[  kicking my feet and giggling but also crying over the sidney and indiana edit i just made  ]

☆︎

RANDY, I'M SOBBING ON THE GROUND, AND YOU'RE STILL FINDING THE TIME TO COMPLAIN ABOUT THE BEST MOVIE IN THE WORLD.

☆︎ NOVEMBER, 1999 ☆︎

Though Randy didn't love that Sidney was living so far away in isolation, he could understand the appeal as finished taking Tate on a quick walk while Sidney was watching the pizza they were baking in the oven. The only people aside from her father that had the address to the secluded house were Randy, Indiana, Dewey, and Jackson. Isaiah visited once but rode in the backseat and had no idea how to get there on his own. Sophia came a handful of times and could probably find it, but she didn't know any street or county names to help identify where they were. And Virginia and Luca never found the time to get there to see Sidney and keep her company.

Given that all the members of The Woodsboro Killers were traveling on their North American tour, Sidney was getting fewer and fewer visits and calls from them since they were so busy. Randy tried to make up for it by visiting her more, which she appreciated.

Randy brought over a bag full of movies for them to watch, and since Sidney didn't even give her address out for food delivery, they made a pizza instead of calling one in. The walk with Tate was timed perfectly, because Sidney was turning her oven off and pulling their lunch out just as she heard the front door open, followed by the sound of the dog's paws scratching against the floor.

"Who's a good girl?" Randy asked, scratching behind the active dog's ears before hanging up the leash. Then he called out to Sidney. "I turned the alarm on."

"Thanks," she said, appreciating that he made sure to mention it, knowing how paranoid she was. "And thanks for taking Tate out."

"Oh, the dog is the only reason I come over so much," he said teasingly while coming into the kitchen.

Sidney rolled her eyes playfully while starting to cut the pizza. "Then maybe I'll just withhold your half of the pizza that I slaved away to make from scratch."

At that, Randy scoffed while getting some sodas out of the fridge. "It was a box mix with the dough already premade. You really broke a sweat sprinkling on that cheese."

"And the pepperoni and pineapple."

While his back was turned, Randy gagged. He let her put the fruit on one half of the pizza and wasn't thrilled about tasting the juice that would likely spread to his side. But he just couldn't tell Sidney no.

"Alright, I'm gonna put a movie in," he told her, bringing the cans with him to put on the coffee table.

"Not a scary movie," Sidney called out while plating their pizzas.

Randy let out a dramatic gasp. "Halloween?"

"No."

"Terror Train?"

"No, Randy."

"Stab 2?"

"You did not fucking rent that movie, did you?" Sidney asked in disbelief.

"...No," Randy said, dragging out the single word in a way that told Sidney he did rent the movie. "But I only have scary movies with me."

"Look, Randy," she said, coming to join him in the small living room. "I didn't even watch that shit before living through one — twice. You know that, and so I also know you brought more than horror films."

Randy stared down at Sidney for a moment, a pout on his lips as he tried to silently convince her to watch a scary movie. But the girl wasn't budging, so he sighed and gave in. Then he bent over and riffled around the plastic shopping bag full of VHS tapes, pulling one out and flashing the bright and colorful case to her.

"Anastasia?" Sidney asked, a grin taking over her face at the Meg Ryan movie. "I love that one!"

"Like I'd forget which ones are your favorite," he told her, smiling too. As he knew, he couldn't tell Sidney no, even when it came to the most important thing in his life — the horror genre.

Then he moved over to the TV and got everything set up. And he missed the soft, appreciative expression that stayed on Sidney's face as she watched him. She figured to pay him back for his sweetness, she wouldn't complain when he did his Bartok impression, which was surprisingly accurate but also too much.

Once the tape was ready — and after Randy complained at length about the last person to rent it not rewinding it — the two settled side by side on the couch. However, the opening flashback wasn't even finished and Randy only got one bite of his pizza before his cellphone rang.

He groaned dramatically while Sidney paused the movie. Though he ceased his dramatics when he saw it was Jackson calling and not someone annoying like his parents or sister.

"Hey, man, what's up?" he greeted while taking another bite. "Where are you this week? Like, New York?"

"New York was a week and a half ago," Sidney chimed in. Just because she wasn't going to any of the concerts didn't mean she didn't memorize where each of their stops were.

