_better_than_the_movies_-_lynn_painter
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For my amazing mom, whos always been my
biggest fan, harshest critic, and the woman
single-handedly responsible for my distrust of
those asshats in the shoe industry. Thank you
for letting me read under the blankets when I
shouldve been sleeping.
And for my beloved dad, who saw the cover but
never got to read the book. He wouldve loved
the Stellas scene and remembered the ketchup.
RIP, Jerry Painter (5/17/395/18/20)
L. P.
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PROLOGUE
Im just a girl, standing in front of a
boy, asking him to love her.
Notting Hill
My mother taught me the golden rule of dating before I even hit the second
grade.
At the ripe age of seven, Id snuck into her room after having a nightmare. (A
house-size cricket might not sound scary, but when it speaks in a robot voice and
knows your middle name, it is terrifying.) Bridget Joness Diary was playing on
the boxy television on top of the dresser, and Id watched a good portion of the
movie before she even noticed me at the foot of her bed. At that point, it was too
late to rescue me from the so-not-rst-grade-friendly content, so she snuggled up
beside me, and we watched the happy ending together.
But my rst-grade brain just couldnt compute. Why would Bridget give up
the cuter onethe charming one—for the person who was the equivalent of
one ginormous yawn? How did that even make sense?
YepId missed the movies point completely and had fallen madly in love
with the playboy. And to this day, I can still hear my moms voice and smell the
vanilla of her perfume as she played with my hair and set me straight.
Charm and intrigue can only get you so far, Libby Loo. Those things always
disappear, which is why you never, ever choose the bad boy.
After that, we shared hundreds of similar moments, exploring life together
through romantic movies. It was our thing. Wed snack-up, kick back on the
pillows, and binge-watch from her collection of kiss-infused happy endings like
other people binge-watched trashy reality TV.
Which, in hindsight, is probably why Ive been waiting for the perfect
romance since I was old enough to spell the word love.
And when she died, my mother bequeathed to me her unwavering belief in
happily ever after. My inheritance was the knowledge that love is always in the
air, always a possibility, and always worth it.
Mr. Rightthe nice-guy, dependable versioncould be waiting around the
very next corner.
Which was why I was always at the ready.
It was only a matter of time before it nally happened for me.
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CHAPTER ONE
Nobody nds their soul mate when
theyre ten. I mean, wheres the fun in
that, right?
Sweet Home Alabama
The day began like any typical day.
Mr. Fitzpervert left a hair ball in my slipper, I burned my earlobe with the
straightener, and when I opened the door to leave for school, I caught my next-
door nemesis suspiciously sprawled across the hood of my car.
Hey!” I slid my sunglasses up my nose, pulled the front door shut behind
me, and hightailed it in his direction, careful not to scu my pretty new oral
ats as I basically ran at him. Get o of my car.
Wes jumped down and held up his hands in the universal Im innocent pose,
even though his smirk made him look anything but. Besides, Id known him
since kindergarten; the boy had never been innocent a day in his life.
Whats in your hand?
Nothing. He put the hand in question behind his back. Even though hed
gotten tall and mannish and a tiny bit hot since grade school, Wes was still the
same immature boy whod accidentally burned down my moms rosebush
with a recracker.
Youre so paranoid, he said.
I stopped in front of him and squinted up at his face. Wes had one of those
naughty-boy faces, the kind of face where his dark eyessurrounded by mile-
long thick lashes because life wasnt fairspoke volumes, even when his mouth
said nothing.
An eyebrow raise told me just how ridiculous he thought I was. From our
many less-than-pleasant encounters, I knew the narrowing of his eyes meant he
was sizing me up, and that we were about to throw down about the most recent
annoyance hed brought upon me. And when he was bright-eyed like he was
right now, his brown eyes practically freaking twinkling with mischief, I knew I
was screwed. Because mischievous Wes always won.
I poked him in the chest. What did you do to my car?
I didnt do anything to your car, per se.
Per se?
Whoa. Watch your lthy mouth, Buxbaum.
I rolled my eyes, which made his mouth slide into a wicked grin before he
said, This has been fun, and I love your granny shoes, by the way, but Ive gotta
run.
Wes
He turned and walked away from me like I hadnt been speaking. Just
walked toward his house in that relaxed, overcondent way of his. When he got
to the porch, he opened the screen door and yelled to me over his shoulder,
Have a good day, Liz!”
Well, that couldnt be good.
