AARON HARTZLER
HAPPY DEATH DAY & HAPPY DEATH DAY 2U
Aaron Hartzler has written stand-up comedy, one-man shows, billboards, books, essays, screenplays, and a great number of tweets. He is the author of the memoir Rapture Practice and the novel What We Saw. He lives at the beach in Los Angeles with his husband, Brant, and their two rescue dogs, Charlie and Brahms.
www.aaronhartzler.com
A BLUMHOUSE BOOKS/ANCHOR BOOKS ORIGINAL, FEBRUARY 2019
Copyright © 2019 by Universal Studios Licensing LLC
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Anchor Books, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York, and distributed in Canada by Random House of Canada, a division of Penguin Random House Canada Limited, Toronto.
Anchor Books and colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
Blumhouse and colophon are trademarks of Blumhouse Productions, LLC.
This work is a novelization of the motion pictures Happy Death Day (2017) and Happy Death Day 2U (2019).
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress.
Anchor Books Trade Paperback ISBN 9781984897725
Ebook ISBN 9781984897732
Cover art © 2019 Universal Studios. All rights reserved.
www.anchorbooks.com
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Contents
Cover
About the Author
Title Page
Copyright
Happy Death Day
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Happy Death Day 2U
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
HAPPY DEATH DAY
◼
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
—DYLAN THOMAS
1
Even before she opened her eyes, Teresa “Tree” Gelbman was certain that today would be a total nightmare. Someone seemed to be hitting her in the head with a sledgehammer, and each blow had a vaguely musical tone. Also, there was a trombone involved. Somewhere in the haze, she heard a voice yell, Fuck off! and the trombone abruptly stopped, but not the pounding in her head—or the ringing bell.
The bell tower. That’s what it was, tolling out the hour from the middle of campus.
The more Tree came back into her body, the worse her head hurt. She pulled a pillow over her ears to try to drown out the noise. What time is it even? That damn bell had to stop ringing soon. Finally, it did. In the moment of stillness that followed, she bravely made the decision to open her eyes.
What the hell…?
First of all, this was not her room at the Kappa house. There were posters for old movies and TV shows covering every inch of the wall above the bed: They Live, Back to the Future, Repo Man—whatever that was. She was in Nerd Central. And whose T-shirt was she wearing?
Oh. Probably his.
The likely nerd in question was about six feet away, digging around under a desk. Ugh. How did this happen? She groaned at the thought, and the guy turned around.
“Oh, hey. You’re up! I wasn’t sure if you wanted to sleep in or not.”
“Am I in a…dorm room?” she asked.
“Uh…yeah.”
At that moment, her phone burst to life. It was a weird ringtone she didn’t remember downloading and that she now regretted more than…well, whatever had happened last night:
Yeahhh! It’s my birthday, and I ain’t gotta pick up the phone!
Tree snatched her phone off the nightstand. It was 9:00 a.m. and, naturally, her father was calling. She sent him to voice mail and looked around for her stuff.
“Where are my clothes?”
“On the dresser.”
Taking a deep breath, she mustered the strength to stand. She had to get out of here before the combination of horror and dorm room nerd funk overpowered her.
“I folded your pants…last night. You know, I wasn’t sure if that material gets wrinkled.”
“Great.” Tree whipped off his T-shirt, revealing her black bra.
The guy wheeled around to give her privacy, but he still looked like his mom had just caught him watching porn. It would’ve been charming under other circumstances, but clearly he’d seen more than her bra last night. Tree didn’t really care why he was pretending to be shy now. Nerds were confusing because they had no game. At least with frat boys and jocks, you knew where you stood. All this emotional stammering was exasperating. Waiting for boys to figure out their feelings was exhausting. Plus, it bored her.
“D-Don’t know if you remember my name or not,” the guy stammered. “You got pretty wasted last night. My name is—”
“Tylenol?”
“No. What?” He turned back around, confused.
“My head is killing me,” she snapped. “Do you have any Tylenol?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” He scrambled toward his desk, pleased, it seemed, to have a task, and unzipped a toiletries bag. Tree pulled on last night’s outfit as he bumbled around and finally produced some painkillers. “It’s right here.”
She sighed and slid her feet into patent red stilettos, then took the bottle from his eager, outstretched hand. “Thanks,” she said.
