We entered the cinema holding hands, and stood staring at the marquee, trying to decide what we would watch.
"Hmmmm . . . how about The Mists of London?" Max suggested.
I snorted. "You can't be serious."
"What makes you think I'm not?"
"I know you're only suggesting that chick-flick piece of junk because you think I'll like it."
Max looked surprised, then gave an exaggerated shrug. "You caught me. I kinda wanted to see Whipped."
Whipped. What was that about again? Oh, right, the typical comedy about a guy whose girlfriend bosses him around and his buddies who try to get him out of the relationship. I really didn't want to see it. But Max did, and I really did want him to like me. Wait, did I? I didn't know what I wanted. I almost relented, allowing him to drag me to the stupid movie, when I saw a title that interested me.
"I dunno Max, that movie seemed kind of juvenile."
He pouted. "But that's what makes it seem so funny."
"I don't know about you, but I wanna see Blood Lust 7."
"Are you serious?" he asked, his eyes widening.
"Yeah. I love horror movies. I've seen every single Blood Lust."
"I don't believe it." he scoffed. "Prove it."
"How?" I asked.
"Ummmm . . . in Blood Lust 3, how does Brian Brown kill . . . uh . . . what's his name, you know, the squeaky voiced kid who looked like Corey Feldman."
"The character's name was Billy, and he was tragically thrown up into a high-powered industrial fan, splattering blood all over the factory."
If Max's eyes got any wider, they would pop out of his head. I smiled. Max must have been used to getting shocked looks from me; now I could enjoy the feeling. "Wow . . . you're my kind of woman!" he said. I blushed. "I never would have figured you for a slice and dice fan."
"So I'm assuming that's a yes on Blood Lust 7?" I asked with a wicked grin.
"Oh, yeah." Max agreed. We got in line to get our tickets. I felt Max stroke my hand with one calloused thumb. I looked up at him and gave him a shy smile. Finally, I admitted it to myself: despite the piercings, the hair, the clothes, the makeup, deep down inside, I liked Max.
I looked over to the snack bar and recognized some people standing in line from school. They were staring at us; one girl whispered to another and pointed at Max, and giggled. Ashamed and embarrassed, I let go of his hand and stepped away from him. I didn't know which hurt more: the tittering girls or the hurt look on Max's face.
After we got our tickets, Max asked if I could get us some seats while he bought some snacks. I agreed, heading into the dark movie theater, glad that I wouldn't have to face the people from school. I tried to forget that it was Max who would have to wait in line behind them, listening to their giggling and whispering.