came flying forward.
Popcorn bounced off my head and shoulders.
One piece disappeared down the back of my shirt.
I turned around.
“Please stop throwing popcorn. It keeps landing on me.”
“He’s not throwing anything,” the father said without looking away from his phone. “He’s eating.”
“He’s missing by several feet.”
The mother finally looked up.
“He’s a child.”
I turned around again.
This was our first night out in seven months.
I wasn’t going to spend it arguing with strangers.
I leaned against Owen and tried to focus on Spider-Man.
His arm went around me.
Then I noticed his thumb.
Rubbing against his finger.
After that, things got worse.
Ethan started kicking my chair repeatedly.
During loud scenes, I could almost ignore it.
During quiet scenes, each kick felt enormous.
Thunk.
Thunk.
Thunk.
People nearby started turning around.
Then something cold hit the back of my neck.
Soda.
I
