by Jake Burt
I got dressed—nice collared shirt, khakis, white socks, my brother’s loafers—and made my way out to breakfast. I was already feeling a bit queasy, so I didn’t eat much. Dad sat with me and went over the schedule.
“We get there at nine o’clock; I have a buddy from the company picking us up at eight thirty so we can avoid the buses and people out on the street. He’ll pull us right into the studio lot, and Stephanie Morrison should be there to walk us in. Then you go get all fancy with makeup and such—maybe they can do something about that eye—and you’re on at nine forty-two. Hmmm. That’s precise.”
“Do I get, like, a rehearsal or something?”
“Your mother asked. They said no—if it’s rehearsed, the audience can tell, and it seems less authentic. I guess they want it to feel like you’re just dropping by on your way to school.”
“Do I really have to go to school afterward?”
My dad folded the schedule and put it into his pocket. “You have to ask?”
“I’ll grab my backpack,” I muttered.
Stephanie might have been right with her fading fifteen minutes theory; as we hustled down to meet Dad’s friend, there was only one news van parked outside, and I didn’t even see anyone around it. I felt a little better then, like maybe after Mornings with Darcy and Rob everything would just go back to normal—at least, as normal as it could be after you taunt your best friend into knuckle-knocking your eye socket.
My dad and his buddy chatted about company stuff for the whole ride. I sat quietly in the back, watching the people on the sidewalks. Every so often, one of them would glance up, and it felt like they were staring at me right through the tinted window. When they did, I’d look away, even though I knew they couldn’t really see me.
Unfortunately, when we got to the studio lot, there were no tinted windows to hide behind, and I didn’t own a pair of sunglasses. Stephanie saw us from across the way and scampered over, smiling and waving. She stopped both when she got a look at my eye.
“Ew! Oh, er, I mean, oh! That’s a … well … I suppose that explains why Devin won’t be joining us this morning. His mother mentioned something about it on the phone, but … well … yes…,” she said. She was wearing sunglasses, and she slid them down to peer at my face. She bit her lower lip—she used a lot of shiny pink lip gloss—and then forced herself to smile again. “I guess hair and makeup have their work cut out for them this morning! We’d better get started right away!”
She led my dad and me through a big set of metal doors into a wide concrete hallway. It was much darker than the parking lot, and it took a while for my eyes to adjust. Still, I could see that the hall was lined with all kinds of things: stacks of wood; huge, black-painted banks of lights; tables stacked top to top; and long ladders. It made me think of my dream, and I shuddered.
“The dressing rooms are back this way, through the soundstage,” Stephanie said. “Ready to see our set?”
There was a curtain over the entrance, and a man dressed in all black swept it to the side for us. He had a headset on, and the wires dangling from it connected to multiple little boxes on his belt. Beyond the curtain, there were a dozen more men and women dressed the same, all scurrying along. They were moving things, pushing stuff, climbing around, and constantly talking, though it was impossible to tell if they were speaking to the person in front of them or someone in their mics.
It was easy to see why there were so many stage crew members. The room was huge. On one side was a big section of risers, kind of like the ones in the gym at school, only these were padded and looked more comfortable. The risers sat on a round platform, and to my surprise, they started to rotate. I realized it was so the audience could see the different sections of the Darcy and Rob set, which was to the right.
If giants were given a fancy house to dissect in science class, the result might have been something like what I saw. There was a bright, cheerful-looking living room with a little table in the middle. A vase of fresh flowers sat on the table. To one side of the table was a couch, lots of pillows piled along the seat. On the other side were two chairs, one white and one brown. Plenty of light streamed in through windows on the side and from a chandelier above the table, and a colorful circular carpet rested on the floor in front of the furniture. Or, it would’ve been a circular carpet if it hadn’t been sliced right down the middle. There was no proper ceiling, either; the chandelier hung from a complicated nest of pipes, wires, and other lights that seemed to go on up into the blackness forever. The light from the window was the result of a huge spotlight behind a blue-tinted sheet. The closer I looked, the less like sunlight it seemed.