Because there was no way he legitimately wanted me to have a good day. I
glanced down at my car, apprehensive about even opening the door.
See, Wes Bennett and I were enemies in a no-holds-barred, full-on war over
the one available parking spot on our end of the street. He usually won, but only
because he was a dirty cheater. He thought it was funny to reserve the Spot for
himself by leaving things in the space that I wasnt strong enough to move. Iron
picnic table, truck motor, monster truck wheels. You get it.
(Even though his antics caught the attention of the neighborhood Facebook
pagemy dad was a group member—and the old gossips frothed with rage at
their keyboards over the blights on the neighborhood landscape, not a single
person had ever said anything to him or made him stop. How was that even
fair?)
But I was the one riding the victory wave for once, because yesterday Id had
the brilliant idea to call the city after hed decided to leave his car in the Spot for
three days in a row. Omaha had a twenty-four-hour ordinance, so good old
Wesley had earned himself a nice little parking ticket.
Not going to lie, I did a little happy dance in my kitchen when I saw the
deputy slide that ticket underneath Wess windshield wiper.
I checked all four tires before climbing into my car and buckling my seat belt.
I heard Wes laugh, and when I leaned down to glare at him out the passenger
window, his front door slammed shut.
Then I saw what hed found so funny.
The parking ticket was now on my car, stuck to the middle of the windshield
with clear packing tape that was impossible to see through. Layers and layers of
what appeared to be commercialgrade packing tape.
I got out of the car and tried to pry up a corner with my ngernail, but the
edges had all been solidly attened down.
What a tool.
When I nally made it to school after scraping my windshield with a razor blade
and doing hard-core deep breathing to reclaim my zen, I entered the building
with the Bridget Joness Diary soundtrack playing through my headphones. Id
watched the movie the night before—for the thousandth time in my life—but
this time the soundtrack had just spoken to me. Mark Darcy saying Oh, yes, they
fucking do while kissing Bridget was, of course, as swoony as hellre, but it
wouldnt have been so oh-my-God-worthy if not for Van Morrisons Someone
Like You playing in the background.
YeahI have a nerd-level fascination with movie soundtracks.
That song came on as I went past the commons and made my way through
the crowds of students clogging up the halls. My favorite thing about music
when you played it loud enough through good headphones (and I had the best)
was that it softened the edges of the world. Van Morrisons voice made
swimming upstream in the busy hallway seem like it was a scene from a movie, as
opposed to the royal pain that it actually was.
I headed toward the second-oor bathroom, where I met Jocelyn every
morning. My best friend was a perpetual oversleeper, so there was rarely a day
when she wasnt scrambling to put on her eyeliner before the bell rang.
Liz, I love that dress. Joss threw me a side-glance between cleaning up each
eye with a cotton swab as we walked into the bathroom. She pulled out a tube of
mascara and began swiping the wand over her lashes. The owers are so you.
Thanks!” I went over to the mirror and did a turn to make sure the vintage
A-line dress wasnt stuck in my underwear or something equally embarrassing.
Two cheerleaders surrounded by a pu of white cloud were vaping behind us,
and I gave them a closed-mouth smile.
Do you try to dress like the leads in your movies, or is it a coincidence? Joss
asked.
Dont say your movies like Im addicted to porn or something.
You know what I mean, Joss said as she separated her lashes with a safety
pin.
I knew exactly what she meant. I watched my moms beloved rom-coms
practically every night, using her DVD collection Id inherited when she died. I
felt closer to my mother when I watched them; it felt like a tiny piece of her was
there, watching beside me. Probably because wed watched them together So.
Many. Times.
But Jocelyn didnt know any of that. Wed grown up on the same street but
hadnt become actual good friends until sophomore year, so even though she
knew my mom had died when I was in fth grade, wed never really talked about
it. Shed always assumed I was obsessed with love because I was hopelessly
romantic. I never corrected her.
Hey, did you ask your dad about the senior picnic? Joss looked at me in the
mirror, and I knew she was going to be irritated. Honestly, I was surprised that
wasnt the rst thing she asked me when I walked in.
He wasnt home last night until after I went to bed. It was the truth, but I
couldve asked Helena, if Id really wanted to discuss it. Ill talk to him today.
Sure you will. She twisted the mascara closed and shoved it into her
makeup bag.
I will. I promise.
Come on. Jocelyn stuck her makeup bag into her backpack and grabbed
her coee. I cant be tardy to Lit again or Ill get detention, and I told Kate Id
drop gum by her locker on the way.