by Brian Rowe
“That’s not what I was referring to.”
Brin stared at her mother. She didn’t know what she was talking about.
“This Saturday, your grandparents are coming in. To help us pay our respects.”
Oh, Brin thought.
Brin stood up from the table and tossed her plate into the dishwasher.
“If your father was here, he would—”
“Can we talk about this later?” Brin turned away from her mother, who looked uncomfortably on the verge of tears. “Can I just go to school? Try to enjoy my week?”
“We need to talk about it, Brin. I know how you must be feeling.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. I’m not fine, either. It’s OK.”
Brin grabbed her backpack and headed out the front door. “I’ll see you later.”
Her mother didn’t respond. If she did, Brin didn’t hear her. Brin needed to get out of there. She needed to get to school, to find normalcy, even just for a few hours.
She tried to hold back tears as she pulled out of the driveway and sped down the wide neighborhood street.
“I miss you, Dad,” she said to herself. “I really, really miss you.”
---
The small town of Grisly rests between Reno and Carson City in Northern Nevada, and is only five miles away from the famed Virginia City. It’s not the size of the biggest little city in the world, nor the size of the state’s capital, but Grisly is populated enough to feature its own set of schools, two supermarkets, and a post office It has a handful of bars—one gay—and a two-screen movie theatre that is far more intimate than any of Reno’s sketchy multiplexes. The high school, only four years old, is so modernized and well regarded that some of Reno and Carson City’s youth have sneaked their way past their district regulations in order to attend. Not only does Grisly High feature Northern Nevada’s first-ever film class, but it also has yoga, Pilates, photography, ceramics, and a women’s fiction class specifically designed for young feminists.
As Brin pulled up to the student parking lot, she noticed her friend Ash a few stalls down trying to scrub the frost off the windshield of his black Volkswagon Beetle.
She laughed, stepped out into the cold, and tiptoed toward him. She crept up to him so quietly he didn’t notice her presence.
“Hey dork!” she shouted.
Ash screamed like a little girl and fell to his knees. He darted his angry eyes up at Brin.
“Ha-ha,” she said. “Scared you.”
“That wasn’t funny.”
“What the hell are you doing scrubbing the snow off your windshield?”
She pulled him up off the ground. He tried wiping the snow off his butt, but to no avail. “Because I couldn’t see out of it, stupid.”
Brin stared at him perplexed. “So how did you get here?”
He smiled, boastfully. “I was a cautious driver.”
She rolled her eyes and tugged on his shoulder. “Come on. Class starts in three minutes.”
“I have P.E.”
“Oh, your favorite.”
He slugged her playfully on her side. An inch shorter than Brin, Ash had short brown hair, tan skin, a freckled face, and a mole on his right cheek. He was cute in a dorky sort of way, and he liked women, even though his feminine car suggested otherwise.
“What do you have first?” Ash said.
“French.”
“Oh, that sucks. Why are you still in a foreign language class?”
“I don’t really know anymore.”
“Je ne sais pas?”
Brin didn’t laugh at his horrible French. She just nodded.
The two buddies, who had known each other since kindergarten, made their way up the ten large steps to the front entrance of the school.
“What do you have sixth period?” Ash couldn’t contain his enthusiasm.
“You know what I have, smart-ass. It’s with you.”
“Could it be Intro to Film?”
Brin nodded. “There’s a good chance.”
“Oh my God, I’m so excited!” Ash danced down the hallway for a moment, even though the bell was about to ring and they would both be tardy in due time. The dance brought his shoulders down to the floor and his butt high up in the air. Ash wasn’t just excited for the film class; he apparently wanted to marry it.
“Therapy,” Brin said with a laugh. “You need lots and lots of therapy.”
When the bell above them rang loud enough to burst their tender eardrums, they waved good-bye to each other and ran toward their first period classes.
--
Brin departed her Algebra class after fifth period feeling like she had been pummeled through a pinball machine for most of the rigorous school day. She already had at least two hours of homework to look forward to, which included over thirty math problems and the memorization of a Shakespeare sonnet.
As she made her way down the hall, seeing Ash jumping up and down in excitement, she realized, however, that the strains of the day had been worth it, just to make it to this moment.
Brin and Ash were movie buffs, no doubt about it, Ash to a more obsessive extent, but Brin obsessive just the same. Their tastes in films differed; she detested horror and science fiction, while Ash worshiped them. She preferred screwball comedies and talky independent films, while Ash didn’t much care for them. Their tastes collided, thankfully, with the classics of the fifties and sixties, particularly any titles with her favorite film star, Audrey Hepburn. They both enjoyed older films a lot and found themselves some nights watching Billy Wilder double features. The two were adventurous film buffs, willing to try almost anything, even old foreign movies. Since the fourth grade they had been watching movies at Ash’s house almost every Friday night.
“We could watch Vertigo,” Ash said, meeting up with Brin in the hallway.
“I don’t want to watch anything scary,” Brin said.
“Hitchcock isn’t scary, Brin! His movies are fun! And they’re essential if you love movies. If you can handle Wait Until Dark with Ms. Hepburn, you can handle an Alfred Hitchcock movie.”
