It was a small sign, the kind you put magnetized letters on, the kind I associated with bowling alley snack menus. But this one, instead of telling you how much the hot dogs were, read

SLOANE

LOVES

FERRIS

I just stared at it for a moment until I realized that it was a reference to Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.I didn’t understand what it was doing behind the concession stand, but it had a very cool, vintage look to it. “Neat,” I said as I reached for my phone. “Want me to take a picture?”

Someone else brought our snacks around to the side of the cash register, and Sloane paid without taking her eyes off the sign. “Is that for sale?” she asked as she handed our change over to me. I was in charge of the money when we were together. Sloane wasn’t absentminded, but she seemed to have trouble to hanging on to money and was always finding bills in the pockets of her dresses and shorts, which she then treated as something to be celebrated, and would insist on buying both of us the biggest, most extravagant blended coffee drinks that Stanwich Coffee could make.

“Is what for sale?” the guy asked, already looking behind us to the next person in line, who was sighing loudly.

“The sign,” she said, pointing to it. “The Sloane sign.”

The guy looked at Sloane like she was crazy. “No,” he said. “It’s been here since the eighties.”

“Are you sureit’s not for sale?” she asked, giving him a big smile. But the guy seemed immune to this and let out a barking laugh.

“I’m sure,” he said. “First time I’ve been asked that in twenty years, though. Next!”

Sloane’s shoulders slumped and we headed back to our blanket. “Think I should have offered him something for it?”

I shrugged. I wasn’t sure it would be helpful to point out that, after we’d bought the snacks, we had a grand total of $1.35 between us. “I’m not sure it would have made a difference.”

“But it might have . . . ,” Sloane said, glancing back toward the concession stand. It was getting dark; there were fireflies beginning to wink off and on in the grass, but the sign, and the letters that formed her name, were still visible, catching the fading light and reflecting it back. She turned to me, and I could see her normal cheerfulness had returned. “Promise you’ll help me get it,” she said, leaning forward. “This is my new life goal.” I laughed at that, and Sloane smiled too, but she didn’t take her eyes from mine. “Promise, Em?”

“Sure,” I said, easily. “We’ll do what we have to. We’ll come here every weekend and wear him down.”

Sloane grinned and grabbed a handful of popcorn. “Awesome,” she said. “We have a plan.”

So I would steal the sign for her. We’d never been able to get anyone to sell it to us, so this was the only option—and this way, I would get to cross something off the list and keep my promise to her, all at the same time. It was a perfect solution—unless, of course, I got arrested while trying to pull it off.

I didn’t get in the concessions line right away, but circled around it, double-checking that the sign was still there. Luckily, it was off to the side where people picked up their food, not where they ordered it. So concession workers were dropping things off, then hurrying away to get other people’s orders. I mentally walked through the mechanics of this, and I realized that I could make it look like I was just reaching for my order, grab the sign, and drop it into my bag. If someone caught me, I could just pretend it had fallen in and I hadn’t even noticed. I had brought my largest purse with me for this very reason, the better to conceal the evidence.

It wasn’t the best plan, but at least it was a plan. I let out a breath and got in the line that was quickly filling up, feeling like everyone around me could tell what I was about to do.

“Emily?”

I felt my stomach plunge as I looked behind me and saw Frank, standing a few people back in line, with a surprised look on his face, raising one hand in a wave. I gave him a small smile in return, but then turned around to face the concession stand again, not caring if this seemed incredibly rude. What was Frank Porter doing at the drive-in?

“Hey.”

I turned and saw that Frank had joined me in the line. He took a step closer to me and said in a low voice, “Mind if I jump the line?” He glanced behind him, at the older couple who were pursing their lips in disapproval, and said, too loudly, “Thank you for saving my place in line, Emily!”

I really wished he’d stop saying my name in front of potential witnesses. “You shouldn’t—” I said, glancing ahead to the counter, and wishing that the line wasn’t moving quite so fast. “I just . . .” I tried to get my head around how to explain that he couldn’t wait in line with me because I was about to steal something. Even though he knew about the list, and this wouldn’t seem quiteso random, I didn’t want to have to go into an explanation with everyone in the line able to hear me talk about it. Also, what if Frank was still with me when I had to try and take it, and he tried to stop me? Or he got in trouble too?

“Crazy running into you here,” Frank said, shaking his head. “This place is awesome. Have you ever been before?”

“Yeah,” I murmured, feeling my heart racing ever faster in my chest, getting closer and closer to what I was pretty sure was a panic attack. The front of the line was just three people away, and I hadn’t been able to get rid of Frank or properly psych myself up to commit my first crime. “A lot.”

“I’m only here because of Collins,” Frank went on, apparently thinking we were just having a nice conversation, not realizing that I was on the verge of an aneurysm. “He’s got a thing for the girl who runs the projection booth. But now that I’m here, it’s really—”

“You know what,” I said, stepping out of line. “I actually . . . forgot something. So you order, and I’ll get the thing I forgot, and, um . . . see you around, okay?” I stepped out of the line and walked in the direction of my car. I glanced back to see Frank looking at me, his brow furrowed, but then he stepped to the front of the line to order, and I went to the back of the line, which now seemed impossibly long. I was no longer sure if I’d even have enough time to do this before the concessions break was over.

I let out a breath and tried to get my thoughts in order. I could still do this. I just had to focus. The line moved forward quicker than I expected, and I realized, my stomach clenching, that there was only one other person in front of me, an older lady who was having trouble deciding between the Sno-Caps and the Junior Mints. I looked at the sign, then down into my huge, waiting bag.

“Next!” I looked ahead and saw that behind the counter was a concession worker I hadn’t seen before, a guy who looked college-aged and bored—which was pretty much perfect.

“Hi,” I said, stepping forward, hearing that my voice sounded about twice as high as normal. I didn’t make eye contact with the guy as I said, “Small popcorn with butter and a Diet Coke.”

“Eight even,” the guy said, and I handed the cash I had ready over to him as the register drawer slid open with a ding!“Pickup’s to your left. Next!”

I stepped to the side, letting my bag fall open slightly as I tried to look nonchalant. I pretended to yawn and stretched my arm out for the sign, my fingers just brushing the edge of it. I stretched farther out, almost off-balance, heart pounding, nearly grabbing it—

“Small popcorn and a Diet Coke.” A girl had stepped up with my snacks, and I was so startled by this that I felt myself pitching forward, just barely catching myself before face-planting onto the counter. The sign wobbled and tipped forward, and the girl grabbed it, looking from the sign and then back to me with narrowed eyes. “What are you doing?”