Final Girl

by Michelle Schusterman

  “It’ll be fine,” I told Oscar as we hurried down the street, my voice muffled in the scarf I’d wrapped around half my face. The wind had picked up, and every bit of exposed skin stung from the cold. “Once I get it edited, it’ll be a good episode.”

  Oscar shrugged noncommittally, but I could tell he was disappointed. Our attempts to record any sort of paranormal activity in the Montgomery’s elevator had been a total bust—not so much as a flickering light. Even Oscar was off his game, stumbling over the backstory and asking the elevator operator the same question twice in a row. The confrontation with Shelly Mathers must have gotten to him.

  It had definitely gotten to me. I barely thought about the Thing the whole time. No chance of any thoughtography, not when I was so busy worrying about talking to my dad.

  “Hey, why’d you look all freaked out when Shelly mentioned a guest star?” I asked, and Oscar’s head jerked up.

  “What? No I didn’t.”

  “You did,” I said, giving him a weird look. “And you do right now, too. What’s going on?”

  He pressed his lips together. “I don’t know. Do you think there really is one and we don’t know about it?”

  I shrugged, pulling open the door to our hotel. “Maybe. So?”

  “Well, some of the fans in the forums think maybe—”

  “Kat.”

  My dad stood in the center of the lobby, and at the sound of his voice, I jumped.

  “Hi!” I said, pulling off my hat and scarf. “Everything okay?”

  But clearly it wasn’t. Dad’s arms were crossed, his mouth was set in a thin line, and—I squinted—yeah, his cheek was twitching. His patience timer, Grandma called it.

  My heart began thumping painfully against my rib cage. Somehow, Shelly must have already published something in the last two hours. This was exactly why Oscar and I weren’t supposed to give interviews without someone else from the cast present.

  “She ambushed us,” I blurted out. “She showed up at Jamie and Hailey’s building—a security guard came and kicked her out! It wasn’t our fault, we—”

  Dad’s expression rapidly changed from upset to alarmed. “Wait, hold up. What are you talking about?”

  “Shelly Mathers,” I said. “From Rumorz.”

  “She didn’t even ask if she could interview us,” Oscar added. “She just started recording and asking questions. Just for a minute or two, then the security guard made her leave.”

  Dad’s jaw tightened, and for a moment he didn’t say anything. “Oscar, Lidia’s up in your room,” he said at last. “Will you go tell her about this, please?”

  Oscar nodded and headed for the elevators. Dad turned to me.

  “I’m sorry, Kat.” His voice was softer now, and my shoulders relaxed. “Fright TV assured us the media knew its boundaries when it came to you and Oscar, but apparently not. We’ll take care of this so it won’t happen again.”

  “Thanks.” I swallowed hard. “There’s something I need to tell you, though. She said . . . she said she heard a rumor you weren’t coming back next season, so I—I know I shouldn’t have said anything, but she even mentioned the host curse and . . . and well, that’s all garbage, right? So I told her you were definitely coming back.”

  Dad didn’t say anything, just watched me. And now I was really nervous, because the patience timer had stopped, and I couldn’t read this expression. Not angry. Not alarmed. Not confused. But something close to all three.

  “I mean, you are, right?” My voice rose a little. “The contract was gone this morning, so you turned it in. Right?”

  Dad’s forehead wrinkled, and he pulled a plastic bag out of his pocket. “Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I got back to our room after the meeting and found this under my pillow.”

  I peered in the bag. It was filled with shredded paper, all ripped up like homemade confetti. And there were words printed on each strip in small black font. Words like network and warranties and agreement.

  “Is that . . . your contract?” I stared up at him. “You tore it up? Why did you do that?”

  Dad squeezed his eyes shut briefly, like he had a headache. “Come on, Kat. You’re too old for games like this.”

  “What?” My head buzzed with confusion, and I had a flash of déjà vu. My dream. I’d dreamed about this last night, about Dad being angry with me for doing something.

  For destroying something.

  “You think I did that?” I whispered.

  “Well, I didn’t,” he replied. “Housekeeping didn’t visit our room today. And no one else has a key. Who did it, if it wasn’t you?”

