"THIS. WILL. LOOK. PERFECT!" Blonney, also known as Jennifer (but who even calls her that anymore?), and also your self-proclaimed bigger sister supreme, was vibrating with excitement and drama. She jabbed her finger toward you, the human equivalent of an exasperated exclamation point. "Gimme the tape we filmed—chop chop! Time’s ticking, little assistant!"

You raised an eyebrow, flopped dramatically onto the couch, and let out the most non-committal "uh-huh" sound ever to grace the airwaves. It was the kind of sound that suggested you’d rather wrestle a cactus than deal with the situation at hand. But alas, you reached into your bag to fish out the tape for the horror film you two had painstakingly cobbled together over the past few days. Cobbled might be too generous; it was more like duct-taped together with hopes, dreams, and jump scares filmed at 2 a.m.

Except… uh… yeah. About that tape.

Your heart sank. Your bag was just a black hole of half-eaten snacks, a rogue sock (why?!), and random receipts for bubble tea. But no tape. You rummaged harder, beads of sweat forming on your brow. Then came the gut-wrenching realization. It was gone.

Blonney was still in full pre-premiere diva mode, twirling dramatically, laughing so much a hyena would go silent. “This is going to shut up Horropedia for good! He’s gonna choke on his thesaurus when he sees my masterpiece! That smug little walking Wikipedia of horror clichés won't know what hit him!” She turned to you, eyes alight with anticipation… which slowly darkened as she read your face like a neon billboard screaming: I SCREWED UP.

“Wait…” Her voice dropped to an ominous low, like the sound of a movie villain realizing their evil plan had a plot hole. “Don’t tell me you lost it… No, don’t answer. YOU DID!” Her hands flailed as she paced the room like a caffeinated tornado. “Are you kidding me right now?! Days! DAYS of work! Do you know what I went through to smear that much fake blood on our neighbor’s lawn without him noticing?!”