“Why don’t I pick you up now?” her mom said. “Then you can get back in line when there are more girls here.”

“I’m fine,” Elena said.

“You don’t even know these men. They could be sexual predators.”

“This doesn’t seem like a very good place to prey,” Elena whispered, glancing over at Gabe, who was still absorbed in his book. He was pale with curly, milk-chocolate-colored hair and rosy cheeks. He looked like Clark Kent’s skinny cousin.

“You know you have to be extra careful,” her mom said. “You look so young.”

“We’ve been through this,” Elena said.

They’d been through it a lot:

“You look twelve,” her mom would say.

And Elena couldn’t really argue. She was short and small. She could shop in the kids’ section. And the fact that she was Vietnamese seemed to scramble non-Asians’ perceptions of her. She was always being mistaken for a kid.

But what was she supposed to do about that? Act like a kid until she looked like an adult? Start smoking and spend too much time in the sun?

“Just because I look twelve doesn’t mean you can treat me like I’m twelve,” Elena would say. “I’m going to college next year.”

“You told me there’d be other girls here,” her mom said.

“There will be.”

“Good. I’ll bring you back after they get here.”

“I’ve gotta go,” Elena said. “I’m trying to conserve my phone battery.”

“Elena—”

“I’ve got to go!” Elena hung up.

The first theater employees started showing up around two. One, who looked like the manager—a Latino guy in his thirties, wearing maroon pants and a matching tie—stopped in front of the line and crossed his arms. “So we’ve got a new addition, huh?”

Elena smiled.

He didn’t smile back. “You know you can buy your ticket online, right?”

“I already bought my ticket,” Elena said.

“Then you’re guaranteed a seat. You don’t have to wait in line.” “Um,” Elena said. “That’s okay.”

“You can’t talk her out of this,” Troy said. “She’s a true believer.”

“I’m not trying to talk anybody out of anything,” the manager said, looking harried. “I’m just explaining that this is an unnecessary gesture.”

“All the best ones are,” Troy said. “Now open the doors. My bladder is about to explode.”

The manager sighed. “I don’t have to let you use the restroom, you know.”

“Give it up, Mark,” Troy said. “They tried that during Phantom Menace, and it didn’t work then either.”

“I should make you hoof it to Starbucks,” the manager said, walking toward the front doors and unlocking them.

Troy stood up and made a big show of stretching. “We take turns,” he said to Elena, “in line order.”

She nodded.