by Leah Konen
Mona bursts into laughter and motions to the waiter for another glass of wine. “Oh, I’ve had plenty of similar arguments with fellow creators. All I can say is, it’s so energizing to see two young, smart, and passionate horror fans. I can tell you are both going to go very far.”
I feel a whoosh of relief, and I look to Katie, thankfulness in my eyes, but then I realize, suddenly, the emptiness in my hand. Jake has unlaced his fingers, let my hand go. He’s scooted his chair back, too.
I turn to him, wanting to apologize, to say I’m sorry, to explain, but when I see his face, I know it’s too late for that.
He’s staring at me, jaw dropped, eyes narrowed, as if he doesn’t know me at all.
I know it surer than I’ve known anything all summer:
He’s figured out my secret.
And he hates me for it.
ONYX
What do you want me to say? People make mistakes. They take the wrong turn, they make stupid decisions, they hurt each other.
JIMMY
Not like this, they don’t.
–The Bad Decision Handbook by O. Knight
A Quiet Place
Jake is silent.
Silent as we finish our meals, which I feel too sick even to touch.
Silent as Mona insists on paying because, as she says, it’s rare she gets to treat two budding young horror writers to dinner!
Silent as we say our goodbyes, as Mona promises to look us up next time she’s in the city.
Silent as he drives Katie and me back to my house.
“Tell your aunt thanks again,” Katie says from the backseat. “And I’ll probably be leaving tomorrow, so, uhh, bye. It was nice getting to know you . . . better, at least.”
Jake doesn’t turn around, only sits stock-still, hands on his knees.
If he were in that movie, the one I actually managed to drag Katie to the theater to see because she’s always thought Jim from The Office is cute, the one where you have to be super quiet lest the monsters get you, let’s just say Jake would be aces.
I listen as the door shuts, watch as Katie heads inside. With the windows rolled up, I can’t even hear the crickets outside or the musical trilling of the creek.
“We need to talk,” I say, reaching out for Jake’s hand, but he flinches, as if I’m the monster now. What can I say? Maybe I am. Maybe Katie was right all along, and it’s all metaphorical. Perhaps nothing in any horror movie on earth even halfway compares to betraying someone you care about, as I have done to him.
“I don’t want to talk to you,” he says stonily.
“I know, and I get it. I just want you to know . . .” My voice trails off. “I want you to know that I never meant to—”
Jake interrupts me. “So you’re Carrie . . . you’ve always been Carrie.”
I swallow, my chest tight.
“Only Carrie would defend the screenplay like that,” he says. “Tell me if it’s not true.”
I’m the one who’s silent now.
“I mean, I should have seen it, right?” Jake says. “Was that the test? To see how long it would take before I figured it out? Were the two of you just laughing at me behind my back?”
I shake my head, and I can feel my eyes glistening. “What do you mean? No.”
“The whole time?” he continues. “When Katie showed up, and then when we went to get burgers, and at ice cream, and when I took you to Bryson’s party—all that time, it was just a big joke? Better than any of my bad jokes, that’s for sure. You really went all out.”
“No. It wasn’t a joke at all. It wasn’t like that.”
He grips the wheel so tight, his knuckles go white. “I always knew something was off. She didn’t sound like Carrie, even when she was going on about movies. She never sounded like . . .” His voice goes quiet. “She never sounded like you.”
I tug at the elastic hair tie on my wrist, feeling it snap. As Carrie and Elm, we talked for so many hours, exchanged so many messages. How could I possibly have thought that, with the aid of a few flash cards and YouTube clips, Katie could fool him? She’s a good actress—maybe even she’s on her way to becoming a great actress—but no one’s that good.
This isn’t a role, it’s real life.
“You know, I thought it was weird—a coincidence, I guess—when the shop in The Bad Decision Handbook seemed so similar to our place at Hunter Mountain, but I figured Carrie had just been to summer camp or whatever. I thought it was weird when I plugged Caring for You into IMDB and nothing turned up, but I thought I just remembered it wrong. You almost said Carrie, didn’t you? You slipped.”
I nod. “Yes. I slipped, and so I made something up.”
Jake sighs. “It all fits together, but why? Why would you do that? Why would you take it so far?”
“I didn’t want to,” I say, my voice wavering.
“But you did,” Jake says. “If you ever cared about me—even a little bit—why would you try to make me think she was you?”
My throat tightens, because even now, it feels stupid. It’s so embarrassing.
“I just—”
“You just lied,” he says. “Over and over again.”
It started out with such a tiny lie, as so many lies do. Like in a movie, where one action, one little decision, leads to everything, threatens to bring the whole house of cards down.
My fingers shake with nerves. “When you asked me to trade pictures, I got scared.”
Jake shakes his head. “Why?”
I pick at the bit of skin around my nail. “Because we had this great connection, but it was based on the things we said, on movies and horror and just, easy things. I thought if you saw my photo . . .”
“You thought I wouldn’t want to talk to you if you weren’t, what, blond? What kind of person do you think I am, Olivia?”
