After the movie, we walk through town in the dark, talking. It’s cool and fresh out; spring is here. I take some deep breaths. It feels like a treat, being here with Paige, to not be home, scrolling through my phone, making a video, listening to my mom ramble on, or worse, if she’s not there at all. I wonder about Lottie and feel a bit bad, but I deserve friends outside of her, too, and it’s not like she and Paige include me in everything.

“I mean,” I continue, “I can totally see what everyone is saying about the appropriation issue.”

“Uh-huh,” Paige says, agreeing vaguely.

“But—and I know this is not an excuse—but you can tell that he was trying to do it respectfully. More like an homage, you know?”

“I can’t believe they can make that stuff, like the puppets or whatever,” she says.

“Right? So amazing! Fantastic Mr. Fox took years but was so worth it.”

Paige looks at me and smiles kindly. “You really know a lot about this shit.”

I try to look modest, but it’s not my strong suit. “Well, my mom and I used to watch a lot of movies together. Mostly old movies, like from when she was young. She used to love movies. She got me hooked.”

“Oh no—” Paige covers her mouth and raises her eyebrows. “Did she die?”

“What?” I laugh. “No, no. Tiffany is very much alive. We just don’t really hang out together anymore. She’s—” I look up, searching for the words. “I dunno. Dating, I guess. Busy. She’s just kind of not around anymore.”

“Oh. Yeah, I get it. Phew! I thought she was dead!”

I laugh with her, and then we are quiet for a while. We walk behind the main street, the backs of all the shops to us. I have the urge to do something goofy, change the subject. There’s a grocery cart outside the Giant Tiger that catches my eye.

“Hey!” I turn to Paige and then run, grabbing it. “Get in!”

She laughs, “Really?”

I wheel it over. “Get. In.”

And she does, and I start pushing her around the parking lot, and it’s fun. She is laughing and screaming like I’m going to tip her over any second, and I half want to. I do a couple of loops, then stop, gasping. The parking lot is so lonely and quiet, but in a nice way.

And then I remember that I have my Polaroid camera down in the bottom of my bag. I root around for it, finally pulling it out triumphantly.