where Rosa could give a speech. Given that this is a theater, we could even put together a video that shows footage of the center and the animals. We could show some of our recent rescues, and some of our releases.
Beaming, I drop into my seat. “I have a job for you.”
He looks tentatively curious, but once I explain the idea of having a video to show at the gala, he’s 100 percent on board. As the theater slowly fills up and the same slideshow of paid local advertisements rotates on the screen for the billionth time, Quint and I talk about whether or not we should try to have live music (I haven’t had any success in finding an orchestra that would play for free) or if putting together a playlist is good enough. We go over the list of auction items that businesses have already pledged, and who we might still try to approach. I go over my plans for selling raffle tickets, even though we’re still not sure what prize to raffle off.
I’m surprised how many people fill the theater by the time the lights dim. There’s a different atmosphere here than any movie I’ve ever been to, and it’s clear that a lot of people in the audience come to this special showing every year. There’s an excited energy in the air as the opening credits begin to play. The music strikes me—the classic bu-dum, bu-dum, bu-dum that has become synonymous with shark attacks. I gulp and lean closer to Quint. I feel him peering at me, but I don’t return the look. I’m already thinking, once again, that this is a horrible idea. Why did it have to be Jaws? But I’m stuck now, and … well, it doesn’t seem so awful once I feel the warmth of Quint’s shoulder pressed against mine.
Aaaaand … now I’m nervous.
All the questions I’ve been ignoring arise unbidden in my thoughts. Is this a date? Why didn’t he ask anyone else to come with us? Why didn’t he make me get my own popcorn? The enormous bucket balancing on the armrest between us feels momentous.
But a quick glance at Quint suggests that I’m the only one thinking about any of this. He’s tuned in to the movie, mindlessly tossing popcorn into his mouth.
I sink into my chair and try not to overthink. For once, Prudence, don’t overthink.
The audience, it turns out, is into this film. Really into it. Within the first few minutes, people are shouting at the screen—Don’t do it, Chrissie! Stay out of the water! I gulp, gooseflesh crawling down my arms when it becomes clear what’s about to happen to the girl skinny-dipping on the screen. I turn my head, ready to bury it in Quint’s shoulder if I need to, and he scoots closer to me, as if encouraging me to use his shoulder at will.
Which I do.
The movie is terrifying … and also not. The idea of it is the worst part, the suspense of knowing that the shark is nearby whenever that ominous music begins to play. It isn’t long before I’m gripping Quint’s arm, my fingers digging into his sleeve. He doesn’t pull away.
On the screen, a shark has been caught—a tiger shark. The townspeople have it hanging from a hook on the dock as the mayor of Amity Island tells the media that the predator responsible for the recent attacks is dead. The audience around us shouts at the mayor: It’s not the right shark! Boo!
“Poor shark,” I find myself muttering.
Quint gives me a knowing nod. “Terrible, right?”
Terrible—because it actually happens.
The movie goes on. Tourists flock to the beaches. Chief Brody’s young sons go out into the water—
A small blue screen catches my eye. I frown, distracted. Someone in the next row is looking at their phone.
I tilt forward. They’re … scrolling through Instagram? What the heck?
Someone behind me notices it, too, and yells, “Hey, turn off your phone!”
The phone clicks off.
My attention returns to the screen. The music is building again. Chief Brody is running. The children have no idea—
The blue screen blinks on again. Though I can’t see the person’s face, I can see their phone crystal clear. They’re typing a text message to someone named Courtney. Busy tomorrow? Swim Source is having a big sale.
I’m not the only one getting annoyed. People are starting to shout at the phone user now, not the screen. “So inconsiderate.” “What’s wrong with you?” “Watch the movie!”