The Mary Shelley Club

by Goldy Moldavsky

  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, someone got so scared when an undead hand popped out of the floorboards that they flinched and tossed their popcorn in the air. This seemed to encourage Freddie to offer his own popcorn to me. I hesitated, but Freddie shook the bag, prompting me. So I dipped my fingers into the buttery kernels and smiled gratefully around a mouthful. Freddie smiled back. All around us the theater broke out in screams.

  * * *

  It was late when the movie was over. As Freddie and I walked to the exit together, I began to panic as I realized that soon we would have to start actually talking. I couldn’t tell him that I had come here because I was stalking him on Twitter. And I definitely couldn’t tell him that I knew he was probably the Infamous Manchester Prankster.

  Fortunately, Freddie broke the ice. “This was very Donnie Darko of us.”

  I smirked. He was referring to the scene where Jake Gyllenhaal and that creepy-ass bunny sit together in a dark theater. “I’m not Frank, the bunny, in this scenario, am I?”

  Now it was Freddie’s turn to smirk, and suddenly we were two smirking idiots on a grimy New York City street, beaming with horror-movie afterglow. After all the confused looks from Saundra, this small exchange was enough to make my heart sing. Or scream, so to speak.

  “I’m Freddie.”

  “Rachel.”

  “So, Rachel, you’re an Evil Dead II fan?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I can appreciate a good horror comedy.”

  “Have you watched Shaun of the Dead?”

  “Of course. Though I’d say that that one’s more of a comedy than a horror. Slither’s a better example of a pure horror comedy—oh—and Ready or Not, which was surprisingly fun. But Sam Raimi’s still the reigning king of the genre as far as I’m concerned.”

  Usually when I talked to somebody (okay, my mom or Saundra) about horror movies, they’d stare at me blankly like I was speaking another language. Freddie was staring at me now too, but there was nothing blank about his expression.

  He broke into a wide grin. “Nothing beats the unintentionally funny horror movie, though.”

  “Which one are you thinking about?”

  “Saw.”

  “Are you serious?” I laughed.

  Freddie nodded. “The bad guy’s a Pinocchio-looking thing on a tricycle. How is that scary?”

  “Well, is Damien scary in The Omen? He’s a little boy!”

  We both looked at each other for a beat, then mutually agreed that, yep, Damien was absolutely terrifying.

  I had forgotten how nice it could be, finding someone to talk to about the things you love. It was like we already had a shorthand, and we’d barely just met.

  Suddenly I wanted to talk about movies all night.

  But we were the last ones left outside the theater and it put a point on the finite nature of the evening. I couldn’t leave without asking Freddie the question I had come to ask him.

  “It’s actually funny that I bumped into you here because I wanted to talk to you about something,” I said, keeping my tone casual. “It’s about that abandoned-house party? The séance?”

  “What about it?”

  Maybe I was about to ruin the first real, genuine connection I’d made in a long time, but I had to risk it. The prank at the séance had kind of knocked my whole trying-to-fly-under-the-radar-as-a-normal-high-school-student thing out of whack and I needed his help.

  “Well, I saw you with the speaker. You were the one playing buzzing noises. It was your prank.”

  My attempts at sounding casual now took on an accusatory edge. I’d come on too strong, and now I would probably scare Freddie away. I tried to reel it in some.

  “It’s just that Lux blames me for what happened,” I said. “And I figure, if she’s going to blame me then I guess I at least want to know what really happened.”

  Freddie had one of those faces that revealed every emotion he was feeling, and now his expression completely changed from the grinning, happy one he’d been sporting a few seconds ago to something more guarded. He pushed up his glasses, his thick eyebrows knitting together. “Did you come here tonight looking for me?”

  He’d seen right through me.

  “What?” I said, cheeks totally, immediately flushed. “No?”

  “You did, didn’t you?”

  “I’m here because I love … Evil Dead. Look, it’s cool, I’m not going to tell anyone it was you.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He quickly averted his eyes, but the dude did not have much of a poker face. He wanted to keep it secret. That was fair. But I couldn’t let it go. I’d found somebody who shared my interests: namely, horror movies, and a clear contempt of Lux McCray.

  “I saw you with the speaker.”

  Freddie kept his eyes glued to the ground. “I didn’t have anything to do with the séance. Someone else did.”

  “Oh yeah? Who?”

  “Greta. She was clearly upset that we disturbed her.”

  I rolled my eyes, but when Freddie looked up, he seemed more amused than annoyed. I was glad I hadn’t completely scared him away.

