by Leah Konen
Anyway, thank you for helping me figure all this out, even if you were an unwitting helper! I will never forget your encouragement, from helping me do that damn zip line to helping me finally write my screenplay.
Thanks, and I’m sorry.
Carrie/Olivia/The Worst Person Ever
I read it over three times before I get the guts to hit Send.
Then I close out of Reddit and open up Google. Like my mom said, friendships are important, and I’ve got some work to do.
What Would Meryl Do: Part Four
Katie tells us over breakfast that she’s taking the ten o’clock train.
“Just as I’m getting here!” Aunt Chrissy says, between bites of her extra-sugary cereal, the one my mom won’t let us keep in the house.
Katie smiles her Katie smile. “I think I’ve imposed enough.”
“Never,” my dad says. “Plus, between you and Olivia, we have a full range of movie knowledge for the crossword. By the way,” he says, looking at me. “What’s a twelve-letter word for badass?”
I raise an eyebrow. “I don’t know, Dad.”
I can feel a joke coming in three, two, one . . .
“Screenwriter!” he says.
I feel myself blush.
“Seriously, Olivia. Mom told me this morning. I’m so beyond proud of you. I mean, completely on your own. It’s amazing. You’re a rock star.”
“Your mom told me, too,” Aunt Chrissy says. “And I gotta say, I told you you didn’t need that bougie-ass school. You’re an inspiration all on your own.”
“It’s not that big of a deal,” I say.
Katie takes a sip of orange juice, then adjusts herself in her chair and looks right at me. “It is, though, Olivia. It really is.”
The two of us are quiet as Katie loads her bags into the Subaru.
My mom drives, and we get to the station a few minutes early.
“I’ll hang out with you on the platform while you wait,” I say.
“You don’t have to do that,” Katie says.
“Hey, it’s fine by me!” my mom says. In the rearview mirror, I see her not-so-discreetly wink.
“Thanks again, Mrs. Knight,” Katie says.
“Anytime, Katie. Please come up again soon.”
I grab Katie’s backpack while she takes her suitcase, and we walk, quietly, up the stairs and onto the platform. It’s a slow day, and only a couple of other people are waiting for the train.
Katie sits down on a bench and looks at me. “It’s okay, Olivia. We don’t have to talk about it. I’m just disappointed in myself. I couldn’t cut it in the program. I couldn’t even play Katie-Carrie without over-acting. It’s stupid, but it’s cool. I’m not even mad anymore.”
I shake my head, reach into my pocket, and pull out my phone.
“Oh my god, did you write some sort of speech? And you think I’m the dramatic one? Geez.”
I ignore her and clear my throat, reading off the notes I jotted down late last night.
“Scarlett Johansson was overlooked for a role in Jumanji. She lost to Kirsten Dunst. Marilyn Monroe was told she should be, no joke, a secretary. Lea Michele was told her nose was too big. Keira Knightley was told she couldn’t act.” I scroll down on my phone. “Okay, this one’s especially bad, but Kerry Washington was fired from two pilots because she didn’t seem ‘hood’ or ‘urban’ enough. Sally Field was told she wasn’t good enough to get into film. And here’s maybe the best one, one I’m sure you already know, but Meryl Streep was told that she was ‘too ugly’ to be in King Kong.”
I steal a look up, and Katie is staring at me, the corners of her mouth creeping into a smile. “You looked all that up for me?”
I smile right back. “I looked all that up because everybody gets rejected, and some stupid casting director at some stupid New School program doesn’t know what they’re missing. You care about this more than anyone I’ve ever known, and unlike me, you have never been too scared to go after what you want. That’s something—not everyone has that drive.”
Her smile is wider now, and I catch a sheen of moisture in her eyes.
In the distance, a rushing whooshing sound, the feeling of movement beneath our feet. The train is approaching.
“I love you, Olivia,” Katie says, wrapping me in a tight, fierce hug.
“I love you, too.”
The train pulls up, and we break apart. “I can’t wait until you’re back in Brooklyn again. And next time we see each other”—she beams—“I’ll even let you pick out the movie.”
Friday the 13th
On Friday at eleven a.m. sharp, I enter the check-in office with a racing pulse.
It’s been two days since I sent Jake my apology message, and I haven’t heard a word. I haven’t seen him either, given that he was at his internship yesterday.
Marianne is in the office, rifling through the cabinets, and Tennyson is at the counter, looking at his phone. I clock in and get onto my computer. The place won’t pick up for another half hour, when the noon group needs to check in.
Jake will be arriving at any moment. I know he probably won’t so much as look at me, and I don’t blame him, but still, I can’t help but keep glancing at the door.
“Olivia?” I hear behind me.
I turn. Marianne is staring at me, like she’s been waiting for an answer for a few seconds, at least. “Distracted, are we? I know it’s Friday . . .” She lets out a laugh. “And Friday the Thirteenth, no less.”
“Sorry,” I say.
“No worries. I only asked if your walkie needs batteries. I’m putting in an order today.”
I click the button, and it beeps to life. “I think I’m good.”
I turn back around, and there he is, walking through the door.
