Drawn That Way

by Elissa Sussman

  He leaned back in his chair, smiling slightly. “I was fired from quite a few of those earlier jobs. From companies that cared more about making movies that would sell toys than making something that was good,” he said. “They didn’t like what I had to say. It was easier to fire me than question the quality of the work they were doing.”

  We were the same—Bryan and me. He understood. He understood where I was coming from.

  “When it comes to situations like that—where you’re willing to risk your career to make a stand—you have to have a certain level of arrogance.”

  It was similar to what he’d said in his CalTED Talk. Part of me couldn’t believe that he was saying all this to me. Just to me. Like my own private pep talk.

  “All artists need to be arrogant. You need to believe that you’re the best.”

  I nodded.

  “But you also have to have the goods to back up your arrogance,” Bryan said. “You have to be as talented as you think you are.” He looked at me. “Unfortunately, you aren’t.”

  It would have hurt less if he had just kicked me in the stomach.

  “Look.” Bryan stood. “You’re clearly a passionate young lady. And sometimes it’s easy to mistake passion for talent. I blame myself, to an extent.”

  He came around the desk, resting one hip on the edge of the massive black marble. “With all this attention on diversity these days, there was a lot of pressure to make space for applicants like you. We’re all being asked to consider an artist’s background before we even look at your work. And that’s not really fair to you, is it?”

  Applicants like me?

  “The problem with your work—with your pitch—is that it just isn’t universal,” he said. “The audience wants to relate to the characters on the screen. They can’t do that if they don’t even know what you’re referencing. I mean, how many people have even heard of a goldum, or whatever they’re called.”

  Was he saying that audiences couldn’t relate to a grieving girl if she was Jewish? That the golem made it unrelatable?

  “An audience can only suspend their disbelief so far,” he said.

  He’d made a movie with a talking bird as a narrator.

  “I’ve always believed in honesty at all costs, but some people disagree with me. They think we should treat everyone equally, regardless of skill. Build them up, even if they’ll never have a chance of succeeding.”

  I thought I was going to be sick. If I threw up, how hard would it be for someone to clean my projectile vomit off of Bryan’s clean white walls?

  “You have some talent, I’ll give you that, but you’re just not cut out to be a director. You have to have that something special in order to lead a production. You don’t have it.” Bryan crossed his arms. “But it’s clear that you’re frustrated working on the project you’ve been assigned to, so I’ll make you a deal.”

  I looked down at my hands and saw that my knuckles were pale.

  “Bear is extremely talented,” Bryan said.

  I literally did not think this conversation could get any worse, but apparently it could.

  “He just struggles with motivation,” Bryan said. “With focus.”

  So Bear’s abilities were something that could be developed. Cultivated. Unlike me, who was already a failure at seventeen. I’d been judged and found lacking.

  “He needs guidance,” Bryan said. “He’s so gifted and yet…”

  He wasn’t thinking about me anymore.

  “I’ll put you on Bear’s team,” he said. Magnanimously. “It will give you another chance to be a team player. That’s what animation’s about, after all. Collaboration.”

  It was exactly what Sloane had said. I slumped in the uncomfortable chair, hating that she would probably be upset at my behavior. The thought of that—of her disappointment—was almost as painful as Bryan’s words. I wanted to leave, but he wasn’t done.

  “There’s power in that. In guiding others. Inspiring them,” he said. “All great artists need a muse.”

  My feet looked very small and very far away. There was a long pause. I glanced up and found Bryan looking at me. Was he expecting a response? If so, what did he want me to say? Thank you, sir, I’d be honored to inspire your son to excel in the industry that I want to succeed in?

  I didn’t say anything. Bryan let out a small laugh.

  “He talks about you, you know. Bear does,” he said. He looked at me expectantly. “I think he’s got a bit of a crush,” he said. “And he’s never been great with the girls at his school.…”

  I stared, not sure what he wanted me to do with that information. Despite how devastating this was for my professional life, I couldn’t help thinking that Bear would probably rather impale himself on his pencil than know his dad was attempting to help him out in the dating department by saying that he was romantically challenged.

  It was so awkward and so dad-like that for a brief moment I forgot that I was talking to Bryan Beckett, four-time Academy Award–winning director, and felt like I was talking to a friend’s socially inept father. I was surprised, but at the moment, that revelation was pretty low on the list of things I needed to process.

  Bryan frowned. “I’ve made my point,” he said. “I’ll have you switched to Bear’s team tomorrow.” He waved a hand. “You can go.”

  I’d never been so grateful to be dismissed.

  I walked out of his office, down the staircase, and out to the lobby. I barely registered any of it. My notebook and all the rest of my stuff was still in the conference room. I didn’t care. I didn’t care about any of it.

  “Can you the call the shuttle?” I asked one of the guys at the front desk. “I’m not feeling well.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  I got back to the dorm, went to my room, got my keys and my phone and headed to the garage. The inside of my car was silent as I pulled away from the CalAn campus. I didn’t want to listen to the radio or a podcast or music. I rolled down the windows and filled my ears with the sound of Los Angeles—honking cars, everyone else’s blasting tunes, dogs barking, people yelling. I wanted to get lost in all of it. Wanted to be overwhelmed with everyone else’s problems. Everyone else’s lives.

