The Fall by James Preller Page B

treat,” she said.
    â€œNo, no, no,” I protested.
    â€œYes, yes, yes! I’ve got gobs of birthday money,” she said. “Let me.”
    I looked at her, uncertain.
    â€œReally,” she insisted.
    I ordered a turkey sub with bacon, because: bacon! Morgan wandered the aisles and returned clutching packages of gummy worms, chocolate, soda, chips, all kinds of junk.
    â€œBreakfast of champions,” I noted.
    â€œI know what I’m doing,” she said.
    I picked out an Almond Joy bar from the candy display.
    â€œCoconut is evil.” She frowned.
    â€œRight,” I said, putting the candy bar back on the shelf. “What was I thinking?”
    She stuffed everything into a huge cloth bag and slung the bulging sack around her neck.
    â€œThis will actually work?”
    â€œThey never check inside a girl’s bag,” she replied. “Trust me.”
    And I did trust her. We were good to go.
    The theater was practically empty. Morgan was right about that too. We huddled in the last row, far-left corner. A few stragglers filtered in, lonely types with uncombed hair and massive buckets of popcorn, nobody I recognized. After the previews, we brought out the feast. Sound the trumpets! We ate like the Knights of the Round Table. Morgan whispered all through the movie, comically commenting on everything that happened onscreen: “Don’t go in there! Is she a moron? This actress sucks nugs. I would never leave that huge knife out on the counter—not a good idea, Sugarlips,” and on and on.
    (“Sucks nugs” was a new one on me. “It’s short for nuggets,” Morgan kindly explained.)
    We weren’t rude. Morgan kept her voice quiet, like the way you might talk in a crowded elevator or library, and I had to lean in to hear. I felt loose strands of her hair tickle my face, smelled the warmth of her mint-flavored breath.
    (We had just plowed through a box of Junior Mints.)
    It was fun, I was happy, and she was happy too.
    Then I said, “This is like our secret world, you know.”
    â€œYeah,” she answered.
    â€œNobody even knows we’re friends,” I said. “It’s like we’re in a bubble. Here’s to our impossible friendship. No one ever has to know.”
    She didn’t have anything to say. Morgan got like that sometimes. She’d go dark for stretches, like that space on the dial between radio signals. A few moments later, I heard the clink-clink of glass in her bag. She pulled out two little bottles of rum, like the ones they have on airplanes. I was pretty surprised.
    â€œPass me your soda,” she said.
    â€œWhat are you doing?”
    Morgan emptied the bottles into my cardboard cup of Coke, stirred it with her pinky. She took a long sip, took another. “Here,” she offered the cup to me.
    I took a sip. It tasted gross. I faked it, real smooth. “Cool.” I half-gagged and gave back the cup.
    She recapped the empty bottles and returned them to the bag. “I’ve got a system,” Morgan said. “I use these bad boys to steal booze from my parents.”
    â€œDon’t they miss it?” I asked.
    She shook her head. “I used to replace the booze with water, but,” she shrugged, “my parents are basically clueless. Besides, my dad’s not around much anymore. He’s checked out. Cheers!” She took a long sip.
    Later she emptied two more tiny bottles into a new cup of soda. I didn’t drink any. It kind of freaked me out, to be honest. I never expected it from her.
    â€œBaby,” she teased. Her voice got louder as the movie wore on. She laughed more often. Her breath lost its minty freshness. Something sour took its place.
    You know that feeling when you leave a dark theater and step into the sunlight? It only happens after matinees. There was a line of people outside buying tickets. I blinked away purple dots, blinded by the daylight. After my eyes