Dinner was served, but I ate without really tasting anything. I kept looking over at Bear’s table, at his dad, searching his expression for anything that might indicate what he was thinking. Part of me wanted Bryan to look over here. Part of me thought it was better if he didn’t.
Finally, our food was taken away and Bryan got up from his table and walked across the cafeteria to where a microphone had been set up.
“This is it,” Sally said. “Are you nervous? I’m nervous. I’m nervous for you. But it’s going to be fine. It’s going to be great.”
I looked at her and she held up her crossed fingers.
“Welcome,” Bryan said. “I want to thank everyone for joining us tonight, to officially welcome our first class of BB Gun interns.” There was a ripple of applause. “Within this first week, I have been blown away by the talent demonstrated by this group of young people,” Bryan continued. “They’re clever and inventive and creative. If they truly are the next generation of filmmakers, well, let me tell you, I’m not worried about the future of the medium at all.”
There came more applause. Bryan smiled and looked around the room, his eyes eventually landing on Bear, who was staring down at his hands.
“As you all know, the culmination of this internship will be the screening of four short films. It is my absolute honor to announce the names of the four interns that will be at the helm of these projects.”
He pulled a list out of his pocket. I leaned forward.
“I have to tell you,” Bryan said, not looking at the list. “It wasn’t easy choosing just four. The caliber of talent in this group is”—he mimed an explosion on the side of his head—“mind-blowing.”
People laughed.
Finally, Bryan unfolded the piece of paper. “Join me in congratulating our four newest directors and their projects: Nick Cunningham directing Jack and the Beanstalk; Jeff Oliver directing Salt for Stars; Eddie Lassen directing Nite Time Somewhere; and Bear Beckett directing a currently untitled project. Congratulations to you all.”
CHAPTER NINE
I sat there, stunned, not fully comprehending what had just happened. I… hadn’t been chosen?
Everyone around me was applauding, but how was that possible? My name hadn’t been called. This couldn’t be right. There had to be a mistake.
“Oh, Hayley.” Sally’s voice broke through the hum that had started in the back of my head, slowly moving forward. “I’m so sorry.”
I stood abruptly. People stared, but I didn’t care. I walked away from my table, across the main floor of the cafeteria, and out the door. I didn’t stop until I came to the bridge.
Where were the ducks? I still hadn’t seen any ducks.
I looked down at the water, the stream moving beneath me. My hands were numb. My ears were numb. My teeth were numb. Was that even possible? Could teeth go numb?
I didn’t understand. My pitch had been incredible. It had been perfect.
I didn’t know anything about Jeff or Eddie’s pitch, but I also knew that neither of them were story geniuses. I’d overheard Jeff ask Eddie what a deus ex machina was, before listening to them both reach the conclusion that it had something to do with machines in sci-fi stories. And Nick’s pitch was Jack and the Beanstalk? What happened to Bryan’s hatred of fairy tales? He’d been very specific about that.
And Bear. With his crumpled-up pile of notes and his joke that I was pretty sure wasn’t a joke at all about not preparing. Bear’s project didn’t even have a title. Sloane and I had agonized over mine for days.
All for nothing.
“Hayley?”
I turned and found Sally, Caitlin, Emily, Jeannette, and Rachel all standing next to the bridge, wearing identical expressions of concern.
“Are you okay?”
I shook my head. They came over to me, forming a protective circle.
“I’m really sorry.” Sally rubbed my back.
“I don’t understand,” I said. “I don’t get it.”
“It just didn’t work out this time,” Caitlin said.
I stared down at the water, the twinkly light from the trees reflecting in the soft ripples of the current. “My pitch was good,” I said.
My hands were wrapped around the bridge’s railing.
“It was,” Sally said. “But maybe, I don’t know, maybe Bryan wanted something different.”
I shook my head. “No, my pitch was good.”
There was silence and I could sense the circle expanding a little. All of them taking a step back from me. I knew I should stop talking, I knew this wasn’t going to change anything, but I couldn’t help myself.
“My pitch was good.” I pressed my palms against the railing.
“You’re not the only one who’s disappointed, Hayley,” Emily said.
I turned toward her. “My pitch was better than yours, Emily,” I said, the words spilling out before I could stop them.
Emily’s eyes widened.
“Stop it,” Sally said.
I knew I needed to listen. I knew I needed to shut up—but I couldn’t. It all just kept coming. “You said it was. You told me mine was better,” I said. “That’s what you said.”
There was a collective gasp. I’d gone too far, and I knew it.
“You’re being a prat,” Emily said. “Both of you.”
“Emily, I—” Sally said, but Emily had already turned and run back into the cafeteria.
I faced the other girls. Their expressions were a combination of shock and disappointment. Caitlin, though, her lips were pressed together in anger.
“We all know that you think you’re better than us,” she said.
Everyone else looked at the ground, Sally included.
“You think that because you dress like Bryan Beckett and you’ve memorized his CalTED Talk and you’re too busy and special to care about things like this.” She gestured toward herself—her dress, her makeup. “You think that makes you better than us. It doesn’t. It just makes you a bitch.”
