The Big Picture (40 page)

After three more girls and one senior citizen who went out with a walker, Frances calls my name. I instantly want to puke.

I step into the spotlight and pray I don’t fall on my face. My best friend reads some facts about me. I’m thankful she leaves out things like
Katie likes to follow mad old ladies up decrepit water towers. She also can frequently be seen on the back of a tandem bicycle named Ginger Rogers. And in her free time she enjoys getting grounded and feeding her soy burgers to the family dog. Can I get five dollars? No? How about a dollar? Great! Thank you boy with the calculator collection . . .

A voice in the back starts the bid at twenty bucks. Not bad.

Then I hear thirty. But even the lady on the walker got thirty.

My eyebrows rise at fifty.

But when the bidding continues all the way to one hundred and twenty-five, I lose my plastic smile and paste on a real one.
Whoever you are, thank you for saving me from total humiliation.

“One hundred and fifty.” I scrunch my eyes, desperate to see who the voice belongs to.

And then I gasp. And my heart thrills.

Out of the shadows walks a boy I knew in Middleton. The boy who showed me a meteor shower when it was the last thing I wanted to see. Who let me be Noah while he dressed like a girl. And fixed me dinner when I was without electricity. And a mom.

“Going once . . . twice . . . gone! Our winner is number ninety-four.” And I smile at Tate Matthews, the guy who just won himself a pork chop dinner and saved my dignity.

WHEN THE DATE AUCTION IS OVER, I run out into the lobby and find Tate patiently waiting.

He’s such a sight for sore eyes, I want to throw my arms around him, but I resist.

He does not. He clasps me to him, and I inhale his familiar cologne. “I’ve missed you, Parker.”

I smile and step back. “I missed you too.” He opens the door, and we walk out into the night air and toward the theatre grounds, where music has been playing all night. We join the crowd listening to a brass quartet as they finish up their set. “I didn’t think you’d be able to make it.”

“I’m staying with a good friend. Do you know him? He’s providing some of the music tonight.”

I follow the direction of Tate’s pointing finger and see Brian Diamatti holding up his bag pipes. He waves enthusiastically.

“Is that a kilt he’s wearing?”

“Yep.” Tate grins. “And that’s the girl he bid on.”

Hannah walks toward Brian and hands him a water. Her eyes are just as starry as her new skirted friend’s.

Tate leads me to a large oak tree, and we stand beneath it, under the glow of paper lanterns. “I heard about your mom. Are you okay?”

That is just the question of the night. I’ve heard it a hundred times. “Yeah, I’m totally okay.” He slants me a look. “Okay, not
totally
okay, but I’ll be fine.”

His hands move to my shoulders, and he guides me under a light. “Is that a bruise on your face?” His thumb brushes over it.

“It’s nothing.” I blush and shrug.

“I’m sorry that happened to you.” His voice is warmer than hot caramel topping on ice cream.

“It happens.” That was totally lame.

“But it shouldn’t happen to you.”

“Tate, thanks for coming tonight. It was an incredibly nice thing to do. I really appreciate the donation. It will help Buford Hollis a lot.”

“I didn’t do it for the drive-in.”

“You didn’t?”

“That night on the cliff — ”

Oh, you just
had
to bring that up, didn’t you?
“I’m really sorry. It was the stars and the moonlight, and I’m all confused. Or I was confused. But now I’m not because I told Charlie he should bid on Chelsea, and then he did because deep down he wanted to anyway, and I — ”

“Katie?” Tate’s hands frame my face. His gaze roams over the blue and purple spot on my cheek then back to my eyes.

“Yes?” I breathe.

“You started something that night on the cliff.” He pulls me to him. “And I’d like to finish it.” Then his lips lightly brush mine, and I surrender to his kiss as a bagpipe honks in the distance.

“Tate?” He raises his head and smiles down at me. “How are we going to make this work?”

He tweaks my nose. “If a guy likes a girl, distance doesn’t matter. I’m game if you are.” Tate releases me only to hold his arms out. “I think they’re playing our song.”

I glance toward the stage, where Brian Diamatti is getting down on his bagpipes, playing something that sounds like a John Mayer tune.

