[ look, we're gonna jump around months a lot before making it to scream 3. we'll just get little summaries and synopsis of what the gang is getting up to. but mark and roman will be here soon, i promise ]

☆︎

SHE'S MOVING ON WITH HER LIFE BUT SHE'S NOT BETTER.

☆︎ NOVEMBER, 1998 ☆︎

"Are you sitting on the remote?"

Luca looked up at Randy from the magazine he was reading while seated on the couch. He at least wiggled a little, feeling the cushions with his butt. "No," he said simply while going back to the article about Brad Pitt.

Randy narrowed his eyes at the older boy. "Get up."

"I just said I wasn't sitting on it," he said, rolling his eyes.

"Just do it," Sophia groaned, rubbing her forehead. "He's been complaining about Seinfeld for the last twenty minutes."

"Indiana likes watching Seinfeld," Isaiah spoke up, not taking his eyes off his Gameboy.

"Indy's not fucking here," Randy snapped.

"No, she's not. So why are you all in my house?" Virginia asked while walking into her living room. Her hair was thrown up in a messy bun and she didn't even bother to get out of her pajamas.

It was true. Indiana was nowhere to be found — she'd be home soon from her breakfast shift at Cricket's, where she started working again after her leg healed up. It was Sophia, Isaiah, Randy, and Luca who were crammed into the Winger living room, and they'd been there for at least an hour despite all having places to live.

Sophia looked at Virginia, just raising an eyebrow. "Dewey doesn't live here either but he's upstairs in your bedroom."

Virginia scoffed and leaned to the side, crossing her arms defensively. "He is not," she lied as if his cruiser wasn't parked on the street.

"Hey, Dew!" Sophia shouted, not even looking away from the older woman.

It was silent for a moment before Dewey timidly called back to her, his voice coming from the stairs. "...Hi, Soph."

"Oh, my god. Virginia and Dewey are fucking again. That's so not brand new information," Randy said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "Luca, get off the couch."

"I'm not sitting on the fucking remote, Meeks!" Luca shouted.

It was at that point that Luca realized he was, in fact, sitting on the remote.

But Luca just scoffed and continued to argue with Randy, refusing to give in. "I can't believe you don't trust me."

"Gee. I wonder what circumstances I've been through in life that have made me reluctant to trust," he shot back, his tone heavy with sarcasm.

"Do you think he's sitting on the remote or a secret killer?" Isaiah asked, tilting his head a bit. He could tell from the sudden shift in his roommate's face that he'd realized where the remote was located.

"Could be both," Randy said with a shrug. "So get the fuck up and let me see."

"No," Luca denied stubbornly. "It's insulting that you think I'm lying to you about this."

"Get up!"

"No!"

Virginia sighed heavily and tuned out the bickering while walking toward the kitchen to get some coffee. Given that there weren't any walls or doors between them, she could still hear as Luca argued with Randy about the TV remote.

It had been like this since the moment Luca got to town. He fit right in with the friend group and his bandmates, which just meant more chaos in Virginia's house. Because rehearsals were still held in the garage, everyone was always over. Even though Randy wasn't in the band, he found his way there too.

Sidney did at first, but when September came and went, along with the anniversaries of her mother's death and Billy and Stu's betrayal, she decided to leave Woodsboro. The girl wasn't far, admittedly. But she was out in the middle of the Californian woods in a small, cozy cabin that few people had the address of. And even fewer people had her phone number.

All of her friends tried to talk her out of the move, but it was useless. And Indiana was the one to shut it down when everyone kept pressuring Sidney to stay. She understood more than anyone why Sidney needed a break from the world. Even if they all missed having her around, what they'd all been through wasn't something she could move on from in a matter of weeks.

Indiana would know all about not moving on, even if she didn't disappear from the face of the earth like her friend did.

"Lucas," Randy shouted, which wasn't even Luca's full name. "Get off the couch and show me the goddamn remote or I'll tackle you off."

"Please!" Isaiah laughed. "All it'd take was his elbowing you in the gut for all your organs to fail, Pin Cushion."

"Yeah, well, you weren't even fucking there, Starnes," he shot back, putting his hands on his hips.

"And how jealous of that I am," he said, grinning lazily.

"You should be. It was a real trauma-bonding experience for us all," Luca said, nodding to him.

Sophia peered at the boy. "You weren't involved either, Luca."

"Well, I was more involved than Zay," he said, pouting.