"She's right," Jackson said, having barely overheard Sidney. "We played in Kentucky last night. We're set to leave in about an hour for Virginia — a lot of jokes will be made at our Virginia's expense."

"Ooh, I'll make sure to jump in on that," Randy said. "So, are you just calling to check in or something? I'm over at Sid's."

"Um, not really," Jackson said, sounding a bit off. "I was wondering if maybe you wouldn't mind calling Indiana."

Randy and Sidney shared a confused look. "Sure, but how come?"

"Uh, well, Rod left a note saying he took her somewhere she wanted to go alone that was far enough that she needed a car to get there, and they'd be back soon. I kinda figure where she wanted to go," he said. "We aren't all that far from the cemetery where he's buried — maybe about forty minutes. And I know she asked to go alone, but I don't want her to be alone."

Indiana didn't talk about Mickey a lot. But the only two to ever really get her to open up about it were Sidney when she was feeling heartbroken and angry or Randy when she was just missing him — Randy and Mickey were best friends, after all. And he missed his friend just as much even if he hid it better.

"Yeah. Of course," Randy said, forgetting all about his pizza.

"But don't tell her I told you to call her," Jackson said. "I don't want her to call me a mother hen or something."

"Yeah," Sidney said with a smile. "God forbid she think you care about her and worry about her happiness."

"I know," he groaned. "It's so gross."

"I'll let you know how it goes," Randy said before hanging up. Then he sighed heavily and rubbed his face, mentally preparing himself for what was to come.

"Want me to go to another room?" Sidney asked him in a gentle tone. Try as she might, Sidney struggled to feel sympathy for Indiana and Randy — she hated Mickey just like everyone else did. But all of them were considerate enough to not shit-talk him to the two people missing him the most.

"Nah, I'll go outside," he said, getting off the couch. He did make sure to grab his pizza, not wanting it to go cold throughout the call. "It might be a while."

☆︎

Grass stains were slowly seeping into the bottom of Indiana's jeans, but she didn't care as she sat with her knees pulled up to her chest in front of the gravestone she was seeing for the first time.

MICKEY RAYLAN ALTIERI
1979 — 1998

It didn't say anything else — she knew he did really deserve for it to say anything. He didn't deserve a funeral either, and even if his parents had given him one, Virginia wouldn't have let Indiana attend it. Cici deserved a funeral. Hallie and Derek did. Not Mickey.

But there Indiana was, having a silent funeral by herself nearly two years later. As she silently cried, Rod was waiting back at the car and out of sight, giving her the time alone that she wanted.

"I hate you," she whispered to herself and the wind. And her voice shook as she said the lie — Indiana fucking hated that it was still a lie after so long. She didn't understand why it was still a lie. "Cici was the best person in the world — she was smart and funny and so sweet — and you took her from me. You killed my best friend. I hate you so much, Mickey."

It wasn't that Indiana couldn't say his name, it was that she didn't want to around others. She didn't want them to hear how her voice trembled or pick up in the longing in her tone. But when she was alone — the nights when she'd sit on her roof, in the spot that used to be reserved for her and Billy, and look up at the stars and talk about Mickey as if they could understand — that was when Indiana could stomach saying his name.

"You were supposed to be here," Indiana said, fiddling with her hands. "You - you always said you were gonna follow us on our first tour and film the whole thing — you said we would make history one day, so there needed to be records of when we were just starting out."

"Well, fuck you, because Rod hired a really great videographer. And we got to sing No Sleep Till Brooklyn in fucking Brooklyn — and you hated that song because you have no taste," she muttered, trying to stay angry. Indiana clenched her eyes shut, more tears falling. "But you said you liked it when I was the one singing it to you."

"I hate you."

Maybe if she said it enough, it would be true.

The cell phone in Indiana's sweatshirt pocket — Mickey's sweatshirt pocket because even after so long, she still never got rid of his things that were now mixed into her own wardrobe where they'd stay forever  — was on silent but she could feel it buzzing against her stomach. She hesitated to answer, figuring it was just Jackson checking on her.

And even though she didn't want to talk to him and answer questions about where she was, she still dug it out to answer, knowing he was worried about her. But it wasn't Jackson, she saw.