“I got nervous, okay? Yours was so . . . nice. You were this horror-loving nerd, and yet you looked like . . .” I glance up at him. “You looked like you. Meanwhile, I had this huge zit that day, and I just generally looked a mess, and then Katie sent me this selfie for no reason, like she does, and it looked so perfect, so I sent it to you.”
“Just like that,” he says.
Maybe he doesn’t get it, maybe he’s naturally braver or better than I’ll ever be, but life is a series of just like thats. You do stupid things—or I do, at least. Sending Katie’s photo. Not giving NYU a real shot. It’s remarkably easy to make the wrong decision, to be a coward.
Maybe that’s why I love horror like I do, because it’s nice to see people who have no choice but to fight. It’s comforting to imagine that, if I were trapped in some sort of house with a ghost, I’d fight, too. But I know now that real life is so much scarier than any shadow monster.
Being close to people, being honest with them, not being afraid to fail—that’s the scariest thing of all.
I blink back the moisture in my eyes. “I thought it wouldn’t matter, because I thought I’d never meet you. And then I got here, and in this insane coincidence, you were here, and I didn’t know what to do.”
“You could have told me then,” Jake says, shaking his head. “I would have probably laughed about it. It could have been just another joke between us.”
“I should have,” I say.
He turns to me and for the first time, his eyes catch mine. “Do you know what I would have said?”
I don’t drop his gaze. “What?”
He looks down. “I would have told you you’re too damn beautiful to be pulling shit like that.”
His words strike me, a sudden weight in my stomach. It’s crazy, but even after the last few weeks, after the time we spent together, our hike to the waterfall, our kiss at Bryson’s party, I still thought that somehow I wasn’t quite good enough. I was still finding reasons to be jealous of Katie’s picture-perfect looks, still waiting for the other shoe to finally drop.
I know it’s stupid to feel this way. I know about the messages that magazines and fashion ads send us and
all that. I know people like Chrissy turn photographs into something that isn’t real—impossible perfection you should never strive for. I know you have to love yourself before someone else can love you.
But sometimes, when your boobs are growing faster than you expected and your elbows feel all gawky, and your legs are scratchy even though you shaved just the day before, sometimes it’s hard to really believe it.
I shake my head. “I’m so sorry.”
“We could have spent the last few weeks actually getting closer instead of you playing some stupid game with me for laughs,” Jake says, talking more quickly now. “Did you ask Katie to come up so you could play director or something? Really put your skills to the test?”
“No,” I say. “I swear, I never even knew she was coming.”
“Did you make up the whole thing about NYU just because, I don’t know, you’re obsessed with lying? You were here with me the whole time, not doing some kind of program.”
“You were the only one I was honest with about my writer’s block,” I say desperately. “You’re the only one I even shared the screenplay with. I was as honest with you as I could be. You’re the one I trusted.”
“That’s some way to show it.” He practically spits it out.
“Just listen,” I say.
Jake shakes his head. “I’m done listening to your lies. Get out of the car.”
My eyes well. “Please?”
“No, Olivia. Just leave me alone.”
Drama Queens
“Everything okay?” my mom asks as soon as I’m inside. I can still hear the sound of Jake’s car, backing away.
“Fine,” I say, hardly looking her way. Instead, I walk down the hall as quickly as I can and slip into my room. The tears spill over then, tears for all that’s happened, every lie and betrayal, but also for what Jake said.
You’re too damn beautiful to be pulling shit like that.
Katie is on my bed, reading a book of monologues. She looks up, but she doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask what happened or if I’m okay.
“Jake figured everything out,” I say. “He’s furious.”
Katie goes back to her book. “What did you think was going to happen?”
Her words cut like a knife. “Sorry, I thought you’d care that the guy I really like despises me now.”
Katie rolls her eyes. “You’re so dramatic.”
I shake my head. I can’t believe she’s acting like this. “Oh, I’m dramatic.”
Katie tosses the book down. “Yes, actually, you are. Say what you want about actors, but apparently budding screenwriters are an even more difficult bunch.”
More tears course down my cheeks, but Katie doesn’t stop. “Why did you have to go and start this huge fight with me in front of his aunt? Everything was going fine. They totally believed the whole thing, but you just had to butt in with your opinions. You had to make it impossible for me to do what you asked me to. The fact that that woman doesn’t think you’re a total nut is only because I swept in with an excuse about us cowriting.”
I cross my arms. “Yeah, well maybe I wouldn’t have had to jump in if you hadn’t completely hammed it up. Going on and on with this pseudo-intellectual bullshit about adding layers to the genre or whatever. You always have to overdo it. You always have to take the spotlight, no matter what the occasion.”
Katie scoffs. “Oh yeah, I just love stealing the spotlight from you. I wanted to be forced to assume an alternate identity when I came up to visit my best friend, who, by the way, practically begged me to come and save her from her awful summer.”
My hands ball into fists at my sides. “What are you talking about? You loved it. I’m the one who wanted to tell Jake the truth in the first place, and you’re the one who started going on about Dexter. You just wanted another role, but you couldn’t have played it like a normal person. It had to be The Katie Show. No wonder Ms. Sinclair told you that you overact.”