"That's a fucked up competition you guys have got going on," Virginia grumbled while coming back in with two cups of coffee — one for her and one for Dewey. "But Randy, Sophia, and Dewey are definitely in the top three spots given all the times they've been stabbed."

"Suck it!" Sophia said, grinning at Isaiah and Luca, who both rolled their eyes.

Then as yet another cringe-worthy joke hit Randy's ears from the episode of Seinfeld, he waved his hands angrily. "Get off the couch right fucking now, Luca! Just show me that you don't have the remote underneath you."

Luca glared up at Randy, knowing he really didn't have much of a choice anymore. So, he let out a huff and moved his feet back onto the carpet, prepared to stand and admit defeat.

However, the front door was thrown open as Jackson tore wildly into the house, interrupting them. And as everyone turned to look at him, Luca reached underneath his thigh and shoved the remote into Isaiah's hand, who quickly shoved the device into the crease in the arm of the couch that Randy had already checked.

"Guys!" Jackson said, sounding a little out of breath. Which made no sense because he drove there, but he sprinted from his van. "Big fucking news."

"Hold on," Randy said, putting his hand up to stop him. "Luca has some standing to do first."

With a big dramatic sigh and eye roll, Luca finally got off the couch. Isaiah had to cover his mouth to keep from grinning as Randy quickly moved to search the cushions for the remote that he wouldn't find. Randy just swore when he came up empty-handed.

"Told you I wasn't fucking sitting on the remote," Luca grumbled. "Did you look in the arms and stuff?"

"You watched me look in the fucking arms," Randy snapped before sighing and dropping onto the couch, giving up and accepting Seinfeld as his fate.

"Dudes!" Jackson exclaimed impatiently. "Fucking news!"

"Okay," Sophia sighed, "then start telling the news instead of just saying you have it."

"Wait, is Indy here?" he asked, looking around the room and not spotting his best friend.

"No. She should be back from work in a few minutes, though," Virginia told him. Then she glanced at the stairs, figuring she needed to hear the news. "Dewey, just put some pants on and come get your coffee."

"Ew," Sophia cringed, not wanting to think about naked Dewey. Luca on the other hand craned his neck jokingly toward the stairs, which made Virginia kick his shin.

"It's probably for the best I run this by you guys first," Jackson admitted, glancing at the front door, hoping he'd have plenty of time. "So, know how Dad has been sort of managing the band?"

Everyone just nodded. Mr. Martin wasn't a full-time manager or anything, as his job as a lawyer kept him quite busy. But he'd handle any contracts or official bookings for The Woodsboro Killers if they were being asked to perform somewhere bigger than a party.

"We have been offered a gig."

"A gig? You guys get gigs all the time," Randy said, rolling his eyes. "You've already had to replace the tires on that shit van from how many gigs you've gotten."

Jackson moved behind the couch to flick Randy on the back of his head. "You get gigs all the ti — shut the fuck up, Meeks!"

"What was that about wanting to talk before Indy got home?" Virginia asked, trying to keep them on task.

As she was finishing her question, Dewey came downstairs in a pair of sweatpants and a plain t-shirt, kissing Virginia on the cheek as he took the spare cup of coffee from her. Sophia dramatically gagged at the gesture, and Dewey just stuck his tongue out at her childishly.

"Okay, right," Jackson said, perching on the arm of the couch by Isaiah. "So, Dad got a call from — oh, Randy, here's that remote."

Isaiah and Luca couldn't help but snicker over the way Randy's face dropped when Jackson spotted the remote in the arm and tossed it to him. But that didn't stop Randy from turning off the sound of Kramer.

"Anyway," he continued, looking at them all. "It was someone from Sunrise Studios. They want to feature one of the songs off the new album in a movie. And they asked about coming to set and writing an original song for it too."

At the beginning of September, The Woodsboro Killers dropped an album — an incredibly short, seven-song long  album. It wasn't being widely distributed or anything since they didn't have any kind of representation in the business, but everyone in the surrounding counties of Woodsboro definitely had a copy of it.

"No fucking way!" Randy exclaimed, getting off the couch. It didn't matter that he wasn't in The Woodsboro Killers. Just knowing someone that was going to be on a movie soundtrack was amazing to a guy like him.

"That is so cool," Luca said, getting just as excited. "I mean, the album's been out what? Two months? How'd they even find out about us?"

