I flip up my middle finger, but I’m grinning as I do it. “You taking off now or should I put on Episode 3?”
“Episode 3. Definitely.”
We get comfortable on the bed again, me on my back with my head on three pillows, Hannah on her stomach at the foot of the bed. The next episode is intense, and once it’s done, we’re both eager to watch the next one. Before I know it, we’re done with the first disc and moving on to the second. In between cliffhangers, we discuss what we’ve just seen and make predictions, and honestly? I haven’t had this much platonic fun with a girl in…well, ever.
“I think his brother-in-law is on to him,” Hannah muses.
“Are you kidding me? I bet they save that reveal for the end. I think Skylar’s gonna find out soon, though.”
“I hope she divorces him. Walter White is the devil. Seriously. I hate him.”
I chuckle. “He’s an anti-hero. You’re supposed to hate him.”
The next episode comes on, and we shut up immediately, because this is the kind of show that requires your full attention. The next thing I know, we’ve reached the season finale, which ends with a scene that leaves us wide-eyed.
“Holy shit,” I exclaim. “We’re done with the first season.”
Hannah bites her lip and steals a glance at the alarm clock. It’s nearly ten o’clock. We’ve just watched seven episodes without so much as a bathroom break.
I expect her to announce it’s time for her to go, but she sighs instead. “Do you have season two?”
I can’t control my laughter. “You want to keep watching?”
“After that finale? How can we not?”
She makes a good point.
“At least the premiere,” she says. “Don’t you want to see what happens?”
I totally do, and so I don’t object when she gets up to load the next disc. “You want a snack or something?” I offer.
“Sure.”
“I’ll go see what we have.”
I find two microwave popcorn pouches in the kitchen cupboard, nuke them both, and head back upstairs with two bowls of popcorn in my hands.
Hannah has stolen my spot, her dark hair fanned on my stack of pillows, legs stretched out in front of her. Her red and black polka dot socks make me grin. I’ve noticed she doesn’t wear designer clothing or preppy getups like most of the females at this school, or the trashy party clothes you see on Greek Row and at the campus bars on weekends. Hannah is all about skinny jeans and leggings and tight-fitting sweaters, which might look elegant if she didn’t always throw in a flash of bright color. Like the socks, or the mittens, or those quirky hair clips she wears.
“Is one of those for me?” She gestures to the bowls I’m holding.
“Yup.”
I hand one over, and she sits up and shoves her hand inside, then giggles. “I can’t eat popcorn without thinking about Napoleon.”
I blink. “The emperor?”
She laughs harder. “No, my dog. Well, my family’s dog. He’s in Indiana with my parents.”
“What kind of dog?”
“A huge mutt crossed with a gazillion breeds, but he mostly looks like a German shepherd.”
“Does Napoleon like popcorn?” I ask politely.
She grins. “He loves it. We got him when he was a puppy, and this one time—I was about ten—my parents took me to the movies, and he broke into the cupboards when we were out and managed to get into a box of microwave popcorn packets. There were like fifty of them in there. My mom is all about sales, so if there’s ever a great deal at the grocery store, she’ll buy up the entire shelf of whatever product is on sale. I guess that month it was Orville Redenbacher’s. I swear, that dog ate every single one of them, packaging included. He was pooping out whole kernels and bits of paper for days.”