Final Girl

by Michelle Schusterman

  “Mi Jin!” We both looked over by the water fountains where Lidia was waving, her smartphone cradled between her shoulder and her ear.

  “Coming!” Mi Jin called, and we both stood up.

  “Do you believe me?” I asked, hating how desperate I sounded. “I know what this looks like. Like I was too chicken to tell you all—all this.” I gestured at the script in her hands. “So I just hid it in your bag and then avoided you. But I didn’t write all of this, I promise.”

  I waited for Mi Jin to say Yes, I know, of course I believe you, Kat. But she still had that funny smile on her face, and her eyes flickered down to the script. At the words Worst. Movie. Ever. in what I had to admit was my exact handwriting.

  “Yeah, okay,” she said at last, putting a hand on my arm in what was probably supposed to be a reassuring way, but just made me feel sad and empty. “I’ll, um . . . just don’t worry about it, Kat.”

  Then she picked up her backpack and headed over to Lidia, leaving me alone. Closing my eyes, I sank back down in my chair and didn’t budge until our flight started boarding twenty minutes later.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  MOTHER DEAREST

  Fright TV: Your Home for Horror

  Press Release: January 9

  EDIE MILLS ANNOUNCES LAUNCH OF FINAL GIRL PRODUCTIONS

  Former teenage Scream Queen Edie Mills, producer of the upcoming Fright TV documentary MAGIC HOUR, today announced the launch of Final Girl Productions. This production company will focus on horror and dark comedies for film, television, and digital media, and is currently accepting submissions. “No remakes or retellings,” Mills states on the company’s website. “We’re looking for scripts with original concepts that break away from tired old horror tropes. Fewer vampire vixens, more mind-bending monsters, please.”

  DAD, Jess, and Lidia all stayed behind at the airport in Seoul while the rest of us headed to our hotel. “So this guest star’s flight lands in two hours,” Oscar complained as he heaved his suitcase into the back of the van. “And you guys still won’t tell us who it is? Do you think Kat’s going to blab about it on her blog or something?”

  “It’s not a matter of trust,” Roland replied, helping Mi Jin with her bags. “It’s . . . a surprise.”

  Oscar and I exchanged a confused glance. “Well, obviously,” I said. “It’s got to be a celebrity, right?”

  “Mi Jin, just tell us,” Oscar begged, and she grinned.

  “Nope. But trust me, you’re both gonna freak out.”

  “Like you did?” Roland asked. “When Lidia told us who it was, you just about busted my eardrums with that scream.”

  Mi Jin snickered. “That’s nothing. Just wait till I actually meet her in person.”

  “Aha! It’s a her,” Oscar said triumphantly. “Okay, who’s Mi Jin’s favorite female celebrity?”

  “Beyoncé.” We all turned to Sam, who was holding open the cab’s passenger door. He gazed at us solemnly. “The guest star for the finale is Beyoncé.” No one responded, and after a moment, Sam’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “I was being sarcastic. Was that not clear?”

  Roland let out a short, loud bark of laughter and walked around to the driver’s side. “Clear as mud, you weirdo.”

  Still giggling, I climbed into the van after Oscar. We claimed the back seat, and Mi Jin slid into the seat in front of me. She squeezed her backpack between the two bucket seats, and I tried not to think about the marked-up script inside. Or the look on Mi Jin’s face when I’d told her I hadn’t written those notes. She wanted to believe me.

  But I couldn’t help worrying maybe she didn’t.

  Oscar and I pulled up maps on our phones, watching the blue dot that was our van leave the airport’s little island and enter Seoul. When I zoomed out, I could see the Han River, which cut the city in half. Lidia had given us all an itinerary that included our hotel’s address, so I mapped it. The red marker appeared on the north side of the river, right about the center of the city in a district called Itaewon. Our blue dot was way southwest of the hotel.

  “Long drive,” I told Oscar. We spent the next hour alternating between staring out the windows and frantically trying to find the different buildings and temples whizzing by on our maps. It turned into a competition, both of us trying to name a museum or market or particularly cool-looking skyscraper first.

  By the time Roland squeezed the van into the only open spot down the street from our hotel, my stomach was growling and I seriously had to pee. As soon as Sam handed me the key cards for my room with Dad, I practically sprinted to the elevator, dragging my suitcase behind me.