Jake’s eyes briefly catch mine, but he walks behind the counter as quickly as he can, tossing his things into a cabinet and loading up on carabiners. There is so much I want to say, but I can’t. I’ve already said it, sent it via missive straight to his Reddit inbox. If he doesn’t want to hear it, I can’t make him. That’s his right.
I feel the weight of disappointment wash over me, but there’s nothing I can do. I’ve made my bed—I’ve dug my grave—it’s time to crawl right in. It’s Friday the Thirteenth, anyway. Nothing good is supposed to happen today. Sure, there’s no Jason, waiting in the woods of Camp Crystal Lake, but I don’t need a crazed killer; I’ve done enough damage for one movie on my own.
I pretend to be engrossed by my computer screen, and only when Jake is no longer there does the full weight of what I’ve screwed up—what I’ve lost—hit me.
“Trouble in paradise?” Tennyson asks.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I say.
“You know Ten always treats the ladies right,” he says.
I roll my eyes, but his voice goes serious. “I’m sorry, whatever happened,” Tennyson says. “I can tell you guys really liked each other. I hope you can work it out.”
“Me too,” I say, even though I know there’s no way we can.
Eleven a.m. crawls to five past, then ten. I wipe down the counters, organizing the T-shirts and the other gear we sell in the shop.
Back at the desk, I check the time. Eleven thirty-five.
And then, like magic, like delicious, amazing relief: a message. A reply on Reddit, from ElmStreetNightmare84. With shaking hands, I tap it open.
The worst part of it all is that you were so afraid of being you, you didn’t believe in yourself. And that sucks, because I think you’re awesome.
P.S. Happy Friday the Thirteenth
Friday the 13th: Part Two
My hands shake, hovering over the message.
He’s right. I was afraid of being me. I didn’t believe in myself. But there’s something else there, too: He thinks I’m awesome.
“Can you cover me?” I ask.
“Huh?” Tennyson looks up.
“Just for, like, a couple of minutes.”
“Untrouble in paradis
e?” he asks.
“Can you?”
“Anything for love,” Tennyson says with a smile.
“Thanks.” I rush around the counter, through the hallway, and out the back doors.
It’s sunny out, the light temporarily blinding, the air warm and thick. I turn left, running quickly toward the ski lift. I don’t have much time. Soon, the first tour group will be here.
Cora is there, reading a book. There are only a few people in line.
“I need to go up,” I say.
“Why?”
I shake my head. “I just do.”
She shrugs. “Go ahead.” Then she blows her whistle. “Hold the line!”
I rush up and wait, heart racing as the seat comes around on its conveyor.
It hits the back of my legs, and I sink against it, the ground leaving my feet and the lift deftly sweeping me up. Fingers tingling, I pull the bar down. It’s only the second time I’ve used the lift.
I chance a look down, and my stomach flip-flops, but I remember what Jake said. “Don’t look down, only up.”
And that’s what I do. As we climb up the mountain, as my feet dangle, I look up at the sky, blue and barely clouded and perfect. I look inward, too, because I’m not going to be afraid to be myself anymore. I’m not going to be scared to take a chance.
Even if it doesn’t work out—even if you get cast as Townsperson Number Three (or Dracula stagehand)—it’s still important to know you tried, to know that you can get right back up and try again.
I reach the top, and I lift up the bar. My feet hit the ground, and I don’t hesitate to walk toward the beginning of the zip course.
Steinway sees me first. She’s standing with a pile of harnesses and helmets, ready to hook up her next group. “What are you doing here?” she asks. “Is everything okay down at the office?”
I nod. “Where’s Jake? I need to talk to him.”
She points to the top of the course, about a hundred feet away. “He’s about to zip over to the next checkpoint. That’s where his part of the tour starts.”
“Jake,” I call, but he doesn’t turn around.
“He’s got his earbuds in,” she says.
I consider using the walkie, but then everyone will hear. I watch as he reaches up, hooking his carabiner to the zip line.
“Harness me up,” I say suddenly.
“What?”
“I need the harness,” I say.
“Why?” she says.
“I’ll explain later. Please.”
“I thought you didn’t like heights,” Steinway says, but she grabs the harness anyway. “Is this some kind of forced immersion thing?”
I ignore her question, stepping in as quickly as I can and helping her tighten everything up. She tugs on a few pulls. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Jake still standing there, his clip hooked on.
“Good?” I ask.
Steinway tugs on it a couple more times. “Good,” she says, handing me a helmet.
“Thanks,” I say, breaking off into a run as I pull the helmet on and clip it tight.
“Wait!” she says, but I’m not stopping now.
I run, half losing my breath, toward Jake. But before I get there, I see him step off the ledge, disappear along the zip line into the woods.
I run faster. In mere moments, I’m at the jump-off point. I don’t hesitate. I don’t let my fear take over. Most of all, just like he said, I don’t look down.
I grab the carabiner and hook it onto the line, tugging on it to be sure it’s secure.
Then I take two steps and . . .
I’m flying, rushing through the trees, just like that first day. I look up, see the sky, and it’s so beautiful, and I promise myself this: I’m never going to let myself be too scared to take a risk.
