She liked the roller coaster of emotions. The queasy anticipation during the credits, the thrill of those first fake scares. Then the building dread as things got serious. Connecting with a good, focused crowd of movie fans was like living inside a story. Which was great, depending on the story. “It’s not a slasher film, is it?” she asked Chizara. “I hate those.” She didn’t need any more challenges to her central nervous system. She was twitchy enough as it was. “You’re scared of blood?” Chizara looked over her shoulder at the audience. “Then why are we in the front row?” “Because this is where real movie fans sit! People in the back always have other stuff on their mind, like making out and snarking.” Kelsie gave a shudder. “But slasher fans . . . not my favorite crowd.” Chizara looked at her with something like pity. Kelsie didn’t like pity. It made her feel small. She’d fought against everyone’s pity when Dad died. Losing him was bad enough. “I think it’s more like a thriller,”
