It was past midnight, but the Arclight in Hollywood was still lit up like Christmas. The ticket clerks were slinging seats like it was opening weekend.
"Source Code is supposed to be coming down next week and we're still slammed," one clerk muttered while printing. "They're gonna have to extend it again."
"My boyfriend saw it twice already and keeps saying it's insane. I'm finally caving tomorrow."
"Nobody saw this coming. Total sleeper hit. One day it's crickets, next day it's everywhere."
"Last movie that blindsided us this hard was Juno, right?"
"Dude… same director."
"No way."
Joy stepped up to the window in a hoodie and baseball cap, trying to look invisible. "One for Source Code, please."
The clerk yawned without even glancing up. "Girl, it's midnight. You got some serious energy."
Joy just grinned. "I'm wide awake."
(One ticket = all-day pass in American movie theaters. She was planning to stay until they kicked her out.)
As she headed in, the previous show let out. A wave of hyped-up people poured through the lobby. Guys looked pumped, girls looked flushed like they'd just met their celebrity crush in the flesh. Two teenagers were giggling by the standee.
"Bradley Cooper is stupid hot in this."
"Right? And Meg Ryan. How is she forty-something and still that adorable? Forever sweetheart."
Another girl made her friend snap a photo of her hugging the Source Code poster. "Second rewatch, baby! Gotta rep my girl Joy!"
Joy ducked behind a cardboard Spider-Man before anyone clocked her.
A couple of hardcore sci-fi nerds walked past arguing in excited whispers.
"Dude, the way she nested the loops… that's some next-level brain candy."
"I held my pee for thirty minutes straight because I refused to miss a frame."
One grumpy guy shrugged. "Eh, diet 12 Monkeys.
Joy smiled. She'd take it. Every opinion counted.
Inside the auditorium it was packed. Not a single walk-out in 86 minutes. Every time the screen snapped back to the train car you could feel the whole room surge: "WOO! Here we go again!"
And the second Meg Ryan appeared on screen? Dead silence. You could've heard a popcorn kernel drop. Then soft collective sighs, like the audience had forgotten how to breathe. Every close-up of her felt like the theater was holding its breath in worship.
Joy knew in her bones: casting Meg had been the single best gut call of her life.
End credits rolled. Nobody moved. Classic post-mind-bender behavior: they were all waiting for a stinger that wasn't there. When the house lights finally came up, people groaned like they'd been robbed of oxygen.
Joy stayed in her seat until the cleaners showed up. An old man with white hair and a Source Code T-shirt had been sitting next to her the whole time. As he stood, he caught her eye, gave a sneaky grin, and threw her a huge, silent thumbs-up.
On his way out he leaned in and whispered, "I love you, kid. You've got the face of someone who was born to win."
Joy almost cried in the aisle. That random grandpa just spoke for the entire internet.
A week later the domestic run was finally winding down.
Final North American tally: $180 million.
On a $20 million budget.
In the same summer that Mr. & Mrs. Smith (the most hyped movie star couple on the planet) got absolutely smoked by a no-name indie sci-fi flick.
Variety, December issue, ran the headline everyone was thinking:
FROM $20 MILLION TO $180 MILLION — JOY GRANT DOES IT AGAIN.
"Joy Grant, you absolute madwoman. Only a lunatic could keep handing us miracles like this."
Kingfisher scrambled to lock overseas deals they'd never bothered with before the movie exploded. Global total was going to clear $250–280 easy.
The blog she hadn't updated in months was getting millions of hits a day. Paparazzi were now stalking a director. A director. That had literally never happened before.
The Hollywood Reporter ran a cheeky little blind item that everyone knew wasn't blind:
"If Hughes Raystone could time-travel like Source Code, would he still have fumbled the breakup? Sources say the answer is 'pass the tissues.'"
Most people just shrugged. "Let the past stay in the past. Without all that mess we wouldn't have this Joy."
But for Joy herself? The numbers, the headlines, the grandpa calling her a born winner; none of it was the finish line.
It was just another step on the ladder she was climbing.
She'd been given one extra life, and she wasn't wasting a single second of it.
GO! GO! GO!
Joy!
Don't you dare slow down!
GO! GO! GO!
Joy!
All the way to the damn stratosphere!