In Tiffany’s opinion, Carrie should’ve leaned into her new reputation. She could’ve had any guy she wanted, even before the photo. Every straight guy aged fifteen to twenty—and face it, any of the old pervs in town—would’ve loved to brag they’d been the one to deflower the professional virgin.
Just not Jason. Tiffany couldn’t believe Carrie had the gall to go for him in the first place. He’d never date the girl from the skids with the wacko religious mom. And Carrie so obviously had daddy issues. That was why she’d joined the Jumpscare Society. During their first meeting, she’d told them her dad was into horror films and she wanted to have something to share with him. As if the father who lived so many area codes away with his new family would pay attention to her because of some silly movies. Tiffany would’ve warned any guy to steer clear of a girl so hungry for male validation. Not unless he wanted his bunny boiled.
“I have to get some stuff from my car,” Carrie said, and shedisappeared back into the cabin. Freddy followed her, probably in search of more snacks. Tiffany swam a few more laps, reluctant to rejoin the others. Jen came down to the beach, her arms full of firewood, and began to arrange it in the fire pit. Tiffany waved, but Jen didn’t respond. Too occupied with her new BFF, it seemed. Jen grinned as Carrie reappeared through the cabin’s back door about ten minutes later and joined her at the fire pit. She held two bottles of beer and proffered one to Jen. She hadn’t brought a third, Tiffany noted sourly, even though the brightness of her pink bikini was probably visible from shore.
Jen hunched over the fire pit, her face illuminated by the tiny flame she’d coaxed out of the kindling. In a heartbeat the fire roared to life. Carrie was like that flame, Tiffany thought. The bright, seemingly innocent spark that would burn everything down if you let it.
“It’s alive!” Jen roared, like Dr. Frankenstein. She grabbed Carrie’s hand and triumphantly skipped around the fire. Beer sloshed out of the bottles in their hands. To Tiffany’s annoyance, Carrie had loosened up, tossing her head back with laughter as Jen released her hand to wave her arms in a mock pagan dance. Carrie was never going to leave now.
“Hot girl summer, bitches!” Jen yelled.
“No,SlasherSummer!” Carrie said, laughing.
Jen raised her bottle in a toast. “To Slasher fucking Summer.” She tilted her head back and drank thirstily.
Jen noticed Tiffany then, watching them in the water like a curious mermaid. “Come on, Tiff, we need a third witch for our coven,” she called out.
Tiffany shook her head, not ready to return to land yet. She splashed away from the shore and flipped onto her back, waiting for Jason to come down to the beach. He’d see how much fun she was having without him, and how good she looked, too. And if the new bikini wasn’t enough to entice him, she still had Clive in her back pocket. He’d promised to take her to that trendy new tapas place when she returned to campus next week. Jason hadnever been into classy restaurants. He preferred grubby mom-and-pop cafés, where he’d analyze every cringy aspect as if he were studying for an exam. Places withheart,he always said.Heartand menus printed on cheap paper place mats didn’t get you Instagram likes. You couldn’t be a queen if no one envied you.
Floating on the water, Tiffany gazed upward and let serenity wash over her. The stars were starting to show themselves, like someone had dipped a paintbrush in glitter and spread it across the sky. Jen’s cackling laughter and Patrick’s calm and steady conversation lifted her spirits. The sound of her old friends and the lake’s embrace brought her back to those good times by the cabin, and she started to feel a little kindlier toward everyone.
She didn’t even mind the occasional peal of Carrie’s voice, clear and pure as a bell. Well, Carrie could have a go at Jason if she wanted.Shecould try defusing the bomb he’d become, bless her heart. Tiffany knew she would never succeed. Carrie didn’t have what it took to make a guy like Jason fall to his knees for her.
And then something clamped around Tiffany’s ankle and yanked her down into the lake’s cold depths.
Tiffany tried to scream. Tried. The lake smothered her voice. She struggled as water flooded her throat and nose, terrified it would fill her straining lungs, too. Whatever held her ankle was too strong, a claw-like grip that dug into her flesh like a—
Like a human hand.
She tried to twist to see what—or who—had gotten hold of her. Was Jen playing a prank? They used to horse around in the lake in high school, having chicken fights. Tiffany would sit on Jason’s shoulders in her bra and panties while Jen sat on Patrick or Freddy’s, and the others would egg them on from shore. Jen always won, needless to say. Who else would it be? The summer camp kids wouldn’t swim out this far, and anyway, Uncle Vic would never allow them in the lake at nightfall.
In the murky dark of the lake’s bottom, Tiffany got an impression of a bare chest and a white face.
Ablankwhite face, as if they were wearing a mask.
What the fuck? Who would wear aSlashermask underwater? Tiffany kicked desperately, windmilling her arms with furious strokes. She was going to get away from this weirdo. She was petite, but she was strong. She’d been on the swim team. She performed gravity-defying cheer routines with her squad and had the trophies to prove it.
Tiffany broke the surface, lungs sucking in air. The hand tugged urgently again at her ankle and she expelled the breath she’d just greedily stolen.
“Hel—”
The scream cut short as the lake closed over her head. Her limbs thrashed. Her thoughts dissolved into panic. There was a wild animal inside her chest, straining against her breastbone, clawing to get out. It begged for oxygen. It told her if she just relaxed, opened her mouth, and let herself breathe, everything would be okay.
It was a liar.
She kicked and a hand clamped around her other ankle. Robbed of the use of her legs, her body convulsed in helpless spasms. Dark static overtook her vision, or maybe her struggling had kicked up the sand and gravel at the bottom of the lake.
Another hand clamped around her wrist. How many hands did this guy have? Tiffany shook it off, but then strong arms threaded under her armpits and hauled her upward. The grip around her ankles loosened and slipped away.
Her head resurfaced and she gasped like a dying fish, the sweet, sweet air filling her aching lungs.
A pale face peered down at her. It wasn’t a mask. Carrie was treading water behind her, holding her up as if Tiffany were a toddler at her first swim lesson. Tiffany should’ve felt indignant, but instead she was grateful. She gulped more air, unable to speak.
“Do you think you can stand? The lake should be shallow enough here,” Carrie said.
Tiffany nodded. Carrie loosened her death grip. Tiffany’s knees buckled as her toes touched the lake bottom, but Carrie looped an arm around her waist and kept her steady.
“She’s all right!” Carrie yelled as they hobbled for the beach. Patrick stood on the dock, wielding the barbecue spatula like a weapon. As if that could’ve helped Tiffany. Maybe it could’ve chased away the man who’d grabbed her. Patrick could’ve—flipped him to death?