"What movie is it?" Sophia asked flatly, watching her brother carefully. She knew there was a reason he wasn't waiting for Indiana to get home to break this news.

There was only one movie that would have him hesitant to tell her about it.

Jackson rubbed the back of his neck. "Stab 2. It starts production next week."

"No way," Virginia said, shaking her head. "I don't want Indiana involved in that. None of you should want to be involved."

"It's a lot of money, Virginia," he said in a soft tone. "Not to mention the exposure. That's the only reason Dad didn't tell them 'no' flat out. They said we could have a week to think about it. We'd be flown out there, they'd pay for everything, even the sessions in a real recording studio."

"Jax, you might be where you can talk about Hallie, but Indy can't even say Mickey's fucking name," she told him.

"No, but she can write a hell of a song about him," Sophia said, reluctantly taking Jackson's side.

Their album may have only had seven songs on it, but that was just because it was how many Randy could fit on a CD with his subpar recording equipment. Some of the best songs Indiana would probably ever write came to be in the months following what happened in Ohio. And they weren't all depressing, sappy heartbreak songs either. Her songs covered every emotion under the sun that she felt from the moment she met Mickey in film class to the fallout after his betrayal. And there were ones about Cici and Hallie and Sidney's relationship with Derek. Then Luca helped put them all to catchy and technically complex rhythms that the band hoped would be iconic in the music industry one day.

"It's not a healthy environment for her," Virginia argued. "For any of you. She's just starting to get better, and going there won't be any help."

"V," Jackson said, his frown deepening. "You keep saying that she's getting better—"

"Because she is!" she insisted.

"She's moving on with her life but she's not better," he told her. "She still wears his locket and cries when writing about him. Or she'll spend a few days being extra angry at him. Just because she's not falling apart every day doesn't mean she's better. And we have to be okay with the fact that she might not ever get to how she was."

Indiana didn't cry every day. She didn't lock herself away in her room anymore. She could smile and laugh and enjoy her life. But deep down, everyone was wondering if she'd ever be as happy as she was with Mickey before everything happened.

"She's still not ready for—"

"We can just let Indiana decide," Dewey told Virginia gently before she could argue against it more.

"Let Indiana decide what?"

They hadn't heard Indiana come inside, all too focused on the discussion at hand. She was pulling her hair down from the claw clip she kept it in while riding her bike home from work — her physical therapist encouraged it over her skateboard to help strengthen the muscles in her thigh. She was dressed in the ridiculously bright Cricket's uniform that she'd grown fond enough of, smelling like coffee and syrup from the breakfast shift.

Virginia looked at her sister, clenching her jaw tightly before glancing to Jackson and nodding, giving him the go-ahead.

"C'mere," Jackson said, reaching out a hand for Indiana.

She eyed him suspiciously while coming to his side. Jackson was only ever soft and sweet during serious moments or when he was trying to lure her into a false sense of security before tackling her or trying to throw her across the room like a wrestler.

So, she was wary of either reasoning.

But Indiana made it to his side, leaning against him, and he had to hold onto Isaiah's shoulder to keep from toppling off the couch.

"John Milton from Sunrise Studios called," he began. "They want to feature The Woodsboro Killers on the Stab 2 soundtrack, and also bring us to L.A. to write a song for the movie. They think it would be a good publicity move for both the film and for our band."

"Wow," was all Indiana said at first, her blank expression not clueing them in to her thought process. "Stab 2. That was quick."

"It's up to you," Sophia told her, knowing that at the end of the day, their opinions wouldn't matter until they knew what she thought. It didn't matter how big of an opportunity it was — if Indiana couldn't do it, then they wouldn't do it. Simple as that.

Indiana sighed and looked down at her hands, not wanting to look at everyone that was waiting for her answer. She'd pretty much wiped the existence of Gale's new book out of her mind. It wasn't like the last one. She couldn't stomach reading about Gale's account that was likely riddled with misinformation and dramatization. Most of all, she didn't want to read about how Mickey was described, because Gale didn't even know him. They were in the same room for one minute before both were shot.

But this decision couldn't be about Mickey. It couldn't even be about her.

It had to be about the music and where the future of the band was heading.

"Christmas time in L.A. seems pretty fun," she finally said with a tense smile.

"Indiana," Virginia said, making her sister look over at her. "I need you to really think about the implications of this."

"I know the implications," Indiana said, nodding. "I know it's gonna be hard for me. But being on the soundtrack of the sequel to a movie that made over a hundred million in the box office this year already? We aren't gonna get an opportunity like that again as long as we're selling CDs out of the back of the van. And Mr. Martin could set up meetings with record labels while we're there. This is... this is the right step for us."

"And are you gonna be okay with your music being associated with the movie?" Dewey asked, wanting to make sure they thought about every angle.

"Our name is The Woodsboro Killers," Luca said with a cute little frown. "Also the movies are literally about her."

"Yeah," she said, shrugging to appear casual. To appear like her stomach wasn't already twisting in knots. "I'm Ghostface Girl. But one day, we're gonna make it so big that no one gives a shit about what happened to us. All they're gonna know us for is our music."

"So, we're really doing this?" Isaiah asked, beginning to smile. "We're going to L.A. and really doing this?"

Indiana nodded and matched his smile — his was infectious. "We're doing this."

"Holy shit," Jackson breathed out. "I might meet Jennifer Jolie."

☆︎ DECEMBER, 1998 ☆︎

"Holy shit, that's Jennifer Jolie!"

Sophia sighed as her brother practically squealed. They'd only been on the set of Stab 2 for three minutes before spotting the actress as she walked by in a wig to fit Gale's black hairstyle with the red streaks.

"I'm begging you to get better taste, J," she grumbled, rubbing her forehead. "She's a D-list celebrity playing a woman we hate."

"Hey, Stab bumped her up to a C-lister, at least," Luca said in the woman's defense. He loved how dramatic and eccentric the woman was in interviews.

John Milton, the executive producer from Sunrise Studios that green-lit the two Stab films, was walking the band to the set so that they could get a feel for the movie — as if they hadn't lived through it. The head of the music unit, Zachary Griffin, was with them as well, already talking animatedly about where he wanted their music to be featured.

Zachary spoke mostly to Indiana, as she was the frontman of the band, but Jackson would chime in every now and then. Especially because Indy had kept her eyes glued to her feet as soon as they stepped onto the set. She didn't want to risk seeing anything that would bring up bad memories already making their way to the surface.

"So, we were thinking we'd edit the whole trailer around the song Happening Again," Zachary told them, mentioning one of the songs from their album. "The bass line and keyboard make up this great sound that'll really build anticipation."

"Yeah, Zay came up with that and we built the rest of the music around it," Luca said, throwing his arm around Isaiah's shoulder. "It's so sick."

"It's alright," the younger boy mumbled shyly. Isaiah's confidence had skyrocketed since joining The Woodsboro Killers all those years ago, but he was still hesitant to accept praise for all he contributed to them.

"No, it's gonna be iconic," Zachary assured him. "We were talking about just getting a clip of the instrumentals to play during chase scenes. It really is gonna capture that uneasiness and fear."

"And, uh, what are you thinking for the new song?" Jackson then asked, glancing at Indiana, knowing writing it would be on her shoulders. She had a notebook full of lyrics, it would just depend on if it was one of the ones she could stand singing. "We've got some ideas, but it'll really just depend on where you're wanting it in the movie."

It was Milton who answered, making Indiana come to a complete stop. "Well, for Mickey Altieri's death scene, of course."

"You're gonna play a song for the two seconds it took for him to get shot?" Indiana asked, her voice unusually quiet for her. It reminded her bandmates of how she was in the months following what happened as she recovered.

"No, like in Gale Weather's book," Milton told her with a small, confused frown. "You stayed behind to finish him off. The special effects makeup team has been coming up with ideas for weeks. It'll be much gorier than the Billy Loomis scene in the first Stab film. Sequels always have to be bloodier."

Indiana took a step back, her head starting to pound. "When I — I didn't fin... that's not what happened," she said harshly.

"Is it not? Maybe you could look at the script. We want authenticity, you know. One of the biggest complaints about the first film was some of the unbelievable embellishments Ms. Weathers made — such as Stu Macher's lack of involvement and Mr. Meeks being stabbed while watching TV instead of being shot. We didn't learn about those until after the film was shot," Milton told her.

She took another step back while swallowing thickly, suddenly wondering if she should've listened to Virginia. "Can I, uh, just give me a minute please—"

Indiana spun on her heel quickly to run off and find a bathroom, only to take three steps before bumping into someone coming from the opposite direction. She would've fallen over if strong hands hadn't caught her waist and held her up.

"I'm so sorry," she said, shaking her head and looking up. "I wasn't watching where I was..."

She wasn't looking at Mickey. She knew she couldn't have been. But the man in front of her had hauntingly similar features and the same light brown eyes that she still found herself dreaming about. He was even in a blue sweater that resembled one of his that was shamefully hanging in Indiana's closest with an armful of other garments she refused to throw out — or burn, as Sophia constantly suggested.

Unfortunately for Indiana, the casting department did a damn good job hiring their Mickey Altieri.

"No," the man said with an easy smile that made Indiana's chest ache. "Don't apologize. I was reading my script and walking. Bad mix."

Then he bent down to pick up his fallen script, releasing Indiana in the process. She watched his every move, desperate to seek out all the differences between the two so she could focus on that and stay sane.

Indiana swallowed thickly, having to dig down deep to mumble out a response to the painfully beautiful man. "Still," she said, her voice hoarser than before. "I'm sorry."

"Seriously, don't worry about it, Sweetheart," he said, the nickname falling effortlessly from his lips since he'd been rehearsing it in the script.

That was what made tears well in Indiana's eyes, and she was running away before any of them could stop her. She was prepared to see a set that looked like Windsor. She was even ready to see the actress hired to play Cici who didn't even look all that much like her.

But Indiana wasn't ready for Mickey — or the closest thing to Mickey she'd ever be able to get again.

It was a good thing no one was in the bathroom as Indiana bolted into the stall at the very end, leaning against the wall while taking deep breaths, trying to stop the tears that were already flowing freely. She clenched her eyes shut, but that didn't help, because all she saw was Mickey — his smile, his laugh, the loving expression on his face always reserved for her, the crazy look in his eyes as planned to kill Sidney, all of it.

She could only wallow for two minutes before someone joined her in the bathroom. And when trying the locked stall door didn't work, Sophia crawled on her hands and knees underneath the gap to get inside.

She found Indiana sitting on the closed toilet seat lid, her knees pulled up to her chin as she cried. And not caring about how gross it was, Sophia dragged over the small metal trash can in the corner meant for tampons and pads, sitting on it directly across from her friend.

"I should've stayed in Woodsboro," Indiana said weakly.

"Bullshit," Sophia snapped, rolling her eyes. Indiana looked up at her sharply through tear-filled vision. "You think Jack wants to be here after losing Hallie? That I want to knowing how crappy they portrayed Tatum in the first movie?"

Indiana wiped under her nose, sniffling a bit. "Then why are you here? I'm not the only one that can make decisions."

"Because we don't want to give any of those mask-wearing assholes the satisfaction of ruining the best thing in any of our lives," she told her. "Tate loved the band. Jackson told me Hallie loved when he sang for her. And you said it best — we're gonna get so big that no one gives a shit about the Ghostface killers."

"But I do give a shit. And I don't know how to move on from him," Indy said, hiding her face in her knees. Then she sighed, feeling so emotionally exhausted and it was only their first day in L.A. on the set. "How'd you do it? After Tatum?"

"I beat the shit out of Stu with a slab of wood before killing him," Sophia answered plainly. "And after that, I clung to Dewey. You know, I don't talk about all of it, but I don't go a day without thinking about her. Not a day where I don't wish I'd have made things more serious with her, let her know how much I really loved her. And I know Jackson feels the same."

"But he doesn't have a family member of hers to stick to," Indiana said, hating how sad Jackson had been. She knew how badly he wished he'd of let Hallie know how much she really meant to him instead of just hooking up every few weeks at parties.

"No, he sticks to you," Soph reminded her. "And he keeps busy — got a job, drives Martha to school every day, been on a few small dates. He's trying to move on, and it's slowly gonna start working."

"And how am I supposed to move on?"

Sophia shrugged. "That's a conversation for Sidney, and she's AWOL because she doesn't know how to move on either. She may not of been in love with Billy, but she's the only one that could even begin to know what you're going through."

Indiana shook her head. "I can't call Sid. I can't bother her with this. She has enough to get through."

"You know, Tatum called you Sid's guard dog all the time," she said, smiling a little bit. "But you need a guard dog too, sometimes, Indy."

"Is that gonna be you?" she asked, rolling her eyes playfully while wiping her eyes again.

"Yeah. And Jax, and Isaiah, and fucking Luca."

"Don't say it like that. You love Lu," she reminded her.