Thankfully, all the words that were tumbling around my head stayed there this time. Because she was right. I did think I was better than them. It was an awful realization and an even worse feeling.
Caitlin turned and left. The rest of the girls followed. It was just me and Sally now.
“You sound like a sore loser,” she said.
“It was a good pitch,” I said, unable to help myself.
She sighed, and walked away from the bridge. Then she paused, and turned once more to look at me. “I guess it just wasn’t good enough.”
* * *
All the girls caught the first shuttle back to the dorms. No one saved me a seat so I had to take the second one. By the time I got back to my room, Sally was already in bed—all the lights out. I grabbed my phone and went outside.
I couldn’t call Julie or Samantha. I’d basically ignored them almost all week and it didn’t seem right to lean on them now. And I couldn’t stop hearing Caitlin say You think you’re better than us. The truth of it still hurt.
No one was in the stairwell, so I sat there as I called my parents.
Dad picked up. I was glad it was him—Mom would have just said some Mom-thing that didn’t really apply to the situation, like “It will be okay” or “There’s always next time.” There wasn’t going to be a next time.
“I didn’t get it,” I said. The words didn’t sound right. It still hadn’t really sunk in.
“Oh, honey, I’m sorry,” Dad said.
I could hear him moving around the house—heard the fridge open.
“My pitch was good,” I said.
I was starting to sound like a parrot. Polly want a cracker? My pitch was good. Pretty birdie. I squeezed the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. My head hurt.
It wasn’t just that I thought my pitch was worthy. It was that I needed this opportunity. It was how I could prove to my parents that I knew what I was doing. That they didn’t have to worry about me working in animation. That I was
good at this.
“I’m sorry, honey, but this happens sometimes,” Dad said. “You might think your work is good enough, but you can’t always know what others are looking for.”
Even though I knew he couldn’t see me, I shook my head. I needed him to understand.
“It was good enough,” I said. “I know it was. The guys that got picked—one of them pitched a fairy tale, and Bryan Beckett hates fairy tales, and the other guy, well, he’s Bryan’s son, so of course they gave it to him even though he barely prepared at all and I don’t even think he wants it. But I wanted it, Dad, I wanted it so much and my pitch was good.”
My voice cracked on the last word and suddenly the tears were falling, hot and fast. I pressed my lips together—I didn’t want Dad to hear it.
“That’s really disappointing, sweetie,” he said. “But rejection is part of being an artist. If it’s this hard for you to accept, then maybe you should reconsider if this is the right industry for you.”
I couldn’t speak—couldn’t form words, so I just managed an “Uh-huh.” If he could tell I was crying, Dad didn’t comment. He just kept talking.
“And I have to say, Hayley, I’m a little disappointed in you. You should be grateful that you got this opportunity. There are plenty of kids out there who didn’t, and this attitude isn’t a very nice one.”
When Zach got a bad grade, he would sulk in his room for days, snapping at anyone who tried to reason with him. When Dad got passed over for a promotion, he’d driven to Santa Barbara for the day and didn’t tell Mom until he got there.
No one ever told them they had to be grateful when they were upset.
I squeezed my eyes closed.
“The last thing you want is to sound like a spoiled brat.”
Somehow, I managed a not-too-watery “Okay.”
“Why don’t we talk again tomorrow when you’re not so worked up about this,” Dad said. “Sleep on it, and you’ll realize that you’re making a big deal out of nothing. There’s a great wide world out there, kiddo. Maybe this just isn’t the right place for you.”
He hung up, and I put my head between my knees and cried.
CHAPTER TEN
I was grateful I didn’t have to tell Sloane. By the time I arrived at her office the next morning, it was clear she’d already been informed about what had happened last night. She herded me inside and closed the door, quickly sweeping me into a hug.
But I had gotten all my tears out last night and done exactly as Dad had suggested. I slept on it, and when I woke, I realized that I had been a real asshole. It wasn’t that I thought Bryan had made the right decision—I still thought that he was wrong—but I knew I had handled it poorly.
I apologized to Sally. To Caitlin and the others. And I’d apologized profusely to Emily. They were all still mad at me, though, and no one had saved me a seat on the shuttle. I’d spent the whole ride looking out the window and pretending I wasn’t being ignored as the other girls talked about the new plant that Emily had gotten for her room and the song that Caitlin was trying to master on guitar.
“I’m so sorry, Hayley.” Sloane pulled out a chair and sat me in it. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I lied. “I was being a sore loser.”
She frowned. “These things happen,” she said.
I didn’t know what to say, so I just shrugged. Sloane sat down in her chair, letting out a loud breath. When she didn’t say anything, I looked up to find her staring at the ceiling, shaking her head. She looked angry.
Finally, she scrubbed her hands over her face. “It was a solid pitch,” she said.
It should have made me feel better, but it didn’t. Solid wasn’t the same as good. It made me want to cry all over again and I really didn’t want to do that in front of her.
“Can we talk about something else?” I asked.
“Yeah, of course,” she said.
