Chapter 5 Carrie
Carrie
Carrie toweled her hair dry by the fire, glad she’d cut it for the summer.
It was much more practical than her old hairstyle, and a sign she was ready for change.
Her therapist had congratulated her when she’d shown off the new cut at their last appointment.
It was a step toward moving on from the past. A symbolic trimming of the dead weight that had been holding her back.
Jen had started on a second beer, clinking her bottle against Carrie’s.
That little action comforted Carrie. She felt welcome, like she was part of the club again.
Thankfully, everyone was pretending she hadn’t run into the woods like a ninny when she’d first arrived.
She’d been full of resolve in the car, but seeing Jason had stolen her courage.
His face had lived rent-free in her head for so long, it was jarring to see him in the flesh again.
Like meeting a celebrity in person when you’d only ever seen them on TV.
She was grateful to Jen for coming after her and cajoling her to come back. “Fuck ’em,” Jen had said, reinforcing the reason Carrie had come. She couldn’t control how others felt about her, but she could control her own feelings about herself.
Her new attitude was working. She hadn’t thought twice about stripping down when Tiffany had screamed for help.
Carrie had learned you could be embarrassed only if you let yourself be, something she wished she’d known four years ago when the photo—The Photo—had been shared all over school.
The whole incident would’ve blown over if she’d kept her head high.
If it had been Jen or Tiffany in her position, they would’ve flaunted their audacity and everyone would’ve moved on when the next person did something outrageous.
Therapy had helped Carrie realize she shouldn’t blame herself for having been so mortified. It made sense she would’ve reacted that way, with her mother’s unhealthy obsession with sin and shame. Having audiences shout Virgin! at her, night after night at the Rialto, had also messed with her head.
In a way, the incident had been a good thing.
Carrie had fled town and moved to Vancouver to live with her father for the rest of her high school senior year.
Mama had been furious, if only because the child support payments had been cut off.
But Carrie had been able to start over again.
Without any scrutiny. Literally. Her dad and stepmom were kind, though a little absent.
They had Carrie’s younger brothers to take care of, and Carrie was well-behaved and practically an adult.
That lack of supervision suited her just fine.
She’d had enough judgment from Mama and her classmates at Cedar Lake High.
Carrie blotted her face with the damp towel, and when she lowered it, Mikey—no, Michael—was staring at her, like he used to in high school.
It was kind of sweet. He was cute—not as handsome as Jason, obviously—but he shared the same glacial blue eyes, and he’d matured a lot these past few years. Just as she had.
She smiled shyly at him. “Hi, Michael.”
He gave her an awkward half grin, a flush rising up his neck. Okay, maybe he hadn’t changed that much. But hopefully he’d changed in the ways that counted.
Speaking of change, Tiffany had calmed down. Carrie was surprised it hadn’t taken that long. Tiffany had always liked to position herself at the center of any drama. That was what had put her on top of the high school pecking order when they were teens.
Tiffany had been the opposite of Carrie in every way.
She was rich, outgoing, and always looked like she’d stepped out of the glossy magazines Carrie used to save from the recycling bins of the motels and homes she cleaned on weekends.
After Mama had tiredly shuffled to bed, she’d thumb through them late at night, dreaming of a life outside of school and church and the dumpy apartment.
Tiffany could be nice, but she liked you to stay in your place.
When The Photo had leaked, she’d taken it as a personal insult.
Carrie had been fired from her housecleaning job, obviously, but Tiffany’s influence had made her a social pariah, too.
Maybe Carrie shouldn’t have gone for a friend’s ex, but the in-crowd at Cedar Lake High was always switching up partners, and Michael had told her he’d seen Tiffany getting hot and heavy with some new guy in the observatory parking lot.
Tiffany just couldn’t stand that someone like Carrie would try to aspire to date the most popular guy at school.
She spread the story that Carrie had tried to steal her boyfriend, even though she and Jason had been broken up at the time.
Carrie hadn’t been able to walk anywhere without boys yelling at her to take off her top, or girls giving her the stink eye for being a home-wrecker.
