Nick stares at my lips a little too long, and for a moment I think he’s going to kiss me. But he doesn’t, and after a short and slightly awkward ride in the truck, here we are, about to walk the red carpet at—I can’t believe this is real—the premiere of a movie about us.

I knew this premiere wouldn’t be like the movie premieres I saw on TV or in magazines. I mean, it’s in a small, one-screen theater in Columbus, not Hollywood, and most of the people attending are our friends and family, not celebrities. Yes, Drew’s here, but the actors from the movie didn’t even come; the Columbus premiere is more a favor the film studio’s doing for Annie, on account of how she wrote the movie and all.

And yet there is a red carpet, albeit the most pathetic one the world has ever seen, shoved onto the sidewalk outside the theater. There is exactly one photographer, but I don’t know if she’s from local media or some website or if the theater hired her.

I stop to check my phone, but there are no messages from Milo. He promised to be on duty if Dad’s facility calls, and it feels strange to abdicate responsibility for even a moment, like I’m forgetting my purse when I walk out the door. I try to remember what everyone has been telling me—it’s okay to take the tiniest bit of time for myself.

Even if the last time I tried that it ended in us rushing back from Indianapolis.

I tuck my phone into my purse, pushing it out of my mind.

“We can turn around and go home,” I say as the one photographer takes a series of photos of Dungeon Master Rick (this is the moment that I realize the photographer is definitely hired by the theater or movie studio to make us feel important; there’s no way any media outlet would care this much about Dungeon Master Rick and the various poses he’s doing with his fedora).

“We’re not going home,” Nick says, grabbing my hand. “How about this? You want to leave, you squeeze my hand twice, and that’s it. We’ll get up and leave.”

I look at him and swallow, then nod. “Yeah. Okay.”

We walk past the lone photographer and I give him a quick wave as Nick refuses to stop. “Nope,” he says, pulling me along. “I’m not doing that.”

The lobby is crammed with everyone I know; for Annie, this must be like a pre-wedding, a celebration not of her and Drew but of the piece of entertainment that she made. Even though things are tense between us now (or however you would describe it after we yelled insults at each other while surrounded by fake penises), I’m exploding with pride for her. I may not fully support the content of her movie, but she did this. She made the thing she’s been talking about forever—not everyone can say they achieved their biggest dream.