"Of course, no problem."
Anson entered the bathroom, looked around, found the toilet paper dispenser, and pulled out some toilet paper.
The bathroom was empty and quiet, with only the rustling sound of tissues being pulled out.
Annie took a deep breath, gathered her courage, and spoke up, "Sorry, Anson, could I... have ten sheets?"
As soon as she said it, Annie closed her eyes, but she still had to finish, "Also, could you wet a few sheets?"
Anson was puzzled, "What?"
Annie stammered, "Could you wet a few? Because I, uh, I need to wipe..."
Anson replied, "Of course."
Annie lowered her gaze, sitting silently, feeling both ashamed and embarrassed, frustrated and depressed. Why does this keep happening?
She blamed herself.
Then.
Anson appeared, reaching over the top of the stall to hand her the paper, "Annie, can you reach it?"
Annie stretched out her right hand, but it was a bit too far. She had to stand up slightly but still couldn't reach it, eventually plopping back down.
A sense of defeat washed over her.
"Damn it." Annie muttered under her breath, unable to hold back tears that trickled down her cheeks.
Annie stubbornly wiped away the tears from her face.
Anson couldn't see her, "What's wrong?"
Annie replied, "I... I can't reach it. I just got more blood... on my skirt." As soon as she said it, she was amused by the absurdity of the situation in front of her, "God, I must look like a fool right now."
"Like Carrie?" Anson joked.
Pfft.
Annie burst into laughter, tears and all, nodding repeatedly, "Yeah, like Carrie."
Anson reached down further with his arm, "I can go a little lower."
Annie looked up; she didn't have the energy to stand up again, "Why don't you just drop it?"
Anson took a deep breath, "I could, but I think it might fall on the floor, which... wouldn't be very sanitary, you know, since it's the bathroom."
Annie suggested, "Then, maybe from underneath..."
Anson slid the toilet paper through the gap beneath the stall, but Annie unexpectedly opened the stall door, causing Anson to instinctively turn away and sit against the stall door with his back to her, his right hand still inside, maintaining a respectful distance.
Annie saw this and almost forgot her own mess. Her mind was just focused on solving the problem and getting out of this situation. Or maybe her brain wasn't functioning properly, completely losing the ability to think. But now, seeing Anson's respectful posture, hot tears welled up in her eyes again. A "thank you" stuck in her throat as she hurriedly took the tissue and closed the stall door.
Anson was slightly stunned.
Although he couldn't see anything, the metallic scent of blood was unmistakable.
"Annie, are you okay?"
"Mhm."
"Do you want me to go outside and see if any of the other girls have pads?"
"No, Anson, no. You can't go out. You're Anson Wood. If anyone finds out about this 'Carrie' situation, things will get out of control."
Anson opened his mouth, trying to argue that now wasn't the time to worry about these things, but then he realized that if things went south, Annie might end up in a worse spot.
Anson felt a headache coming on, "Then, this... my jacket, I have a jacket. You could use it."
Annie forced a smile, "I don't think your jacket is big enough to cover my butt."
Anson tilted his head, "I think it could. I'm pretty tall."
Pfft.
Annie chuckled, "Anson, the problem is, I don't want people to see me wearing your jacket. You know how the news will spin that."
Just like that, Anson understood—
Trouble.
It felt like having his hands and feet tied. This wouldn't work; that wouldn't work. Every little rumor could be placed under a microscope.
Those eyes, those glances, those whispers formed an invisible cage that trapped them.
Anson felt irritated and frustrated, but he took a deep breath, calmed down, and his brain began to work quickly.
"Alright, Annie, I have an idea. We'll need to take a bit of a risk. You know why the New York Yankees always win?"
Things were really bad right now, not the best time for jokes, but Annie's weak smile still curved slightly.
"Because nobody can look away from the pinstripes?"
"Bingo. Wait for me."
With that, Anson turned and ran out.
Once outside, Anson composed himself, avoiding any frantic movements. What was needed now was confidence and calm.
Lucas was not far away, looking over, his eyes questioning.
Anson sized Lucas up and down, "Luca, I need a bit of help."
Lucas didn't answer right away. Instead, he squinted at Anson, "I know that look. It usually means trouble."
Anson almost lost his composure, but his lips still curved up a bit, "Luca, I'm serious. It's a tricky situation."
Lucas was not easily fooled, "You can handle it yourself."
Anson took a deep breath, "Luca, I need you to go to the theater, to the merchandise booth, and help out a bit. You know I can't go there."
The movie theater had set up an event with posters, postcards, keychains, and other officially licensed merchandise at the entrance of the theater. You could exchange your movie ticket for one item or buy them yourself.
The key point was that this was a crowded area, and you'd have to interact face-to-face with the booth attendant, so Anson couldn't go himself—
Like a lamb to the slaughter.
Lucas rolled his eyes, "Spill it."
After patiently listening to Anson's plan, Lucas stared at him with a deadpan expression. His gaze alone seemed to devour Anson.
Anson persisted, "Luca, the more we sneak around, the more suspicious it becomes. Putting it in the spotlight is the safest way."
Lucas retorted, "But this is way too blatant."
Anson explained, "That's how we divert attention."
Lucas countered, "If anyone's going to try, you guys try. I'm out."
"We can wear hats."
"No way."
"Luca..."
"Shut up."
Lucas stopped responding to Anson, turned, and strode towards the merchandise booth. He grumbled under his breath—
Why does the theater even sell merchandise? As a result, even after the movie ended, a large crowd of viewers was still gathered around the booth.
However, whether fortunate or not, the item Anson had targeted was so unpopular that nobody wanted to buy it. Not a single one.
Lucas checked out in less than three minutes. But think about it, even fans didn't want this merchandise. How bad must it have been?
The answer: a T-shirt.
A white T-shirt. There was a spray-paint artist on-site who could create designs on the T-shirt based on the fan's request, depicting different images and poses of Anson from "Catch Me If You Can." Fans could even have their own image painted or be depicted alongside Anson.
These T-shirts were oversized, with the largest being XXXL. Even when Lucas wore one, it looked extremely baggy.
To Anson, the key was the spray-painted design. The more outrageous and flashy it was, the better it could divert attention.
It wasn't just Lucas; when Annie saw the T-shirt, she was also at a loss for words.
She looked up at Anson, her eyes full of confusion, "Are you sure?"
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