  I gazed at the shredded contract, my eyes and throat burning. It hadn’t been on the desk when I’d woken up. Whoever shredded it had done it after Dad left, while I slept just a few feet away. And I knew who it was. What it was.

  The Thing wasn’t just lurking in mirrors anymore. It was up to something.

  Dad was still watching me. I felt trapped. There was no lie I could tell that he’d believe—but would he believe the truth?

  “It was . . .” I paused, swallowing. “I think it was a . . . ghost. No, listen,” I went on hurriedly when his brows arched in disbelief. “I’ve been noticing that my stuff keeps getting moved around, like my camera, my notes for history lessons. And I’ve . . . I’ve seen it.”

  “Seen what?”

  “Um . . .” I couldn’t do this. Dad was already looking at me like he feared for my sanity, and I hadn’t even gotten to the crazy stuff yet. “Like a . . . figure. A ghost. I don’t know!” I yelled, suddenly frustrated. “Just something, okay? It’s following me and messing with me and it tore up your contract, not me!”

  All traces of anger and frustration were gone from Dad’s face. “Kat, honey,” he said, his expression so filled with concern it made my throat tighten. “I didn’t realize . . .” He leaned down so he was at eye level with me. “We’ve experienced some scary stuff since we joined this show, haven’t we? And I know you love being scared, but . . . maybe it’s been a little too much.”

  “What?” I gaped at him. “No, it’s not that, I’m not scared.” But the wobble in my voice betrayed me, and tears started to spill over. “I’m not scared,” I repeated anyway. “That’s not what this is about.”

  “We don’t have to keep doing this,” Dad said gently. “We can go back to Ohio, Kat. It’s okay.”

  I couldn’t believe this. “Are you trying to punish me?”

  Dad blinked and straightened up. “I’m trying to help you, Kat.”

  “By threatening to make me move back to Chelsea?” I wiped my eyes furiously. “You know I want to stay with the show. I’m not scared, and I didn’t rip up your—”

  “Jack?” We turned to see Jess in the elevator, holding the doors open and looking at Dad expectantly. “I’ve been texting you—that conference call starts in a minute.”

  “Be right there!” Dad faced me again, lowering his voice. “Kat, stick around the hotel for now, okay? Maybe get some rest. I’ll check in on you in an hour.”

  I didn’t trust myself to speak, so I just nodded. Dad headed for the elevator, and I sank down onto the lobby’s sofa.

  Dad hadn’t been angry, and he hadn’t thought I was lying. That should’ve been a comfort. But he thought I was scared. Like being on a ghost hunters show actually frightened me . . . not just that, but that I was so freaked out I thought a ghost was haunting me.

  He thought I was crazy. And I hadn’t even told him the full truth about the Thing. If he thought the solution to me seeing a ghost was to send me back to Ohio, what would he do if I told him I’d created a ghost that was another version of myself?

  Have me committed, probably. I didn’t want to lie to my dad. But the truth hadn’t worked, either. I’d have to fix this without his help.

  Trouble was, I had no idea wher
e to begin.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  NIGHTMARE ON CLOWN STREET

  Post: The Montgomery Elevator

  Comments (19)

  As most of you probably know, tomorrow the P2P crew is heading off to Beijing. I’ll have a post up soon about where we’re filming, but for now, here’s two clue words:

  1. Demonic.

  2. Bridge.

  (Yeah, it’s going to be amazing.) (Virtual candy corn for anyone who guesses right in the comments!)

  In the meantime, we spent the holidays in New York City, which was really fun and REALLY cold. Oscar and I thought this would be a great place to film the third episode of Graveyard Slot. There’ve got to be plenty of haunted places in this giant city, right? Turns out there are—and one of them happens to be the home of Fright TV vice president Thomas Cooper. You probably remember his kids, Jamie and Hailey, from our last episode about Brunilda Cano. They took us for a ride down to the basement of the Montgomery building on a century-old manually operated elevator, where we attempted to contact the operator who died there nearly seventy-five years ago.

