Free A Midsummer Night's Scream by R. L. Stine

us. “Sorry about that. A cable came loose. Everyone okay?”
    A light had crashed down from the catwalk. The black metal case was on its side. The glass had shattered into a million pieces over the floor at Les’s and Annalee’s feet.
    Not a sword . Annalee hadn’t been sliced. A light. Not a sword. I had imagined … imagined …
    I raised my eyes to the ceiling. The two crisscrossed swords were still in place. My chest was heaving up and down. I gulped in large mouthfuls of air.
    Delia held on to me. “Are you okay?”
    “Yes,” I choked out. “I thought—”
    “I know what you thought,” Delia said. “Claire, you’ve got to get your head in a better place. Really.”
    “But it could have killed her,” I insisted.
    Les broke in to our conversation. “Okay, go home, everyone. Just go home. I have to deal with this. I won’t have this on my set. Go home. We’ve had enough horror for today.”
    Voices and cries of surprise all around.
    “And don’t start talking about the Curse of Mayhem Manor,” Les warned. “That was a tech accident. That’s all. I’m going to have a little meeting with these guys right now.”
    He waved with his clipboard. “Go on. Get out. Be back tomorrow at nine sharp.” He gazed up at the catwalk. “We’ll have some changes made. That won’t happen again. I promise you, it’ll be safe here from now on.”
    Delia and I turned to leave. Annalee trotted up to us. “Wow. That was scary. Like I didn’t know what was happening, and then it was all over before I could even make a sound.”
    “Glad you’re okay,” I murmured.
    “What a shame no one filmed it or videoed it or anything,” she said. “I could be a star, right? At least on YouTube.”
    I saw Delia roll her eyes. “Annalee,” she said, “is that all you think about? Being a star?”
    She shook her head. “No. I think about guys, too.”
    Delia and I laughed. I’m not sure she meant it to be funny.
    “Where are you two going?” she asked, stepping between us and putting an arm around each of our shoulders. “Can I hitch a ride?”
    *   *   *
    My family and Jake’s family have dinner out together once a week. And we usually eat at The Ivy. There are a million restaurants in L.A., but everyone feels comfortable there, and our parents like to see all their buddies in the movie business.
    A lot of young movie people and stars hang at Joan’s on Third. But my parents still prefer The Ivy.
    Jake and I always order the same thing—the fried calamari and the salami pizza. Jake’s dad gives us a hard time. “It’s a fine restaurant,” he says. “It’s not a pizza joint.” But Jake and I happen to like the salami pizza. So give us a break.
    Mr. Castellano is the only one who is tense at dinner. He’s the one who jumps up from his chair and runs to say hi whenever someone he knows walks in. Jake’s mom just sits and waves to them. And my parents always concentrate on their food. I think they’re happy to let Jake’s dad do all the work and schmooze with all the movie people and let them enjoy their dinner.
    Tonight, we arrived at the same time. The valets took the cars, and we sat at our usual table outside near the door so Jake’s dad could see who comes in and out. He was in his uniform—black Armani suit, pale blue shirt, and red tie. Jake’s mom wore designer skinny jeans and a white sweater top, because she gets cold even in the summer.
    The waiter came around and Dad ordered the usual, vodka martinis for everyone. “I’ll have one, too,” I said. “Extra olives, please.” A joke. But they just stared at me, and I asked for a Sprite.
    “How’s the internship going with Zack?” Jake’s dad asked him, arranging his silverware the way he likes it.
    “Great,” Jake said. “I’m learning a lot. He really knows the new software. Of course, we haven’t really had anything to edit. I didn’t go to the studio today.”
    “You missed all the excitement,” I said.
    Jake grinned.