"Hi, Randy," she greeted quietly while wiping under her dripping nose. She hated how scratchy her voice sounded.

"Hey, Rockstar," Randy said. "How's touring the world?"

Indiana laughed halfheartedly. "It's not the world — yet, at least."

"Ah, so not seeing any great wonders of the world yet?"

"Harlan, Kentucky is sketchy as shit," she told him.

Randy wasn't surprised that he didn't have to pry the information of where she was out of her. "I know he loved to complain about it but figured he was being dramatic."

"Afraid to say the tales are true," she said, smiling a little even though she still felt horribly depressed. But then she thought of something and laughed again. "He had no fucking right going on about our fields."

That had Randy laughing too, remembering that spring break together. "God, he was so annoying."

"Yeah, he was," Indiana said, a big grin on her face. It contrasted the freely flowing tears greatly. "I loved that about him, though."

"Me too," he admitted, Randy's own throat growing a little tight. "You know, I know it's hard for you... to talk about him. Especially with everyone else."

"Yeah," she whispered, scrubbing her eyes with her sleeve.

"But he was my best friend, Indy, and I miss him too," he mumbled. "And I remember him the good ways a lot more than I do the bad despite everything. So, if you ever need someone to remember the good times with, I'm always gonna be here for that."

"I know," she said, sniffing loudly. "Even before we got together, we had some of the best times just hanging out with you and Cici. Talking about everything, arguing about movies."

"To be fair, we still argue about movies without them," he chimed in.

"Probably too much," she said, smiling sadly. "You know, part of the reason I think I liked Roman so much while filming the music video was because arguing with him and you about movies felt like it did back then."

"Especially the rehashing of Die Hard," Randy said, scoffing. "I'll have to call Jackson and remind him to try and push you off the tour bus for that."

"That's vehicular manslaughter."

"Actually, I'm pretty sure it's not."

"Well, if he succeeds, don't let them bury me in fucking Harlan."

"It's really that bad?"

"Rod came with me to "keep me safe" but he's hiding in the car. And he freaked out and made sure the doors were locked at every stop sign. So, I'm here to protect him, basically," she joked. "But hey, I could get you some drugs for real cheap — the hard stuff, not pot."

"I think I'm gonna just say no," Randy told her, chuckling at his joke. Then he sighed. "Are you okay out there on your own?"

"Yeah," she said quietly. "Just sitting, picking grass, cursing his name, and wishing he never did what he did."

"Understandable given how much you loved him."

"Not loved." Indiana squeezed her eyes shut once again, taking in a shaky breath. "That's the fucked up problem, Randy. It's not just that I miss him. I want him here. I still think about him every day and reach for him some mornings when I wake up after dreaming about him. I wear his stupid fucking locket every day — some guy in L.A. tried to take it off when we were fucking when I took off the rest of my jewelry and I wouldn't let him. That's so fucked, Randy. And I do all that because I still love him. I don't want to. I shouldn't, but I do, and nothing I've tried has changed that — not even coming to visit him."

"But I can't talk about it. I can't sing about it without being known as the monster in love with a serial killer" she went on. "I can't go to Jackson — he killed Hallie. Sidney can only stand to hear so much — he killed Derek. They know that I shouldn't still feel this way but they're too nice to tell me to get over it."

"Indy, I don't think you're ever gonna get over it. Not Mickey, not Billy and Stu. None of us are ever gonna get over it, but we can learn to be okay with where our lives are now after everything," Randy told her in a gentle tone. "So, you love a Ghostface? So what? He was funny and charming and he made you happier than I've ever seen you. Was he a psycho? Yes. But he watched Killer Klowns with you three whole times, so I know he loved you too."

Indiana sighed and rolled her eyes. "Randy, I'm sobbing on the ground, and you're still finding the time to complain about the best movie in the world," she said flatly. "I'm in a graveyard and can't yell, so we can't get into this right now."

"Yeah, I figured you were sobbing from the sniffles and stuff. You sound like shit," he told her. "Hope you sound better when on stage or I'm not coming to the last stop on the tour."

"Something tells me that we'll be able to sell your ticket if you don't want it," she said, rolling her eyes.