  A quick note: For the first time ever, we got to meet a few fans of P2P in real life today! One of them mentioned a comment supposedly from me on a recent Rumorz poll. I just wanted to let you guys know that it’s not me—just some random person using the name “The Real Kat Sinclair.” No idea what that’s about.

  Anyway, hope you enjoy the video! More soon from Beijing.

  HAILEY stood framed in Oscar’s doorway, hands on her hips and a scowl on her face, like an adorable sixth-grade supervillain out for vengeance.

  “There is a guest star.”

  There was a clattering sound from the bathroom, and I frowned. “Oscar? You okay?”

  “Fine,” came his response. Maybe it was my imagination, but his voice sounded a little wobbly.

  Jamie and Hailey didn’t seem to notice. “How do you know?” he asked his sister before popping another Cheeto into his mouth.

  “I heard them in Roland’s room,” Hailey said. “Jess was talking about doing a special segment on the finale, and Lidia said they’d have to cut one of their usual segments, and your dad said ‘Which one?’ and Lidia said she didn’t know because they’d never had a guest star until now.”

  Oscar stepped out of the bathroom carrying an armload of toiletries. “You were eavesdropping?” he asked, heading to his suitcase and dumping the bottles inside. He sounded normal now, but his lips were a thin line.

  Hailey rolled her eyes. “Look, if they don’t close their door all the way then it’s not a secret meeting. Anyone walking by could overhear.” She flopped down on the bed next to Oscar’s suitcase. “And you’re missing the point. There’s a guest star. And they didn’t tell you guys!”

  “So?” Oscar said, and Hailey sighed loudly.

  “Aren’t you mad? You’re part of the cast, too!”

  “Oh, right.” Oscar nodded. “I’m furious. Roar.”

  His deadpan tone made Hailey giggle. Jamie nudged my leg with his foot.

  “It doesn’t bother you?”

  I made a face. “Honestly? I can’t blame them. I couldn’t even keep my mouth shut about my dad staying on for next season around Shelly Mathers. And it looks like I was wrong, too.”

  “He didn’t say he’s leaving,” Oscar said quickly. “He just said he’s still thinking about it.”

  My talk with Dad after his conference call yesterday had not gone well. According to him, I’d been “not acting like myself” ever since we left Buenos Aires. He thought the news about Grandma selling the house, and the fact that he hadn’t made a decision about whether we should buy it, had made me frustrated with him. Which . . . okay, yeah, it had. Still. It was pretty insulting that he thought I’d have a meltdown like that.

  He hadn’t helped matters by telling me he hadn’t signed the contract yet for a reason. “The contract is for the whole season,” he’d said. “A year. I took this job mid-season because Bernice broke her contract and I needed work. This is a longer commitment. Between this and the news about the house . . . I just need some time to think about it.”

  I hadn’t bothered asking him about Live with Wendy. The possibility that Shelly Mathers knew more about Dad’s career than I did would just be more fuel for my anger.

  “What about your contracts?” Jamie set the bag of Cheetos on the desk and looked from me to Oscar. “Has the network given them to you yet?”

  “Nope,” Oscar said. “They’re holding off on mine and Kat’s until her dad signs his.”

  I sat up straight. “Wait, what? Why are they keeping yours? You can still be on the show even if Dad and I leave.”

  Oscar shrugged. “Actually, I don’t think the network would want that. Remember, that’s how it was when they first asked us to join the cast. It was both of us or nothing.”

  He said it lightly, but guilt washed over me, anyway. He was right. If Dad decided to leave the show—even though I knew he loved this job—there was a good chance Oscar wouldn’t be part of the cast anymore. And he loved being on TV. It wasn’t fair.

  “You’re all coming back,” Hailey said confidently. “I bet your dad’s just trying to get more money, Kat. That’s how negotiations work.”

  I didn’t have the heart to tell her what Dad had said. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

  Hailey started speculating on the guest star again, with Jamie and I throwing out increasingly absurd suggestions to make her giggle. But Oscar stayed uncharacteristically quiet while he packed.

  Something about this whole guest star thing was bothering him. And I had a feeling it wasn’t just that the rest of the cast was keeping it a secret from us.

