Chapter 1: Saturday Night at Crestview Cinemas

Bianca wiped her hands on her apron, the faint scent of butter clinging to her skin no matter how many times she washed. The hum of the popcorn machine, the faint hiss of soda fountains, and the muffled echoes of trailers playing behind closed theater doors were sounds she’d grown so accustomed to that they blended into the background like the rhythm of her own heartbeat.

Working at the theater every summer felt like stepping into a familiar, worn-in pair of shoes. She’d been at Crestview Cinemas since her junior year of high school, and even now, two years into her nursing degree, it still felt like a second home. There was a strange comfort in the sticky floors and flickering neon lights, in the smell of synthetic cheese and the sound of people debating whether to get a large or ‘just stick with a medium’.

Her manager, Erin, had greeted her with a warm smile when she’d returned for the summer. Erin had this easygoing vibe—stern when she needed to be, but always with a soft spot for Bianca. Maybe it was because of the nursing thing. Erin’s mom had been a nurse for over thirty years, and she knew how intense the studying could be. So, when the theater was quiet, Erin let Bianca pull out her flashcards or her thick pharmacology textbooks. No one else got that perk. And trust Bianca—everyone noticed. But Erin would just shrug and say, “You’ll thank me when you’re saving lives instead of slinging popcorn.”

But right now, saving lives felt far away. Instead, Bianca stood behind the counter, watching as a Saturday night crowd trickled in. The concession stand was its own kind of theater, each customer a character, each transaction a scene. She reveled in it.


There were the Teenagers:

A group of high schoolers spilled into the lobby, their energy buzzing louder than the trailers playing in the background. They were here for the latest horror flick, giggling nervously as they debated whether they’d actually survive watching it without covering their eyes.

“Can I get a large popcorn with extra butter?” one of the girls asked, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. Her boyfriend nudged her, adding, “And two large cherry Cokes. Oh—and the nachos. Gotta have the nachos.”

Bianca smiled politely, her hands moving on autopilot. Teens always ordered like they had bottomless stomachs and even deeper pockets—piling on greasy nachos, oversized sodas, and candy that would melt before they even hit the previews. But Bianca didn’t judge. She remembered being that age, thinking nothing of downing a giant soda and a bag of Sour Patch Kids in one sitting.


Next, there were the Date Night Couples:

A slightly older couple approached next—early twenties, probably college students home for the summer like her. The girl hesitated in front of the glass case, biting her lip.

“Do you want to share a popcorn?” she asked her date, who shrugged noncommittally.

“Sure, but get the medium. I’m not that hungry.”

Bianca held back a grin. The classic dance. They’d both pretend they weren’t hungry, but she’d bet anything they’d come back for a refill halfway through the movie. She handed them their medium popcorn and single drink with two straws, resisting the urge to say, ‘You’ll be back’.


Then, The Parents with Kids:

The chaos came next. A mom wrangling two hyperactive kids under the age of six practically slammed her purse onto the counter.

“Hi, can I get two kids’ combos—no, Liam, put that down—and a large Diet Coke for me?” She sighed heavily as one of the kids grabbed a candy display, nearly knocking it over. “Actually, make that a large popcorn too. Butter. Lots of butter.”

Bianca smiled sympathetically as she rang them up, sliding the popcorn across the counter while the mom juggled snacks and sticky little hands. She didn’t envy that struggle. Not yet, anyway.


The Regulars:

And then, there were the regulars—the ones who came like clockwork, their orders memorized down to the last detail.

Old Mr. Halverson, who’d been coming every Friday night for as long as Bianca could remember, shuffled up to the counter with his usual slow pace.

“Evening, Bianca--back for the summer?” He greeted, his voice gravelly but warm. “The usual.”

Bianca smiled and nodded, already reaching for the small popcorn—no butter—and a box of Raisinets.

Mr. Halverson always bought the same thing, always sat in the same seat in the back row, and always left with a nod of gratitude. "You've got a great memory, kiddo--anyone ever tell you that?" he said.

Bianca smiled and nodded, "sometimes. Enjoy your movie."

She wondered what he’d think of her becoming a nurse, where having a near-photographic memory was a godsend. Maybe next time, she’d tell him.

By the time the rush settled, the lobby was quiet again. Bianca leaned against the counter, stretching her arms. Her textbook peeked out from under the register, calling to her, but before she could reach for it, Erin’s voice chimed in from behind.

“Busy night, huh?” Erin grinned, wiping her hands on a rag as she walked over.
Bianca laughed softly. “Same circus, different summer.”

Erin chuckled. “Yeah, but admit it—you missed this chaos.”

Bianca nodded, her eyes drifting over the empty concession stand and out toward the dimly lit lobby. She had missed it. Not just the work, but the people—the little moments between customers, the stories hidden in their snack choices, the familiarity of it all.

“It’s weird,” Bianca admitted, “but yeah. I did.”

Erin patted her on the shoulder. “And soon enough, you’ll be out there swapping out Sour Patch Kids for stethoscopes, and this’ll just be a fun memory. Just promise to visit us once in a while if you work local.”

Bianca smiled, her heart swelling a little. But for now, she was content with this. The buttery smell, the flickering lights, and the steady hum of a place that felt like home.

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