Drawn That Way

by Elissa Sussman

  It was like I was seeing Mom for the first time. And seeing myself in her. It was nice.

  “This is where you belong,” she said. “And I’m so, so proud of you.”

  * * *

  I wore the polka-dot dress to the reception on campus. Sally did my makeup—gold eyeliner and a bright, bold lip. I half hoped that Nick would come over to stare at my mouth and make some comment about how fake I was. The internship was basically over; there wasn’t much they could do to me if I kneed him in the balls.

  The dining hall still looked like the dining hall—it wasn’t decked out the way they’d done at the studio cafeteria that first week—but there were high, round tables covered in tablecloths and trays of tiny hors d’oeuvres.

  My parents and Zach hadn’t arrived yet, but Sloane was there, talking to a tall white woman with wavy brown hair and one gray streak at her temple.

  “Hayley.” Sloane gave me a hug. “You look great.”

  “Thanks. You too.”

  Sloane was wearing a beautiful silk dress that looked like it had been purposefully stained with streaks of color. She looked stunning as always.

  “So, this is Hayley,” the woman with the gray streak said. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “Thanks?” I hoped it was a compliment.

  “Sloane has been telling me how talented you are. I think she described you having ‘a singular vision.’ High praise, indeed.”

  I looked at Sloane, who beamed at me.

  “It’s true,” she said. “If this is the kind of stuff you’re doing at seventeen, I can’t even imagine what you’ll be doing when you’re my age.”

  It was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to me.

  Still, it didn’t completely drown out Bryan’s voice.

  “Sloane tells me you’ve had an interesting summer,” the woman said. “Was it everything you hoped it would be?”

  We hadn’t been officially introduced, but I didn’t know how to address that, so I just didn’t.

  “Not exactly,” I said. “It was challenging. But good. Sloane was a great mentor. The best.”

  “I paid her to say that,” Sloane said, but I could tell that she was pleased.

  “I’m not surprised at all,” the woman said. “Sloane is one of a kind. She also has a singular vision.” She looked at Sloane expectantly.

  “I’m still thinking about it,” Sloane said cryptically. “It’s a big change.”

  The woman held up her hands in a gesture that was surprisingly familiar to me. “I know, I know,” she said. “I’m being impatient.”

  “Understandably,” Sloane said. “I’m excited for you to get back in the game.”

  “Me too,” the woman said. “There’s no point in regretting things that have already happened, but I wish I hadn’t given up so easily back then.”

  I listened, the two of them so focused on what they were talking about that I was pretty sure they’d forgotten about me. Just for a moment, though. Sloane looked at me and smiled.

  “This new generation, however,” she said. “They’re not going to put up with that crap.”

  The woman with the gray streak nodded. “That’s what I’ve heard.” She looked at me. “I’ve been told you took on the king. And won.”

  It was clear they were talking about Bryan.

  “I don’t think I won,” I said. “I mean, I still didn’t get to direct a short.”

  I hadn’t heard if Sloane had managed to convince John to put our film in the lineup, and even if he had, I didn’t think it was a good idea to tell a stranger about our plan. Despite Sloane’s obvious respect for her.

  “It’s more than that,” the woman said. “It’s holding on to your confidence—your sense of self-worth—in the face of all of this.” She waved her hand at the people gathered for the reception. “It’s believing that you have talent, even when the loudest voices in the room are telling you that you don’t.”

  She put her hand on my shoulder. “Don’t ever let them tell you that you’re not good enough.”

  Looking past me, she let out a sigh and leaned toward Sloane. “You know, I wish I’d never suggested he start wearing the same thing every day,” she said.

  I looked back and saw that Bryan was standing across the room with Bear.

  “I was just tired of picking out his outfits every morning,” she said. “Good to see you, Sloane. And nice to meet you, Hayley.”

  “Great seeing you, Reagan,” Sloane said.

  I stared as Reagan Davis, formerly Reagan Beckett, crossed the room toward her son and ex-husband.

  “That’s Bear’s mom?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

  “Did I not introduce you?” Sloane asked. “Sorry about that.”

  “It’s okay,” I said, unable to take my eyes off of Reagan.

  She gave Bear a hug before turning to her ex-husband, her stiff body language indicating her discomfort. Still, they leaned toward each other, exchanging cheek kisses.

  “She deserved credit on A Boy Named Bear, didn’t she?” I asked.

  “Yep,” Sloane said. “That was before my time, but if you ask anyone in the studio who worked on that movie, they’ll tell you that Reagan is the only reason it got made. She was the person who kept Bryan from getting distracted—gave him necessary limitations on what they could do.”

  Limitations. Madeline Bailey had talked about limitations. How they could force an artist to do something they might have never considered. How certain artists could take those limitations and make something extraordinary.

  “She gave up her whole career to work on that movie,” Sloane said. “She’s an incredible editor in her own right, but after everything that happened with the divorce and the settlement, she just stopped working. Focused on raising Bear.”

  Bear had said that giving up that fight had been the best thing his mother had done. That it had saved her. Him.

  I didn’t think that was true.

  “That’s too bad,” I said.

  “Yeah,” Sloane said, but she was smiling. “It was.”