One hand goes to my waist and the other intertwines with my fingers. “Totally my favorite song.” And he hums along, with his chin resting on my head.

“What is it?”

“I have no idea.”

Chapter forty-three

THE END OF CHIHUAHUA DAYS is signaled by Brian Diamatti’s rousing rendition of “The Star-Spangled Banner.” Or maybe it was “Fergalicious.” Hard to tell.

The mayor takes the stage. “My fellow In Betweenites.”

I prefer In Betweenies.

“The time is now eleven p.m., and our celebration must come to an end for yet another year. It has been a grand time. One of fellowship and good memories.”

And a disgusting number of dog-shaped funnel cakes.

“As you know, citizens, tonight was the end of the deadline I so graciously extended for Buford T. Hollis and the Big Picture Drive-in. Miss Vega, if you would, please take the stage and announce the grand total of
our
fund-raising efforts.”

Frances climbs the stairs to the stage, a somber expression on her face. This is not good.

She grabs the microphone and it squeals in response. “Good evening.” She sighs and it resounds through the large speakers. “We needed to raise approximately twelve thousand, eight hundred and seventy-two dollars tonight. The town really came together. The Big
Picture is more than just an old drive-in. It’s a piece of our history. Some of you have grandparents and parents who saw movies in the Big Picture’s glory days.” Frances opens a piece of paper. “I am sad to say we didn’t raise enough money.”

The crowd groans.

“But I would like to present the money tonight to Buford Hollis, and if he chooses, he can add to it and hopefully keep the drive-in open.”

Buford, in old bib overalls and a wife beater T-shirt, lumbers onstage and joins his little champion. He smothers her in a bear hug and wipes away a tear with a meaty hand.

“Buford, tonight we present you with a token of this town’s love and support — seven thousand dollars.”

After a polite but disappointed round of applause, Buford presses his face a little too closely to the mic and speaks. “Y’all are my friends and my neighbors. And I’ve enjoyed the last fifteen years of running the Big Picture. But I’m sad to say it’s not enough. I will surrender the property tonight to the mayor and the money will be donated to the school.”

The audience mumbles and begins to move away from the stage. The night is over. The life of the drive-in — over.

“Wait!” Sam Dayberry shoves through to the front. “Wait.” The crowd stills and turns to the Valiant caretaker. “Could a person buy the Big Picture?”

The mayor barks. “No, it’s too late. It’s — ”

“Yes!” Buford nods his head, his Cowboys cap bobbing. “It’s been for sale for years. Never even had a looker.”

“We are minutes away from closing this deal.” The mayor jerks the microphone from Buford. “I have been more than patient. More than lenient. It’s time to embrace progress!”

“What would it take to buy that drive-in?” Sam calls out.

Buford throws out a number that makes my eyes bulge. The people of In Between prepare to walk away.

“Sold!”

The air stills. The cicadas even stop to listen.

“What?” the mayor croaks.

“Sold.” Sam joins them onstage. Using Buford’s back, he scribbles out a check and rips it out. “You’ll need to wait ’til tomorrow to cash that,” he whispers. Then Sam turns toward the shocked stares of the people of In Between. “What? I used to work for a little company called IBM.”

And the night air fills with shouts and cheers. Backs are slapped, babies are kissed, and good friends are hugged. My eyes tear up as I see the joy radiating from Frances’s face. Her dream came true. The Big Picture will be saved.

“I . . . um . . .” Sam adjusts the microphone to his height. “I will need a business partner for this though. I’m just the backer. I don’t know how to operate a drive-in.” He searches the crowd until he finds just the face he’s looking for. “Maxine Simmons . . . I’ve made a lot of mistakes.”

My foster parents push Maxine toward the front. Her mouth is frozen in an O.

“I don’t want to go into any more ventures without you,” Sam continues, taking his hat off his head. “I need your help for the Big Picture. It will need your woman’s touch. Your way with . . . popcorn. Well, no . . .” He shakes his head as if to clear it. “The truth is I don’t know anything about . . . er, ticket sales. Dagnabbit! I love you woman, and I want you to marry me.”