The original venues booked by Rod were small clubs and bars that could hold a few hundred people. But just a day after they announced tickets going on sale on Cotton's morning show, Rod was busy making calls for days to rebook bigger venues to meet the ticket demand. There was a show at an amphitheater in every state that could fit a couple thousand, with multiple shows in the more populated states.

Randy had a ticket reserved for him at their last show at the Hollywood Bowl back in L.A. along with Martha — there was one for Sidney, but they knew she wouldn't accept it and weren't mad about it. Virginia and Dewey already came to their opening night one in Seattle.

"True. Martha would probably invite one of her friends," Randy muttered, knowing how jealous some of his younger sister's friends were over her going to the concert for free. "So, how much longer is Rod gonna let you stay there?"

"Probably only about five more minutes. We had to drive a little ways to get here," she said, glancing over her shoulder. She couldn't really see where Rod and the car were though. "Thank you for calling, Randy. I didn't know I needed to talk to you, but I did."

"That is what the loyal Meek Geek is for," he said, puffing up his chest a bit. "I'm good for movie arguments, impressions, and the occasional emotional talk and walk down memory lane."

"Memory lane is good — it's happy even though it hurts," Indy told him with a sad smile. "Like, oh, god, do you remember that November when he said he'd never watched Flashdance because he thought it looked stupid—"

"Ooh! And that if he liked it when we watched it that he'd jump in the fountain on the quad in his underwear!" Randy said, laughing excitedly. "And then he was standing on the edge of it like a pussy in just his boxers."

"Cici was all too happy to push him in," Indiana snickered. "He was so sick after that because of how cold it was that night."

"Who knows? Maybe her ghost is pushing his ghost into an ice-cold ghost fountain right now."

"His ghost sure fucking deserves it if so."

☆︎

Randy stayed on the phone with Indiana for those last five minutes, not wanting her to be alone as she said her goodbyes to Mickey, knowing she'd never probably be back there. Together, they remembered all his stupid jokes and pretentious movie opinions and the other little things that made them love him so much. And they didn't talk about what he did — the people he killed and the twisted parts of himself that he hid from them.

He could tell Indiana was still crying when he hung up, but that was okay because Randy's own were red-rimmed afterward. He'd also forgotten to eat his pizza, which was now cold, but that was okay, too.

"Hey, sorry about that," Randy said, coming back into Sidney's house and setting the alarm once more before walking over to the couch.

"No, don't apologize," Sidney told him, shaking her head. When he sat down, she scooted a little closer, bringing her knees up on the couch to face him better. "Was she glad you called at least?"

He nodded and looked at his hands. "Yeah. I think I needed to call her too, ya know? This all just sucks a million times more than Billy and Stu."

"So, how was she?" Sid asked while reaching for his hands.

Randy let out a humorless laugh and stared at their hands, brushing his thumb over Sidney's palm. "She's having a really rough time, but as always, is great at hiding it. God forbid the people that love her know how broken up about this she still is. That was the first time I've ever heard her cry. I mean, we always could tell after the fact that she had been — splotchy face, red eyes. But it really fucking sucks to hear her like that."

Sidney took in a deep, shaky breath, drawing his blue eyes back to her face. "What?" he asked, able to tell that something was weighing on her mind even though he wasn't sure what it was exactly.

"It's something that I think would make me a bad person to say out loud," she mumbled.

"I just spent ten minutes crying over a serial killer that I miss hanging out with," he scoffed. "An alarming part of our friend group has committed murder, adultery, and probably a few other crimes in the last few fucked up years. I'm not gonna think you're a bad person, Sid."

"Actually, I'm pretty sure that's just Soph and Indy," she reminded him. Then she sighed and shook her head, avoiding eye contact. "It's not that I'm happy Indiana's not okay — I hate it. But it feels like a relief, almost, just knowing that this time, I'm not the only one of us two having a hard time too."

"Why would you think you were the only one?" Randy asked with a frown. Obviously, she was just referring to herself and Indiana, as Sophia, Randy, and Dewey all had a nightmare of a recovery after their individual near-death instances.

"We both had feelings for Billy. We were both there when he betrayed us. But two days later, she back to herself and focused on helping everyone else move on. And then it was so easy for her to trust and love Mickey that it almost hurt. I didn't even know she was still angry about it until we walked in on her getting that tattoo. She never talks about how she's feeling when we call anymore," Sidney explained. "And - and this time, Derek wasn't Ghostface even though I lost him. But I'm still here, Randy. In the middle of nowhere, too scared to go outside and live my life."