We sat there, neither of us saying anything.
“You know what we need?” she asked. “Ice cream.”
I looked at the clock. “It’s nine thirty.”
But she was already standing and gesturing for me to do the same. “Come on,” she said.
The only people in the cafeteria were the ones finishing up their breakfast. Sloane marched over to the soft-serve ice cream machine and let out a growl of frustration when she saw that it wasn’t turned on.
“Are those Sloane’s dulcet tones I hear?” Ron popped up from behind the buffet. He wore a smile, but it dropped away the moment he saw our expressions. “What happened?”
“We need ice cream.” Sloane waved a hand toward the soft-serve machine. “But we have been thwarted.”
“It’s nine forty,” Ron said.
I made a gesture to indicate that I had said the same thing. He laughed, but then grew serious. He thought for a moment. “Will cake do?”
* * *
“I’ve never been back here before,” Sloane said as Ron led us past the swinging doors and into the kitchen.
The whole place gleamed. It was all stainless steel and pristine white floors, with bunches of vegetables on counters and boxes of produce stacked on the floor. People were working all around us, focused on the task of chopping onions or beating eggs. Everything smelled incredible—my senses were overwhelmed with the scent of butter and garlic and fresh herbs. Disco music was playing softly.
“Oh, you all think you make magic up in your offices with paper and pencil,” Ron said. “But this is where the magic really happens.”
“I don’t care who has the most magic,” Sloane said. “I was promised cake.”
“Patience, patience.” Ron led us to the back of the kitchen.
The music was louder there and it smelled like chocolate. The source of the scent was immediately apparent as Ron directed us to a counter where there was an enormous sheet cake covered in a thick layer of white frosting.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Sloane said, and bowed in Ron’s direction. “You win. You’re the magical one.”
“Take a seat, ladies.” Ron gestured toward a couple of stools along the wall.
We did as he said, Sloane eagerly rubbing her hands together as Ron cut off two enormous slices of cake, plated them, and handed them to us. I took a bite.
“Mmmmm.” Sloane closed her eyes. “This is perfect.”
It was good. Really good. Moist chocolate cake with a tangy cream cheese frosting.
“It’s not too much frosting?” Ron asked.
“Is there such a thing?” Sloane asked.
Ron laughed and turned to me. “What do you think? Is it good enough?”
Embarrassingly, my eyes began to fill with tears. I had thought I had done all my crying last night, but apparently I still had enough left in me to cry in front of my mentor and Ron, who was very nice but whom I barely knew.
Immediately, Sloane put her cake down and hopped off her stool. She took the plate out of my hands and pulled me into a hug. With her in her heels and me sitting, we were about the same height, so I didn’t bother trying to get up, and just accepted her embrace.
Thankfully, after a few unavoidable sobs, I managed to get my tears under control, and leaned back from Sloane with a loud sniff.
“I’m okay,” I said.
Ron handed me a napkin. “The cake wasn’t that bad, was it?” he asked.
I laughed. It sounded a little watery, but I kept it together.
“They announced the interns directing the short films last night,” Sloane said.
“That’s that thing you were… oh.” Ron stopped himself. “I see.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “My pitch wasn’t good enough. It happens.”
I looked up, just in time to catch Sloane shaking her head at Ron and him sighing. When she realized I’d seen, she pushed the cake back toward me and sat down again.
“Sometimes,” she said. “Sometimes, it’s not about the pitch.”
“It was the wrong project, then.” I poked the ca
ke with my fork.
“It’s not always about the project, either,” Sloan said. “There are some things we don’t have any control over. But no matter what, just know that you did the best work you could. Okay?”
I nodded, and we ate the rest of our cake in silence.
* * *
We were walking back to Sloane’s office when I heard someone calling my name. Nick was speed-walking down the hall toward me with an excited grin. Even though it killed me that he had gotten the director position and I hadn’t, I’d already alienated enough people, so I forced myself to smile back at him.
Besides, unlike Bear, I knew that Nick had worked really hard on his pitch. I knew that he cared about this program as much as I did. If anyone else deserved this opportunity, it was him. It still hurt, though.
“Hey!” He was out of breath. “Hey,” he said to Sloane, giving her a what’s-up head bob.
She all but rolled her eyes. “I’ll see you back at my office, okay?” she asked.
I wanted to go with her, but I nodded. When I turned back to Nick, he was staring at my face just like he had last night.
“What?” I put my hand up to my mouth. “Do I have something in my teeth?”
“No, no.” He leaned back a little and smiled. “I’m just glad you’re back to normal.”
I frowned at him.
“I really hate it when girls wear makeup,” Nick said. “It’s so fake.”
I opened my mouth to say something, but he was still talking.
“Question,” he said. “First full-length CGI animated film?”
Was he serious? He was giving me the Test? Now?
“Toy Story,” I said. “1995.” That was the best he could do? Who didn’t know that?
“Good one,” Nick said. He actually gave me double finger guns. I knew I was being unfair, but the whole thing sucked. I just needed some space, then I could put on a happy face for him.
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