  Fifteen minutes later, I returned to the lobby, which was mostly empty. I sat on a stiff white armchair and pulled out my phone again, hoping Oscar would hurry up. My stomach rumbled louder than ever, and I started searching the map for restaurants close to the hotel. But a few seconds later, Mi Jin and Oscar walked in through the entrance. Each was carrying three little paper cups with plastic forks sticking out of them.

  “How’d you get your stuff upstairs so fast?” I asked.

  “Sam and Roland took it up while we went to find a snack,” Mi Jin explained, heading to the elevator. “I’m going to bring this up to them.”

  Oscar sat down next to me and offered one of the paper cups. “It’s called dot . . . something.”

  “Ddeokbokki!” Mi Jin called right before the elevator doors slid closed.

  “What she said.”

  I peered into the cup. It kind of looked like the canned Chef Boyardee I loved when I was little: thick, short pasta in a bright red sauce. “Is it like spaghetti?” I asked, surprised.

  “Mi Jin said they’re rice dumplings.” Oscar scooped up three with his fork. “It’s really good. Spicy.”

  I stabbed one and popped it into my mouth. All thoughts of canned spaghetti instantly flew from my mind. The dumpling was soft and dense, and the sauce was a little sweet and really hot and absolutely nothing like Chef Boyardee. By the time we’d finished our cups and split the third, our noses were running and my eyes kept tearing up.

  When Mi Jin returned with Roland and Sam, we took a walk to check out the neighborhood. A few blocks away, we found a pedestrians-only street with a market. I spotted several vendors selling more ddeokbokki, as well as steamed buns that looked similar to the ones we’d had in Beijing, and lots of other food I had no name for. There were also stalls filled with clothes, toys, and electronics, and one blindingly pink shop that sold every type of Hello Kitty product imaginable.

  After Mi Jin bought a red sweater covered in little black-and-white robots, we wandered out of the market and found ourselves on a busy street lined with glass and steel skyscrapers. Roland spotted a café across the intersection, made a loud grunting noise like a zombie that caused a few passersby to stare at him in alarm, and crossed without waiting to see if the rest of us were following.

  “I guess we’re getting coffee,” Mi Jin said with a grin.

  Inside, the café was massive, and reminded me of the two-level Starbucks Jamie and Hailey had taken us to near their apartment. The menu was huge, too, and we spent almost ten minutes looking over everything before ordering: sweet-potato latte for Roland, pomegranate tea for Sam, some sort of milky, lavender-colored drink for Mi Jin, and two bubble teas (coconut for me, passion fruit for Oscar).

  Roland eyed our drinks suspiciously when the barista slid them across the counter. “Yeah, I don’t know if tea you can chew should be a thing that exists.”

  “Says the guy who ordered potato-flavored coffee,” I said before slurping up a few of the chewy tapioca balls through the extra-wide straw.

  “Sweet potato. Totally different.” Roland’s phone buzzed, and he glanced at the screen.

  “They’re back at the hotel!”

  “Finally.” Oscar made a beeline for the door. I was right on his heels, and as soo
n as we were outside, we broke into a run. It turned into a race, both of us accidentally-on-purpose bumping into each other and trying not to spill our drinks as we sprinted down the block. I reached the hotel entrance first, but Oscar grabbed the hood of my coat just as I pushed the doors open. We stumbled into the lobby at the same time, breathless with laughter and still elbowing each other. I spotted Dad, Jess, and Lidia at the reception desk and headed for them, tossing my cup in a trash can along the way. Another woman stood facing Dad, wearing a long, stylish jacket cinched around the waist. When she turned around, I nearly tripped on the carpet.

  “Grandma?”

  She beamed, spreading her arms wide. “Surprise!”

  I flew across the lobby and threw myself at her, catching a glimpse of Dad’s smile right before I buried my face in Grandma’s shoulder. It occurred to me that I should probably feel embarrassed about acting like a five-year-old in front of Oscar, but I didn’t care. All the worry I’d been carrying about our house, Dad’s future with the show, my mother, moving back to Chelsea . . . as soon as I saw Grandma, it was like all that stuff disappeared. Well, not entirely. But it suddenly felt manageable.