"But Indiana lost the love of her life," she went on, her own eyes tearing up. "It's like we've got these matching wounds, but she's still out there. She's living and performing and following her dream in spite of it all. She's not scared. And I guess when I moved out here, I just convinced myself that she was moving on again, that I wasn't as strong as her, that I couldn't heal."

"Hey, don't compare yourselves," Randy said softly, pulling her closer. "It's not that you're not as strong as her. You just both process things in different ways. Indiana can't be alone, but being alone is what you need to heal right now. You just need different things. But you're still doing good from here. You're helping all those women who call the crisis center who are feeling just like you did. So, so what if you're scared still? You have a pretty good reason for it."

"But she's not scared even if she's still in pain," she whispered. "She's brave and tough."

"So are you. Sid, you survived all four Ghostfaces just like she did. You fought back every time and came out on top. Just because you didn't go on a rampage and stab a few people to death doesn't mean you aren't as fucking tough — everyone knows that."

Then Randy carefully wiped the tears from her cheeks with the sleeves of his sweater. "As for those 'matching wounds', I can assure you that hers is just as fresh. Which is why you two are always gonna be so good for each other. No one is gonna understand you better than her, and vice versa — even if Indy is very stubborn and hesitant to open up about the deep, dark stuff inside of her."

Slowly, Sidney nodded before leaning into his touch a little bit. "Thank you for making me feel better," she said quietly. "You seem to be really good at that today."

"I'd like to think I've gotten more sensitive over the years," he said, the corners of his lips turning up.

Sidney rolled her eyes playfully. "Last time you came here, you shook up Sophia's soda and watched it shoot in her face."

"Well, that's just plain funny!"

"Not to clean up," she laughed.

"I helped," he reminded her while pulling his hand back from her, missing how Sidney's smile dimmed a little bit as he reached for the remote to press the play button. "So, are we ready to watch Anastasia now? No interruptions."

"Maybe one interruption," Sidney mumbled, still facing him.

Randy paused the movie and looked at her in confusion. And Sidney didn't say anything right away — she just kept staring at his face with an expression he couldn't quite read. He'd never been good at picking up on social cues.

"What would you do if I asked you to try and kiss me?" she asked, glancing at his lips. She wasn't quite sure where the sudden thought came from but didn't care all that much now that the idea was floating around.

Randy's eyebrows shot up in surprise, his mouth feeling quite dry all of a sudden. "Uh," he took a second to clear his throat. "Wel - I mean, I would ask you if you're sure you - you really want that? Um, and if, uh, if you would regret that?"

"I... don't think I would," Sidney admitted, surprised by how much she meant it. Then she grew a bit nervous — she'd never been the one to make the first move, and certainly not with someone as awkward as Randy. "But not if you don't want to."

"Sid," Randy said, letting out an amused huff, "I've wanted to kiss you since ninth grade."

Sidney couldn't help but smile, looking back up at his eyes. "You have?" she asked, earning a sheepish nod. "What stopped you?"

"Hmm, let's see. Probably the six-foot-tall jock you were dating in high school. Oh, and then who did you date after that? A six-foot-two jock," he said, rolling his eyes. "And barring the way things turned out with them, you were happy while with them. I wanted you to be happy more than I wanted to kiss you — figured those two things wouldn't ever go hand in hand."

"They might."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Randy finally let himself glance at Sidney's lips as they both gravitated toward the other. Soon, his hand was back at her face, cupping her cheek gently. And though he was nervous as this was a moment years in the making, he didn't chicken out like the thousands of times he almost asked her out.

He leaned in the rest of the way and kissed Sidney gently — never in a million years did he ever think she'd kiss him back. But she did, sliding her hands up to his shoulders and smiling into it. It was soft and shy, but it made both of them feel warm and happy inside from it.

It'd been a long time since Sidney felt warm and happy.

When they pulled away after a minute, Randy nervously ran a hand through his hair that he was letting grow a little longer. "Was that okay?" he asked, knowing it'd been a while since either of them had kissed someone.

Sidney smiled shyly and nodded, her nose bumping into his. "Yeah," she whispered. "Yeah, it was okay."