“Maybe. Vertigo is the one where he has a fear of heights, right?”
“Yes. I’ve seen it twenty times.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Your infatuation with Alfred Hitchcock amazes me. After twenty times how could you possibly want to watch it again?”
“So I can watch you watch it.”
She glared at the boy. “That sounds scarier than watching the actual movie.”
Brin and Ash made their way toward Classroom 220. They smiled at each other when they reached the end of the hallway.
“You ready?” Brin said.
“Born ready,” Ash said. “This better not be a bust.”
“I know, right?”
“If it is, I’m kidnapping this teacher, and I’m gonna teach the class.”
She smiled and shook her head. “Come on, smart-ass.”
Brin entered the classroom, turned sharply to her left, and screamed.
Chapter Two
Brin grabbed Ash’s hand and almost fell backward onto the ugly beige carpet.
“Sorry, did I scare you?” the young teacher said, removing the grotesque, realistic vampire mask from his face.
“Yeah, I’d say so,” she said, trying to catch her breath. “What if I had died from fright? My family could have sued you.”
The teacher shrugged. “That was a risk I was willing to take. Nice to meet you both. Please… take a seat.”
The man sauntered to the front of the classroom, as more students stumbled inside.
“You want to sit in the front or back?” Brin said to Ash.
“The front, of course! Are you nuts? I’m not watching Citizen Kane from the back of the classroom!”
They made their way up the middle aisle, where, lo and behold, two seats together in the front row were still vacated. Brin focused on the empty seats, while Ash’s attention turned toward the giant pull-down screen straight
ahead.
“It’s so… big,” Ash said.
“What is?”
“The screen. It’s perfect!”
They quickly nabbed the empty seats, and Brin turned around to get her first look at the other students. Every seat was taken. Most classes she attended at Grisly High had twenty to twenty-five students. This class had at least thirty. Most of the students must have been seniors, since she only knew one other person in the class besides Ash.
“Wicked,” Ash said.
Brin turned back around. “What is?”
“Turns out that little vampire schtick wasn’t just a cheap joke.”
“What do you mean?”
Ash pointed forward. “Look.”
Brin did. And disappointment hit her immediately. At the front of the class were framed movie posters for Interview with the Vampire and The Lost Boys. On the side were posters for Night of the Living Dead, Halloween, The Wolf Man, and Alien. On the back wall was a poster for Psycho.
“Oh no,” Brin said. She looked at one poster after another. She was starting to see a connection between all these movies.
“Oh yes.”
“It can’t be—”
“This is like a wet dream,” Ash said, before the sound of the bell erupted above them, and the teacher excitedly made his way to the front podium.
“OK, everyone, quiet down. Hello. My name is Mr. Barker. Welcome to Intro to Film!”
He was young for a teacher, probably no older than thirty. He wore a tight blue sweater above his Dockers pants, and sported shoulder-length blond hair that passed over the temples of his black-framed glasses.
Most of the students nodded at the teacher. One of them said, from the back, “You really like horror movies, don’t you?”
Some chuckles permeated the room. “I do,” Mr. Barker said. He slammed a large stack of papers on his desk. “And I hope all of you do, too.”
“Why is that?” a young girl said from the side.
“Because, for the next twenty weeks, we’re going to be watching, analyzing, and discussing horror movies!”
Most of the class applauded, certainly all of the men. Ash almost gave the teacher a standing ovation, but Brin’s glare kept his butt in his seat.
“Now, obviously, some of these horror films have adult content, and while most of the movies I’ll be showing you are rated PG or PG-13, some have gore, language, nudity, yada yada yada. You guys are all juniors and seniors, and you’ve seen worse than anything I’m going to show you in this class, but the school demands that I pass out these sheets for your parents to sign.”
Mr. Barker started passing out the homework assignment. Brin slumped down in her chair, disappointed about this despicable genre the teacher was going to be focusing on.
“If you are concerned that your parents might not agree to your viewing these movies, then I would suggest you drop the class immediately,” the teacher said. “We’re going to watch some amazing films in this class, and have spirited discussions, about everything from the slasher film to the suspense film to the hokey, hilarious monster movie. We’re gonna look at movies dating all the way back to 1919, as well as films that came out as recently as last year. We’re going to look at zombies, ghosts, werewolves, aliens. And you’re going to leave Grisly High telling your friends that this was the best class you’ve ever taken.”
“Wow,” Brin said, cutting through the momentary silence. “Modest, aren’t you?”
“Excuse me?” he said.
“I don’t know about anybody else,” Brin continued, feeling adventurously honest this afternoon, “but I would have preferred a class that highlighted all the genres, not just horror.”
Mr. Barker stood at the front of the room, his hands clamped together. He didn’t seem to have a reaction to her opinion.
“I think if you’re going to call your class Intro to Film,” Brin continued, “the class should be an overview of all movies. To have a whole semester focused on just one genre… it’s dishonest.”
He nodded, this time looking dead serious. “I’ll admit, I had some reservations, too, Miss…”
“Uhh, Brin.”