  It was hot and the air hitting my face was hot and I still had on the cardigan I’d been wearing inside the studio, which was always kept at an icy 60 degrees.

  How could I go back to the dorms? How could I go back to the studio? I thought about calling my parents—telling them I was quitting the program. Telling them I was done.

  You have to be as talented as you think you are.

  And I wasn’t. According to Bryan Beckett, all I was good for was inspiring other people. Inspiring his son, apparently.

  Did I believe him? I’d lived the last year of my life by his rules—following the guidelines he’d laid out. I wore what he said I should wear. I worked the way he said I should work. I had collected his wisdom, treated his words like good-luck charms—as if knowing everything I could about him and his movies and his studio would make me the best artist I could be. As if it would make me worthy.

  He’d stood in front of me and told me, in no uncertain terms, that I wasn’t.

  It was late when I drove back to the dorms. I couldn’t even remember how I’d spent the time—where I’d been. The dining hall was dark when I walked across campus, and most of the dorm windows were too. I should have gone to my room, but the thought of being ignored by Sally on top of everything else that had happened today made my heart ache. Taking out my phone, I pulled up the intern directory.

  He was on the third floor at the end of the hallway.

  I knocked before I could second-guess myself. Beneath the door, I saw the light flicker on and then I heard footsteps. He didn’t have a roommate, I knew that, so I was prepared when he opened the door. Except I wasn’t.

  “Saffitz?” Bear asked.

  His hair was sticking straight up, his eyes at half-mast. He wasn’t wearing a shirt.

  For a moment, I
just stared. I’d been so focused on my annoyance at Bear—at his disinterest in the internship, the nepotism that had gotten him the position I wanted—that I’d mostly been able to ignore how extremely attractive he was. Mostly.

  But I wasn’t ignoring it now.

  Looking at him—shirtless and slightly confused—made my palms all sweaty and my knees wobbly. I felt very, very warm inside. Whoever had drawn the grown-up version of Bear online had done a really, really good job. He did have chest hair. Not as much as the drawing, but enough.

  I’d come here not thinking. Not really.

  I’d wanted to get away from Bryan’s words, but I couldn’t. They kept circulating in my head, a whirling vortex that had decimated all my hopes and dreams. There was only one thing that Bryan had said to me that didn’t make me feel completely terrible.

  One thing that I could actually do something about. That I had control over. For the first time in months—maybe in years—I found that I was interested in something other than animation. Very, very interested.

  And if Bryan was right, then maybe that explained some things. Maybe it explained Bear’s reaction to the caricature. The moment in the stairwell. All those times he had been nice to me. Maybe…

  “You have a crush on me,” I said.

  Bear’s eyes widened, the sleepiness immediately gone. “I—”

  Not waiting for a full response, I pushed past him into his room. Losing everything I thought I’d wanted had made me brave. He closed the door behind him, leaning on it and regarding me with suspicion.

  “You like me,” I said.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  I pulled off my cardigan and let it drop to the floor.

  “I’m here to inspire you,” I said.

  It was a lie. I was there for myself. I crossed the room, curled my hand around the back of his neck, and pulled his mouth down to mine.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Bear didn’t move.

  His lips were soft and warm, but his entire body had gone stiff. Doubt froze me from the inside. Thinking I’d totally misread everything, I dropped my hand and drew my head back. But before I could step away, Bear’s hands wrapped around my waist, around my back, as he pulled me against him. His mouth came down hard on mine.

  Yes. Pushing up on my toes, I kissed him back, pressing him against the door. My hands got lost in his hair, his palms hot between my shoulder blades. My shirt was open just enough that I could feel his skin against my chest—it was warm. He smelled like deodorant and pencil shavings. I leaned hard against him—my whole body—and I felt him brace himself, his hips hitting the door, his knees bent.

  His tongue was in my mouth, or maybe mine was in his, but it felt good, really good, and I never wanted to stop.

  It wasn’t my first kiss, but it felt like the first kiss that mattered. The first kiss that took me out of myself—that shut my brain off. The first kiss where I wasn’t thinking about storyboards or stories or all the ideas that I had that I was terrified I’d never get to finish.

  All I was thinking about was how good I felt.

  It was exactly what I wanted.

  Then Bear was pushing away from the door, and the two of us were stumbling deeper into his room. He guided me backward, and I tripped over something—his shoes?—before falling back onto his bed. I pulled him down with me, my hands sliding over his back—my fingers finding muscle and smooth skin.

  He was a good kisser, and pressed his mouth—his hot, open mouth—against my throat. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back, my brain processing nothing but how good everything felt—his lips, his hands, his body.

  Giving him a push, we rolled awkwardly on his twin bed until I was above him, my knees on either side of his hips. My hair had come out of its bun and was falling into my face, but he reached up and pushed it aside, bringing my head down so he could keep kissing me.

  I wanted more. I wanted to feel everything and think nothing.

