Final Girl by Michelle Schusterman (beach books .TXT) 📕

down a mountain and getting bigger and more out of control every second.

“And it’s on video?” Trish said, her eyes huge. “Like we’re actually going to see this thing during the episode?”

I tried not to flinch at thing. “Yeah. It’s pretty wild.”

Mark squinted at me. “Are you scared? I mean, that’s pretty . . . I don’t know. I’d be really freaked out.”

“Eh, but she’s not going back to the bridge,” Trish said. “I doubt it’s just going to show up in her hotel, you know? Like, it’s not going to be just lying out by the pool or something.”

I forced a laugh. “Especially considering it’s forty degrees outside.”

“Hang on . . .” Mark was tapping on his phone screen, brow furrowed. “Maybe you haven’t seen it, but what about this?” He held up his phone, and I saw he’d pulled up my last blog post. The one where I’d mentioned The Real Kat Sinclair commenter. “I figured it was just, you know, some random person using your name. But what if it’s . . .”

“My doppelganger?” I grinned at him. “I thought you didn’t believe in paranormal stuff, even after all the stories I’ve told you.”

Mark’s face reddened a bit. “I don’t . . . mostly. But this is a weird coincidence. And we saw . . .”

He exchanged a glance with Trish, and my stomach tightened.

“You saw what?”

“We saw that comment you left on your mom’s Facebook,” Trish said, tugging at a few of her braids nervously. “It, um . . . well, it didn’t sound like you.”

I swallowed. “It wasn’t me. Someone must’ve gotten into my account.”

“Like your doppelganger?” Mark joked half-heartedly.

“Maybe. Or just . . . I don’t know, trolls or something.” I shrugged. “Anyway. What’s new with—”

“What’s the deal with your house?” Trish blurted it out, and I realized she’d probably been holding back that question since the moment our chat had started. “Is your dad gonna buy it?”

I took a deep breath. Here, at least, was something I could be perfectly honest about.

“I think so. And I think we might be moving back for good.”

Trish let out a happy little squeal, then clamped her hands over her mouth. Mark blinked several times.

“Really? Why?”

So I told them the whole story: the job offer from Live with Wendy, Dad saying hosting P2P was too much work even though I knew he loved it, the way he was acting all moody, how he’d said he was mad at himself, when my daughter’s not being attacked by psychopaths in an abandoned prison, she’s being harassed by trolls online and reporters in real life . . . And finally, that he thought I’d shredded his P2P contract, that I’d left that comment on my mom’s Facebook wall . . . that I actually wanted to move back to Chelsea.

When I finished, Trish and Mark both stayed silent for a few seconds. Finally, Mark cleared his throat and said:

“And you . . . you don’t?”

“What, want to move back?” I asked, surprised. “No! I didn’t say any of that stuff. It’s not how I feel at all.”

Trish was staring at a spot somewhere to the left of her laptop. “Obviously,” she mumbled. It took me a moment to realize what I’d said.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean . . .” I felt a blush creep up my neck. “Dad thinks I want to live closer to my mom, and I don’t. That’s all I meant.”

“But otherwise, you’d be okay moving back here?” Mark asked tentatively.

I opened my mouth to say of course, because that’s what you say when your best friends ask if you want to move back to be with them again, because that’s what you actually want. Except that feeling was nagging at me again, the one I got every time we video chatted, every time I was reminded of the life I’d left behind in Chelsea. The feeling I ignored.

I was glad. I was glad I didn’t live there anymore. I missed Trish and Mark and Grandma constantly, but come on—I was traveling all over the world, visiting haunted places with a TV show. I had new friends, I had a weirdly successful blog that was super fun to write . . . in just a few months, being a part of Passport to Paranormal had become . . . well, normal. The thought of losing all of this, of going back to the same old school, same old house, same old movie theater on weekends and no ghosts whatsoever . . .

It was kind of devastating, to be honest. But there was no way to tell my best friends that without hurting their feelings.

Unfortunately, my silence pretty much told them, anyway.

Trish smiled tightly. “I get it,” she said. “Probably seems really boring around here compared to what you’re doing.” She sounded like she was genuinely trying to be understanding, which just made me feel worse.

“No it doesn’t!” I said way too quickly. Lie. “I mean, this is . . . I miss you guys, I really do, and . . .” I sighed, closing my eyes and wishing I’d never brought up any of this. “I guess I’m just upset Dad thinks I’d rather be with Mom than with him.”

Mark frowned. “He doesn’t think you want to live with her, right?”

Until this moment, the thought hadn’t occurred to me. But then, very clearly, I imagined seeing that comment on my mom’s wall from Dad’s perspective. Your real daughter will be home soon. And I’ll never leave you again.

“I don’t know,” I said, my voice breaking a little. “Maybe he does think that.”

“Mark!” I heard Trish’s mom calling from down the hall. “Your brother’s parked outside!”

“Coming!” Mark called back.

“Nathan’s driving now?” I asked, surprised.

Mark nodded. “Got his license right after New Year’s. I’m surprised he passed the test . . . half the time he tries to park in front of the house, he runs up on the curb.”

“And oh my God, last weekend,” Trish said, her eyes brightening. “Kat, he took us to the mall, and he accidentally drove the wrong way down the little street that goes around the parking lot. He got pulled over.”

“By a mall cop,” Mark added. “In one of those little golf carts.”

We all started giggling uncontrollably. “Trish, Mark!” Trish’s mom yelled again. “It’s