The Popcorn Smell on the Stairs

I live on the first floor of an old building. Every evening at seven, a smell comes into my flat.

It is the smell of popcorn. It is warm and sweet. It makes me very hungry.

On Monday, I make my own dinner. I do not want popcorn for dinner. But the smell stays in my room for an hour.

On Tuesday, the smell comes again. I look at the clock. It is seven exactly.

"Who makes popcorn every night?" I say to the empty room.

On Wednesday, I leave my flat at seven. I stand in the hall. The smell is strong here. It is stronger by the stairs.

I walk up to the second floor. A young woman opens her door. Her name is Nadine.

"Hello," I say. "Do you smell popcorn?"

"Yes!" Nadine says. "It comes every night. It is not from my kitchen."

"Then I go up," I say.

"I come with you," she says.

We walk up to the third floor. The smell is stronger now. A man stands in the hall with a book. His name is Orson.

"Is it your popcorn?" Nadine asks him.

"No," Orson says. "I only smell it. I think it comes from above."

"Come with us," I say.

Orson puts his book under his arm. He follows us up the stairs. Now we are three people on a hunt.

On the fourth floor, a woman sits on a step. She holds an empty bowl. She looks sad.

"Is it yours?" Nadine asks.

"No," she says. "I wish it was. I smell it every night, and I get hungry. I wait here for the smell."

"Then who makes it?" Orson asks.

The woman points up. "The last floor," she says. "Only one man lives there."

We climb the last stairs. Everyone is quiet. The smell is so strong now. Our noses lead the way.

At the end of the hall, there is one door. It is open a little. We hear a loud movie. We hear a big explosion and a happy song.

I knock on the door. A man opens it. He wears soft shoes and a funny hat. He holds a huge bowl of popcorn.

"Hello," he says. "Is the movie too loud?"

"No," I say. "It is the popcorn. The smell goes down to every floor."

The man looks at his kitchen. A small window is open. Under it, there is a wall vent. The smell goes out and down the building.

"Oh no," he says. "My name is Quentin. I make popcorn every night at seven. I watch one movie and eat one big bowl."

"Every night?" Nadine asks.

"Every night," Quentin says. "It is my small rule."

Orson laughs. The woman with the empty bowl laughs too. I laugh so hard that I sit down.

"I am sorry," Quentin says. "I close the vent now."

"Please do not," the woman says fast. "I like the smell."

"I like it too," Nadine says. "But I want to eat it, not smell it."

Quentin looks at his bowl. Then he looks at all of us. We stand at his door like a small, hungry crowd.

"Come in," he says. "I have a very big pot. Who wants to see the movie?"

We all raise our hands. Quentin opens his door wide.

"Bring some chairs," he says. "And bring a bowl."