Katie’s jaw drops, and as soon as the words are out, I know how cruel and awful they are.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean—”
Katie interrupts me. “Go ahead. Criticize my acting, fine. Tell me I’m shit. Everyone else does, anyway. You’re not exactly alone. But whatever you think of me, at least I have the guts to try and go after what I want instead of just sitting on the sidelines waiting for stuff to magically happen. At least I’m not stealing my best friend’s photo for no reason.”
“That’s not true,” I say.
“Yes it is. You totally—”
“No, I mean, it’s not true about you. You’re a great actress. Everyone knows that. I knew it from the first second of the Dracula audition. I was just being an ass. I’m sorry.”
“Everyone does not know that, Olivia. And if you hadn’t been so distracted and tied up in your own drama and machinations, maybe you would have thought to ask me why I just up and left my program like I did.”
“But I did ask you,” I say weakly.
“Barely. Jake seemed more concerned about why I’d left my program, and I don’t even know him. He could actually see that I was upset about what had happened there,” she says.
“You made it sound like you didn’t want to talk about it,”
“And when has that ever stopped us from being there for each other before?” Katie snaps. “Couldn’t you tell that I was torn up about something? Couldn’t you at least try to put it together that the last time I spoke to you, I was telling you about the auditions being posted, and then the very next week, I was showing up at your house? Shouldn’t that give you a little pause?”
The awful truth is, she’s right. Katie and I have always been there for each other, caring about and anticipating each other’s needs in a way that only best friends can. Like on that last day of school, how I didn’t have to tell her how embarrassed I was that everyone else had these amazing summer plans. She just swooped in and saved me herself.
I’ve been so caught up in my own drama, I haven’t even opened my eyes and really looked at my best friend.
“Not to mention,” Katie goes on, “in addition to having to save you from this mess you’ve gotten yourself into, I have to reassure you at every turn while you play this pity card.”
“It’s easy for you to say. You’re . . .”
“I’m what, Olivia? Blond? I have blue eyes? What?”
“You’re pretty,” I say finally. “Everyone knows that.”
“So are you! With your curls and your big doe eyes and your boobs like twice the size of mine. You know that one of Dexter’s friends told him I looked too ‘basic’ after he broke up with me? You think you’re the only one who’s ever had to deal with self-esteem? We all do. Only the rest of us don’t catfish our crushes—we deal with it. You’re gorgeous, Olivia. It’s not my fault you can’t see it.”
I shake my head. It can’t be that simple. It can’t only come down to fear. It has to be easier for Katie, if for no other reason than that’s the story I’ve been telling myself for so very long . . .
But what if she’s right? What if the biggest difference between her and me is that she’s willing to try, to put herself out there, and I’m not?
With the back of my hand, I wipe the tears from beneath my eyes. “What happened?” I ask, my voice soft.
“What happened with what?” Katie snaps.
“With your program.”
She laughs bitterly. “They posted the cast list. I was cast as, ready for it? Townsperson Number Three.”
Shit.
“I tried to ask the instructor what had gone wrong, but she told me that I should be happy with that part, that lots of people would be thrilled just to be in the program at all. She told me that there’s a whole world outside of community theater in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn.”
“Ouch,” I say.
“Let’s just say I didn’t exactly handle it well. It seemed easier to leave than to grovel at her feet, making apologies. Plus, I didn’t want to be Townsperson Number Thre
e—I don’t care what she said about gratefulness. My parents are still freaking out about it, are going to make me earn off the tuition money I wasted. I think the only reason my mom even let me come up here was so she and I would stop fighting.”
I sigh. “I’m so sorry.”
Katie’s face stiffens. “Whatever,” she says.
“No, really. I feel awful.”
“Don’t, Olivia. I don’t want your pity.”
I stare at her. “I never meant to—”
“Just stop, Olivia. Please. If I never have to hear another one of your excuses, I’ll be happy as a clam. Now can you please shut out the lights?” she asks. “I want to go to sleep.”
My best friend turns over, away from me, not saying another word.
Firestarter
There’s only one way to describe work the following day: horrible.
The only thing I have to look forward to is Chrissy’s visit, and even that feels tainted, because I have to explain to her that I didn’t actually fess up to Jake, that instead, it all blew up in my face, in worse fashion than even I imagined.
Jake normally doesn’t work on Tuesdays, but because Bryson called in sick, he’s rearranged his schedule with the internship. At first I think that might be a good thing, giving us a chance to talk, only when he comes into the check-in office, he goes so out of his way to avoid looking at me, he might as well be the girl in The Exorcist, twisting his neck all the way around.
At lunch, I go out to my bale of hay, and though I see Jake walk past, he heads straight to the lodge, avoiding me completely.
In the afternoon when the place is fairly slow, I stare at my phone, trying to think of what I can possibly say to him. There are no texts from him, no messages on Reddit, either. The jig fully up, I don’t even know how I would go about apologizing—as Olivia, as Carrie, as both?
The walkie dings, and I hear his voice.
“Jake here. Sending a guy down on the lift. He’s too scared. Can we give him a partial refund?”