  I reached for my shirt, fumbling with the buttons, bothering with just enough for me to pull the whole thing up and over my head. Bear’s hands found my stomach, his fingers hot against my ribs.

  “Wait,” he said. He sat up, displacing me back onto his knees.

  No.

  “Hayley.” His hands reached through my mass of hair, smoothing it back.

  I didn’t want to look at him. Not when he looked so concerned. I just wanted him to kiss me. To make everything go away. To make my brain stop racing.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  I crossed my arms over my chest, feeling extremely naked in my boring cotton bra. Rolling off of his lap, I stood and reached for my shirt. He grabbed my pants by the waistband and pulled me back onto the bed next to him.

  “Hayley.”

  I yanked my shirt over my head. It was inside out. And backward. Now that my hormones were cooling off and my thoughts kicking back into high gear, I remembered why I didn’t usually do things like this. I was not very good at them.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “Does it matter? I thought most guys would be happy if a girl just showed up their door and took her shirt off,” I said to his floor.

  Bear touched my elbow. “You don’t like me,” he said.

  “I thought that you didn’t like me,” I said. “But you do.”

  “Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “You said that.”

  My face was hot. “It’s true, isn’t it?” I asked.

  “Obviously.” He gestured between us. “You think I do this with just any girl who shows up at my door?”

  “Are other girls showing up at your door?” I asked.

  “Hayley,” he said.

  I put my head in my hands, my hair providing a much-needed curtain between us. I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want to think. I just wanted to feel.

  “What happened?”

  “Your dad,” I said, but it was muffled by my hands and my hair. Saying that felt more intimate than what we’d just been doing. Made me feel even more naked. I wrapped my arms tightly around myself.

  “What?”

  I leaned back, my head against the wall. “Your dad,” I said again. I didn’t have to look at him to know that Bear’s entire body tensed.

  “My dad,” he said.

  “We had a long talk today.” I stared up at the ceiling. My words were flat. Halting.

  It was like being on the staircase again. A place—a moment—outside of reality, where I didn’t know why I was saying what I was saying.

  Bear blew out a breath. “Inspiring and informational, I imagine,” he said.

  “He thinks you have a crush on me,” I said. “Also, I’m not ‘as talented as I think I am.’ ” I made my finger quotes extra sarcastic. “And the only reason I got into the internship program is because I’m a girl.”

  I didn’t repeat the whole dumb thing about inspiring others. It had been hard to enough to say everything else. Even now, even here, there were limits to what I could share.

  Bear’s head made a loud thunk as it hit the wall.

  “I hate him,” he said.

  “He’s a genius.”

  “He’s an asshole.”

  We sat there quietly. I could hear Bear breathing. I could hear myself breathing.

  There was an uncovered mattress on the other side of the room, but Bear had pictures up on the wall above it. Most of them were of large groups, with Bear grinning from somewhere in the middle or toward the back. There was a photo of his soccer team, all of them lined up and in uniform. There were a few with him and two of the same guys, and some Polaroids of a yellow dog and black cat. There was one photo of him in the snow, standing next to someone wearing matching goggles that covered most of their face. I assumed it was a woman because of her long hair, which was escaping her knit beanie. It was probably his mom. They had the same nose.

  Bear had nailed all of them to the wall, which I knew was against the rules. He reached out a hand an
d entwined his fingers with mine. I could feel his callus. The same one that I had.

  “My dad was right about one thing,” Bear said. “I do have a crush on you.”

  I felt warm and wobbly inside. It was much better than just feeling wobbly.

  “He also thinks you need some help with girls,” I said.

  There was a long silence, and when I looked over at Bear, he had his eyes closed as if he was praying for guidance. The tips of his ears were very red.

  “I am going to kill him,” he said, and then opened one eye. “Is that why you’re here? Because you feel sorry for me?”

  “What? No,” I said. “Look at you. I don’t feel sorry for that at all.” I gestured at his chest.

  His ears got redder, and he gave me a grin that was half embarrassed, half pleased.

  “I don’t need help,” he said.

  I shook my head. “Nope.”

  “I just…” He looked at me. “You’re just intimidating, okay?”

  “Me?”

  He shifted on the bed until he was facing me, his fingers still laced with mine.

  “I made Josh tell me about your pitch,” he said. “He said it was incredible.”

  I turned toward him. “It was,” I said, even though I wasn’t sure I believed it anymore.

  Bear laughed. “See,” he said. “You’re probably the most intense person I’ve ever met. In a good way.”

  I squirmed a little, uncertain how to react. Bear’s compliments made me feel vulnerable.

  “You just know exactly what you want,” he said.

  Maybe that had been true a few hours ago. Now, I wasn’t sure.

  “And you’re really talented.” Bear gave my hand a squeeze.

  This time, I was the one blushing. “Your dad doesn’t agree,” I said.

  “You know why this internship exists?” he asked.

  I shook my head.

  “Because my dad wants me to come work at BB Gun Films,” he said.

  Our very first day here, Nick had accused Bear of asking his dad to include him in the internship. But even though Bear had confirmed it, everything he’d done since then illustrated nothing but a complete lack of interest in the program.