Page 40 of Bend & Break
I shrug. “What would you call it?”
She snorts. “Stress-bonded investigative partnership with occasional kissing.”
“Sexy,” I say. “We should get that on a cake. Or your first tattoo. Wait, are you gonna kiss me again?”
She bumps her shoulder into mine. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”
My mouth curves, unwilling to hide how much I’m enjoying this. “Watching you try not to pass out from a needle? Yeah. I’d frame the stencil.”
She rolls her eyes but doesn’t let go of the smile. And her hand brushes mine just long enough to make me want things I shouldn’t in public. “Bold of you to assume I’d make it to the chair.”
Something tells me she would. Blake is not the type to back down fromanything,but I love that she plays along with me.
“Besides,” I add. “If we’re dating, that means I don’t have to prank you anymore, according to the rules of the Rites.” I shrug, half joking.
“Hmm,” she considers. “Thatcouldbe worth it. For the season, anyway.”
I know she’s kidding, but there is a small section of my brain that’s screamingomg omg omg,and it sounds exactly like an excited teenage girl.
We’re heading toward the library. Unfortunately, being knee-deep in such a shitshow doesn’t cancel the whole 'student' part of our lives. There’s still studying to do.
As we cut through the breezeway past the philosophy building, I spot it and freeze.
Half-covered by a tutoring sign and a blood drive flyer. White paper. Thick black font. A blurry still of a figure in a mask holding a fake knife, staged under shitty blue lighting.
CASTING CALL – EXTRAS NEEDED
DEAD CHANNEL FILMS — NIGHT SHOOT — NO EXPERIENCE REQUIRED
Blake takes two more steps before realizing I’m not beside her anymore. She turns, brows raised, and follows my gaze.
“Oh, come on,” she says. “That’s too convenient.”
The mask on the flyer is an exact match to the ones in the video.
“Suspiciously so,” I admit, tugging the corner of the poster free from the tack to get a better look. There’s an email at the bottom. A name. And today’s date.
The library’s nearly empty.
We find a table in the back, out of range of the group study whiteboard cult. Blake drops her bag into the seat across from mine, pulls out a laptop she never charges past 23%, and immediately opens a blank document she’s never going to fill.
At least not today.
“So what’s the plan?” she asks, dragging her chair in with a screech loud enough to disrupt the few people who are here working on things.
I flip open my own laptop. “We pretend we’re going to study. Then immediately give up and stalk indie horror people on the internet.”
“You say that like it’s different from your usual workflow.”
I smile without looking up. “You love my workflow, don’t you?”
“No,” she says, leaning forward to plug her phone into the outlet between us.
“How aboutyoutry being the distraction?” I give her a lascivious once-over. As if she’d actually have to try. Consider me thoroughly distracted.
That earns me a snort and an eye roll.
I typeDead Channel Filmsinto the search bar. The site is exactly what I expected: black background, red font, looks like it was designed in 2007 by someone who listens to too much Rob Zombie.