Sam descends the stage steps two at a time and walks toward my foster grandmother, who still stands in a stupor likes she’s been hit by lightning.

We all surround them, desperate to hear the rest. Tate takes me by the hand, and we inch in close.

“Maxine, the drive-in isn’t the only thing I won’t know how to do without you. I don’t know how to do life without you. I’ve been a mess. And though you drive me nuts, and you get into trouble — and
I mean big trouble — ”

“Amen!” someone shouts.

“Me and my chicken truck can testify!”

Brian Diamatti begins to softly play “I Will Always Love You” on his bagpipes as Sam bends to one knee. “Though you are trouble with a capital T, and the entire police force in In Between and the surrounding counties know you by name and Social Security number — ”

“Get on with it, baldie.” Maxine pops her gum, her expression bored. But her telltale hands shake.

“I want to know if you’d do me the honor of marrying me and running my snack bar for the rest of my life.”

Maxine throws herself at Sam, planting kisses on each of his scruffy cheeks. “I do! I will! I shall!” She hugs him close. “I think this moment calls for some poetry.”

A FEW HOURS LATER, I FIRE up my computer and sit my tired body down.

And I complete my long-expired extra credit assignment for Ms. Dillon. Six pages later I come to my finale.

I don’t know where I’ll be ten years from now. But I know I will be loved by the family God created for me. And maybe they are a little crazy. But they’re mine.

In a decade Millie will be cancer free and hopefully tofu free, as well. James will still be a rock star of the pulpit and a closet
American Idol
fan. And I hope by that time their daughter, Amy, has realized what amazing parents she has and has cleaned up her life. I look forward to Christmas dinners where every chair is filled.

Sam will no doubt be tired and worn from chasing after Maxine and keeping her out of trouble. Or jail.

And me? Millie says I’m going to college, and I think she just might be onto something. But James says Broadway might be calling my name. He might be right too.

My youth pastor once said that God has a plan for me, a plan bigger than anything I could ever come up with . . .

“Sweet pea, turn off that light. We have a wedding to plan tomorrow. Gonna get me one of those Vera Wanger dresses.” I smile at my foster grandma. She fluffs her pillow and grins back.

My eyes scan my computer screen, and I highlight the document — every word of my future.

And I hit Delete.

Because you know what? I don’t know what’s in store for me. But God’s done pretty good by me so far. I think I’ll just let
him
write the rest of my pages.

Chapter forty-four

MAXINE FASTENS THE LAST OF the thirty buttons on the back of my maid of honor dress. “You look smashing, toots.”

I glare at my foster grandmother in Bubba’s bathroom mirror. “I look like an overstuffed prom queen from 1986. You
promised
me there wouldn’t be a butt bow.”

Maxine cackles and swats me on the tush. “Don’t think of it as tacky. Think of it as a highlight on one of your finer features.”

“I still think it would look better in the trash can.”

The bathroom door swings open and Millie pops in. Her straw hat bobbles sideways, revealing a bald but healthy head. “Come on, ladies. It’s time.”

Maxine shivers like a wet dog. “Oh, glory! I’m so nervous. I am so pee-my-pants nervous.” She clutches me. “I don’t think I can do this. I’m too young to get married.”

“Mad Maxine, there’s no one else on this planet who could get me in a lima bean–colored poufy dress but you. Just you.” I place my hands on hers. “You are my grandmother, and I love you.” I watch a tear trickle down her cheek, and I lean in, touching my nose to hers. “But if you don’t march yourself down the aisle to where Sam is waiting for you
beneath one big movie screen, I will drag you out myself. By your overly processed, bleached-blonde roots.”

She inhales deeply. “Do you really think I can do this? This marriage stuff?”

“By the GOG, baby.” I smile and pat her too-smooth cheek. “The GOG.”

About the Author

JENNY B. JONES is the author of A K
ATIE
P
ARKER
P
RODUCTION
series, including the books
In Between
and
On the Loose
. Though now an adult, she still relates to the trauma and drama of teen life. Jenny is thrilled to see her writing dreams come true, as her previous claim to fame was singing the national anthem at a mule-jumping championship. The author and high school teacher resides in Arkansas.