I turned around.

Ethan’s light-up sneakers were pressed against my chair.

His parents were both staring at their phones.

“Excuse me,” I said politely. “Could you ask him to keep his feet off my seat?”

His mother rolled her eyes.

His father sighed.

“Ethan. Feet down.”

The boy lowered his shoes.

For approximately three minutes.

Then the movie began.

So did the popcorn.

Every time Ethan laughed, he threw a handful toward his mouth.

A surprising amount missed.

Some landed on the floor.

Some landed on me.

The first few pieces hit my shoulder.

Then one became tangled in my hair.

Owen reached over and removed it.

“You have popcorn in your curls.”

“I noticed.”

He removed another.

Then another.

A minute later, a larger handful came flying forward.

Popcorn bounced off my head and shoulders.

One piece disappeared down the back of my shirt.

I turned around.

“Please stop throwing popcorn. It keeps landing on me.”

“He’s not throwing anything,” the father said without looking away from his phone. “He’s eating.”

“He’s missing by several feet.”

The mother finally looked up.

“He’s a child.”

I turned around again.

This was our first night out in seven months.

I wasn’t going to spend it arguing with strangers.

I leaned against Owen and tried to focus on Spider-Man.

His arm went around me.

Then I noticed his thumb.

Rubbing against his finger.

After that, things got worse.

Ethan started kicking my chair repeatedly.

During loud scenes, I could almost ignore it.

During quiet scenes, each kick felt enormous.

Thunk.

Thunk.

Thunk.

People nearby started turning around.

Then something cold hit the back of my neck.

Soda.

I turned again.

“Please stop kicking my seat.”

The mother sighed loudly.