The last time Goose had watched a Paul Newman movie, he and Cole had crammed about four packets of Swedish Fish into the pockets of their jeans and legged it from Heck’s keystore to the Circle Cinema without getting caught. He’d proudly relayed the story to Gordy and Ace later that night, half-expecting congratulations. Instead, Gordy had tugged him by the collar back to Heck’s and forced him to slam a five dollar bill onto the counter, red-faced and fuming.
That wasn’t what he remembered most about that day though.
They’d been showing a screening of The Hudsucker Proxy and Goose had kicked his feet up on the seat in front of him, laughing so hard he thought he was gonna puke his Swedish Fish back up. Cole had laughed too, but in that quiet, polite way of his - like he wasn’t sure why he was laughing, but he figured he better just ‘cause Goose was. Goose remembered rolling his eyes and explaining the jokes under his breath, not wanting Cole to just go along with something. He always did that and it drove Goose nuts.
At one point, Goose had ducked his head closer to Cole, scrutinising the other boy’s blonde hair and blue eyes.
“You kinda look like Paul Newman, y’know,” he’d said quietly. He remembered that Cole had snapped his head round to stare at him. Like he was in shock. Like Goose was some sorta liar just ribbing him for the sake of it.
“You love Paul Newman,” Cole had replied and Goose had felt prickly all over. He’d shoved at Cole’s shoulder, told him to watch the goddamn movie, and then their phones had lit up with a tornado warning and they’d been forced to head back, the movie cut short. What had they expected though? It was summer in Oklahoma, after all.
Come to think of it, that might have been the last time he’d been in a movie theater. And it was a lot different from this one.
This movie house had those proper recliner chairs and heated seats and their popcorn probably cost more than Goose earned in a night. And that was to say nothing for their ticket prices. Not that he’d, y’know, paid.
He’d found the back entrance for staff and slipped in after checking the showtimes on his phone, shouldering his way past a confused looking guy in a red polo-shirt. When the guy had asked what he thought he was doing, all Goose had been able to do was blink stupidly back at him, taking in the guy’s gormless expression and heavy eyelids and figuring he probably wasn’t much of a threat. He did momentarily wish he was as quick-thinking with words as Ace was. His brother would’ve been sure to think of a charming but believable fib right on the spot that would probably have the other guy paying him.
“Just seein’ a movie,” he’d replied. The other guy just blinked.
Smirking to himself, he ran up the stairwell and into the foyer of the cinema. It was easy enough to find the screen he wanted. Cool Hand Luke was spelled out in bright orange letters above the door and it wasn’t long before he’d found a seat for himself and began playing with the buttons on the fancy recliner, legs flying up and down as he tried out all the different settings, amazed by it all. New York was just another planet, huh?
“So fuckin’ cool,” he grinned to himself, already knowing he’d be yapping about this to Killian and Amira later. He wondered if they’d ever been to this cinema. Suddenly, the mental image of Killian with his legs up in a cinema chair, letting it warm his ass, was too much of a funny visual and Goose pressed his knuckles against his mouth. Just as a heavy hand came down on his shoulder.
“Son, you mind showing me your ticket?” a voice asked him and Goose’s head snapped up, the colour draining from his face.
With wide eyes, Goose saw the red polo-shirt guy from before standing behind who he figured was the manager. His dumb whiskery face was creased into a stupid smirk and Goose was just itching to let his fist sink right into the middle of that smug expression.
“Man, c’mon, it’s… I think I dropped it,” he claimed, pretending to pat down his pockets. He’d always been no good at lying. It was why he got in trouble with Gordy all the time; not ‘cause he got caught out so much, but ‘cause he always ended up just telling his big brother the truth about what he’d been up to. Ace got away with everything.
“Right. Think it’s about time you came with us,” the man said.
Goose’s stomach sank. If he got in trouble here it would be no time at all before they started searching his name on whatever system they had. And then they’d clock him as the kid who’d done a runner from Tulsa. His knuckles had healed from the fight where he’d left Cameron a bleeding mess in the park fountain, but he knew that the other boy’s parents wouldn’t be so quick to forget about that. Goose was in so much shit.
He had to get out of here. He had to run somehow. He was a damn idiot. A stupid moron who’d been too caught up in his Paul Newman movies to think about doing things properly and staying out of trouble. Gordy was right about him, he was a goddamn heel with his head in the clouds and now he was probably gonna get put in jail and-
Someone politely cleared their throat from the row behind and Goose looked up the same time the manager did, half-wondering: what now?