Pete Milano's Guide to Being a Movie Star

by Tommy Greenwald

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  Dex pointed at a guy standing next to him. “Yo, this is Alex—he’s playing Croft’s buddy Darren.”

  Alex looked up midbite. “You must be Pete. Nice to meet you.”

  “Nice to meet you, too,” I said, shaking Alex’s hand. I recognized him as the star of a TV series called Abe Again, about a boy who turns out to be the reincarnation of Abraham Lincoln. I thought it was pretty dumb, but the girls in school thought he was really cute.

  “You look young,” Alex said to me. “Like, actually young. Are you still in high school?”

  “I wish,” I said. “I’m still in middle school. What about you?”

  Alex started cracking up. “I love this kid!” he shouted. “Nah, man. I wish I was in middle school, or in high school, or in any kind of school!” Then he leaned in, as if telling me a secret. “I’m twenty-three years old.”

  I stared at him. “Twenty-three? But … you’re playing a kid.”

  “The miracle of anti-aging cream,” Alex said. “That, and the fact that I come from a really short family.”

  “Wow,” I said, still kind of shocked.

  He shoved the last piece of bagel in his mouth. “Welcome to Hollywood, my young friend. Where everyone acts half their age—on screen and off.”

  I felt a hand on my shoulder. “You ready to shoot?” I looked up and saw Nano standing there, wearing a giant, red scarf.

  “That’s his shooting scarf, yo,” Dex whispered.

  “I’m ready,” I said.

  Nano adjusted his scarf. “Good.” He sat down next to me. “Now, I need you to jump right into the deep end of the pool.”

  I was confused. “Wait, there’s a pool?”

  Nano sighed like he was talking to a three-year-old. “Not literally. I’m just saying, we’re gonna need a good performance from you right away. That’s how it works in the movies. I’m going to want a range of emotions from you in this scene. You’re defiant but nervous—cocky but insecure. All good?”

  I nodded, even though I had no idea what he was talking about.

  “Okay. Come with me.”

  We walked toward the same building where we had the table read the day before. But when we walked inside, it looked like a completely different place. The giant empty room had been turned into a library. And when I say a library, I mean an actual library. There was no way you would think it wasn’t real. There were tables, and chairs, and rows and rows of books. There was a giant desk in the middle with chairs for three librarians. And the amazing thing was, there were about fifty people in there using the library.

  “Holy smokes,” I said. “Who are all these people?”

  “Extras,” said Ashley.

  “Extra what?”

  “Extra people to fill out a scene,” she explained. “You need them to make it seem realistic that it’s an actual place.”

  I was amazed, but Nano didn’t even notice. He was staring intensely at the row of computers.

  “What kind of computers are these?” he barked.

  Five people came scurrying over. They all looked scared. “Uh, I’m not quite sure,” said one.

  “I know what kind they are,” Nano said, his voice rising. “The wrong kind.”

  They all answered with various versions of “So sorry” and “We’ll replace them right away.”

  Nano watched them go, then turned back to me. “Okay, Pete. Ready to wow me?”

  “I guess.”

  “Good. Go get dressed. See you in a couple of hours.”

  Huh?!

  I stared at Ashley. “A couple of hours?”

  Ashley chuckled. “You’re getting off easy,” she said.

  22

  HURRY UP AND … FAIL

  THE SECOND THING I learned about shooting a movie was this: You wait.

  Or, if you’re like me, you doodle and make drawings while you wait.

  You go to the wardrobe department and doodle while they pick out your clothes and fix them to fit you.

  Then you go to the makeup department and doodle while they mess around with your hair, and you doodle some more while they put makeup on you, even though you’re not a girl.

  Then you go back to the wardrobe department and try the clothes on one last time to make sure they fit.

  Then you go back to your dressing room, where you’re told that someone will be coming for you really soon.

  Then you wait. And doodle. And wait. And doodle.

  Then, about two hours later, someone comes and brings you to the set.

