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

it up while we went to find a snack,” Mi Jin explained, heading to the elevator. “I’m going to bring this up to them.”

Oscar sat down next to me and offered one of the paper cups. “It’s called dot . . . something.”

“Ddeokbokki!” Mi Jin called right before the elevator doors slid closed.

“What she said.”

I peered into the cup. It kind of looked like the canned Chef Boyardee I loved when I was little: thick, short pasta in a bright red sauce. “Is it like spaghetti?” I asked, surprised.

“Mi Jin said they’re rice dumplings.” Oscar scooped up three with his fork. “It’s really good. Spicy.”

I stabbed one and popped it into my mouth. All thoughts of canned spaghetti instantly flew from my mind. The dumpling was soft and dense, and the sauce was a little sweet and really hot and absolutely nothing like Chef Boyardee. By the time we’d finished our cups and split the third, our noses were running and my eyes kept tearing up.

When Mi Jin returned with Roland and Sam, we took a walk to check out the neighborhood. A few blocks away, we found a pedestrians-only street with a market. I spotted several vendors selling more ddeokbokki, as well as steamed buns that looked similar to the ones we’d had in Beijing, and lots of other food I had no name for. There were also stalls filled with clothes, toys, and electronics, and one blindingly pink shop that sold every type of Hello Kitty product imaginable.

After Mi Jin bought a red sweater covered in little black-and-white robots, we wandered out of the market and found ourselves on a busy street lined with glass and steel skyscrapers. Roland spotted a café across the intersection, made a loud grunting noise like a zombie that caused a few passersby to stare at him in alarm, and crossed without waiting to see if the rest of us were following.

“I guess we’re getting coffee,” Mi Jin said with a grin.

Inside, the café was massive, and reminded me of the two-level Starbucks Jamie and Hailey had taken us to near their apartment. The menu was huge, too, and we spent almost ten minutes looking over everything before ordering: sweet-potato latte for Roland, pomegranate tea for Sam, some sort of milky, lavender-colored drink for Mi Jin, and two bubble teas (coconut for me, passion fruit for Oscar).

Roland eyed our drinks suspiciously when the barista slid them across the counter. “Yeah, I don’t know if tea you can chew should be a thing that exists.”

“Says the guy who ordered potato-flavored coffee,” I said before slurping up a few of the chewy tapioca balls through the extra-wide straw.

“Sweet potato. Totally different.” Roland’s phone buzzed, and he glanced at the screen.

“They’re back at the hotel!”

“Finally.” Oscar made a beeline for the door. I was right on his heels, and as soon as we were outside, we broke into a run. It turned into a race, both of us accidentally-on-purpose bumping into each other and trying not to spill our drinks as we sprinted down the block. I reached the hotel entrance first, but Oscar grabbed the hood of my coat just as I pushed the doors open. We stumbled into the lobby at the same time, breathless with laughter and still elbowing each other. I spotted Dad, Jess, and Lidia at the reception desk and headed for them, tossing my cup in a trash can along the way. Another woman stood facing Dad, wearing a long, stylish jacket cinched around the waist. When she turned around, I nearly tripped on the carpet.

“Grandma?”

She beamed, spreading her arms wide. “Surprise!”

I flew across the lobby and threw myself at her, catching a glimpse of Dad’s smile right before I buried my face in Grandma’s shoulder. It occurred to me that I should probably feel embarrassed about acting like a five-year-old in front of Oscar, but I didn’t care. All the worry I’d been carrying about our house, Dad’s future with the show, my mother, moving back to Chelsea . . . as soon as I saw Grandma, it was like all that stuff disappeared. Well, not entirely. But it suddenly felt manageable.

Then a horrible thought occurred to me. Had she come all the way out here because Dad told her about the stuff the Thing had done? Did Grandma think I was crazy, too?

“What are you doing here?” I asked, taking a step back.

Lidia smiled, tucking a stray strand of frizzy hair behind her ear. “You know why! Edie’s going to guest star on the finale.”

“But I thought the guest star was a celebrity,” I blurted out. Grandma crossed her arms and gave me a mock-withering look.

“Excuse me?”

“Wow, burn,” Oscar said, snickering. “On your own grandmother, too.”

“No, I didn’t mean . . .” I waved my hand. “I just . . . I guess I forgot you’re kind of a celebrity or whatever.”

“Kind of,” Grandma said to Dad, who was shaking his head and grinning. “No manners, this one.” She winked at me, then turned to Oscar. “Speaking of celebrities—Oscar Bettencourt. You, young man, are pretty darn captivating on camera. Have you ever considered acting?”

“Yes,” Oscar replied, almost before the words were out of her mouth. “Yes, I have.”

I snorted, and Lidia cleared her throat loudly. “Excuse me, what? You’ve never mentioned that.”

“Well, you should pursue it,” Grandma told Oscar firmly, and he looked so pleased I couldn’t help but roll my eyes.

“Ohhhh my God,” came a voice behind me. I turned to find Mi Jin gazing at Grandma and bouncing up and down on her toes. “OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod. You’re actually here.”

“Mi Jin!” Grandma exclaimed, and Mi Jin froze, her mouth in a round O. “It’s so good to finally meet you.” She wrapped her in a hug like they were old friends, and everyone laughed at the ecstatic expression on Mi Jin’s face. She was a die-hard Edie Mills fan; I couldn’t believe she’d managed to keep the fact that Grandma was the guest star a secret.

Suddenly, I felt ridiculous for not putting the pieces together sooner. Grandma was moving to