  There was something she wasn’t telling me, but I could sense that now wasn’t the time or the place to get details.

  “Did you give the flash drive to John?” I asked.

  Her smile faded. “Hayley,” she said. “I don’t know if he’s going to do it.”

  I’d been bracing for that response, but it didn’t make it hurt any less. I had to start accepting that just because you worked really hard at something, just because you thought you were good enough, that you had something special to offer, it didn’t mean that other people would agree. Or even give you a chance to prove it.

  “Okay,” I said.

  “I gave him the film,” Sloane said. “Told him how important it was, but this is the first BB Gun film that he’s the lead editor on. There’s a lot riding on how well he tows the family line.”

  “I understand,” I said.

  “Don’t give up,” Sloane said. “He didn’t say no. He just said he’d have to think about it.”

  I didn’t have much time to be disappointed before my parents and Zach arrived at the reception. I hadn’t seen Dad and Zach in weeks. I’d missed them, but it was still a little awkward. I introduced them to Sloane.

  “Hayley is an incredibly focused young woman,” she said.

  Zach started humming the Oompa Loompa song under his breath. I pinched his arm.

  “I think she has so much potential,” Sloane said.

  “Is this the kind of potential that would be better suited after four years at college?” Mom asked. “At an arts college, perhaps?”

  “Mom,” I said, even though I didn’t really mind this time.

  “I’d be happy to discuss the pros and cons of a college degree when it comes to getting a job in animation.” Sloane winked at me. “A lot of my peers attended CalAn.”

  The two of them walked away, leaving me, Dad, and Zach.

  “Hey, mini cupcakes,” Zach said, and
headed over to the dessert table where Sally was putting some macarons on her plate.

  Dad had his hands in his pockets, swaying back and forth. It was clear that Mom had had words with him, and he was now expected to fix the mess he’d made. I wasn’t going to make it hard for him, but I wasn’t going to make it easy, either. I was kind of tired of making things easier for guys in my life.

  “Want to get some food?” he asked.

  “Sure.”

  We each got a tiny round plate, Dad piling on as much shrimp, little crab cakes, and slices of bruschetta as he could manage. I took some mini egg rolls.

  “Look at all this stuff,” Dad said. “Quite the spread.”

  I nodded.

  “Your mom says you really enjoyed the internship,” Dad said, as we took our food to a table. “Learned a lot.”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  We sat there, eating in silence.

  “I messed up, huh, kiddo?”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “I’m proud of you, Hayley, it’s just…” Dad sighed. “I might also be a little jealous, too.”

  My eyebrows shot up.

  “Jealous of me?”

  “It’s your tenacity,” he said. “How driven you are.”

  I thought about what Mom had said—how Dad had given up after getting rejected from grad school.

  “I know you don’t think animation is serious, Dad, but it’s important to me,” I said.

  He lowered his crab cake. “I know,” he said. “I guess I just couldn’t figure out how to be supportive.” Dad ran a hand through his hair. His glasses were smudgy. “But that’s not your problem,” he said. “That’s my problem. And it’s something I’ll be better about. At least, I can try.”

  I nodded, rocking back on my heels.

  “Do you really think I’m a spoiled brat?” I asked.

  He didn’t say anything, and when I glanced up, I saw the shock on his face.

  “Did I say that?” he asked.

  “Sort of,” I said.

  He closed his eyes for a moment. “You’re not a brat,” he said. “You’re amazing.”

  “Really?”

  He put his hand over mine. “Of course. You’re my favorite daughter, after all.”

  “I’m your only daughter.”

  He squeezed my hand. This was about as honest and open as we’d ever been and I was glad for it, but we were also in the middle of the CalAn dining hall and it wasn’t exactly the best place to be emotional.

  I cleared my throat.

  “If you really want to make it up to me, they’re coming out with a new Wacom tablet this year,” I said.

  Dad laughed. “We’ll see,” he said, and stole one of my egg rolls.

  * * *

  After the reception, Sally went to bed, but I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t know what was going to happen tomorrow, but I couldn’t help hoping that everything would work out—that John would say to hell with his career and add our short film to the lineup. That Bryan would be forced to watch something that I made. That he, and Nick, and everyone else who had made me feel like I didn’t belong there would see exactly what I was capable of.

  Still in my polka-dot dress, I went for a drive.

  It was the perfect California night. For the first time ever, I wanted to do the thing I saw people do in movies. I rolled down my windows and went down the 101. I didn’t have anywhere to go, I just wanted to drive—just wanted to go fast. My hair blew up and around my face as the car flew down the freeway.

  In a few weeks, I’d be back at school. Senior year.

  After talking to Sloane, Mom hadn’t given up hope that I’d apply to college. But at least she’d accepted that this was what I wanted to do.

  “Why not CalAn?” she’d asked as I had walked my parents and Zach to their car.

  “I’ll think about it,” I’d told her.

  “That’s all I ask.”

  This was the year where I was supposed to figure out what I wanted. I’d started the internship thinking that I knew. Thinking that I had a plan.