I’m flying and rushing, but then—
Suddenly the line is buckling, slowing me down, like the weight of both of us on here at once is too much. I see, up ahead, that Jake is slowing too, moving backward now.
Flying toward me.
Friday the 13th: Part Three
“What the hell is going on?” Jake calls, twisting his body to look back at me. “Watch out!”
There’s no way to stop what I’ve put in motion. We crash into each other, his back smashing against me, our bodies ricocheting like two pendulums.
There’s a screech of metal as we jolt apart and then come together again, his back against me once more. The weight of both of us buckles the line.
Jake reaches up, grabbing the zip line, using it to twist his body around so he’s facing me.
I grab on to his shoulders so he doesn’t turn back around.
“Are you hurt?” he asks. “I smacked right into you.”
I shake my head, a little shocked. I didn’t expect it to go quite like this, but still, I’m okay. “I’m not hurt,” I say. “Just a little . . . jolted, I guess.”
Jake’s eyebrows scrunch up. “What were you thinking?” he asks.
I interlace my hands behind his back, so he won’t flip around. Our bodies hang there together, practically swaying in the breeze. “I wanted to show you I’m not afraid anymore.”
His eyes widen. “And this is how you do it?”
I grimace. “It was going to work better in my head. I just saw your message, and I thought, I don’t know, if we could just talk, I could explain. I’m so sorry for everything. You were right. I didn’t believe in myself, but I’m trying to change that. I’m sorry I lied to you, and I’m sorry I wasn’t myself from the very beginning.”
Jake stares at me a moment, and it’s like he’s making a decision, but then his arms wrap around my shoulders, and I can’t tell if it’s because he forgives me, or if there’s just nowhere for them to go, the way we’re smushed together like this. “I know what you mean,” he says finally. “It’s easy to want to make yourself look cooler online. The truth is, I took ten photos before getting the one I sent to you.”
I shake my head. “No you didn’t.”
He nods. “I did.”
“But you shouldn’t have had to do that. You’re perfect the way you are.”
He smiles. “I could say the same thing about you.”
His head tilts toward mine, and I look up at him, and suddenly, his lips are on mine. His kiss is soft, then stronger, and his arms tighten around me as mine clutch tighter to his waist. I kiss him back, because no matter what happens—where the future takes us, whether I’ll even get to see him again after this summer, or whether we’ll go back to chatting on Reddit like we’ve done for so long—I know one thing: I’m not afraid anymore.
To be myself. To go for what I want. To fall in love, even if it is messy and scary.
Jake pulls back, and his eyebrows raise. I twist my head around to see Steinway calling to us. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Olivia? The tour is supposed to start any minute, and it’s going to take forever to get you both down!”
I turn back to Jake. “This was a bad decision, wasn’t it?”
He nods. “Worse than any character in any horror movie, that’s for sure.”
I grin, then kiss him again.
“What can I say?” I pull back. “It is Friday the Thirteenth.”
Acknowledgments
An enormous thanks to the many many people who made this book possible.
First a huge shoutout to Anne Heltzel and the entire team at Amulet Books. Thank you for incredible editorial guidance, patience, and for indulging my horror-loving heart—even when it comes to writing a romance.
And to Hayley Wagriech, Sara Shandler, Josh Bank, and the Alloy family: you are plot and character masters, and this book would not be what it is without your leadership and know-how.
To Danielle Chiotti, Michael Stearns, and all of Upstart Crow, many thanks for years of dedication, advice, and passion.
This book certainly would not have been possible without two things: Reddit and horror movies. Thanks to my husband, Thomas, for introducing me to t
he world of Reddit, in addition to providing invaluable first-hand knowledge about the inner workings of a film set. And to my horror-movie lovers, I could not have done this without you. Thank you to Julia and Andrea Bartz for creating the Horror Movie Google Doc and getting frustrated when I fail to update it (it’s an incredible resource!). Thank you to my sister, Kimberly, for watching all those Friday the 13th movies with me in high school. And to my dog, Farley, who snuggled up by my side for many a binge-watch.
To my parents, thanks for always supporting me and encouraging me to do what I love. I owe this to you.
Finally, to The Shop Around the Corner and You’ve Got Mail, you gave me so much to riff on. Thank you.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Konen, Leah, author.
Title: Happy messy scary love / by Leah Konen.
Description: New York, NY: Amulet Books, 2019. | Summary: Olivia plans to spend her summer in the Catskills, binge-watching horror movies and chatting with her online friend Elm, but things get complicated when she sends Elm her best friend’s picture and she runs into the last person she thought she would ever see in real life.
Identifiers: LCCN 2018047037 | ISBN 9781419734892 (hardback)
Subjects: | CYAC: Online identities—Fiction. | Horror films—Fiction. | Catskill Mountains Region (N.Y.)—Fiction.
Classification: LCC PZ7.K83514 Hap 2019 | DDC [Fic]—dc23
Text copyright © 2019 Alloy Entertainment, LLC
Cover illustrations copyright © 2019 Mary-Kate McDevitt
Book design by Siobhán Gallagher
Published in 2019 by Amulet Books, an imprint of ABRAMS. All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher.