The Mary Shelley Club, Goldy Moldavsky [e ink ebook reader txt] 📗

need to stop watching movies together.”

“Is there something going on at school?”

“Nope.”

“’Cause I know you like to watch these movies after you’ve had a hard day.”

“School’s delightful,” I said, stuffing my mouth and voice full of corn.

“I’m serious. This movie makes me queasy and you’re watching it like it’s the Thanksgiving Day Parade.”

“I find this much more interesting than balloons and marching bands, Mom.”

“Exactly. How you can watch this stuff and snack at the same time is beyond me. You’re practically licking the butter off your fingers.”

My mom had to love me. The whole unconditional thing, it was in the Mom Handbook. But sometimes, like right now, she slipped up. I could tell she loved me despite the fact that I scared her. She must’ve thought that I was defective. And a part of me knew she watched these movies with me because she felt guilty. About what happened last year. For leaving me alone that night. For not being there.

“Are you saying I have no feelings? Like a psychopath?”

“Rachel—”

“Because that’s what it sounds like.” I didn’t want to argue with my mother, but sometimes it was easier than answering her questions. Sometimes you had to lean into the argument. I kept my voice flat. Like a psychopath’s.

“Jamonada,” my mom said softly. “Please don’t say that.”

I swallowed and grabbed my phone again. I’d only been joking. Kind of. Whatever it was, I’d picked a fight with my mom and I felt sorry. “I’ll find another movie.”

My mom shook her head again. Mother-daughter bonding time was too important. “It’s fine. It’s not that scary.”

My phone dinged. A new text from Saundra.

Heyyyy, just fyi stay off the internet for tonight?

The ball of dread in my stomach grew larger. I did her one better: I deleted my Instagram. I hardly used it anyway. I’d only signed up for a new account when I transferred to Manchester because it felt like the protocol. A normal teenage girl would have an Instagram full of selfies. But anytime I posted a pic, I felt a gnawing discomfort, like I was wearing a costume that was too tight. After taking all those useless selfies, I began to realize how forced my smiles looked.

Next, I searched for someone else. Freddie Martinez wasn’t on Instagram, but I found him on Twitter easily enough. His latest post was from half an hour before.

Film Forum playing one of my faves tonight for #MonthOfAThousandScares. #EvilDead2 lets go!

I smiled. So we also had horror films in common.

I put the bowl of popcorn on the end table, pure impulsiveness coursing through me. “I’m heading out.”

“Where are you going?” Mom asked.

“Meeting a friend.” I didn’t love lying to my mom, but I knew she wouldn’t stop me if there was a friend involved. And Freddie was a potential friend. Who I was technically going to meet for the first time. So, not really a lie at all.

 5

GOING TO THE Film Forum in the hopes of bumping into Freddie may have sounded kind of stalkerish in theory, but I wasn’t just going for him. Evil Dead II happens to be one of my favorite movies.

I found a spot close to the back and scanned the seats. There were already about ten people in the theater, but I didn’t see any sign of Freddie. I started to think he wasn’t going to show up, which I told myself was for the best. Because if he did show up, then I’d have to talk to him and I wasn’t sure what I was going to say. Or actually, I did know; I just wasn’t sure how to bring it up. How do you ask a boy why he pulled a prank like that? Did he know that Lux would freak out? Was he responsible for all the weird pranks at school that Saundra had described?

And most important, was he going to take the blame for the séance and get Lux off my back?

The house lights began to dim. He was a no-show.

And then suddenly he was walking down the aisle. I thought maybe he’d show up with some of the other Tisch Boys, or with a date, but the only thing accompanying him was a jumbo bag of popcorn.

I was sure he wouldn’t notice me.

He spotted me immediately.

I snapped my attention to the screen. Freddie came into my row and sat one seat away from me.

“Hi,” he whispered. When I glanced at him, I could only see his profile. His gaze stayed glued to the screen.

“Hello.”

“You go to Manchester, right?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re the new girl. The one who laughed at Lux.”

My claim to fame. Of course that was why he recognized me.

On-screen a demon jumped out at Bruce Campbell and a chorus of muffled yelps rang out from all around us. Behind me a woman screamed so loud it almost made me jump. I turned around to see her clutching her date’s arm and burying her head in his shoulder, yet she still kept watching the movie. I love that about horror: It’s the only genre that aims to please while daring you to look away.

Neither Freddie nor I moved an inch.

I’d never met a single other person my age who’d pay to see Evil Dead II in the theater. By themselves. Freddie must’ve been thinking the same thing, because he leaned into the seat between us and whispered, “So, like, what are you doing here?”

The people around us gasped as if they were reacting to his question and not the movie.

It was a good question. What was I doing here? All I knew was that I couldn’t stay at home trying not to obsessively check my phone. The great thing about a movie theater is that there’s a rule about that sort of thing. But I took the coward’s way out. “What are you doing here?”

Someone shushed us. Freddie twisted to give the guy a dirty look, but he went back to watching the movie, and so did I. Down in the third row,