“Brin.” He took a step forward. “When I taught this class last year I did just what you recommend. And honestly? Film is too expansive a medium to try to teach a hundred years of history in just one semester. I got to June last year only having scratched the surface.”
She cracked her knuckles for a second, then crossed her arms. “OK, well, I get that. But why horror?”
He took another step forward, brushing his knees up against Brin’s desk. “Let me guess. You don’t like scary movies.”
“Not particularly.”
“Does anybody else in here feel the same way Brin does?”
Brin waited for others to agree with her. But she was met with silence. She turned around to see not a single hand raised.
“Brin, you seem like a smart girl,” Mr. Barker said, tossing his head back and running his hands through his luscious blond locks. “How about you give me and this class… and particularly the horror genre… a chance. You might find it’s more fun, and more important, than you think.”
“But I—”
“Mr. Barker?” Ash said, butting into the conversation.
“Yes?”
“What’s the first horror movie we’re gonna watch? Will it be one of Alfred Hitchcock’s movies by any chance?”
The teacher sat down on a stool in front of the pull-down screen. “We’ll get to that in a moment. First things first, though. I’m going to take roll. See who’s here, and see who’ve already run out of the classroom screaming.” He grabbed another paper from his desk. “Is everyone happy with their choice of seat? Because it will remain the same from now until the end of the semester.”
Everyone nodded, except for one student. A large arm went up in the back.
“Yes?” Mr. Barker said.
“I’d like to sit closer,” the gruff female voice said. “I’d like to sit in the front row if possible.”
“Oh, do you have bad vision, or—”
“No, I just want to be closer.”
She didn’t wait for approval. The girl stood up and tromped down the right aisle of the classroom. Brin turned to get a good look at her. She looked to weigh three hundred pounds, at least, like a female version of the corrupt computer specialist in Jurassic Park. But she also had a confidence on her face that shook Brin to the core. She knew, in one glance, this was not a girl to be messed with.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Mr. Barker said, “but there are no more seats available in the front.”
She stopped in the second row and glared at a wimpy kid who appeared no older than twelve. He cowered in his seat, clearly afraid she might eat him.
“Can I sit here?” the girl said. “I lied before. I do have poor vision.”
The boy turned to the teacher, obviously not wanting to move, but also not wanting to irk the giant beast.
“I… uhh…” The boy didn’t move.
“I have a heart condition,” the girl added, and finally, the boy just shook his head, grabbed his backpack, and shuffled toward the back of the classroom.
“All right,” Mr. Barker said, perplexed, but deciding to move on. “Anybody else?”
Brin darted her eyes at the big girl, who could barely fit in the chair. She had seen her around the school, but never until now had a class with her. She always assumed she was a substitute teacher or something; the girl looked to be in her early twenties.
“OK,” Mr. Barker said. “Let me take roll here. Chace Anderson?”
“At your service!” One of the most gorgeous guys at Grisly High, if not all of Nevada, sat in the chair behind Brin, flashing his million-dollar smile. Brin wasn’t interested in him, but she could tell the other girls in the class were salivating at his every gesture.
“Lavender Bickle?”
“Here.”
Ash turned around, noticing the pretty blonde cheerleader sitting two
rows back. “Nice,” he whispered.
Brin rolled her eyes.
“Colin Cleaver?” the teacher said.
“Right here.” Another attractive young man raised his hand.
“Nice. Dig the last name.” Mr. Barker chuckled to himself and peered back down at his attendance sheet. “All right, next. Anaya Frost.”
The big girl didn’t say a word. She just raised her hand and nodded.
“OK.” Mr. Barker seemed to lose his place for a moment. Then he said, “Ashley Gorman.”
For the first time since entering the classroom, Ash’s demeanor changed from unadulterated joy to sick embarrassment. “Here,” he said, raising his hand clumsily. “It’s Ash.”
“Pardon me?”
“It’s Ash. Not Ashley.”
Brin noticed some snickering behind her. She tried to ignore it.
“Oh, OK,” the teacher said. “That makes sense. I can’t say I see very many boy Ashley’s anymore.”
“I know. I have two gay dads. Let’s not get into it.”
“You have two gay dads?”
Louder snickering continued. Brin heard a loud guffaw from the back of the classroom.
“Yes. Please. Just call me Ash.”
Mr. Barker nodded. “That’s cool. Like Bruce Campbell’s character in The Evil Dead.”
Ash smiled. “Exactly.”
Brin rested her head against her hand and peered to her right, the teacher’s voice draining away as she started paying more attention to her inner thoughts. She shifted her focus from the creepy Alien poster on the wall to the sweaty face of Anaya Frost. Brin was fascinated with this girl, but she also didn’t want to be caught staring at her—she figured this girl could split her head in two with a menial slap.
“Cedar Rasmussen?”
“Here.”
“Valerie Rose?”
“Present.”
“Breanna Skar?”
There was no answer.
“Breanna? Absent—”
Brin broke out of her daze and shot her hand up in the air. She didn’t want to be marked absent on her first day. “Oh. Sorry. That’s me. Brin.”
“Brin?”
“Yeah. No one’s called me Breanna since pre-school.”
“Oh, all right.” He made a note on his sheet and continued. “Thomas Swackhamer?”