I was surprised when Ali called and invited me to the movies. We weren’t very good friends, though we orbited in the same social solar system. But Harkins had given her some free tickets to a prescreening of “The Island,” and she had to go with someone. It was mid-July, and our rich friends had ditched the white hot Arizona sun for islands with delicious names. Barbados. St. Bart’s. Turks and Caicos.
Anyway, I was convenient leftovers, and I wouldn’t say no to a free movie, especially if it contained Ewan McGregor kicking major clone booty astride a futuristic motorbike. It was the summer before high school, so my parents had to drive us. We picked her up at her place. I remember that we accidentally wore the exact same shade of green, and that she looked better in it than I did.
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