Page 18 of Down My Chimney

“What about you?” he asked me during a lull in the conversation.

“What about mewhat?” I asked, coughing around a French fry. I wasn’t expecting to have to answer any of the questions they kept tossing out.

“What horror movie would you most want to see as a play?”

He squeezed my hand under the table, smiling. I knew he was just trying to include me, but I wished he wouldn’t. I’d seen plenty of horror movies, but I was sure whatever answer I gave would be stupid.

“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “I think they’d all be good.”

“Not an answer!” Allyson cried from across the table. “Come on, give us a real one.”

My stomach knotted. “I guessThe Blair Witch Projectwould be pretty cool?”

“Henry already said that,” Vernon pointed out.

“I mean, I don’t know. I don’t know anything about theater.” I really just wanted to move on.

“You don’t have to know anything about theater!” Chelle said. “This is just like, fantasy theater. Like fantasy football. It’s not connected to the real world.”

Except itwasconnected to the real world. How your fantasy team did was very much affected by how those players were doing in real life. And Henry’s friends kept making fun of each other about why their choices sucked, and that was real too.

Allyson and Vernon had just spent ten minutes arguing about whether you could stageNightmare on Elm Street’sdream sequences like the after-death scenes inOur Town, whatever that meant, or if that would be, in Allyson’s words,a craven attempt to distance the source material from its essential plebeian appeal.

I didn’t need to know what they were talking about to know that I didn’t want my choices publicly mocked. But now everyone was staring at me, and even Henry looked expectant, so I swallowed and said, “Um, maybeThe Thing?”

“Brilliant!” Vernon said, at the same time that Allyson shouted, “Trash!”

“Pfft. It’s not brilliant or trash.” Chelle rolled her eyes. “It’s just pedestrian.”

I died a little inside.

“An alien that shapeshifts to look like its victims?” Vernon said. “The killer could be any one of us at any time? You can’t trust anyone? How is that notperfectfor stage adaptation? The tension you could exploit—”

“Overdone,” Chelle interrupted. “I’m not saying you couldn’t do afinejob of it, but it’s just so trite. Can’t we do something new, please?”

“It’s not even trite,” Allyson jumped in. “It’s just trashy.The Thingrelies on gore more than it relies on tension. If you take away the special effects, it’s not even a good story.”

“That’s not even a little bit true,” Vernon objected. “And the practical effects inThe Thingare amazing. You’re just jealous that the puppets in that movie look better than your creepyHamletmaggots.”

Allyson threw a fry at him and began explaining, for the fourth time that night, just how genius her human-sock-puppet idea was, but at least they weren’t talking about me anymore.

Henry leaned in and whispered, “IthinkThe Thingwould make a great play.”

He kissed my cheek quickly before pulling away. I smiled, but I couldn’t help noticing that none of his friends had calledhisidea ‘trash’ or ‘pedestrian.’

“Oh shit,” Vernon said suddenly. “Henry, that’s what you should do for your application!”

I looked at Henry. “What application?”

“Stage an adaptation ofThe Blair Witch Project?” Henry asked with a laugh, not answering me. “Or just make better sock puppets than Allyson?”

“Both, obviously,” Chelle said, as Allyson huffed, “Oh, please, you could never.”

“What application?” I repeated, tugging Henry’s hand a little.

“It’s nothing,” he said quickly.

But that still didn’t answer my question, nor did Vernon’s reply of, “Youhaveto do it. Come on, I’m applying too. How cool would it be if we both got in?”

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