Next to the carved-up living room was a half kitchen. There was a refrigerator, a stove, a microwave, and all sorts of machines on the countertops. As we walked by, I realized none of them were plugged in. It was all fake.
It still might have been better than a huge hole in the kitchen floor, though.
“Here we are!” said Stephanie when we had made it past the set. She ushered me into a little room, where two younger women guided me to a chair. The desk nearby had a big mirror, and it was surrounded by bare lightbulbs.
“This is Vic and Casey. They’ll know just what to do about that eye. Any questions before I go?”
My dad confirmed the time I’d go on and asked if we’d get to meet Darcy and Rob before the show started.
“Hmm,” she said as she thought, and she took out her phone to check the time. “Afraid not. Normally I’d say yes, but with that shiner, Addison’s going to need a lot more chair time. Don’t worry, though. They’re super-friendly, and I’m sure he’ll do absolutely fine. They know he’s a kid. They’re not going to interrogate him or anything. Just some easy questions. All he’s really got to do is smile and be chatty. You can handle that, right, Addison?”
Agree.
NOPE.
Nod.
NOPE.
My dad put his hand on my shoulder and said, “He’ll be fine. Thank you, Stephanie.”
“Good!” she said, beaming. “One of the crew will come get you when it’s time, and she’ll bring you all the way up to the entrance. There’s a red-light-green-light system set up at the back end of the set, right next to the door you’ll use to get on stage. Just wait for that light to turn green, and on you go!”
“And on you go,” Dad repeated once she’d left. He squeezed my shoulder. “I know this is not going to be easy for you, Addison.”
“Nervous?” Casey asked. She had a long plastic tray in her hand with ovals of color running along it. It reminded me of the cheap paint kits we used in art class, only the colors in hers weren’t smeared together into the same dark blackish-green.
“Yeah,” I admitted, happy that I’d gotten my vocal cords working. I think it helped that she was looking down at her palette instead of at me. She had a puffy brush, and she was dabbing it into one of the lighter brown colors. I thought she was going to powder my face with it, but from the other side, Vic pressed something cold, wet, and squishy right beneath my black eye. It stung.
“Just a bit of foundation to cover up the bruising,” Vic explained. The dusty stuff came after that. I had never put on makeup before, much less blush or eyeliner, but they used it all. When they were done, they swiveled my chair so I could see the mirror. Amazingly, I could barely see any of the black eye. I blinked and opened my mouth wide, then closed it. The makeup was so thick I could actually feel every little part of my face moving. I reached up, worried that it was going to flake off and fall into my lap or something.
“Don’t touch it, big guy,” Casey warned. “It’ll smudge. I know it’s weird. Just imagine what it’s like to be an actor in a sci-fi movie. You should see some of the makeup they have to wear!”
Vic and Casey started talking about different space movies as they finished up. It was comforting having them chat over me, kind of like I was a statue they were sculpting. My face certainly felt like it was made of clay, and I kept moving my mouth aro
und, watching my reflection in the mirror. Did I always look so old?
It was right about as Casey brought up the newest Marvel movie that a stage manager poked her head in.
“Is Addison ready?” she asked, swiping her headset mic out of the way.
Vic stared closely at my face. She reached up with her pinkie nail and flicked an eyelash off my cheek. Then she nodded.
“Have fun, Addison!” Casey said as she nudged me forward. My dad gave me a double thumbs-up. I took a few deep breaths and tried to swallow. It wasn’t easy.
The stage manager led me around the back of the fake kitchen, hopping over wires, dodging other crew members, and finally settling right beneath the red lightbulb. Then she hunched down and crooked her finger to let me know I should join her. Once I squatted next to her, she leaned in, her forehead nearly touching mine. She smelled like coffee.
“All right, kid,” she whispered, just like Coach in the last two minutes of a nail-biter. “When that light hits green, here’s what you’re gonna do: push the door open, step through, then immediately shut it. We don’t want the audience or cameras picking up that there isn’t a lovely old oak tree, a tire swing, and an aw-shucks-isn’t-that-adorable picket fence out here, you get my drift?”
