bucket of popcorn.

He sat directly behind me.

Before the previews ended, something pushed against the back of my seat.

Then again.

And again.

I turned around.

Ethan’s light-up sneakers were pressed against my chair.

His parents were both staring at their phones.

“Excuse me,” I said politely. “Could you ask him to keep his feet off my seat?”

His mother rolled her eyes.

His father sighed.

“Ethan. Feet down.”

The boy lowered his shoes.

For approximately three minutes.

Then the movie began.

So did the popcorn.

Every time Ethan laughed, he threw a handful toward his mouth.

A surprising amount missed.

Some landed on the floor.

Some landed on me.

The first few pieces hit my shoulder.

Then one became tangled in my hair.

Owen reached over and removed it.

“You have popcorn in your curls.”

“I noticed.”

He removed another.

Then another.

A minute later, a larger handful