  Then it’s time to shoot!

  Or not.

  Because you wait some more, while lighting guys tell you where to stand and the director gives you a bunch of directions that you don’t understand, like, “Feel it, don’t say it.”

  Then, FINALLY … it’s time to shoot!

  Or not.

  No, wait.

  It is.

  It’s for real this time.

  * * *

  “Okay, camera up!” Nano yelled.

  I didn’t know what that meant, but Shana, who had literally been asleep three seconds before, flashed me the brightest smile I’d ever seen.

  “This is it, Paul,” she whispered.

  “Pete,” I corrected her.

  She giggled. “Right! My bad.”

  I closed my eyes and tried to remember everything Nano told me in rehearsal.

  “ACTION!” Nano hollered.

  “Those boys are being extremely noisy,” Shana said, as Clarissa.

  “They specialize in noise. They’re professional noise specialists,” I said, as Sammy.

  “CUT!”

  Nano came running over, scarf flapping. “No, for real this time, Pete. We’re rolling.”

  “That was for real,” I said.

  Nano just looked at me. “Oh,” he said.

  “ACTION!”

  “Those boys are being extremely noisy.”

  “They specialize in noise. They’re professional noise specialists.”

  “CUT!”

  I felt myself starting to sweat.

  “Like we discussed,” Nano said. “Cocky, but insecure.”

  “Right.”

  “ACTION!”

  “Those boys are being extremely noisy.”

  “They specialize in noise. They’re professional noise specialists.”

  This happened about twenty more times. I knew it was a problem when I saw the crew guys start to look at their watches.

  Finally, after yet another “CUT!” Ashley intercepted Nano. “Mind if I talk to him for a second?”

  “Be my guest,” Nano muttered. “But hurry up. We have to get this shot or else we’ll be over budget on the first day!”

  Ashley pulled me aside.

  “Ignore everything he said,” she whispered.

  My eyes bugged out. “Huh?”

  “Just do it,” Ashley went on. “I don’t want to say anything bad about him, but the main reason he got this job is because his wife is Shana’s dog walker, and Shana wouldn’t do the movie without him. He doesn’t know a thing about character.”

  “Okay,” I said. “So … I should just say the lines?”

  “Like you’d say them to your best pals back in the cafeteria in school,” Ashley said. “Natural. Nice and relaxed. Simple as that.”

  “Let’s go, people!” Nano said. Then he added, “The day’s not getting any longer,” whatever that meant.

  Ashley started to scurry away, but I stopped her. “You’re going to make a great director one day,” I told her.

  Ashley grinned. “Thanks.”

  “ACTION!” Nano barked.

  The camera started whirring.

  “Those boys are being extremely noisy,” Shana said, for the umpteenth time.

  But this time, when I looked at her, I didn’t see Shana Fox, superstar. I saw Timmy, and Charlie Joe, and Jake and Hannah and Katie.

  “They specialize in noise. They’re professional noise specialists,”
I said.

  Shana (Clarissa) giggled.

  I waited for Nano to yell, “CUT!”

  But he didn’t.

  “Thank you for making me laugh,” Shana (Clarissa) said.

  “Well, I’m a professional laugh specialist,” I said. Or should I say, Sammy said. “Happy to help.”

  And the cameras kept rolling.

  And just like that, it was official.

  I was an actor.

  Act Three

  ACTION!

  23

  IT’S LONELY AT THE TOP

  SO, LIKE I WAS SAYING, it was official—I was an actor.

  As the days went by and the shoot went on, I settled into a normal routine. Or, as normal a routine as you can have when you’re going to middle school and starring in a movie at the same time. Basically, it went like this:

  Go to school until one o’clock.

  Get pulled out of class by the school monitor. Walk by my friends, who are getting more and more jealous and annoyed that I get to leave school early every day.

  Walk outside, where a fancy Lincoln Town Car is waiting to take me to the movie studio.