She popped two pills into her mouth, and he almost tripped over himself racing to get her a water bottle from his dresser. She’d already gulped the pills down dry by the time he got there. This was not her first rodeo.
“I’m Carter, by the way.”
“Not a word of this to anyone.” Tree meant it exactly as it sounded: a threat. “Got it?” She handed the Tylenol back to him.
Carter nodded. “Yeah. Sure.”
It was sort of cute how crestfallen he looked when he figured out this was Never. Happening. Again. Handsome, even. All he really needed was a little hair product and some decent jeans. Tree knew she was as far out of his league as Carter was ever likely to get, but she also wasn’t the kind of girl who took on a project. She had big plans, and one of those was not to become the laughingstock of every Greek on campus—or the legendary one-night stand of every geek on campus.
She grabbed her purse and turned to go. As she reached for the door, it flew open and she saw a guy with bleached-blond hair, already midsentence.
“Dude! You hit that fine vagine or wha—” He froze as soon as he saw her.
She turned to shoot daggers back at Carter. In the awkward silence, she shouldered her bag and stalked out down the hall, followed by Carter’s hushed voice to his roommate.
“Nice one, dickhead.”
Tree stopped at the front door of the dorm and sighed, bracing herself for the trek across campus in last night’s outfit.
Let’s get this over with, she thought, and charged ahead into the morning sun.
2
Tree had hoped that perhaps she could sneak back to the Kappa house unnoticed, but her stomach sank as she walked across the quad in her red stilettos and slinky sequined tank. Bayfield University was already in full swing, and this would be a walk of shame, pure and simple.
A guy she always saw hanging out in front of the art building passed her, giving her an up-and-down look that could only be interpreted as judgmental.
As she hurried past him, a girl with awful hair and zero makeup tried to stop her, holding out a clipboard.
“Stop global warming?” she asked.
Tree shook her head and pushed past her. In truth, she’d never wished more fervently that she could accelerate the certain demise of the ice caps. If only sea levels would rise immediately and cover the campus to end her embarrassment. If she saw anyone from her sorority—or worse, if a Kappa Pi saw her—she knew there’d be hell to pay.
As Tree approached a couple studying on the lawn, the sprinkler system whooshed on, drenching them both as they scrambled to gather up their notebooks and flee the spray.
The siren of a car alarm broke through the morning air and jarred her headache back to life. She picked up her pace. All she wanted was to be back in her room.
She shielded her eyes from the bright morning as she approached a group of frat pledges standing on the grass. One of them held a sign that read TWENTY-SIXTH STRAIGHT HOUR, while the rest of them sang, bleary-eyed, “Sixty-three bottles of beer on the wall…” Their frat brother shouted at them through a bullhorn: “Twenty-six hours? Is that all you got? I can’t hear you!” Tree watched as one of the pledges collapsed onto the ground in exhaustion. In response, the frat brother yelled, “Keep going!”
She checked her phone as she cut across a section of lawn toward a series of brick arches that shaded a sidewalk near the bell tower. No new messages, but where had that weird birthday ringtone come from? Had she downloaded it in a blackout?
Then, as she reached the relative privacy of the covered walkway, Tim Bauer stepped out from behind a pillar.
“Hey.”
Crap. Tree glanced around, annoyed, but there was no escape. She was caught.
“Hi.”
“You haven’t returned any of my texts.”
“Sorry,” she said with a sheepish smile. “I’ve been really busy.”
She moved to go around him, but Tim blocked her way. He nodded down at her party look. “Yeah. I can see that.”
She didn’t have the bandwidth for this. It was time for a truth-down.
“Okay, Tim. We went on a date. One. I don’t have to text you back. We’re not, like, a thing.”
“I just—you know, I figured we had a nice time…”
His voice trailed off, and Tree felt a flush of anger. Tim was nice enough—handsome even. He was muscular and athletic, but he just didn’t get it. She had to nip this in the bud.
“You had a nice time,” she said. “I was miserable. I mean, who takes their first date to Subway? It’s not like you have a foot-long.”
Tree rolled her eyes and stepped around him. She could feel him there, staring at her, long after she walked away.