She’d spent those first few weeks of her senior year throwing up in the girls’ bathroom during lunch as if it were that easy to purge her regrets, while her phone pinged with concerned texts from Michael. She’d been too ashamed to reply to him.
Tiffany had always made her feel like she’d never be enough, and The Photo had cemented her status as an outcast.
Tiffany caught Carrie regarding her. “Thanks for coming to my rescue,” she said, actually sounding like she meant it.
“You’re welcome,” Carrie said, and she meant it, too.
She was glad Tiffany’s hard feelings had softened and that she trusted Carrie a bit more.
The near-death experience had rattled her, making her seem almost human.
There was no exciting drama around dying, despite what movies showed.
Only the limp pathos of a life on its way out.
It had been a revelation to see Mama, who’d once been so full of self-righteous fire, withered to a husk.
Death came for them all eventually, so you might as well live.
This was another lesson she’d learned from therapy.
Carrie picked up the beer she’d abandoned when Tiffany had started thrashing and took only a small sip.
She wanted to keep her head clear tonight.
An electric sensation crawled across her skin, as if a storm were coming.
It both thrilled and terrified her. Tiffany’s near-drowning felt like it was only the beginning.
The air crackled with unnerving promise.
“I got something that’ll settle your nerves, Tiffany.” Freddy put down the chips and took a plastic baggie out of his hoodie pocket. He extracted a joint with trembling hands and Carrie suspected it was just as much for his nerves as Tiffany’s.
Patrick shot him a dirty look. “Bruh, it’s legal now,” Freddy said. He lit the joint with a cigarette lighter, took a drag, and passed it to Tiffany.
Tiffany took the joint and gratefully inhaled. The skunky smell of pot filled Carrie’s nostrils and her belly lurched with nausea.
“Fuck, I needed that,” Tiffany said, offering it to Carrie.
Carrie shook her head. Never again. It was Freddy’s weed brownies that had gotten her into that mess that night. He hadn’t warned her, so she’d eaten three of them on an empty stomach.
Patrick crossed his arms over his frilly orange apron.
He was picking a strange time to disapprove.
Carrie had been high as a kite that night, and Patrick had looked off in Jason’s direction like a tragic hero and said you couldn’t have love without risk.
Carrie’s drug-altered brain had lit up like a Christmas tree and taken the hint.
If she wanted Jason to see her as a romantic prospect, she would have to do something bold.
Jason wasn’t the only one who had access to the property.
Until that night, the others hadn’t known Carrie had been cleaning houses with her mother and that the Slasher cabin was in their rotation.
She’d been too embarrassed to tell them.
None of them had to worry about earning money for college.
She had good grades, but unlike Jason and Michael, she didn’t have any special talents that could snag her a full scholarship.
No one had thought responsible Carrie Zhao would ever abuse the privilege of holding the cabin keys. Least of all herself. But it had felt easy, especially with Jen spurring her on.
Jen took a drag from the joint, laughing as she said something rude and inane.
Carrie’s breathing quickened and she felt the beginnings of a panic attack.
She focused on taking steady breaths, silently stating her mantra.
I am a strong woman who can’t be hurt anymore.
She’d learned in therapy to change the narrative and stop framing herself as a victim, a naive and vulnerable innocent like Slasher’s Final Girl, Jordan Knox.
Carrie’s heartbeat slowed and the sound of Jen’s raucous laughter lost its sting.
Jen had badgered Carrie to open the cellar, because Carrie had accidently let slip there were Slasher props stored there.
Jen hadn’t believed it, because why would precious movie memorabilia be stashed in a basement?
But the town council had been arguing for years as to where to set up a Slasher museum, so it made sense they’d keep it all here for now.
Carrie should’ve known better than to listen to Jen, the girl who went through life with her middle finger raised.
If there was a rule, Jen would break it on principle.
She’d been perfect to play rebellious rocker Heather in their Slasher reenactments.
Carrie hadn’t been thinking clearly, and when she’d confessed to Jen she wanted to make Jason see her as more than virginal Jordan Knox, it had been Jen who’d snapped The Photo and texted it to him.