Just Like the Movies by Kelly Fiore

shakes her head. “No, nothing for me. If you can keep an eye out for Mac, though, that’d be great. I just want to make sure he gets in and does his homework before getting on that godforsaken DS.”
    â€œSure.”
    I’d expect nothing less. Mom needed time to mope alone with her broken heart. Still, the slow burn of bitterness crawls up my chest and into my throat like vomit. I hurry out of the room before I say something I’ll regret. Something like, “How about you get over yourself and act like a mom?” or “Maybe it’s a good thing Jim dumped you—now you can stay home and parent for once.”
    When I make it back downstairs, I slide into the computer chair and wiggle the mouse to wake up the monitor. Above me, I can hear Mom moving around. The creak of her mattress. Footsteps padding across the floor toward thebathroom. I sigh and pull up Google Chrome. I need to focus on
Say Anything
and Marijke’s scene tonight.
    I’d be lying if I said it hadn’t occurred to me that, by helping Marijke, I might really be trying to help my mom. I mean, not that what I’m
doing
will help her, but Marijke’s about as pressed on Tommy as my mom gets on her Man of the Week.
    I shake my head. Doing this—the movie thing—was my idea and I’m going to see it through. And after seeing Mom, broken and bed-bound by her heartache, I know I don’t want that for Marijke. I actually do want her to be happy.
    I guess she’s kind of becoming my friend. Which is totally weird.
    And, of course, there’s the Joe factor. Marijke’s detention tactic was pretty slick. Especially since I didn’t know about it—it made it all the more real, the more special, when he and I talked and studied and smiled. I will never, ever forget the way he reached out and touched my hair. I think it took me another minute or two to start breathing again.
    So I pull up iTunes and download “In Your Eyes,” then I transfer it over to my iPod. I fiddle with the speaker dock, plugging the cords into the iPod, then playing with the volume.
    Now it’s time for the most important test.
    I take the dock outside to the picnic table and turn the volume all the way up, wincing at the almost painful sound.Man, I really hope the neighbors aren’t home. I hurry back into the house and listen closely. From the living room, I can hear the lyrics loud and clear. As Peter Gabriel sings about wanting to run away and driving off in his car, I can decipher every word.
    Perfect. That means that this strategy is as foolproof as possible. As long as Tommy’s home, he’ll hear the music. Assuming, of course, that Marijke can manage to have the courage to pull this off. I’ll be the first one to admit it—doing something like this will take an awful lot of nerve.
    â€œLily!”
    Crap. I forgot about Mom.
    I move to the bottom of the stairs to see her standing at the top with one hand on her hip.
    â€œLily, what in the world are you doing? Why are you blasting music outside?”
    â€œUh . . . school project,” I call up to her before heading toward the back door. The last thing I’m going to do is tell my mom about our movie master plan. Next thing I know, she’d be showing up at Jim’s house with a boom box.

Before I go down to the track to practice, I swing into the band room. It only takes a few seconds to find Tommy—he’s in one of the soundproof booths, singing into a microphone and strumming on his acoustic guitar. He doesn’t see me, so I stand there for a minute, just watching him.
    God, he is just so beautiful. His skin is tan and yummy like some kind of caramel dessert. His eyes are icy blue, and yet they completely scorch me when I look at him.
    Speaking of those eyes, he glances up midcroon and sees me, then grins. I move to open the door as he pulls off the large headphones he’s wearing.
    â€œHey sexy,” he