  Then a horrible thought occurred to me. Had she come all the way out here because Dad told her about the stuff the Thing had done? Did Grandma think I was crazy, too?

  “What are you doing here?” I asked, taking a step back.

  Lidia smiled, tucking a stray strand of frizzy hair behind her ear. “You know why! Edie’s going to guest star on the finale.”

  “But I thought the guest star was a celebrity,” I blurted out. Grandma crossed her arms and gave me a mock-withering look.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Wow, burn,” Oscar said, snickering. “On your own grandmother, too.”

  “No, I didn’t mean . . .” I waved my hand. “I just . . . I guess I forgot you’re kind of a celebrity or whatever.”

  “Kind of,” Grandma said to Dad, who was shaking his head and grinning. “No manners, this one.” She winked at me, then turned to Oscar. “Speaking of celebrities—Oscar Bettencourt. You, young man, are pretty darn captivating on camera. Have you ever considered acting?”

  “Yes,” Oscar replied, almost before the words were out of her mouth. “Yes, I have.”

  I snorted, and Lidia cleared her throat loudly. “Excuse me, what? You’ve never mentioned that.”

  “Well, you should pursue it,” Grandma told Oscar firmly, and he looked so pleased I couldn’t help but roll my eyes.

  “Ohhhh my God,” came a voice behind me. I turned to find Mi Jin gazing at Grandma and bouncing up and down on her toes. “OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod. You’re actually here.”

  “Mi Jin!” Grandma exclaimed, and Mi Jin froze, her mouth in a round O. “It’s so good to finally meet you.” She wrapped her in a hug like they were old friends, and everyone laughed at the ecstatic expression on Mi Jin’s face. She was a die-hard Edie Mills fan; I couldn’t believe she’d managed to keep the fact that Grandma was the guest star a secret.

  Suddenly, I felt ridiculous for not putting the pieces together sooner. Grandma was moving to L.A., producing a documentary series, getting back into film. And she was obsessed with P2P, and two of her family members were part of the cast. It made perfect sense for her to actually be on the show. But even though I’d seen all her movies a million times, I’d never really thought of her as a celebrity until now. She was just . . . Grandma.

  The funny thing was, she even looked more like a celebrity than like a grandmother. Her clothes were straight out of Head Turner magazine, her makeup was perfect, and now that I looked closer, I was pretty sure she’d started dyeing the gray out of her brownish-black hair.

  I hadn’t seen her this glammed up in a few years, and I’d forgotten how alike she and Mom looked. Which had always struck me as weird, because their personalities couldn’t have been more different.

  “Edie, your production company’s taking submissions, right?” Dad asked, nudging Mi Jin. “I think Mi Jin might have a script to show you.”

  At that, Mi Jin’s face turned a nuclear shade of pink. “Oh. No. I mean, yes. I mean, I have a script, but it’s—”

  “It’s so good, Grandma!” I interrupted loudly. “I read it, and the main character is awesome—she kind of reminds me of Jackie Urns in your Asylum movies—and it’s really creepy. It’s about doppelgangers. You should definitely read it.” Mi Jin gave me a surprised but grateful smile.

  “I would absolutely love to,” Grandma said, and Mi Jin let out a funny little squeak that sounded like “okay.” Then Grandma’s eyes flickered over to the entrance, and her grin widened. “Aha.”

  I turned to see Roland and Sam tossing their empty coffee cups in the trash can by the door before heading over to us. Grandma patted at her already-perfect hair, and I was overcome with the urge to hide behind the sofa. Oh God. Oh God. I’d forgotten about Grandma’s ridiculous crush on Sam. Not like a real crush; nothing she’d actually act on. But she definitely thought he was cute, and she wasn’t shy about saying so.

  “Here they are,” Grandma announced, her voice somehow one thousand times throatier than usual. “The two reasons I watch Passport to Paranormal. No offense, Jack,” she added offhandedly.

  Dad tried and failed to look offended. “Yeah, thanks, Edie.”

  “A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Mills.” Roland held out his hand, and Grandma took it. “Absolutely loved your movies when I was a kid. My Girlfriend Is from Pluto ruined my teenage dating life. Haven’t had a girlfriend since.”