I nodded.
“Good. Once you shut the door, you turn to face the audience. Smile and wave, but don’t do it for any longer than three seconds or you look ridiculous. Also, don’t count the three seconds out loud; the mic will pick it up if you do. When you’re done, stop waving, but keep smiling. Walk around to the right of the couch. That’s your right, not the camera’s right. Darcy and Rob will be standing. Give Darcy a hug, but make sure to keep your face to the left of hers—that’s your left, not Darcy’s. If you go in on the right, your chin will brush her mic, and the audience will get an earful of you two snuggling. Darcy will pat your back twice to let you know when to disengage. Once you do, reach over with your right hand to shake with Rob. That’s your right, not his. Then you can sit down on the couch. Give the audience another wave, because they’ll still be clapping. When they quiet down, Darcy will lead off. Her lines are on the teleprompter. You look at her, not the prompter. After that, it’s just keeping your eyes on the person who asked you the last question—let us worry about camera angles and all that. Understood?”
I closed my eyes, trying to imagine it like a play drawn up on Coach’s whiteboard. It helped, even though Coach had never told us to hug the other team before. When I thought I had the basics down, I murmured, “Yeah.”
She nodded, then reached up to clip something to my collar.
“This is your mic. Gonna attach the pack to your belt. Don’t mess with it, or I’ll personally track you down and murder you.”
My eyes widened.
“Nah, just kidding,” she whispered, winking. She fiddled with a few dials, then flipped a switch. Then she pressed a finger to my lips. “But seriously, kid. Don’t mess with it.”
I reached up to cross my heart, and she gave me a thumbs-up.
“You’re live in thirty seconds. Mic will be hot in thirty-five. Welcome to Mornings with Darcy and Rob!”
I felt a little bead of sweat roll from my armpit, tickling my rib cage. I should’ve been going over the stage manager’s instructions, but instead I spent the final thirty seconds before my talk-show debut sniffing myself. I had remembered to put on deodorant, at least.
Not a great last thought to be pondering as the light hit green.
I shot up, reaching for the doorknob, but I went in too fast. My fingertips smacked into the knob, and the pain was so bad my eyes nearly crossed. Quickly, I used my other hand to turn the knob, and I kicked the door open with my foot. The roar of applause overwhelmed me—it was much louder than I thought it’d be. It actually hurt my ears. Worse, the lights were right in my face, and instinctively, I lifted my hand to shield my eyes.
What was supposed to be a smile-and-wave turned into a wince-and-block. Several seconds ticked by, and I could hear my brain starting to tear.
But I didn’t need to think. I had a game plan.
I stepped around the couch to my right.
Darcy was standing there applauding, all blond hair and green suit and jingly bracelets. I leaned down to hug her.
My left.
When I moved over to shake Rob’s hand, he was already waiting with it extended. Then, abruptly, he pulled it back.
“Whoa, there, Michael Jackson!” he said. “Nice glove!”
And just like that, my game plan fell apart.
I kept my hand sticking out there. He was supposed to shake it. Why wasn’t he shaking it?
A bit of dark blood bloomed in the padding at the tip of my middle finger. I must have hit it even harder than I thought. Rob turned to the audience, chuckled, and pointed at me. “Kid really likes his handshakes! Must’ve been what he was looking for when he reached out to catch that friend of his!”
The audience erupted in laughter. I pulled my hand back and tried to shove it in my pocket. It wouldn’t fit with the glove on, though.
“Just kidding, Addison!” Rob said. “Let’s try the other hand!”
He reached down with both hands, grabbed my left, and shook it warmly. He had a closely trimmed beard, a receding hairline, and big shoulders. When he smiled, his nostrils flared, and I could see the hair in there, too. It reminded me to keep staring at him as he talked.
“Have a seat, Mr. Hero!” Rob continued, and he pointed at the couch behind me.
Darcy added, “Yes! Join us! We’ve been dying to meet the internet’s newest sensation and Los Angeles’s best catcher since Mike Piazza!”
