Free Under the Dusty Moon by Suzanne Sutherland Page A

me not to get it wet.
    â€œIt’s just like in Gremlins ,” Mom said excitedly on our cab ride home, trying to keep things upbeat despite our unresolved argument.
    â€œI don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. I didn’t want to offer her anything that could be construed as curiosity.
    â€œOh, come on,” she said, reaching to slap my arm before remembering that it was now wrapped up in a plain vanilla cast. “You know. That movie? They were these, like, cute, fuzzy little critter-guys , but if you got them wet or fed them after midnight or — I forget, there was some third rule — they’d turn into gremlins. And they terrorized the city!”
    â€œI still have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said.
    â€œI think you might need a few more T3s to get yourself prepared,” she said, jabbing the little pharmacy bag of painkillers that lay between us on the car’s back seat.
    â€œThe drugs for my broken freaking arm are not to be used to help you conjure some dumb movie that doesn’t even exist,” I said, trying to sound as snooty and offended as I could, which was tough because I was so completely zonked and also I was still pretty stoned.
    â€œThe dope fairy has a lot of rules, huh?”
    â€œWhat does that even mean?” I said. “Are we going to finish what we started talking about back in the hospital, like, ever?”
    â€œWe will, sweets,” she said, “of course. But I think you’ve had enough for the night. Let’s just watch a movie and sort this stuff out later.” She’d totally read my mind, but I wasn’t willing to give up the fight just yet.
    â€œYou do know that this isn’t how normal parents act, right?” I said.
    â€œNo one in the history of the world has ever accused me of being a normal parent.”
    â€œObviously.” I exhaled audibly and tried my best to let it go, just for the night. “And anyway, you’re totally making this movie up. Gremlins is not a thing. And it’s definitely not on Netflix.”
    â€œThat’s it? You’re finished with your attack on my child-rearing capabilities?”
    â€œRearing?” I asked. “Since when have you reared anything?” But I stopped myself from going any further. Plus the word rear was sounding really weird in my mouth. “Look, I’m exhausted, okay?” And I was. There were so many more things I wanted to say to her, even yell at her. But right then all I wanted to do was crawl into her bed and watch a movie on the laptop we share custody of. “I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.”
    â€œI’ll bet.” She put her hand over mine on the back seat of the cab and held it there for almost a whole minute without speaking.
    â€œBut I can’t believe I never showed you Gremlins ! It’s the best. The best. It was basically my all-time favourite movie growing up.”
    â€œSo it was a stone age blockbuster? I hear their DVD players sucked.”
    â€œThe ice age, actually. Their Blu-rays were surprisingly advanced.”
    â€œOh yeah, chiselled out of snow and permafrost, right?”
    â€œExactly. And Gremlins was the best of the icy best. Hmm, you’re sure it’s not on Netflix?” She raised her voice then, and called to the driver, “Excuse me, slight change of plans. Can you drop us off at 7-24 Video, please?” The worst-named place in town, which was also our regular. “It’s right at Fuller, just up here.”
    Yes, my mom and I are probably the last people in the world who still rent movies. Blame it on Mom’s downloadophobia. Like that’s the most surprising thing about us?
    I crawled out of the backseat, hauling my smashed arm behind me, while Mom paid the driver.
    I wanted so badly to believe that we could just have a normal movie night and pretend that nothing had happened, and that we had nothing more to