And then she went in for another.

☆︎

Living on a tour bus for more than three months was fun in the same sense that it was absolutely fucking horrible. Rod had seen a lot happen on tour buses over the years — concerning amounts of drug use, far too much sex, a few fires, and many a violent brawl.

But never had he had to give any of his artists that he managed a 'timeout' until The Woodsboro Killers.

After an agonizing forty-five minutes of Indiana and Jackson arguing because he couldn't find one of his t-shirts and accused her of taking it, which she denied while it was clearly underneath the flannel shirt she had on over it. She wouldn't give it back, claiming she wanted to wear it during the show they were going to play once they stopped in Atlanta, Georgia. But Jackson also wanted to wear it.

Now, Indiana was pouting on her small bunk bed built into the wall, refusing to put a new shirt on over her sports bra while Jackson didn't even bother to take his current shirt off before throwing on the returned item. He was sitting at the front of the bus on one of the couches. Rod instructed them to stay apart for an hour and he was dreading the concert now, knowing Indiana wasn't going to have a shirt on for it.

Indiana's pouting session ended after only twenty minutes when her phone rang, seeing a call from Roman, who she hadn't seen in a few months. While answering it, she made a point to lean her head out into the aisle and say Roman's name extra loud so that Jackson could hear and get jealous.

"Hey, ROMAN! What's up?" Jackson turned his head and glared at Indiana, who just stuck her middle finger out.

"Uh, hey, INDY!" Roman greeted, saying her name loudly despite his confusion. "I've got some kinda big news to tell you. I've been putting it off for a few days."

"Ooh," she said, sitting up with her interest piqued. "Is this just me news or the whole band?"

"I'd say whole band if they're there."

"Yeah, we're all here. We literally have nowhere else to go," she said while sliding off her bed, breaking Rod's timeout rule as she did so. Then she lowered her phone and called out to the others. "Roman's on the phone! He wants to say something."

Slowly, all the band members emerged from their various hiding spots and sat at the front of the bus where Jackson was — Sophia pointedly gagged when both Luca and Isaiah came out from behind the curtain hiding them away in Luca's bed. Then Indiana put her phone on speaker and sat on the floor. "Alright, you're on speaker, my dude."

Roman cleared his throat, seemingly getting ready for whatever it was. "So, I got a job offer to direct a movie finally."

"Oh, that's great," Isaiah said, grinning.

"Yeah," Sophia said, "is it a rom-com? And can you tell me everything about it?"

"No, not yet. But the studio said I could direct what I wanted so long as I did this. Apparently, absolutely no one wanted this job — understandable now that I've seen the script," he muttered. Then he sighed. "It's Stab 3."

"Oh, god," Indiana groaned, rolling her eyes. "Roman, you are so better than Stab fucking 3."

"I know," he grumbled. "But I have to get my foot in the door, and Milton was impressed by the Happening Again video."

"Is it really as bad as the streets are saying?" Jackson asked, curious about what would happen with the third movie.

"It - it's not great," Roman said, sounding frustrated. "You know, it's set before the first Ghostface attacks and focuses on the death of Maureen Prescott and what happened in North Carolina which led to Indiana moving to Woodsboro. I'm working in some changes. And we finished up that whole search for a new Sidney and Indiana last week. We're finishing up the rest of the casting soon so that we can start filming right after the New Year."

"Well, who is me?" Indiana asked curiously.

"Denise Richards — the only person aside from Jennifer Jolie with a recognizable name now. And you don't want to know how much the studio shelled out to get her because she didn't even want to come in and audition," he explained.

"Who is playing the rest of us?" Jackson questioned.

There was a short pause before he continued. "The rest of The Woodsboro Killers aren't in it."

"What?" Sophia asked angrily. "I mean, I get Jackson and Isaiah, because they're useless—"

"Hey," Isaiah said, pouting. Luca just rubbed his shoulder sympathetically.

"Fucking rude," Jackson muttered, glaring at his sister. "You're not that special."

"Bitch, I almost fucking died and then wrecked Stu Macher's ass. I am a real-life main fucking character," she reminded him.

"She's got you there," Indiana chimed in. "You're both background characters saved by the plot armor of being boring."

