The Canary was livelier than usual when the four of us walked through the door, the familiar bells welcoming us with a vigorous, jingly ring. Julia immediately headed for the backroom to change, and Ms. Baggs served the rest of us lukewarm lemonade, grimacing when we asked for something colder.

"So spoiled," she muttered under her breath as she dumped several inches of ice cubes into our glasses, causing the precious liquid to spill a little. Her scarlet hair almost sparkled under the artificial lighting, the fairy string lights in their full glow despite it being three o'clock in the afternoon. She didn't seem to have much regard for her electricity bill, but then again, we had gotten used to her quirks and seemingly bottomless bank account by now.

"Bad day, Ms. Baggs?" Julia asked her as she returned to our table in her uniform, and the middle-aged lady immediately scoffed.

"Bad indeed. His uncle," she pointed at a dark-haired, scrawny boy in the corner who was quietly sipping on a chocolate milkshake and reading a comic book, "is late again, and I have a pedicure appointment in half an hour. If I don't leave now, I'll get stuck in a rush hour traffic jam. If I get stuck in a traffic jam, I'll be bereft of beautiful nails."

"We can keep an eye on him," Grace offered, and Ms. Baggs paused for a second.

"Well, if you insist."

A mere minute later, she was gone.

"Poor boy," Grace sighed, her fingers clasped around the bottom of her glass. "I didn't know Ms. Baggs was such a bad mother."

"I didn't know she was one at all," Amber frowned. "Who gave that woman a kid? And where is her money coming from? Because I sure as hell ain't paying for this."

She sipped on her lemonade, winced, then reached for sugar packets. Before she could pick one, though, Julia slapped her on the wrist.

"Hey! What was that for?" Silently, Julia produced one of those small sugar jars with a metal lid and a straw hole on the top, and Amber's face instantly brightened. "That's amazing. Thank you."

As she loaded her drink with little white crystals, both Grace and Julia got up from the table, prompting Amber and me to furrow our brows.

"We need to check the backroom—"

"—watch the kid," Julia said at the same time, then quickly corrected herself. "Take the kid to the backroom."

"Why?" I blinked.

"I have some comics for him. Cooler ones."

They both turned around and headed straight for the boy, luring him in with who knows what, but he obediently got up and trotted after them.

We were alone now. Amber stirred her newest concoction as I twiddled my thumbs.

"So," I cleared my throat.

"So."

"I missed you."

Relief crossed her face, softening her features. "I missed you more. Lizzie, you have no idea."

"I am so mad at myself," I shook my head. "I was so dumb, and selfish, and—"

"No, it was me," she quickly put an end to my list of bad qualities. "It was all me. I started this. I pulled you into this mess. And then I just, I don't know, walked away. I am such a coward."

"You're not a coward," I reached for her hand, steadying it on the top of her glass. "I messed up. I didn't stop when you warned me this was going to come back to bite me in the ass. And guess what? You were one hundred percent right."

Amber looked at my hand on top of hers, then laughed and took out the spoon, letting it dry on a small empty saucer. She took a sip of her lemonade again and nodded, finally satisfied with its sweetness.

"It turned out pretty well in the end, didn't it," she said almost absentmindedly, her gaze drawn to the glimmering lights. "Ms. Adams is going to get rid of that stupid dress code. And you can make one awesome project that will land you a place in NYFA."

I smiled. "I wish. But I seriously didn't do it just because of college."

"I know."

She wavered, almost like she wanted to say something else, but the tiny bells jingled, announcing the arrival of a new guest. My eyes widened when I recognized the man.

"George?"

He seemed equally surprised to see me, and he scratched the nape of his neck, as if he didn't know how to converse with me outside of the movie theater. "Liz. Hi. Have you seen my nephew? Lucas? About four feet tall, likes comics, milkshakes, trucks, and..." he paused. "Actually, if you've met him, he probably talked your ear off about snails. He loves snails."

My brain finally connected the dots. "Wait, you're related to Ms. Baggs?"

His brows furrowed. "Brenda? Yes, she's my sister."

"Huh. What a small world." My eyes glazed over for a second, but then I remembered his question. "Lucas is in the backroom."

He nodded in gratitude and grinned before he scurried away. I froze in shock, my brain unable the comprehend the fact that George had just smiled at me, and showed all of his teeth for that matter.

"Well, that's one theory down the drain," Amber muttered, and I looked at her again. "If George works at a movie theater, there's no way that Ms. Baggs secretly comes from old money."

