Page 5 of Romance Is Dead

“Think about capybaras.” I squeezed her hand and walked onto set.

In addition to Teddy and me, there were three other actors in the main cast. I already knew Brent, a surfer type with shaggy blond hair and sun-kissed skin, from our time filmingKiller Croc Attacktogether a few years ago. He was playing the resident bad boy in the group of friends and was currently staring at his phone as the hair stylist touched up his slicked-back hair. I suspected the faint whiff of marijuana detectable on set was coming from him.

In contrast, Chloe—an actress a bit younger than me, with bright blue eyes and a tumble of long blonde waves—was chatting Mara’s ear off as she touched up her lip stain. If I remembered correctly, this was her debut film. I resisted the urge to tell her to run, quickly, before the industry could ruin her life too.

A loud giggle pierced the air. It was Audrey, a pretty British woman who would be playing the film’s villain: the witch. She had one hand over her mouth, trying to contain her laughter at something Teddy had just said. Because much of the witch’s look would be added by special effects in post-production, she was decked out in a special bodysuit covered in inch-wide sensors that looked like ping-pong balls and would be used to align the digital costume and effects with her movements.

Teddy whispered something in her ear and she shook even harder, the sensors jiggling even more frantically.

Gross.

Deciding to ignore them, I closed my eyes and whispered my traditional prayer to the patron saint of scream queens herself, Ms. Jamie Lee Curtis.

“Oh, badass mother of final girls,” I murmured, “watch over me while I carry the torch as yet another girl in the wrong place at the wrong time. May my screams be convincing, my acting adequate, and my legs strong enough to run for more than half of this movie. Am—”

“Am I standing in the right place?”

I opened my eyes in irritation. It was Teddy, who had apparently had enough of flirting with Audrey and was now posing his question to me.

“How should I know? Am I supposed to remember your marks?” I did have them memorized, actually, but that was beside the point.

“I just thought—”

“And they didn’t tell us to hit our marks yet anyway.”

“I was just asking a question. You don’t have to be so uptight.”

“Uptight? Are you serious? I—”

An older man who was moving very fast for his age brushed past us, knocking me off balance and interrupting our squabbling.

“Took me near a dozen flea markets before I found the perfect one,” he said proudly, setting down an ornate lamp and rubbing a microscopic smudge off one of the stained-glass panels in theshade.

Ah. The props master.

“Couldn’t just pick one up at Pier One?” Teddy grinned, clearly impressed with his own joke.

I winced. As a general rule, props masters were not only extremely particular about their props, but also took their jobs extremely seriously.

Indeed, the man did not find this amusing. Instead, he looked downright offended. “Why, so it can look like every other house in this country?” He adjusted the lamp once more before he left, grumbling as he went. “Young people. No respect for the art form. Always want instant gratification.”

I waited until he was gone before turning back to Teddy. “Trying to piss off every member of the cast and crew before filming even starts?”

He frowned, clearly annoyed that at least one person on set hadn’t been swayed by his charms. But before he could reply, the AD reappeared.

“Lock it up!” she shouted, sending the last makeup artist scurrying off set.

A moment later, Natasha took her place behind the camera. Everyone who was out of view of the cameras hushed and I took a deep breath, closing my eyes as I slipped into my character. It was showtime.

In the script, it’s the group’s first night in the house. Their plans consist of nothing but drinking and hooking up—they have no idea that all but one of them will be dead by Monday. The scene culminates with Teddy’s character running backward to catch a football, saving it before it crashes into an expensive floor lamp. Over his shoulder, the witch emerges from the shadows for a brief moment. It’s the audience’s first glimpse of the bad guy and a hint that things will soon go terribly wrong.

Meanwhile, everyone but my character was supposed to be drunk. You know, because she’s such a goody-goody. Yawn.

“Roll, camera!” And then, a moment later, “Action!”

Everyone sprang into motion.

Chloe stumbled around in the background, tripping over herself and slurring her words. I sat primly on an armchair, surveying the group with judgment. Meanwhile, Brent tossed around a football, looking for someone to join a game of catch.

---