Final Girl Michelle Schusterman (the gingerbread man read aloud TXT) 📖

contracts?” Jamie set the bag of Cheetos on the desk and looked from me to Oscar. “Has the network given them to you yet?”

“Nope,” Oscar said. “They’re holding off on mine and Kat’s until her dad signs his.”

I sat up straight. “Wait, what? Why are they keeping yours? You can still be on the show even if Dad and I leave.”

Oscar shrugged. “Actually, I don’t think the network would want that. Remember, that’s how it was when they first asked us to join the cast. It was both of us or nothing.”

He said it lightly, but guilt washed over me, anyway. He was right. If Dad decided to leave the show—even though I knew he loved this job—there was a good chance Oscar wouldn’t be part of the cast anymore. And he loved being on TV. It wasn’t fair.

“You’re all coming back,” Hailey said confidently. “I bet your dad’s just trying to get more money, Kat. That’s how negotiations work.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell her what Dad had said. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Hailey started speculating on the guest star again, with Jamie and I throwing out increasingly absurd suggestions to make her giggle. But Oscar stayed uncharacteristically quiet while he packed.

Something about this whole guest star thing was bothering him. And I had a feeling it wasn’t just that the rest of the cast was keeping it a secret from us.

A knock sounded on the door, and Mi Jin poked her head in. “Rachele’s downstairs,” she said, then laughed when Hailey let out a little wail of despair.

“I can’t believe you guys are going to Beijing, and we have to stay in stupid New York and go to stupid school on Monday.”

I laughed, but a pang of sadness hit me. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to Jamie and Hailey yet.

Mi Jin gave her a sympathetic smile. “Don’t worry, kiddo. I’m sure we’ll work out another trip with you guys when we start shooting season three!”

“Yeah, next fall, which might as well be a hundred years from now,” Hailey grumbled. Then she took a deep breath and faced Oscar, lifting her chin like a soldier heading off to battle.

Oscar’s expression was serious. “See you in a century,” he said solemnly, and Hailey cracked a smile.

“You’d both better e-mail us every day!” she cried before launching herself at Oscar, who stumbled back into the wall. I’d barely had time to stand up before Hailey’s arms were around me next, squeezing my ribs with a ridiculous amount of strength for a girl with such skinny arms.

Oscar gave Jamie a quick hug, then headed to the door with Hailey. I smiled at Jamie, suddenly feeling shy.

“I wish you guys were coming with us,” I told him.

“Me too.” He paused, biting his lip. “I’ll miss you.”

A warm feeling filled my chest. “I’ll miss you, too.”

Jamie stepped forward, and I hugged him tightly. Then, without giving myself a chance to think about it, I kissed him on the cheek.

He grinned at me, his face dark pink, and started to say something. But then Mi Jin called from the hallway: “Elevator’s here! Come on, guys!”

“Video chat when you get there?” Jamie asked, and I nodded.

“Yeah.”

He slung his backpack over his shoulder, then took my hand, and we headed to the elevator.

That night, I pretended to be asleep when Dad came into our room. The whole contract thing, combined with saying goodbye to Jamie and Hailey, had left me feeling pretty blah. Even knowing the show had booked a guest star and no one had told Oscar or me bugged me more now that I’d had time to think about it. Dad didn’t trust me with anything, apparently. Not enough to tell me about the show, or his job offer in Ohio, or even what he was thinking about doing with the house. Didn’t I get a say in this? I was a cast member. I had a blog. I contributed to the show. This was my life, too.

I listened to the sound of the shower running, trying to think of a way to say any of that to Dad. But he already thought I’d torn up his contract in some sort of meltdown. Anything I said now would probably just come off as more immature whining.

Then there was the other thing. The Thing. Knowing that it had been creeping around my room that morning while I lay right here, unconscious, was going to make it kind of hard to sleep.

The water stopped, and a few minutes later, Dad emerged from the bathroom. I buried myself deeper under the comforter as he rummaged around the closet. At last, he turned off the light and climbed into his bed. Before long, his chain-saw snores started up. It was comforting, actually. A reminder that if the Thing showed up, I wouldn’t be alone.

Maybe if it did, I could wake up Dad and prove to him I wasn’t losing my mind.

All night, I drifted in and out of vague dreams about being trapped in a small room, jerking awake each time and staring around the room, looking for a skulking figure in the shadows. When Dad’s alarm went off at 5:00 a.m., I was torn between relief and wanting to cry.

Forty-five minutes later, I entered the lobby to find Oscar sprawled on the couch, looking as exhausted as I felt. He squinted at me through red-rimmed eyes, groaning when I flopped down next to him.

“Same,” I mumbled.

We sat in silence for the next five minutes while Dad and Jess checked everyone out at the front desk. Through the glass entrance, I saw Roland pull up in one of our rental cars, followed by Sam in the other.

Yawning, I got to my feet, slung my backpack over my shoulder, and grabbed my suitcase. Oscar did the same, and I followed him across the lobby. The doors were flanked by two enormous potted palms, and I noticed the leaves trembling a bit on the one on the right. We’d almost