  Even if John didn’t put our short into the final screening, even if Bryan never saw what I was truly capable of doing—was BB Gun Films still where I wanted to end up? I’d been so sure that there was a place for me at the studio—that once I was here, I’d finally feel like I belonged.

  I didn’t know what I wanted anymore. Or, I did, but my plan wasn’t as clear-cut as it had been a few weeks ago.

  I was blasting my favorite piece of animation score—“Test Drive” from How to Train Your Dragon. As the music swelled, I could feel my heart turn over.

  I thought about everything that had happened over the past few weeks. I thought about everyone I had met—Zoe, Isaac, Ron, and Sloane. Madeline Bailey. Even Reagan Davis. I thought about what they had taught me—about art, about myself. About facing obstacles. About having fun.

  I thought about my friends. About Sally, Caitlin, Emily, Jeannette, and Rachel. How together we had made something out of nothing. How we’d taken an idea, and with paper and pencil, we’d made it come alive.

  Bryan believed that the only thing that mattered was the final product. I didn’t think I believed him anymore. I was proud of what we had accomplished, but I knew—with L.A. speeding past, with the summer nearly behind me—that the thing that mattered the most to me wasn’t the film I had made.

  It was everything else.

  Maybe I didn’t need Bryan to see the short. Maybe I didn’t need to prove to him that I was talented. I knew who I was. What I was capable of.

  Maybe that was enough.

  * * *

  Bear was outside the dorms when I got back. Like he had been waiting for me.

  “I saw you talking to my mom,” he said.

  “She’s nice.” I jingled my car keys in my hand. All that exhilaration I’d felt wilted like my wild hair. I didn’t want to talk to him. I didn’t want to look at him. My heart began to hurt again.

  “She liked you,” he said.

  I nodded.

  “I heard you finished the short,” he said.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said. “John probably won’t screen it.”

  Bear frowned. “Hayley, I—” he said, but I held up my hand.

  “Can we not?” I asked. “I’m tired, and tomorrow’s a big day. For you, at least.”

  At first it seemed like he was going to argue with me, but he just nodded and stepped aside to let me pass.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  The theater was crowded. Bryan was sitting up toward the front with Bear, Reagan, and most of the press. Sloane had saved me, Zach, and my parents some seats toward the back, and I saw Sally and her parents sitting right in the middle.

  I’d told her—told all the girls—that our short probably wasn’t going to be shown. And when I said that it was okay, that we should be proud of what we had done, this time I meant it. Still, I couldn’t help that jittery, double-time heartbeat I felt when I allowed myself to hope that I might be wrong.

  I’d worn my green dress, with my hair down. As the doors of the theater closed, I started fidgeting with a lock of it—smoothing it and twisting it between my fingers. The lights dimmed and the crowd grew silent.

  Bryan rose from the audience and stepped onto the stage.

  “Welcome,” he said, arms spread wide.

  Zach leaned over Mom. “Is that Willy Wonka?” he asked. I shushed him.

  Onstage, Bryan continued. “I am so pleased to welcome you all to the first BB Gun summer film festival. We have four incredible short films to share with you today.”

  I watched the back of Bear’s head. He turned to say something to his mom, who put her hand on his shoulder.

  “I am so proud of the work our interns have done,” Bryan said. “The caliber of talent here is truly incredible, and I’m certain you’ll see—as I do—the future of animation here in these projects.” He smiled at the crowd. “But you didn’t come here to listen to me talk,” he said.
<
br />   There was a ripple of laughter. That was exactly what the press had come here to do.

  “I’ll step aside and let these talented directors introduce their projects.”

  Before everything had ended between me and Bear, he’d told me that his father was making each of the directors speak about their movie.

  “I know my dad wants me to say something about how I was inspired by him—how he’s always pushed me to do better—but I’m not going to do it,” Bear had said. “I should just stand up there—in front of everyone—and tell the press how he was a shitty father who forced me to do an internship I didn’t want to do.”

  I had no idea what he was going to say.

  The first two films were introduced and screened. Eddie and Jeff didn’t stumble too much over their words as they talked about their films, but I think they knew—as well as the rest of us—that everyone was just waiting for Bear’s movie.

  Nick’s film was second to last. Sloane and I exchanged a look as he got up onstage, looking like a sweatier, shorter version of Bryan.

  “Hi, uh, I’m Nick,” he said. His voice was shaking. His hands, too.

  If he hadn’t been such an asshole to me and everyone, I might have felt bad for him.

  “My film is a modern retelling of Jack and the Beanstalk,” he read robotically from the piece of paper he was holding. “I was inspired by filmmakers like Tarantino, and Bryan Beckett, of course.”

  He gestured awkwardly toward Bryan, who waved at the crowd.

  “I please hope you enjoy it,” Nick said.

  I rolled my eyes as the lights went down.

  It was immediately apparent that Nick had ended up using the script I’d written. He was lucky I didn’t stand up in the middle of the screening and yell at him for being a thief and a liar. It wasn’t worth it. Despite stealing my script, Nick had still managed to fuck up his film, adding back unnecessary—and bad—jokes and overstuffing the plot to the point of nonsense. Whatever he had been trying to accomplish with his film fell flat. I didn’t want to claim any part of it.