"Okay, Randy," Luca scoffed, rolling his eyes playfully at her referring to their life as a movie.

"Also, for someone so boring, you sure were interested in this sick Pantera t-shirt," Jackson said, pinching the fabric of his t-shirt to rub it in.

Indiana narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm gonna seduce Martha the minute we get back to Woodsboro."

"Nooooo!" he whined.

"Ignore them, Roman," Luca said, rubbing his forehead. "Anyway, back to the movie?"

"Yeah, I'm just gonna come out and ask — do you guys want your music in Stab 3? You'd have all the bargaining power when it comes to how many songs are featured and the royalties with how badly they want this movie to do well at the box office."

"I don't know, Roman," Jackson said, sharing a look with Indiana, both instantly forgetting about the shirt argument. "We're wanting to distance ourselves from the whole thing."

"Yeah, we even have the Ghostface masks banned on the tour," Indiana added, rubbing the back of her neck.

"No, I get it," Roman said. "But I had to ask with how great it was working together. It might make my first project this big a little more bearable."

"Oh, come on," Luca said, pouting at Indy and Jackson. "I wanna be the only one not wearing cool shirts anymore. It might be a good idea."

Sophia eyed his yellow Hawaiin shirt with distaste but did sigh. "I mean, maybe if they listen to your changes, Roman. Because even if it wasn't Stab, we wouldn't want to have our music on a movie that sucks."

"Yeah, she's right," Isaiah jumped in. "Plus, Jax, Soph, and I aren't characters, which is a bummer. But it was kinda cool the first time around. It'd be fun to do it all again with a director we actually like."

"So, if I can improve the script and get the rest of the band into the movie — barring Luca — would you consider it?" Roman asked eagerly.

Indiana and Jackson continued to silently communicate through stares and head shakes and shrugs before the lead singer spoke up. "We will talk to Rod about it and get back to you with an answer. But it is not a solid 'yes' until we actually see a script. And I want minimal contact with fucking Milton."

"Of course. Thank you, you guys," he said, relief washing over him. "And filming starts just a few days before you guys get to L.A. for the last four shows of your tour, so the timing will be perfect."

"Maybe you can call back some of the actors you've passed on for our characters," Sophia said, trying to think of ways to save time on the process.

"Oh, actually, that reminds me of something," Roman then said. "Uh, Isaiah, do you know a Tom Starnes?"

They all looked at Isaiah, who frowned. "I've got a cousin Tommy on my dad's side, but his last name is Prinze."

"Well, yeah, on his resume, it's hyphenated as Prinze-Starnes. I'm looking through headshots, and his audition is tomorrow," he explained. "I'd never heard your last name before, so I wanted to check."

"Oh, my god," Isaiah scoffed. "He changed his last name? My aunt did not hyphenate when she got married."

"He's riding that Zay fame train," Luca said, grinning.

"Is he any good?" Roman asked him. "He's auditioning for Dewey."

"I know I'm a lesbian," Sophia spoke up, "but I've met Tommy. He's insufferable but he's also far too handsome to be Dewey. David Schwimmer was the perfect kind of average-looking to portray him."

"I'm gonna call Dewey and tell him you called him ugly," Indiana muttered, the corners of her lips turning up.

She simply shrugged. "He knows what I think of him."

"Um, yeah, Roman, it's gonna be your call on Tommy," Isaiah told him, grimacing. "I think he can act well enough — he was in, like, one episode of Law & Order. He always talks about it."

Roman chuckled a little. "I guess I'll let you know how it goes after tomorrow. I'll also let you know if he mentions you because something is telling me he's definitely going to bring that relation up."

"Most definitely," he said, laughing. "And he'll be a nuisance on set to deal with if you do hire him."

"All the more reason for us to do it," Luca said, grinning brightly. "We can keep him from being his most annoying."

"Yeah, he's scared of Indiana," Jackson added, looking to his best friend who was picking at her nail polish.

"Yeah," Indy said, smiling, "he does anything I ask because he thinks I might stab him if he upsets me."

"Why would he think you'd just stab him?" Roman asked.

"Because I told him at Christmas three years ago that I'd stab him if he upset me."

"You scare me a little bit, Indy," Roman admitted after a pause. "Just thought you should know."

"Good. I love when people fear me."