  Sit in the back seat and watch Ashley text the whole time. I have nobody to text because everyone is still in school, so I play games on my phone. They’re fun but boring. (I know that might sound like it doesn’t make sense, but it does. Trust me.)

  Get to the set, go into wardrobe, get dressed, get made up, eventually get called to the set, actually act for approximately fifteen minutes, go back to the dressing room, wait some more, get called to the set again, shoot for another fifteen minutes.

  Repeat that pattern five more times, until about seven o’clock.

  Go home in Town Car. Ashley is still texting, but this time so am I. Answering texts, mostly.

  I get a text from Mareli, who wants to study together for our social studies test (can’t, have to memorize next day’s lines).

  I get a text from Charlie Joe, who wants to go to the mall and try every restaurant in the food court (can’t, have to go take publicity pictures with Shana at some prep school upstate).

  I get more texts from more people, who want to do more things, but my answer is always the same.

  Can’t.

  Can’t.

  Can’t.

  One day, after a few weeks, Charlie Joe sends me a text: THIS IS CRAZY. YOU’RE NEVER FREE TO DO ANYTHING!

  I text back: WELL, WHERE WERE YOU TWO MONTHS AGO, WHEN I WAS FREE EVERY DAY AFTER SCHOOL?

  Charlie Joe: THAT’S TOTALLY NOT FAIR.

  Me: WHATEVER

  Kids start to give up. Everybody wants to be my new best friend—but I don’t have time to be anybody’s best friend.

  Eventually, Charlie Joe stops texting.

  Timmy stops texting.

  Even Mareli stops texting.

  Go to school every day until one.

  Get picked up early to go be in a movie.

  It’s so cool!

  Until it isn’t.

  24

  DELICIOUS FOOD, LOUSY CONVERSATION

  “I INVITED MARELI over to dinner,” my mom said, after I got home one night. We’d been shooting for around a month.

  “You did?”

  “Yup.” Mom grabbed my backpack and got out my crumpled up lunch bag, which was unopened. The banana was completely flattened. “Ew,” she said. “Why do I even bother?”

  “I’ve told you a thousand times you don’t need to make me lunch anymore,” I said. “There’s tons of food at the studio.”

  “But you don’t get there until 1:45,” said my mom. “Aren’t you starving by then?”

  “No offense, Mom, but I’d rather not ruin my appetite with tuna fish when I know I’m going to get steak an hour later.”

  “Fine,” she said, dropping the broken banana into the garbage as if it were covered with mold.

  “Why did you invite Mareli over?” I asked. “I’m kind of busy, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  My mom looked at me. “What’s going on with you? I remember when you found out she liked you—we couldn’t wipe the smile off your face for weeks. Now suddenly you’re too busy to have dinner with her?”

  “It’s complicated,” I said, shrugging. I didn’t really feel like going into the whole my-friends-are-all-mad-at-me-because-I’m-always-too-busy and I’m-mad-at-them-because-they-just-want-to-be-my-friend-because-I’m-in-a-movie thing. I knew my mom would ask me a ton of questions, and I was too tired to answer them.

  “Everything’s complicated,” said my mom. “But, to answer your question, I saw Mareli downtown, and she looked at me with those big brown eyes and said how she hadn’t really seen you around much lately, and then the next thing I knew, I was asking her over for dinner and she was saying yes.” She hugged me. “Don’t be mad. This is a good thing. You need to relax for just an hour or two and forget all the pressures of school and the movie and all that. You’re still a kid, remember? So have dinner like a kid!”

  “Okay. But I have to study my lines before dinner. Tomorrow we’re shooting the scene where Sammy’s roommate asks Princess Clarissa out.”

  “Oooh, sounds juicy,” said my mom.

  “See you at dinner,” I said.

  “Dinner’s now,” she said.

  “What?”

  “It’s 7:30.”

  “No way.”

  I checked my phone—Mom was right.

  Sheeesh. Two months ago, I literally had nothing to do. These days, I blinked, and it was dinnertime.