I shrugged as I drank my lemonade, which happened to be sweet enough without my meddling. After I quenched my thirst, I stared at a fingerprint stain on the glass table, a visible remnant of a past patron.

"I've been meaning to ask you. You're the one who logged into my account, aren't you?"

"Of course it was me," she beamed. "Who else would have known your password?"

"I never told you my password," I frowned.

Amber rolled her eyes and leaned in her chair, a smirk playing on her lips. "Really? 'Oh, Rian Johnson is so talented! Look at the natural light effect in this scene!' Or, 'Why did Parasite win the Best Original Screenplay? Sure, it's great, but Knives Out was a masterpiece!'"

I sucked in a breath. "So, you guessed that my password was 'KnivesOut'."

"Yup. It was either that or 'IHeartRianJohnson'."

"It's really time to change my log-in details everywhere."

"And I'll figure them out again if necessary," she chuckled. "But don't worry. I'd never hacked you before, and I don't plan to do it again."

"Good to know."

We sat in silence for a while, both of us cradling our respective glassware. I cleared my throat then, raising my head to meet her eyes.

"Maybe I don't have to change that one."

"What do you mean?" Amber knitted her brows as she leaned her elbows against the table.

"Exactly what I said. I'd like you to continue using that account."

She blinked. "You're kidding."

"I'm not. You have so much to say, Amber. You've always joked about being an investigative journalist, but honestly? I don't think it's a joke. And I'd think you'd make a fine one. Hell, you logged into my account in the blink of an eye."

"True," her shoulders rose up and down.

"I think it's a good idea. You could use the account to investigate the situation at other schools. Approach it from a different angle. It might give you an advantage, help you get your name out there," I tapped on the glass with my nail, making it clink.

"But... what are you going to use for your project then?"

"I already have tons of material for a five-minute video. I don't even need the student interviews. I can just focus on what happened here, use the footage that Aiden had taken to create something good." My heart clenched at the mention of Aiden. Amber noticed, but I hurried to continue. "You could do so much more. You could make collaborative videos, let students from other schools tell you what they've gone through. You could tell your story."

I watched as she grabbed a small sugar package, but instead of adding it to her saccharine drink, she turned it in her hands over and over again, almost like a fidget spinner.

"I would make a badass reporter," she admitted. "Definitely a superior one to that horrible movie-theater thief."

"Exactly. And you're better at calling people out on their bullshit than I am. You did it to me, after all," I laughed, and an expression of regret crossed her face.

"I'm sorry. Seriously. I didn't mean it like that."

"But you were right. I wasn't thinking about others. I was thinking about myself."

"Yeah, but so was I. I was scared of what Jeffrey's punishment would mean for me. Let's be real, it's not like my first thought was, 'Oh, no, Aiden won't be able to play football anymore', or 'What will Mel do without the cheerleading team?'"

"We all get a little bit selfish sometimes. But you and I both recognized it, didn't we?"

"True," she admitted, letting the package fall onto the glass table with the softest thud. A few seconds passed before she spoke again. "Alright. I'll do it."

"Really?" my smile transformed into a grin. "That's fantastic, Amber."

"I mean, you're right. The world is always going to be a challenge for me. Because I'm a woman, because I'm black, because I don't have a college fund," she grasped the glass with both of her hands, staring at the clear liquid before she looked up again, this time with determination. "But you know what? Those things might define me, but they also gave me a thicker skin. It means that, once they knock me down, I'll just get up and try again. And again. However many times I have to. Nobody can take that away from me. From us."

I nodded, tilting my head to the left to avoid a blinding ray of sunlight that, as Amber moved her head, shone straight into my eyes. George waved at me as he left the coffee shop with Lucas and, still squinting, I raised my hand back in a warm goodbye.

I had known for a long time that it wasn't going to be easy. And a dress code seemed like such a small thing to fight for in comparison to everything that women were going through every day. The society had already shaped us, squeezed us into tight molds, frowning when we dared to peek an inch out. My own experience wasn't unique, and it didn't hinder me from pursuing my dreams – but I still had to remove extra hurdles every portion of the road that I traveled, treading the surface until it turned smooth.

Still, I was okay with that. Because I knew that I, like so many others, was cleaving a path for girls like my sister. Girls who haven't yet been body-shamed or told they couldn't achieve whatever they set their minds to. Girls who still had a chance to live in a different world someday. And every time another stumbling block popped up, I took a deep breath, straightened my shoulders, and marched on with a purpose.

I am confident. I am strong. I have a voice.

And no one can silence me anymore.

