I thought the scariest movie I’ve seen was Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. I mean, one: there are zombies popping out randomly. Two: it literally looks like part of their faces have just withered away. Three: Elizabeth Bennett cut off Mr. Wickham’s arm. On camera. Insert the green emoji here.

But that movie is apparently child’s play compared to what real horror is like. I’m curled into a little Ash-Ball on Bec’s couch as the slasher in a white mask taps on the car window. The protagonist whimpers, and that’s my cue to shield my eyes.

“How are you going to make ‘A Night of Horror’ if you can’t even watch a horror movie?” Bec asks, pausing to shoot me a judging look.

I really wish she paused it at a better time. The girl is in the car, but I can see the killer slinking into the trunk behind her.

“I’m watching it,” I mumbled. “And I can still hear it if I’m not looking at the screen.”

“So you’ll know the perfect ambient sounds then,” Bec replies with a smile.

Is that… a bemused smile? Or is she trying not to laugh at me? I sit up with a bit of a huff.

“I’m sorry I have too much empathy for the characters,” I say. “I’ve already watched, like a dozen people get murdered. Should I be eating popcorn and laughing?”

Bec chuckles. Chuckles.

“You know, eating while watching actually helps,” she says. “There are studies that say, like, your mind doesn’t fully focus on the movie when you’re snacking. So maybe that’ll work.”

She hands over a half-filled bowl of buttery microwaved popcorn and resumes the movie. It almost makes sense, so I reach for the bowl cautiously. The masked killer leaps from the back of the girl’s seat. The protagonist screams and jumps out of the car at the same time I feel my body spasm. The popcorn bowl flies in the air, showering kernels all over the couch and floor.

“I’m sorry!” I say and swear. “Here, I’ll pick it up.”

Bec pauses the movie again. The girl is mid-run with the killer close behind her. I really wish she’d stop pausing at scary parts. Bec scoops up popcorn from the cushions as I pick up kernels from the floor.

“Maybe eating wasn’t the best idea,” she says.

I flush.

“Why don’t you just give me, like, the SparkNotes version of these movies?” I ask. “Before I accidentally ruin your house.”

“Technically it’s not mine,” she counters. “So, feel free to ruin all the furniture you want in here.”

I glance around, expecting her mom to come running in to scold her. Then I remember the rest of Bec’s family was gone when I came over.

“Is your family…” I begin and trail off.

What am I supposed to say? Are they all out to dinner without you?

“On a camping trip,” Bec says, like she’s read my mind. “It’s apparently a family tradition of theirs. Second weekend of the month. They left right after school and won’t be back til Sunday night.”

“Oh, sounds… fun,” I say.

“I was invited,” Bec says, knowing what I’m about to ask. “Half-heartedly. No one was torn up when I declined.”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” I say, but I’m kinda hoping she does want to talk about it.

Anything to delay having to watch the rest of this movie. Plus, she has a faraway look on her face. Like she’s lost in some internal battle.

“Not much to talk about,” she replies after a moment, her face melting into indifference. “I was basically forced here when my dad deployed to Europe, to everyone’s dismay but his apparently. I got sent here, where everyone acts like they’re happy to see me, but I can tell when I’m not wanted. Now, I’m just waiting for graduation to get the hell out.”

“You didn’t want to go to Europe?”

“He didn’t want me to go,” she corrects. “He said it would disrupt my last year of high school, but I’m pretty sure he just missed the single life.”

I realize she’s really good at saying things that are impossible to reply to. She’s looking at me, too, like she’s waiting to see if I’m going to give false sympathy or pity or something.

“He sounds like a dick,” I say finally.

I honestly thought it’d sound cooler, but it comes out sounding like it’s the first time I’ve said dick. Which is true, and I will definitely leave dismissive remarks like that to TV characters from now on.

Bec chuckles again. I see her reach for the remote.

“You know, I’m a really good listener,” I say. “If you want to talk about it more.”

She gives me a curious look. Then, she smiles. “You’re trying to get out of finishing this, aren’t you?” she guesses.

“What?” I reply, but my voice is too high-pitched to sound believable. “I’m just very interested in your life.”

I realize how weird that last sentence sounds, and I flush.

“Got a crush on me?” she teases.

I make a psshh sound in response. I mean, the obvious answer is no. We have nothing in common. And she’s an annoying know-it-all. And she doesn’t own a pair of pants without at least one hole. I reach for the soda on the table.

“We only have, like, half an hour left on this,” she says, nodding to the TV. “Can you be brave for a little longer?”

I want to give her a biting reply. Something like I’m always brave or it’s not even that scary. But we both would know I was lying.

“Oh, and, I meant to tell you,” she says, focusing on the TV. “I saw on Instagram that there’s a local band playing nearby tomorrow. The vibes seem like they’d fit with your Bash. We could check it out together, if you want.”

Checking out a band seems infinitely better than seeing another horror movie. I nod.

“Only if we take my car,” I say. “I’m not going on your deathtrap.”

She just smiles and hits the play button. Soon, I’m curled up into my Ash-cocoon again, trying to detach from my own eyeballs as the plot twist decides to twist into three different twists, which just adds confusion to the fear. Bec looks invested though, and she doesn’t seem to realize that she’s sinking into a more comfortable slouch next to me. Or that her hand is drifting closer to mine, and I could probably just stretch out my finger and touch hers—

“You okay?” she asks, and I jump again, pulling the blankets around me guiltily.

“Huh? What? Yes, fine. The killer just got hit with a TV,” I say, glancing at the screen. “We can definitely… work… TVs… into the dance…” My voice trails off and I clear my throat. “I’m paying attention.”

“Sure you are,” she says with a smirk, and I wonder if she caught me staring at her hand.

I decide it’s safer to sit up and keep my hands under my legs for the rest of the movie.