"He's just so stupid."

"He's pretty. He doesn't have to know things."

"Ugh," she groaned dramatically, pulling a real smile from Indiana with her dramatics. "Look, if you want to back out, we'll back out. But if we stay, then we can all form a human wall between you and that Josh Duhamel guy anytime he's near. And we can force our way into that writer's room with a red marker and fix whatever bullshit Gale Weathers fed them. Or if you wanna keep what really happened in that auditorium after everyone left to yourself, then you can do that too."

Indiana was quiet for a moment before she reached for Sophia's hands to hold. "Thank you."

"Anything for you, Indy," she said, smiling softly. "You make all our money. We need you."

"No," Indy said with a grin, "you're a big softy."

"Ew, keep it to yourself," she joked, rolling her eyes. "So? We staying?"

"Yeah," she said, nodding determinedly. Then she wiped her eyes, getting rid of the last trace of the tears. "Maybe I can finally fuck myself."

"I love the enthusiasm, and it's the first sign you're ready to move on, but Mädchen Amick is not gonna have sex with you," Sophia said flatly. Then she shot her a sly look. "Because I'm gonna seduce her first."

☆︎

The next day, Indiana slammed a copy of the Stab 2 script onto John Milton's desk. It was covered in red marks, which she'd spent all night reviewing with Sophia and Jackson — Randy was also on their hotel phone, helping add details. They didn't completely overhaul the thing, because the hired writers did do a good job and deserved credit. But they had to fix all the blatant lies Gale wrote that people believed so easily — that was what Milton wanted them for anyway.

"Sophia and Sidney are the heroes, not me and Gale. I was fucking useless in the final showdown until right at the very end," Indiana stated, demanding he change how the end was done. The end had the most changes.

Milton eyed her before sliding the script his way, nodding a bit as he flipped through it, seeing her notes every few pages. The most red ink was in the third act, which he skimmed quickly.

"You've rewritten the whole ending scene," he noted, looking at the last page. It covered a conversation between Sidney and Indiana, set in the hospital after Indy's thigh was operated on.

"Because I'd never say any of that," Indiana told him, standing her ground. "Neither would Sid. And as much as I hate it, as nice as it sounds to wrap up your ending, I didn't stop loving him the minute he took off the mask."

He tilted his head and looked up at her. "How touching," he said in a somewhat condescending tone.

"Fuck off," she said, rolling her eyes. She didn't care how important he was. "Look, I get that this isn't a rom-com — but seriously, a horror rom-com would do great. You should consider one of those."

The corners of Milton's lips turned up. "I'll look into it."

"He wasn't another Billy Loomis, alright," she said, nodding to the script. It was full of scenes with Mickey being an obvious and suspicious freak, and that just wasn't the case. "Billy was a creep, and we just didn't want to see it. But it wasn't like that this time. You want a good movie? Make sure the shock value is the same for the audience as it was for us when it really happened."

"I'll look over your revisions with the writing department," Milton said while getting up from his desk. His beady eyes scanned her form. "I do hope you work well with my production, though I must say, you aren't what I expected."

Indian rolled her eyes. "And what did you expect?"

"I expected a fierce, terrifying nineteen-year-old who gruesomely took three lives. What I got yesterday was a girl who was afraid of her own shadows. And maybe you fixed some of that because you certainly aren't breaking down like yesterday, but she's still here today, unable to say the name Mickey Altieri to my face — makes me worried you won't be able to handle the things this industry will throw at you."

"I don't have to be able to say his fucking name," Indiana said, glaring at him. "I have to write your song."

"And how is my song coming?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It and ten other options are ready for you to choose from once you've got your finalized script," she informed him.

"Then a car will take you all to a recording studio after lunch," Milton said, leaning against his desk. "And I'll reach out to some managers for you to meet with. Mr. Martin knows enough about the legalities of your band, but you'll need someone in the industry on your team. I can't have the featured artist on my movie selling cheap CDs out of a parent's van."

"It's Jackson's van," Indy said matter-of-factly.

He chuckled before moving back to his chair, nodding to the door, signaling that their meeting was over. But as Indiana moved to leave, he spoke up again. "I do hope you make it in this industry, Miss Winger. Though, I suspect you will, given that you're a real-life final girl."

"I'm not a fucking final girl, Mr. Milton," Indiana said, looking at him over her shoulder as she stood in the doorway. "I'm a frontman."