Final Girls

Her father stands and frowns at her for a long moment, taking in the redness of her eyes, the holes in the knees of her jeans. He wants to fight this. She can see it in every inch of him. He wants to ride out like a pillar of fire and burn everything that has dared to touch his daughter, his baby, his precious little girl. But he also wants her to love him as much as he loves her, and he is smart enough in the ways of parenthood to know that if he disregards her wishes in this matter, she will trust him a little less, come to him a little less often, and that the erosion of her childhood hero worship — inevitable as it is — will progress a little further. He would rather be her hero than her savior.

"These girls deserve to be punished for what they`ve done." They do, they do, there`s no question that they do. Esther wants to agree with him, to agree that it`s time to rain down fire and brimstone, and yet... "They`ll take it out on us when nobody`s looking. You know they will." "I didn`t raise you to run away from a fight." She wants to tell him that he did exactly that. That when he chose to run rather than stand and deal with the aftermath of her mother`s death, he taught her that anything can be escaped, if you`re just willing to run far enough. She doesn`t.