Never Really Over (Bremmy 3)

Chapterish 60

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Meg swings her car into Back Bay's side lot at 4:30 on the dot. I see Brooks's old truck parked out front. Oh, the mems. I suppose if I do happen to see him today, well at least I'm having an incredibly cute fall fashion day.

The front door bangs open. For a second, my hearts jumps at the prospect of seeing Brooks step outside, of him seeing me in Meg's car and waltzing over to chat me up. Holy fuck, I am 14 years old. It's only Trix, coming down the steps holding up Travis's truck keys. She tosses them to Meg.

I grab the brown bag from Meg's backseat and carry it over to the truck. Trix comes back out of the door carrying about six blankets and three large pillows.

"For the bed," Trix says to me, handing off some blankets.

"Gotcha." I take them.

We load up the truck bed with the concessions, blankets, and pillows. I let Meg take shotgun and slide into the backseat. The truck smells like Travis.

"Okay! Let's go," Trix says, rolling down the windows.

"Wonder what's playing tonight," Meg says, thumbing the radio.

"How does Travis live with FM radio?" I laugh.

The ride is only about 10 minutes down the road. Fall air whips me in the face through the open windows and I enjoy every minute of it. Trix turns off the main road and gravel crunches beneath the tires as she pulls into the parking lot.

A warm incandescent orange glow illuminates the walkway to the bathrooms. My eyes find the large neon-lit DRIVE-IN sign, still original from the 50s.

We fluff up all the blankets, arranging them into a makeshift bed in the back of Travis's truck. Trix lines the pillows all along the back windows. Meg gets a bucket for the popcorn and I open the Twizzlers.

"Sight for sore eyes," I say, stepping back to admire the set-up.

"Obsessy," Trix says.

"Hey, guess what the 5:00 showing is," Meg says, holding up a pamphlet thing.

"Hint," I request, ripping into a piece of candy with my teeth.

"Eighties, baby," Meg smirks.

"YAS!" Trix laughs. "The eighties love us."

"Um, Top Gun?" I ask.

"ET? Pretty in Pink?" Trix asks.

"Closer." Meg tosses the pamphlet onto the truck bed. "Breakfast Club."

"Of course," I laugh.

We are all set and cozied up under the blankets when the movie starts 10 minutes later. There's something about drive-in theaters that almost makes the intangible tangible. Like, this whole mood is a feeling that I can't place, or explain, but sitting in this truck bed with my besties beneath changing leaves is the closest I'll get to holding it.

We watch the first half an hour or so, laughing at the old outfits and lowkey obsessing over Judd Nelson's bad boy era. Of course, we bring up the '80s party at the cabin last year. They bring up Cece again and we spend some time ragging on her latest Instagram post.

"Basically just a thirst trap," Meg says.

"Well yea, duh. Can you blame her? She gets dumped by a nobody. I'm sure her ego is bruised," Trix adds.

"Nothing a few thousand likes won't fix," Meg laughs.

I laugh too, but only halfheartedly. I wonder if Brooks sees it that way -if the guys are all at Back Bay right now looking at Cece's latest photoshoot -if Brooks still follows her. I wonder if he regrets calling it off.