“I don’t even have a vibe!”

“Pfft!”

“So you hate me,” she said. “You hated me before I even got in line.”

“I didn’t hate you,” he said. “You’re just . . . part of them.”

“I’m also part of this,” she said.

“What’s this? Star Wars? I don’t have to like you because you like Star Wars. I don’t have to like every meathead with a stormtrooper tattoo.”

“No,” Elena said. “I’m part of this, part of the line.”

“What does that count for?”

“I don’t know,” she said, “but it should count for something. Look, I’m sorry Jocelyn calls you names. She’s a loudmouth. She’s been a loudmouth since fourth grade. We’re all just used to her. And if you’ve noticed me at all at school, you’ve noticed that I don’t exactly reach out. I don’t talk to anybody in some of my classes. There’s nobody in my math class who could pick me out of a line-up.”

“I don’t believe that,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “that I’ve never talked to you before. But you’ve never talked to me either. We’re talking now.”

Gabe gritted his teeth. “I hate it when she calls me Geekle.”

“She calls me Ele-nerd,” Elena said. “And Short Stuff. Wednesday Addams. Virgin Daiquiri. Ukelena . . . Ukelele. Lele. My Little Pony. Thumbelina. Rumpelstiltskin . . .”

Gabe laughed a little. “Why do you let her call you all that?”

“I don’t even hear it any more,” Elena said. “Plus it’s different. I’m her friend . . . I can have her stop calling you names, if you want?”

“It doesn’t even matter,” Gabe said.

They were quiet for a minute. Elena was trying to figure out whether she was mad. She wasn’t.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked. “That we already knew each other.”

“I didn’t want you to call me Geekle,” Gabe said. “I didn’t want it to catch on.”

Elena nodded.

“We should sleep,” he said. “This is our last night.”

“Yeah,” Elena said.

He pulled up his legs and folded his arms. How did he sleep like that?

Elena curled up as much as she could. She kept trying to get comfortable. It was so bright under the lights.

“Gabe?” she said after ten minutes or so.

“Yeah?”

“Are you asleep?”

“Sort of.”

“Are you still mad?”

Gabe sighed. “In a larger sense, yes. At you, in this moment, no.”

“OK. Good.”

Elena hunkered down again. She watched the cars driving by. She would be really, really glad to be home tomorrow night. After the movie. The movie . . .

“Gabe?” she said.

“What?”

“I can’t sleep.”

“Why not?”

“Star Wars!”

THURSDAY

17 DECEMBER 2015

Something strange happened at 6 a.m.

Darth Vader got in line.

It was one of Troy’s friends. He kicked Troy’s feet off the cooler and shouted, “The Force awakens!”

“Yeah, we’ve heard that one,” Gabe grumbled, sitting up.

Elena was watching everything from a gap between her hat and her sleeping bag.

“I haven’t slept in a week,” Gabe said. “I think you can die of that. I think I’m dead.”

Troy woke up and welcomed his friend, who eventually got in line behind Gabe.

Elena and Gabe walked together to Starbucks. She gave him some of her baby wipes; they were both in dire need of a shower. Gabe looked like he was growing a beard. It was coming in redder than his hair. Elena painted new Yodas on her cheeks.

“You into Star Wars?” the barista asked.

“Nope,” Gabe said.

“Yes,” Elena said.

“I’m going to see it tonight,” the barista said. “Midnight showing.”

“Cool,” Elena said.

“There are already people in line over there,” he said. “Have you seen them? Just three miserable dorks sitting on the sidewalk.”

Elena smiled brightly. “That’s us!”

“What?”

“We’re the three dorks—well, two of the three.”

The barista was mortified; he gave them their coffee for free. “May the Force be with you!” Elena said.

When they got back, there were three new people in line.

By noon, there were twenty, at least half of them in costume.

By three, there were speakers on the sidewalk, and someone kept playing the victory parade music from The Phantom Menace over and over again. (It was only a minute and a half long.)

Elena consented to a ninety-second dance with Troy. Gabe turned him down.

Fifty people showed up by dinner time, and some of them brought pizza. Elena went up and down the line, posing for photos and posting them to Instagram. (Her hashtags were inspired.) Troy, who’d changed into his pilot costume, was a little wary of all the newcomers—“Jar-Jar-come-latelies.”

“We have to keep our guard up,” he said. “These people aren’t part of the line covenant. They might try to surge at the end.”

“We still have our tickets,” Gabe said.

“I will be the first person to walk into that theater,” Troy said. “You will be second. And Elena will be third. We are the line. These are just day guests.”

“So are we sitting together?” Elena asked.

“Oh,” Troy said. “Well, we can sit near each other. I’ve actually got a bunch of friends coming . . .”

“We can sit together,” Gabe said, looking at Elena, but somehow not looking at Elena. “If you want.”

“Sure,” she said. “Let’s see this through.”

The newspaper photographer came back. The line wrapped around the block. Mark came out with a loudspeaker to give everybody directions.

“We’ve got two hours,” Gabe said to Elena. “I think we’ve only got time for a tattoo or a nickname. Your pick.”

“Let’s not talk about nicknames,” she said.

They’d packed up their stuff and Mark said they could leave it in his office during the movie. “Thank you for not being drunk or disorderly,” he said. “And for not littering. I hope you camp outside a different theater next time—I’d be happy to make a few recommendations.”