  Times had sure changed.

  The doorbell rang.

  “Why don’t you get it?” Mom asked me. But before I could, Sylvia came charging down the stairs and raced to the door.

  “Mareli’s here!” she squealed. Sylvia loved Mareli. I think they bonded over the same color nail polish.

  When Sylvia opened the door, the first thing I noticed was that Mareli had completely changed her hair color. I’d never seen anyone in middle school do that before.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Hi,” she said.

  We stood there for a second, and then I said, “What happened?”

  “Huh?” Mareli touched her hair self-consciously. “Oh, you mean this? I don’t know, I just decided to try something different. So I went to the salon today, and the next thing I knew, I was a blonde.”

  She looked interesting, that’s for sure, but there was something else. Something familiar. I tried to think where I’d seen that look before—dark skin and blond hair—and then it hit me.

  Shana Fox.

  “Are you trying to look like Shana?” I said, before I could stop myself.

  Mareli’s face immediately turned bright red. “Of course not! What are you talking about?”

  I tried to backtrack. “Nothing! I just meant, that you look really pretty, and you kind of reminded me of Shana, because of how pretty you are.”

  But Mareli wasn’t buying it. “You think I’m trying to look like Shana? Why? Just because ever since you started being in that movie with her, you’ve been ignoring me? You think I’m jealous or something? Well, guess what? That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard!”

  As she was saying it, I realized something: That’s exactly what I thought.

  “No, of course that’s not what I think,” I said. “I just think it’s funny that you and Shana have the same hair style, that’s all.”

  “Coming here probably wasn’t a great idea,” said Mareli.

  “Dinner’s on the table!” called my mom.

  We all sat down to eat, and I realized something else: We didn’t have that much to talk about. We had a lot to NOT talk about, though. It seemed like every possible topic—the movie, Shana, school, friends—was some sort of minefield where something could explode at any minute.

  So instead, we just talked about how delicious Mom’s lasagna was, and Sylvia described every possible thing about the soccer game she’d played in that day.

  “And I scored the winning goal!” she
bragged, ending the description.

  Mareli smiled. “That’s fantastic!” she said. “You must have gotten your soccer skills from your brother.”

  Mareli was right—I was a pretty good soccer player. But I’d had to quit the team because of the movie—and of course, my teammates were mad at me about it.

  Which is probably why Mareli mentioned it.

  We sat there silent for another couple of minutes, until my mom brought up the one subject she knew would make everyone relax.

  “Who wants dessert?” she said.

  After we ate our peach cobbler, Mom asked Sylvia to help her do the dishes. That left Mareli and me sitting there, by ourselves.

  “Peter,” Mareli began. Uh-oh. Whenever she called me “Peter,” she meant business.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m really happy for you that you are in this movie,” she said. “You deserve it. I always knew you had something special in you.”

  I waited, because I knew there was a but coming.

  “But,” she went on, “when something this great happens, it can also mean some other things aren’t so great. And we aren’t so great. Because I feel like I’m getting in the way of your exciting new life.”

  “You’re not,” I said, trying to mean it.

  “It’s okay,” Mareli said. “I know how busy you are, and how many interesting new people you’re meeting. I can see how you have changed already—you’re more responsible, more mature, much less of a troublemaker in school. It’s great, seriously—and I’m sure it’s crazy to think that in the middle of it all, you would still be thinking of your boring old life.”

  “You are not boring,” I said. “You’re the opposite of boring. And I’m not more mature. I don’t want to be more mature! It’s just that I’m really, really busy. And tired. But mostly busy.”

  The doorbell rang, which meant Mareli’s mom was there to pick her up.

  “Everybody’s busy,” Mareli said. “It’s just that you’re a different kind of busy.” She got up. “I should go thank your mom for dinner. See you tomorrow.”

  As she walked into the kitchen, I wanted to tell her how wrong she was, but one thing stopped me.