⁂

I knocked on Aiden's door that night, first tentatively, then with a little bit more bravado. Remembering last Saturday, I crossed my fingers and hoped that his father wasn't home. Thankfully, it was his mother that greeted me this time, dressed up in a ruby slip dress and satin red heels, her hair styled in an elaborate updo. A teardrop earring lay in her hand, the other one already attached to her right ear.

"Good evening," her brows rose a bit as she scanned me from head to toe, almost as if she didn't recognize me at first.

"Good evening, Ms. West," I gave her an impressed smile. "Going on a date?"

"Oh, Liz!" her lips parted slightly, and she finished putting her right earring before answering me. "Not at all, not at all. But my main character is, and I find it easier to write if I attempt to get in her shoes. Quite literally."

"Sorry for interrupting you then," I shuffled my feet.

"Not at all. I was just making myself a sandwich. Come on in."

She stepped aside to beckon me inside, but the soles of my shoes stayed glued to their brown turf doormat.

"Actually, is Aiden here? I wanted to take him somewhere, if that's okay."

Aiden's mom nodded wittingly. "Give me a second. I'll summon him."

As she disappeared behind the closed door, I leaned against the wall and braced myself for the upcoming conversation. Not knowing how Aiden would react was excruciating. Sure, he had helped me out in Jeffrey's office today, but he never showed up to our Film Production class. I even tried asking Mr. Lynch about him since he supervised the detention, but all the professor could sputter out were profuse apologies for what occured in our kitchen. The incident had already been stored and locked away in my mind, so I went to my la-la land to keep it that way and left without ever getting the information I came for.

As the waiting dragged on, I threw my head back in despair, accidentally setting off the mermaid doorbell.

"People usually ring it with their fingers," Aiden's voice greeted me, so I quickly straightened my back and faced him.

"Haven't you heard? I'm not like other girls."

He bit his cheek to stifle a laugh. "Nice to see you, Liz. Can't say I know to what I owe this pleasure, though."

"I'm sorry, Aiden," I blurted out, having practiced my final apology far too many times already. "I should have told you the minute I asked you to work on the video. I just didn't want you to despise me since you got detention because of me and everything. And so many people were already annoyed with me, and I really, really didn't want you to be next."

He crossed his arms, his biceps unintentionally flexing from the tension. I blushed and unglued my eyes from his limbs, determined to focus on his face instead. It didn't work – his eyes simply fed the flying bastards in my stomach. Then I looked down, but even his knees looked pretty, not weirdly knobby at all, but round and sleek and toned. Was there any part of this guy that I wasn't attracted to?

"Anything else?" he asked, his eyebrows raised in an amused expression.

"Yes. Thank you for today. I should have gone after you or something, but I thought we could talk after Film, only then you didn't show up at all."

"Yeah, I didn't," he said, not offering an explanation.

"Yes. So. I'm sorry I didn't do it when I had the chance."

"Regret is the child of every miscommunication," Aiden stated in a clear voice, and my head shot up in surprise.

"That's pretty. Who said that?"

"My mom. The line's from one of her audiobooks, and it kind of stuck with me."

I nodded. "Yes, exactly. I regret a lot of things. I wish I hadn't been so defensive around you. I didn't trust you as I should have. I thought you were—"

"Playing the field," he finished the sentence for me, but I shook my head.

"No. Never. But I thought you were just being you. That you asked to be paired up with me for our Film Production class because you knew I'd actually pull my weight. That every kind thing you've ever said, every nice thing you ever did for me, it was all just a part of the regular Aiden charm package."

"Liz," he sighed in exasperation. "I thought I made it clear how I felt about you on Saturday."

"I know. But I didn't tell you then. And I didn't tell you on Sunday or Monday. And then yesterday," my voice hiccupped, "it was too late."

"Too late for what?" he slowly stepped toward me and, tentatively, raised his hand to brush his fingers against my cheek. "I was hurt because you didn't tell me before. That didn't mean that I never wanted to talk to you again, or whatever scenario your creative mind came up with."

The heavy stone in my throat finally slid down. "It didn't?"

"Liz," he whispered, "you're dramatic as hell. Of course not."

"Oh." I couldn't think of anything better to say.

"I just wish you texted me. Or sent me a voice message. Or pigeon mail at least," he shook his head. "I kept checking my phone like an idiot yesterday."

"I'm sorry," I muttered, my voice on the brink of shaking.

