with grabbing his attention. But the suspense was terrific. Soon Jim took his arm away and sat up straight. As Lane shifted in her seat, she noticed that Betty had stopped eating, though her tub of popcorn was still half full. She glanced past Betty at Henry. The boy's eyes were fixed on the screen, the lenses of his glasses reflecting the light. Betty gasped, and Lane jerked her eyes back to the film.

It seemed to be over very fast. When the lights came up, Jim gave her a look as if he'd been blown away.

"Pretty decent," she said.

"Man."

Henry said, "Was that totally awesome, or what?"

"Must've been," Lane told him. "Betty couldn't even finish her popcorn."

"Small oversight," Betty said, and stuffed a handful into her mouth.

She said to Henry in a muffled voice, "I could go for a hot dog."

Henry and Jim headed for the lobby to pick up refreshments. They returned with loaded arms just as the lights dimmed. Lane took her Pepsi and nachos from Jim. He sat down beside her.

Leaning close to him, she whispered, "How are you and Henry getting along?"

"He's not so bad for a twerp."

She elbowed Jim gently in the ribs. The wrapper of a straw shot past her face and landed on Jim's far shoulder. She grinned at Henry.

"Sorry," he said. "Aim was off."

"He was trying for my eye," Betty explained.

As the movie began, Lane clamped her drink between her thighs and poked her straw through the X on its lid. She sipped her drink. She ate her nachos, leaning forward and keeping the cardboard dish under her chin, careful not to drip any of the melted cheese on her white sweater.

From the start it was obvious that this film, Dance of the Zombies, was a turkey. Henry started talking back to it. Once Jim was done with his nachos, he drew Lane closer to him. He caressed her arm and kissed the side of her face while she tried to eat the last of her chips.

"Pay attention to the movie," she whispered.

"It sucks," he said, and kissed the corner of her eye.

She stuck her last nacho chip into his mouth. "Suck on that," she told him.

As Jim chewed, she took the Pepsi from between her legs and drew the cold, watered-down soda into her mouth. She didn't expect his other hand. It had been resting on the far arm of his chair. But now it suddenly pressed tight against the crotch of her jeans. She flinched and shoved it away and choked on her Pepsi. The drink shot up her throat, sprayed from her mouth, burned inside her nasal passages and spilled out her nostrils. Hurling her cup to the floor, she hunched over and flung both hands under her face to catch the mess.

Jim pounded on her back as she coughed. "Jesus, gal," Betty said, and joined in the pounding.

"Is she all right?" Henry asked. "What happened?"

Finally Lane could breathe again. She wiped her tearing eyes. With a napkin from Betty, she dried her face. The legs of her jeans felt damp.

So did the front of her sweater.

"What happened?" Henry asked again.

"Went down the wrong pipe," she muttered. "I'm going to the John." Without a glance at Jim, she squeezed past the knees of Betty and Henry. She lunged into the aisle and shoved through the swinging door to the lobby.

In the rest room she used damp paper towels to clean the faint spatter of stains on her sweater.

Second time today, she thought. First Riley, now Jim. I'm spending half my life cleaning up after getting messed with by shitheads.

Why'd he do that?

My hands were full, that's why. Figured he'd get in a grab when I couldn't stop him. Rotten bastard.

Betty came in. "Are you okay?"

"No. And I'm not going back in there."

"What's the matter?"

"Jim. The bastard."

"What'd he do?"

"Never mind. I'm gonna call my dad and have him pick me up."

"Well, Jim's waiting right outside the door."

"Yeah?" Lane wadded the paper towels, tossed them into the trash bin, and shouldered open the rest room door. It missed Jim, but not by much. Henry was standing nearby, staring at the room as if embarrassed to be a part of all this.

"Are you okay?" Jim asked, frowning, all concerned.

"What do you think?"

"I'm sorry. Jesus, Lane. I didn't mean for you to choke."

"Yeah, Sure."

"I'm sorry."

She turned away from him and strode toward the pair of public phones beside the drinking fountain. Jim rushed after her. "Hey, what're you doing?"

"Calling home. Go on back in and enjoy the movie." "Hey, come on." "Get lost."

"I didn't do anything."

"Right." She dug into her handbag, searching for change.

"You don't have to call anyone," Jim said. "I'll drive you home, if that's what you want."

"I'm ready to leave," Betty said.

"Me, too. The movie stank, anyway," Henry said. "How about it?" Jim asked her.

"Okay," she muttered. "But you'd better just keep your fucking hands to yourself."

Jim grimaced.

Henry's head snapped toward him. Glaring, he snapped, "What did you do to her?"

"What's the trouble over here?" the manager asked, approaching.

"We're just leaving," Jim said.

They hurried for the exit doors. Henry, in the lead, kept glancing back at Jim with furious eyes. He held the door open for the group.