  “Okay, hypothetically, say it was me,” Freddie said. “You’re accusing me of setting
up an elaborate prank to scare people. Why would I do something like that?”

  “Because you don’t like those people. Because you’re not like them and maybe they deserve it. Because you like scary movies and maybe you’ve seen it all before and none of it really frightens you anymore.”

  It was a lot. Too much to say to someone I had just met. And now that I’d said it I wondered if I was actually talking about him or me. But Freddie was smirking again. While I had found it kind of cute minutes before, it was completely aggravating now.

  “You’ve been hanging around Saundra Clairmont too much, Rachel. There are no pranksters at our school. Do you really think all those millionaires would allow their kids to get terrorized?”

  “How do you know I hang out with Saundra?”

  “I’ve noticed you.”

  I’d noticed him too, although I never would have admitted it. But Freddie didn’t look the least bit embarrassed, letting the words hang heavy between us.

  But my mind snagged on something else he’d said. There are no pranksters at our school.

  “You said ‘pranksters.’ Plural. Everyone else thinks it’s only one person.”

  The impenetrable smirk faltered. It was nearly imperceptible, but I caught it.

  “I’ll see you around, Rachel.”

  When Freddie walked off, I didn’t follow him.

  Even though I wanted to.

  6

  PRANKSTERS. A GROUP of them.

  I hadn’t just imagined it—Freddie had slipped up. It seemed so obvious now. Of course he hadn’t acted alone at the séance. He couldn’t have pulled that off by himself.

  I didn’t know how big the group was or who the major players were, but I had a pretty good idea of who else was in on it. I’d been so focused on Freddie because he was the one in the shadows, controlling the buzzing with his portable speaker. But I’d totally neglected to consider the one person who hadn’t lurked in the shadows but had been center stage.

  Thayer Turner and I shared third-period Women in Literature. We were studying Wuthering Heights, and Ms. Liu was trying to convince us it was a good book despite how much she hated everyone in it. As she ranted, I watched Thayer. From Ms. Liu’s perspective, it probably looked like he was taking copious notes, but from where I sat, one row over and one seat back, I could see that he was actually drawing an incredibly detailed face. It was grotesquely exaggerated, with dark, hollow eyes and crisscrossing scars.

  “But why didn’t he do that?” Ms. Liu asked. “Any opinion on the matter, Mr. Turner?”

  Thayer’s head snapped up. I had no idea what Ms. Liu was asking, and by the looks of it, Thayer didn’t either. I watched as he put down his pencil, closed his notebook, and cleared his throat.

  “Well, what I think you’re really asking me, Ms. Liu, is why did he think he had the right to … do that? Why did he have the courage, the nerve, the audacity to … do the thing that he did that you were just talking about a second ago? And the answer, which I’m sure you’ll agree with, is that it’s because Heathcliff is a total babe.”

  “Okay, Thayer, thank you,” Ms. Liu said loudly, trying to drown out the chuckles.

  “What?” Thayer said. “All the descriptions in the book about him? Tall, dark, searing eyes warming Cath up on the moors. Break me off a piece of that Heath bar.”

  “I said thank you, Mr. Turner. Ms. Chavez, care to answer the question?”

  She’d caught me off guard and I stared at Ms. Liu for a beat too long. “Sorry, what?”

  “Your opinion on Heathcliff’s desire for revenge.”

  “Oh. Um.” My eyes danced over my notebook real quick. It was blank. “Revenge is bad.”

  Ms. Liu looked as though she was waiting for me to say more. The ensuing silence in the room was deafening. A girl in Thayer’s row—one of Lux’s friends—mouthed “loser” at me. Bram, sitting next to her, stared me down so hard I could feel myself wilting under his glare. From somewhere behind me, I distinctly heard the sound of an unimpressed snort.

  The longer everybody looked at me, the more it felt like I had a bear trap around my neck. My mind went so blank that I couldn’t even remember what book we were talking about, and I was pretty sure my mouth was making useless, halfhearted shapes.

  But then the bell rang and everyone forgot I existed as they threw their stuff into their bags. I could breathe again.

  Ms. Liu tried to feed us some last bits of information, but my focus was on Thayer. I channeled the adrenaline I was feeling into chasing after him.

  As I ran out the door, I nearly collided with him. He was standing there, apparently waiting for me. “You were watching me in class.”

  “What?” I said. “No, I wasn’t.”

  “I’m very observant. Don’t try to lie.”

  “I’m not ly—”

  “You followed me this morning, New Girl. Before first period and after second. I mean, I get it—I’m captivating. You can do whatever you want, but please try not to fall in love with me. It will only end in heartbreak.”