  A knock sounded on the door, and Mi Jin poked her head in. “Rachele’s downstairs,” she said, then laughed when Hailey let out a little wail of despair.

  “I can’t believe you guys are going to Beijing, and we have to stay in stupid New York and go to stupid school on Monday.”

  I laughed, but a pang of sadness hit me. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to Jamie and Hailey yet.

  Mi Jin gave her a sympathetic smile. “Don’t worry, kiddo. I’m sure we’ll work out another trip with you guys when we start shooting season three!”

  “Yeah, next fall, which might as well be a hundred years from now,” Hailey grumbled. Then she took a deep breath and faced Oscar, lifting her chin like a soldier heading off to battle.

  Oscar’s expression was serious. “See you in a century,” he said solemnly, and Hailey cracked a smile.

  “You’d both better e-mail us every day!” she cried before launching herself at Oscar, who stumbled back into the wall. I’d barely had time to stand up before Hailey’s arms were around me next, squeezing my ribs with a ridiculous amount of strength for a girl with such skinny arms.

  Oscar gave Jamie a quick hug, then headed to the door with Hailey. I smiled at Jamie, suddenly feeling shy.

  “I wish you guys were coming with us,” I told him.

  “Me too.” He paused, biting his lip. “I’ll miss you.”

  A warm feeling filled my chest. “I’ll miss you, too.”

  Jamie stepped forward, and I hugged him tightly. Then, without giving myself a chance to think about it, I kissed him on the cheek.

  He grinned at me, his face dark pink, and started to say something. But then Mi Jin called from the hallway: “Elevator’s here! Come on, guys!”

  “Video chat when you get there?” Jamie asked, and I nodded.

  “Yeah.”

  He slung his backpack over his shoulder, then took my hand, and we headed to the elevator.

  That night, I pretended to be asleep when Dad came into our room. The whole contract thing, combined with saying goodbye to Jamie and Hailey, had left me feeling pretty blah. Even knowing the show had booked a guest star and no one had told Osca
r or me bugged me more now that I’d had time to think about it. Dad didn’t trust me with anything, apparently. Not enough to tell me about the show, or his job offer in Ohio, or even what he was thinking about doing with the house. Didn’t I get a say in this? I was a cast member. I had a blog. I contributed to the show. This was my life, too.

  I listened to the sound of the shower running, trying to think of a way to say any of that to Dad. But he already thought I’d torn up his contract in some sort of meltdown. Anything I said now would probably just come off as more immature whining.

  Then there was the other thing. The Thing. Knowing that it had been creeping around my room that morning while I lay right here, unconscious, was going to make it kind of hard to sleep.

  The water stopped, and a few minutes later, Dad emerged from the bathroom. I buried myself deeper under the comforter as he rummaged around the closet. At last, he turned off the light and climbed into his bed. Before long, his chain-saw snores started up. It was comforting, actually. A reminder that if the Thing showed up, I wouldn’t be alone.

  Maybe if it did, I could wake up Dad and prove to him I wasn’t losing my mind.

  All night, I drifted in and out of vague dreams about being trapped in a small room, jerking awake each time and staring around the room, looking for a skulking figure in the shadows. When Dad’s alarm went off at 5:00 a.m., I was torn between relief and wanting to cry.

  Forty-five minutes later, I entered the lobby to find Oscar sprawled on the couch, looking as exhausted as I felt. He squinted at me through red-rimmed eyes, groaning when I flopped down next to him.

  “Same,” I mumbled.

  We sat in silence for the next five minutes while Dad and Jess checked everyone out at the front desk. Through the glass entrance, I saw Roland pull up in one of our rental cars, followed by Sam in the other.

  Yawning, I got to my feet, slung my backpack over my shoulder, and grabbed my suitcase. Oscar did the same, and I followed him across the lobby. The doors were flanked by two enormous potted palms, and I noticed the leaves trembling a bit on the one on the right. We’d almost reached the doors when a clown with blood dripping from its mouth leaped out and grabbed Oscar by the shoulders.