[TL/N: Here's another extra chapter, go and vote your power stone to me. We are top 2 in the celebrities category. If we make it to top one, I'll post another 10 extra chapters +1 more chapters daily.)
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After discussing with Martin, Drew carefully chose her words.
"Anya Taylor-Joy—"
"Just call me Anya, Ms. Drew."
"Alright, Anya, your performance just now was excellent."
Anya Taylor-Joy's face lit up with joy.
But Drew's tone shifted as she continued, "However, to be honest with you, we've already decided on the actress for this role just moments ago."
Anya Taylor-Joy's expression fell.
Drew's words turned again. "That said, Meyers Films is investing in another movie, The Witch, and auditions are about to start. I'd like to recommend you for the lead role audition. Would you be interested?"
Anya Taylor-Joy's face brightened once more.
"Really? I'd love to—I'm absolutely interested."
December passed.
A new year arrived.
In January, Get Out continued to heat up.
Chicago, one of North America's cities with the highest crime rates.
Once night falls, if it's not necessary, no one lingers in the downtown area.
The nights here belong to the Black community.
On the streets, in the alleys, Black thugs roam.
If they spot a pedestrian not in a car, sorry—hand over your cash.
Usually, as long as you fork over the money, they won't give you a hard time.
But there are always exceptions, and getting robbed isn't a pleasant experience anyway, so the city's nights aren't favored by ordinary citizens.
Lately, though, things have been a bit strange.
On Chicago's downtown streets, the number of loitering Black folks has dropped significantly.
Paula Carl had grown up in Chicago's South Side since childhood, naturally joining the local gang, surviving day to day by peddling small packets of powder.
But today, Paula Carl hadn't started his nighttime business. A good buddy of his had told him about a movie starring their Black brothers—not only was the lead Black, but it told the story of a good Black guy taking down a bunch of evil white folks.
Paula Carl had actually heard about the film a while back. Plenty of his gang brothers had seen it.
Every one of them who came out of the theater raved about it with their limited vocabulary.
They'd say it was badass, thrilling, super cool.
So tonight, Paula Carl decided to give himself a break, taking his Black girlfriend Sarah to see the movie.
At exactly 8:00 PM, Paula Carl arrived at the nearest theater to their neighborhood with his sixteen-year-old girlfriend Sarah.
As soon as the two stepped into the theater lobby, they were stunned by the packed crowd.
"What the fuck, since when do my Black folks love movies this much?" Paula Carl instinctively blurted out a curse.
His little girlfriend Sarah, however, was excited. "Whoa, looks like this movie's really popular. A bunch of my girlfriends have seen it—I'm the only one who hasn't. It left me out of the loop when we hung out and chatted. If you hadn't brought me, I was gonna come with some other guy."
"Hey, hey, didn't I bring you?" Paula Carl said, dissatisfied.
"I'm a little worried we won't get tickets."
Sarah eyed the lobby crammed with queuing Black guys and girls, a bit concerned.
Paula Carl grinned. "Don't worry—I already had my little bro line up for me. Look at the front of the line; that's Charter, my new recruit."
With that, he pulled his girlfriend through the crowd with great effort, pushing to the front.
"Hey, you motherfucker, no cutting!"
"Asshole, get to the back of the line—you looking to die?"
Though Paula Carl had tattooed sleeves and a fierce look, clearly a tough gang member not to mess with.
But everyone in line—who wasn't a gang member themselves?!
At that moment, Charter at the front heard the commotion behind him, turned around, and called out, "They're with me—not cutting, not cutting."
The minor scuffle passed quickly.
"YO!"
"Charter, my man, good work. Here's the ticket money—remember, buy two."
"Got it, Boss Carl."
Soon, the line reached Charter's spot. He slipped the cash through the iron bars' gap: "Gimme two—no, three tickets for Get Out."
Yep, Charter planned to snag one for himself; he'd been dying to see the movie too.
Behind the bars, the ticket seller took the cash, carefully checked if it was real, and only after confirming it was legit did they start printing tickets.
Charter didn't mind the behavior at all; it was standard in non-white community stores.
In Chicago, any shop near a non-white neighborhood basically had the cashier cage welded shut with iron bars, leaving only a small slot for money.
And the skill of quickly verifying cash authenticity was a must for most cashiers.
It wasn't just Chicago; plenty of American cities were like that.
"Boss Carl, your tickets."
After buying, Charter handed over two tickets and the change to Carl.
Carl pocketed the change without even counting it.
Charter was thrilled—looks like he'd get to see the movie for free.
He'd noticed early on that his boss seemed clueless with numbers. When tallying sales, he'd often mess up the math—without a calculator, he couldn't even handle basic addition and subtraction. So this wasn't the first time Charter pulled a little stunt like this.
Of course, he didn't dare skim too much—just enough for some pocket money.
It was now 8:30.
Carl walked into the screening room with his arm around his little girlfriend.
Charter waited until Carl was inside, then until the lights dimmed in the theater, before sneaking in and sitting in the back row.
The seats in this auditorium were incredibly basic. Most were covered in red velvet fabric stained with all sorts of spots, burned by cigarettes, poked with fingers to make holes, exposing the tattered insides.
Some seats even had the fabric and foam padding completely gone, leaving just a rickety metal frame, covered in rust spots.
In the past, the theater rarely filled up, so damaged seats weren't a big deal.
But today, unusually, the screening room was packed.
So the latecomers started grumbling.
But there was nothing to be done; the theater wouldn't send anyone to fix comfy seating issues for them. In the end, they just had to sit on the metal frames.
Charter was on one such frame.
He didn't complain, though—the ticket was free, after all.
Meanwhile, Carl and Sarah, who got in early, snagged two good seats.