Fine with me, or at least I think it is. That confidence lasts right up until I am sitting on the bed in Hailey’s room with a stack of DVDs spread out in front of me, and it becomes painfully obvious that no matter what I suggest, the girls somehow do not want to watch it.
I have never seen two people this picky about a movie in my life.
“Come on,” I say. “It’s not like if you pick something, then you’re banned from the others. If that’s what you want, I’m sure Talon will let you have the projector whenever you want.”
By the time they finally make a choice, I have been trying to convince them for at least an hour.
They land on something with a dramatic cover: a dark hallway, a pale face half-hidden behind a doorframe, and a title in an aggressively serious font.
“This one,” Hailey says, a little too fast.
Lila nods. “Yes. That one.”
I turn it over and scan the back. “This is a haunted asylum movie.”
“It’s atmospheric,” Hailey insists, already sliding the DVD into the player, like if she pauses for even a second I’ll shut it down.
I don’t. I’m trying very hard to be normal about things, and this is apparently what normal people do. They watch terrible horror movies in a hospital room, with a projector aimed at a blank wall that used to be covered in medical posters.
The lights go off, and we dive in.
Five minutes in, the movie is exactly what I expected. Too much fog, too many long shots of empty corridors, and a soundtrack that’s basically a violin having a nervous breakdown.
Ten minutes in, Lila makes a small sound. Barely a squeak, but her whole body jerks like something touched her. She clamps a hand over her mouth, eyes huge, and then looks at me like she’s been caught doing something humiliating.
“It’s fine,” I whisper, because I don’t know what else to do.
She nods, rigid as a board. Then the movie does that thing where it goes quiet just to make the next sound feel like a slap.
A metal tray clatters on screen, and Lila launches. Hailey has to catch her by the elbow or they both would’ve ended up on the floor.
Yeah, no. A freaking horror movie is not the right pick for someone who was nearly murdered.
“Okay,” I say, keeping my voice calm. “How about we change the movie to something else?”
They both agree, and this time they choose the safest-looking thing in the pile: a soft, warm cover with cartoonish art anda title that promises sunshine and a predictable plot. I am surprised the guys even own something like that, but I am not about to complain. The second it starts, the room changes. The soundtrack goes gentle. People in bright clothing smile at each other. The jokes are visible from a mile away. Lila exhales so hard it sounds like she has been holding her breath for an hour.
“Better?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says immediately. Then she pauses and adds more quietly, “Sorry.”
“Chill. You don’t have to apologize for being jumpy,” I tell her. “That movie sucked ass.”
Hailey makes a sound that’s almost a laugh and almost not, like it gets strangled on the way out. She shoves a handful of popcorn into her mouth, like that’ll keep it from happening again, and I make a point of not reacting.
It works for maybe fifteen minutes.
Then something stupid and harmless happens onscreen, a character pulling a ridiculous face, and Hailey snorts. It’s quick and sharp, the kind of sound you don’t choose and can’t swallow back in time. Lila clamps her hand over her mouth again, eyes wide, and suddenly they’re both doing it, the same weird, smothered giggle that never fully turns into laughter. It just sticks in their throats, like back on the ground floor.
What the hell?
They look at each other. They look away. They look at me like I’m going to… I don’t know. Accuse them of something.
“What?” I ask, genuinely lost.
“Nothing,” Hailey says.
Lila shakes her head, still covering her mouth, eyes glossy with the effort of not laughing. “It’s just…”