* * *
—
Sorority row at Bayfield University spoke to the long and storied history of the school, and the Kappa property was the jewel in this crown. Kappa Pi Lambda was housed in a sprawling, historic pink mansion with a perfectly manicured lawn and flower boxes overflowing with freesia. The porch ranged across the front of the house, ringed with purple hydrangeas. Jasmine and wisteria climbed up the walls at each corner, framing the grandeur in fragrant elegance.
The Kappa Pi Sisterhood was one of the most prestigious on campus, and the meticulous upkeep of their dwelling spoke to the privilege of belonging. The money they spent on landscaping alone could’ve run a small country, and their formal mixers were the stuff of legend. On the walls inside hung countless pictures of women who had gone on to become leaders in business, science, academics—even a couple of Hollywood stars. On any other day, Tree might have stopped to bask in the pride of being a member of such an exclusive club, but not today.
One of her sisters, Emily, sat on the wraparound porch, enjoying the morning sun and listening to music on her headphones. She smiled and waved, but Tree blew right past her, swiftly and quietly swinging open the beautiful old front door, its leaded glass panes catching the light and spilling a prism of rainbows across the foyer. Tree threw a quick look around, then slipped inside. Thank god, the coast was clear. She eased the door closed without a sound and tiptoed up a couple of stairs toward her room when a voice from behind stopped her cold.
“Oh. My. God. You sneaky little bee-yotch.”
Slowly, she turned to find Danielle Bouseman, her best frenemy and Kappa president, looking rested and magnificent in head-to-toe designer workout gear. Danielle’s flowing honey-brown hair was pulled up, and the chiseled abs beneath her yellow sports bra were as sharp as her tongue. She put her hands on her hips and smiled expectantly.
“Who was it?” she asked.
“Nobody,” Tree said.
“Sisters don’t keep secrets.”
“Seriously. It was nobody.”
“Well,” Danielle said primly, “I hope ‘nobody’ used a condom. We don’t want ‘somebody’ looking like a whore.”
“Thanks, Danielle.” Tree laughed and turned to climb the stairs. “Super helpful.”
“What are sisters for?” Danielle called after her. “Oh! And don’t forget. House meeting at lunch.”
“Living for it!” Tree called back.
When she swung open the door to her room, Tree felt like she had already been awake for a month. Her roommate, Lori, was sitting at the vanity, writing in her journal, dressed in the scrubs she wore to her work-study shift at the campus teaching hospital. She glanced up as Tree closed their door behind her, collapsed onto her bed, and cuddled up with the stuffed bunny she’d brought to college—the only trace of childhood that she allowed herself.
“She finally rolls in.” Lori closed her journal and slid it into the vanity drawer.
“Did I totally embarrass myself last night?” Tree asked her.
“Not at all,” Lori said. “Unless you consider dancing on a table, starting two fights, and barfing pretzel chunks all over the bar embarrassing.”
Tree groaned. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”
“Oh, and also you rammed your tongue down Nick Sims’s throat right in front of Danielle.”
Tree burst out in a laugh. “Oh god! But she was so
nice to me this morning.”
Lori took a sip of her coffee. “I think she was as drunk as you were last night. Consider it collective amnesia.”
“Thank god for that.”
Lori laughed with her for a moment as Tree looked over to check her clock: 9:20 a.m. She jumped up and flew into action. “Crap! I’m so late for class.” In a flash, she kicked off her heels and threw a shapeless sweatshirt over her sparkly tank. Grabbing her backpack, she rummaged around in the general disaster area of her desk.
“I can’t find my damn book!” she said in a panic, knocking over a pile of mail topped by a black envelope with only her name scrawled on it in bright red strokes. “Ha!” she shouted triumphantly. She pulled the textbook from the pile and shoved it into her bag.
Tree heard Lori clear her throat and turned to find her holding up a single cupcake. A lit candle flickered in the center of the frosting. Tree froze and felt a familiar pang of sadness in her chest.
“Did you really think you could keep it a secret from me?” Lori smiled at her sweetly as Tree stared at the cupcake.
“How did you find out?” she asked.
Lori beamed at her, victorious, and very pleased with herself. “Driver’s license. Not the best picture of you, I might add.”
Tree nodded. “I assume you changed my ringer, too?”
Lori smiled with a sly glint in her eye. “Who, me? Never.”
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