Slasher Summer(15)
Tiffany had always made her feel like she’d never be enough, and The Photo had cemented her status as an outcast.
Tiffany caught Carrie regarding her. “Thanks for coming to my rescue,” she said, actually sounding like she meant it.
“You’re welcome,” Carrie said, and she meant it, too. She was glad Tiffany’s hard feelings had softened and that she trusted Carrie a bit more. The near-death experience had rattled her, making her seem almost human. There was no exciting drama around dying, despite what movies showed. Only the limp pathos of a life on its way out. It had been a revelation to see Mama, who’d once been so full of self-righteous fire, withered to a husk. Death came for them all eventually, so you might as well live. This was another lesson she’d learned from therapy.
Carrie picked up the beer she’d abandoned when Tiffany had started thrashing and took only a small sip. She wanted to keep her head clear tonight. An electric sensation crawled across her skin, as if a storm were coming. It both thrilled and terrified her. Tiffany’s near-drowning felt like it was only the beginning. The air crackled with unnerving promise.
“I got something that’ll settle your nerves, Tiffany.” Freddy put down the chips and took a plastic baggie out of his hoodie pocket. He extracted a joint with trembling hands and Carrie suspected it was just as much for his nerves as Tiffany’s.
Patrick shot him a dirty look. “Bruh, it’s legal now,” Freddy said. He lit the joint with a cigarette lighter, took a drag, and passed it to Tiffany.
Tiffany took the joint and gratefully inhaled. The skunky smell of pot filled Carrie’s nostrils and her belly lurched with nausea.
“Fuck, I needed that,” Tiffany said, offering it to Carrie.
Carrie shook her head. Never again. It was Freddy’s weed brownies that had gotten her into that mess that night. He hadn’t warned her, so she’d eaten three of them on an empty stomach.
Patrick crossed his arms over his frilly orange apron. He was picking a strange time to disapprove. Carrie had been high as a kite that night, and Patrick had looked off in Jason’s direction like a tragic hero and said you couldn’t have love without risk. Carrie’s drug-altered brain had lit up like a Christmas tree and taken the hint. If she wanted Jason to see her as a romantic prospect, she would have to do something bold.
Jason wasn’t the only one who had access to the property. Until that night, the others hadn’t known Carrie had been cleaning houses with her mother and that the Slasher cabin was in their rotation. She’d been too embarrassed to tell them. None of them had to worry about earning money for college. She had good grades, but unlike Jason and Michael, she didn’t have any special talents that could snag her a full scholarship.
No one had thought responsible Carrie Zhao would ever abuse the privilege of holding the cabin keys. Least of all herself. But it had felt easy, especially with Jen spurring her on.
Jen took a drag from the joint, laughing as she said something rude and inane. Carrie’s breathing quickened and she felt the beginnings of a panic attack. She focused on taking steady breaths, silently stating her mantra. I am a strong woman who can’t be hurt anymore. She’d learned in therapy to change the narrative and stop framing herself as a victim, a naive and vulnerable innocent like Slasher’s Final Girl, Jordan Knox.
Carrie’s heartbeat slowed and the sound of Jen’s raucous laughter lost its sting. Jen had badgered Carrie to open the cellar, because Carrie had accidently let slip there were Slasher props stored there. Jen hadn’t believed it, because why would precious movie memorabilia be stashed in a basement? But the town council had been arguing for years as to where to set up a Slasher museum, so it made sense they’d keep it all here for now.
Carrie should’ve known better than to listen to Jen, the girl who went through life with her middle finger raised. If there was a rule, Jen would break it on principle. She’d been perfect to play rebellious rocker Heather in their Slasher reenactments. Carrie hadn’t been thinking clearly, and when she’d confessed to Jen she wanted to make Jason see her as more than virginal Jordan Knox, it had been Jen who’d snapped The Photo and texted it to him.
It was only a dumb photo, taken at a moment of poor judgment. But instead of politely telling Carrie he wasn’t interested, Jason had shared the picture. Next thing she knew, someone had papered Cedar Lake High with printouts so everyone could see Carrie kneeling on the forest floor, wearing nothing but the Slasher’s red jacket, gaping open to expose her breasts, her crotch obscured by a machete planted tip-down in the dirt between her legs. Posing like a Boris Vallejo warrior babe. It would’ve been pretty badass if she hadn’t been known as the good girl.
Jason and Michael drew closer to the fire pit, Michael picking up the bag of chips Freddy had dropped and plunging his hand inside. Jason had put the axe away and he looked everywhere except at Carrie, his eyes flat and jaw tense. That was fine. She didn’t want to look at him, either. The sight of his face dredged up a maelstrom of conflicting feelings. Feelings her therapist had advised she needed to sit with, but she was reluctant to sit with them just yet.
He’d changed, too, although she couldn’t put her finger on how. He was still as good-looking as ever, yet seemed older and harder, like there was something unpleasant he was putting off. Carrie hoped it was because he felt guilty about sharing her photo. Not that it mattered anymore.