  “Is that so? My sincerest apologies,” Grandma said, matching his solemn tone perfectly. Then she aimed her smile right at Sam. “And you? I gave my granddaughter one of my DVDs last fall hoping you’d watch it . . .”

  Sam’s expression remained politely blank. “Oh?”

  “I didn’t show it to him!” I looked at Dad for help, but he—everyone, actually—was too amused to notice my embarrassment. Except for Sam, of course. He just looked clueless, as usual.

  “Well, maybe we can watch it together later,” Grandma said, casually linking arms with Sam. “Actually, I really think you’d be one of the few people who’d appreciate What She Sees in the Mirrors. I heard your interview on Therese Koffey’s radio show a few years ago, and that story you told about how you helped the woman who saw the reflection of her son who drowned every time she looked in a pool or bathtub was absolutely enchanting, it reminded me of . . .”

  As she continued chatting up Sam (and batting her eyelashes way more than necessary), Oscar leaned closer until our arms were touching. “Your grandmother,” he whispered. “Is hitting. On Sam.”

  “Shut up,” I groaned, elbowing him in the ribs for emphasis.

  “No, seriously. This is like the greatest thing that’s ever happened.” His voice cracked a little, and we glanced at each other, and suddenly it was just like back in Jamie and Hailey’s apartment. Giggles rose up in my throat and I pressed my lips together hard to keep them in. Oscar turned around to hide his laughter, although his shaking shoulders gave it away.

  “We’ve got a meeting in less than an hour, Edie,” I heard Dad say, and Grandma finally let go of Sam’s arm. “Should we get your stuff up to your room so we can grab lunch first?”

  “Oh, I suppose.” Grandma took the handle of her suitcase, then reached out to me with her other hand. “Help me unpack, KitKat? It’ll give us a chance to catch up!”

  I nodded and took her hand, still not trusting myself to speak (or look at Oscar). Dad followed us to the elevators. As soon as the doors slid closed, he turned to Grandma.

  “Well,” he said with a grin. “That was shameless.”

  Grandma waved a perfectly manicured hand. “Oh, please. I didn’t embarrass you, did I, Kat?” she added, eyebrows raised.

  I wrinkled my nose. “You know Sam’s only interested in ghosts, right? That’s what Ro
land always says.” For some reason, that made Dad snort.

  “Well, I suppose Roland would know,” Grandma said, examining her fingernails. “Don’t worry, sweetie. It’s just a little harmless flirting.”

  “Extremely one-sided flirting,” Dad added dryly, and Grandma swatted him lightly on the head.

  As soon as Grandma opened the door to her room, my mouth fell open. “You got a suite?” I hurried inside, then spun around to face Dad, spreading my arms wide. “Why does Fright TV always get us the tiny rooms? This is huge!”

  It wasn’t huge, not really—the little alcove that I thought was supposed to be a living room was probably the size of Jamie and Hailey’s shower—but still.

  “The network knows some of us aren’t so high maintenance,” Dad replied, looking pointedly at Grandma. She tossed her purse onto one of the beds and untied the belt on her jacket.

  “Well, that’s not exactly fair,” she said. “I thought I’d have a roommate, for one thing.”

  Dad’s teasing smile disappeared, replaced with a grimace. A weird, strained silence fell between them.

  “Wait . . . what’s going on?” I asked. Grandma was gazing calmly at Dad, her head tilted slightly. “Hello? Who’d you think you were sharing a room with? Please don’t say Sam,” I added in a feeble attempt at a joke. Neither of them laughed.

  Grandma slipped out of her jacket, hung it neatly on the back of the desk chair, then turned to Dad. She crossed her arms. “We talked about this in the cab, Jack,” she said gently. “I told you, I’m done making excuses for her. I know you are, too.”

  My chest suddenly felt shrunken and tight, like it was caving in around my heart. Dad and Grandma just stood there, having a silent conversation with their eyes like they’d forgotten I was even in the room.

  “Are you talking about me?” My voice shook a little, and they both turned to me at the same time.

  “No! Oh, KitKat . . .” Grandma hurried over and put her arm around my shoulders. “I’m so sorry. Here, come sit down with me.” She guided me to the bed by the desk. Dad spun the chair around and sat facing us. He had that look again. The defeated look I was getting tired of seeing.