“And ‘Rosemary’s Baby’ is kind of the opposite. Bigger world. Bigger stakes. It’s about this woman who slowly realizes everyone around her—her neighbors, her husband, her doctors—are gaslighting her, manipulating her, isolating her, because they want something from her. It’s one of the best examples of psychological horror ever made.” He hesitated, then added, “It’s the kind of movie that makes you trust your gut afterward. Even when everyone tells you you shouldn’t.”
Jordan studied him with new interest. “You sure do know a lot about old movies.”
Cree looked down at his hands. “I like…I like feeling like I’m slipping into someone else’s memories. Like a perfect little snapshot of the world exactly as it was—people’s fears, their humor, how they talked, how they loved. I didn’t grow up with much, so nostalgia’s…weird for me. But those films give me this feeling like I’m remembering something I never actually lived.”
“I get that,” Jordan said. When Cree looked, the other boy’s eyes were closed. “Keep talking. You have a really nice voice.”
Cree couldn’t tear his gaze away. “Plus, if you strip away all the noise we have now—CGI, jump scares, whatever—you get to see how good storytelling really works. Just light, shadow, and emotions.”
Jordan’s lips parted, opening his eyes to gaze up at Cree with a look he’d never seen on anyone before, something like…awe. “Damn. You sound like you’re in love with movies.”
Cree shrugged again, bashful. “I kind of am.”
“I hope someone talks about me with the same look on their face as you talk about old movies,” Jordan said wistfully.
“I’m surprised nobody hasn’t,” Cree said.
His eyes went wide as he realized he’d said those words out loud. He forced himself to look at Jordan whose cheeks looked a little pink.
The younger boy shook his head. “Sweet talker.”
Cree’s pulse stumbled. People didn’t say things like that to him. But Jordan said it like it was the easiest truth he’d ever spoken.
Cree studied him. “Is your favorite old movie actuallyGremlins?”
Once more, Jordan beamed at him, and Cree’s stomach plummeted to his spine. “Nah, but it’s fun to watch the snooty film students at my school lose their minds when I tell them it is.”
“You’re a troublemaker,” Cree said ruefully.
“I just like…provoking a reaction,” Jordan said.
His voice dipped, softer, the kind of tone that suggested layers Cree didn’t understand yet. The sparkle was still there, but something behind it dimmed just enough to catch Cree’s attention.
When he saw Cree studying him, he gave a smile that didn’t quite meet his gaze. “Ignore me,” he said. “I’m just being weird.”
“You have a lot of siblings, huh?” Cree asked.
Jordan’s tongue darted out to play with one of his piercings, studying him before he said, “Are you psychic or something?”
Cree covered his hand with his own, squeezing briefly before letting go. Jordan went still at the touch, not seeming scared so much as…surprised. Like he wasn’t used to someone touching him gently.
“You just seem like someone who probably got overlooked a lot,” Cree said.
“I have five siblings,” he admitted, expression grim. “Three older, two younger. What about you?”
Cree took a deep breath and let it out. This was usually where he made up some lie or claimed he was an only child. But this time, he told the truth. “I don’t know.”
Jordan tilted his head. “You don’t know?”
He shook his head. “I was adopted.”
Jordan studied him like he was reading him. “Oh,” he finally said, dragging out the word like that made sense. “So, like, therapy city then?”
Cree huffed out a startled laugh. “What?”
“What? Am I wrong?I know a couple of people who were adopted. They’re all hella fucked up about it.”
At Cree’s arched brow, Jordan croaked out a laugh. “Okay, fine, not all of them. My friend, Shawn—his adopted parents were chill, but he was like twelve when they adopted him, so if they were gonna be weirdos he was old enough that he could have told people how fucked up they were. I’m guessing that wasn’t your situation?”