I stumbled back onto the couch. The seat was harder than I expected, and I bounced a bit as I sat. I tried to keep my eyes on Darcy, but I might as well have been staring right at the spotlight, her hair and jewelry were so shiny. So I dared a glance at the audience.
I couldn’t see anything. It was like the world stopped right where the carpet was cut in two. I knew they were out there because I could hear them, but for all I could tell, the world beyond the stage might have been swallowed up into space. It meant I couldn’t find my dad, or Stephanie, or Vic, or Casey, or anyone. It felt even scarier than the principal’s office.
And this time, I didn’t have Devin to help me.
“Well, as many of you know,” Darcy exclaimed as she sat down, “Addison Gerhardt is the boy responsible for the highlight play of last Saturday’s Clippers game—and he managed to pull it off while being over a hundred yards from the court! Check it out!”
Darcy pointed out into the darkness. I peered. Still nothing. Rob leaned over and tapped my leg. “We’re showing your clip for eight seconds. It’ll be on the TV screens for the viewers.”
I tried to thank him for the explanation, but he looked away and made a little cutting gesture with his hand. Man, eight seconds went by quickly.
“Just amazing, Addison!” Darcy said. “So, I think what everyone is wondering is what led up to that incredible, terrifying moment. Can you tell us a little about that?”
They both smiled broadly, and Darcy rested her elbows on her knees and leaned toward me.
Talk about what happened.
NOPE.
Pretend you’re sick and run!
NOPE.
Go find Dad!
NOPE.
Darcy kept smiling. Rob made a little wheel motion with his fingers. Another trickle of sweat danced down the back of my neck.
“I mean,” Rob said, “we saw on Twitter that the other kid was a friend of yours. That must have been scary, seeing your friend go over the edge like that, right?”
I tried to say “Uh-huh,” but all that came out was a “Huh!” like someone had punched me in the gut. Somebody in the audience coughed. Darcy reached down to get a drink of water from a blue mug next to the flower vase.
“Yeah, I bet it was scary,” she said, her smile fading fast. “But not as much as live TV, am I right?”
The a
udience giggled, and Rob slapped his knee.
“Sure seems like it, Darse! Maybe this one will spark a bit of the old conversation.…”
I watched as his eyes flicked toward the teleprompter. I knew I wasn’t supposed to look, but I did anyway. It was a see-through screen near the biggest of the cameras, and little ghostlike words scrolled down. He read them off.
“Have you talked to the boy you saved since that evening? What did you say, or what would you say now if you could?”
I barely heard the question. I was praying that the teleprompter would have some words for me, too. But it didn’t. His question floated up to the top of the screen, then sat there, nothing but emptiness beneath.
“C’mon, Addison. It’s just us here. You can talk to us,” Darcy urged.
“And, well, the rest of Los Angeles, and America!” Rob laughed. Then he turned right to the camera and said quickly, “Mornings with Darcy and Rob, now in syndication five days a week. Check local listings for great fun and fascinating interviews, which are apparently just as good on mute as they are with the volume up!”
The audience laughed again, but not as hard as they had before.
Darcy patted my shoulder. “You wouldn’t say anything to … Devin? That’s his name, right?”
Frantically, I tried to think. But my throat was closed, and I couldn’t come up with any words. There were none on the teleprompter.
There were none in my brain, except maybe NOPE.
But, I realized, there were some in my shoe.
When I leaned down to tug my left loafer off, Darcy flinched. I turned it over and shook it until my note to Devin fell into my lap.
“Here,” I managed to mumble. “Hold this.”
And then I handed Darcy Warren, the former Miss California and the cohost of Los Angeles’s biggest talk show, my brother’s old shoe. She took it by the toe, pinching it between her thumb and index finger like something she had just pulled out of a shower drain.
I unfolded the note carefully. A lot of the pencil was smudged, and I had sweat through it a little bit, but it didn’t tear. When I had it open, I laid it on my leg and smoothed my palm over it. It crinkled softly under my shaking hands.