  “Uh.” It was all I could manage.

  But then he winked and bumped my elbow with his. It felt like an invitation to walk the hall with him. So I did.

  “I saw your drawing,” I said. “Nice shading of the, uh, scars.”

  “Thank you! Artists are rarely appreciated during their lifetimes.”

  “It was Leatherface, right? I love Leatherface.”

  Thayer served me a highly quirked brow. “Weird taste in guys, but who am I to judge?”

  “I mean, he’s my favorite movie bad guy of all time.”

  Thayer smiled but picked up the pace. “You’re a horror fan.”

  “Yeah.” I rushed to keep up. “I knew you were one too by the way you told that story at the séance. About Greta and Frank and the flies coming out Frank’s mouth. You’re a good storyteller.”

  “Well, aren’t you full of compliments? I should let you follow me around all the time. But that story is completely true.”

  I let out a laugh and Thayer looked at me sideways.

  “Come on, Thayer, I spoke to Freddie,” I said.

  “Freddie who?”

  He was going to play dumb, just like Freddie had. Which meant I just had to cut to the chase. “Freddie Martinez. He told me about your group.”

  Thayer stopped walking again, and this time when he looked at me, it wasn’t with skepticism or charm or humor, but alarm.

  “Freddie would never tell,” he whispered.

  “So there is a group. I knew it.”

  “Shit,” Thayer said. “Shit shit shit.” He started walking again, faster than before, but I ran after him, compelled to find out more about this group. At first I’d only cared about the séance and clearing things up so I could get the target off my back. But I was fascinated by Freddie and Thayer, and I felt like they were part of something more. Something I wanted to be part of.

  “Is it just about playing tricks on people?”

  “No. Keep your voice down.”

  “Do you have to be a horror fan to join? How do you join?”

  “Nobody gets into the club without an invitation, New Girl.”

  “So it’s more than just a group. It’s an actual club.”

  “Shit shit shit.”

  “Do you take minutes? Is there a treasurer?”

  “Please stop talking to me now.”

  “I don’t get the secrecy,” I said. “What’s the big deal?”

  Thayer stopped and I almost bumped into him again. He was about to say something when a big guy walking with a trio of minions came up behind him. He rammed his bowling ball of a shoulder into Thayer’s back, sending him stumbling toward me. The big guy leaned over to whisper something in Thayer’s ear, laughing with his cronies before walking away. I didn’t hear what he said, but reading his lips was easy enough.

  “Did he just call you a…” I couldn’t bring myself to say it.

  “Ironic, isn’t it?” Thayer said, rubbing his s
houlder. “Especially since he’s the one whispering sweet nothings in my ear!” That last part he shouted out, but only after the guy was far enough away to barely hear it.

  “Trevor Driggs is an asshole.” Thayer sighed.

  “Hey!” I was already on the move. When I’d reached Trevor, I tapped him on the shoulder. “What the hell is your problem?”

  He turned to me. “Excuse me?”

  “What makes you think you can talk to people like that?”

  It took him a minute, but then Trevor looked at me and at Thayer, who’d caught up to us. And he laughed.

  “Getting the new girl to fight your battles for you, Thayer?” Trevor turned back to me. “What are you gonna do, rip my hair out?”

  My face flushed. It was a stupid, uninventive jab, but it still got to me. My new reputation had caught like wildfire.

  The late bell rang. Trevor and his band of morons snickered as they walked away and Thayer and I were left, watching them go.

  “I can’t believe he said that to you,” I said. “Are you okay?”

  Thayer shrugged. “Do you know what scares Trevor more than anything else in the world?”

  I shook my head.

  “Well, I do.” Thayer hugged his books to his chest. “Thanks for trying to help. I like you, so I’m going to do you a favor. I’m gonna pretend we never talked. Nice knowing you, New Girl.”

  7

  IT WAS OBVIOUS that Freddie and Thayer didn’t want anything to do with me. So naturally, I couldn’t stop thinking about them.

  Later that day I was in Three-Dimensional Anatomy, my one art elective this semester. Every week we were tasked with rendering body parts out of different materials. Today it was clay, and I probably should’ve been paying more attention. At the very least I should’ve been watching out for Lux, who was in the class and had been shooting me daggers any chance she got. But my mind kept wandering to thoughts of Freddie and Thayer’s club. While everyone else at my table was busy molding the gray lumps in front of them into hands or ears or noses, I rolled my clump absentmindedly on the table.