Aiden raised my chin up with his finger. "Stop saying you're sorry. I'm just trying to tell you that I care." He hesitated for a second. "And that I would like you to be my—"

"Regret is the child of every miscommunication," A singsong voice spoke from above, and we both looked up. Instead of Cupid, Aiden's mom was sitting in a first-store window, a mug of what I assumed was coffee sending smoke signals into the oblivion.

"Mom, what the hell?" Aiden yelled, jumping a full foot away from me as I prayed for the ground to swallow me whole. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Oh, the whole time, basically," she beamed. "You two are fantastic. The chemistry, the tension..." she exhaled a wistful breath, glancing away as if she was pondering her next words. "Maybe I should switch to Teen Romance. I've grown a bit tired of the steamy genre, I have to admit. Perhaps—"

"Okay, Mom, we're leaving now," Aiden interrupted her and took my hand, pulling me toward my car which I had parked right in front of his house. As we slid inside and slammed our respective doors – not enough to damage the vehicle but enough to send a message – Aiden settled into the passenger seat and leaned the nape of his neck against the headrest. "I'm so sorry about that."

"It's fine," I shrugged. "Moms can be embarrassing. I caught mine sleeping with Mr. Lynch."

"Wait, what?" his head snapped in my direction.

"Yup. Well, I saw him in his boxers, I didn't see them actually doing it, thank God. She claims it's only a fling."

Aiden blinked. "I think I'd bleach my eyes."

"I was tempted, trust me. But at least my GPA should shoot up. He already gave me an A+ today," I casually said, putting on my seatbelt until I heard that satisfying click. I waited until Aiden did the same, turned on the headlights, and reversed out of his driveway.

"I guess every cloud has a silver lining. Wait, where are we going? And why was your car in front of my house if we live only a few houses away from each other?"

"I wanted to take you somewhere," I confessed. "But I guess I accidentally kidnapped you."

He looked up at the panda-shaped air freshener that dangled from my rearview mirror. "You know what? I think I'm okay with that."

I grinned at him as I changed the radio station, annoyed at some weird funk metal song. An 80's rock ballad came on instead, and I left it on, the slow, sentimental music now a perfect background for a casual conversation.

"So," Aiden cleared his throat, "you didn't answer one of my questions. Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise. But it's not far. Five minutes away or so."

"Interesting. As long as it's not an escape room, I'm okay with that."

I frowned. "It's not. But what's wrong with escape rooms?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Aiden shuddered. "But let's just say I no longer look at needles the same way."

I let it go for the moment, determined to revisit the subject in the future. We listened as the song slowly morphed into another, this one talking about two old lovers meeting again and secretly wishing the other one would approach them first. I noticed Aiden humming the tune and looking through the window, and a corner of my mouth turned up in amusement.

We soon approached our destination. After I drove through the gate and paid for our tickets at the entrance, I passed the other cars and soon found a fantastic empty spot, parked my Honda, and shut the engine off.

When I turned to Aiden, he was grinning from ear to ear. "You took me to the drive-in theater."

"Yup," I returned the smile and leaned toward him, opening the compartment in front of the seat. "And look. I smuggled in snacks."

He fake-gasped at the selection of soft drinks, still-warm bagged microwave popcorn, and Reese's peanut butter cups. "I'm dating a criminal."

"True. I'm the whole package. Breaking and entering, stealing cows and suspension forms, cheating my fellow concessionists out of money for the overpriced food and drinks..."

He paused. "When you put it like that, I am worried a little bit."

I summoned the courage and kissed his cheek, lingering close enough to whisper in his ear. "Don't worry. I'll lead a clean life for you from now on."

"That's good to hear," his voice was husky as he tilted his head slightly to the left, meeting my lips with his own. Pleasant goosebumps spread over my skin as he gave me a gentle kiss, a soft promise of more to come.

But the promise had been broken when he suddenly flew backward, his seat giving in under him.

"Um," he sharply inhaled with his lip curled up, "what just happened?"

"The seats fold back," I chuckled. I pressed the button, and my own soon tilted at forty-five degrees, now lined up with the passenger seat. "See?"

"That does seem useful," he smirked, staring up at the car headliner. I snuggled up closer to him, inch by inch, until he noticed and wrapped his arm around my shoulders. I covertly inhaled his familiar scent, feeling content and a bit light-headed.

"So, what movie are we watching?" he murmured as he rested his chin on the top of my head.

"The Perks of Being a Wallflower," I told him in a soft tone, watching as the giant screen flickered to life. Our fingers interlocked, two hands clicking back into place.

"Good. I think it just became my favorite movie."