“Yes. It is safe to say that I forgive you.”
“Good. ’Cause I’m really sorry. For real this time.”
“You made that crystal clear.” Giant beaming smile that took up her whole face.
Oliver let out a big sigh. “Okay.”
“Okay.”
He shifted from foot to foot. “I know that asking about fist-pounding moments takes the momentum out of them, but I actually don’t know if this is one.”
“It’s not.”
His stomach dropped. “Oh.”
“It’s a hugging moment.”
And she hugged him.
Kevin caught Oliver’s eye and mouthed “More than friends, bro.”
Oliver let go first because he wasn’t really sure how long you’re supposed to hug someone, even if you’re pretty sure they like you more than a friend. “We’ve got some work to do, huh?”
“We do.”
“You wanna come over, maybe?”
“Maybe after I eat breakfast. And after I change out of my pajamas. And you change out of your wool pants.”
Oliver almost forgot it wasn’t even eight thirty. “Right.”
“You should have kissed her,” Kevin said. They were back in the basement waiting for Ella. Oliver couldn’t ever remember feeling better in his life. It was like a sumo wrestler had decided to get off his chest. “One last plot twist, and then the resolution. That’s the make-out session. The story would be complete.”
“Wouldn’t that mess up the group chemistry?”
“I think we’ve all come to realize you two are very capable of messing things up sans make-out. Besides—the project is pretty much over.”
Oliver was actually kind of sad about that. Would he and Ella still see each other? Would he and Kevin? Hal was probably out of the picture.
“What will we do, you and me?” Oliver asked. It was a logical question. The only thing binding them now was Private Stone. “I mean like, when we’re hanging out and stuff after all this is over?”
“I assume we’ll continue to eat a lot of Cheez-Its,” Kevin said. “And I’ve been meaning to introduce you to Clash of Clans. I know, I know—you don’t like video games. But they’re supposedly making a Civil War version.”
“Cool.”
The basement door opened and Ella came down the steps.
“Where’d the flags go?” she asked.
“Took ’em down last night.”
“How come?”
“Just felt like it was time.”
Ella plopped down next to him and unpacked her laptop and binder. “I figure we don’t have much work left. Really just minor changes and tweaks. I say we hook this up to the TV and watch from start to finish, take notes, and then combine our thoughts.”
“The Head Writing Consultant agrees,” Kevin said.
“Same,” Oliver said.
“The Head Writing Consultant is also thirsty, and will return with drinks.” Kevin bounded up the steps.
Oliver brought the laptop over to the TV and started finding the right cords. “Think we’ll get a hundred percent?”
“Maybe.”
“Don’t you need a perfect score to pass seventh grade?”
“Not anymore. I completed a bunch of missing assignments last night for some other classes when I got home.”
“Really?”
Ella chewed on the inside of her cheek. “Last night you said something that made a lot of sense to me.”
“Last night I was a gigantic moronic idiot—”
“Maybe, but you weren’t wrong. What you said about my plan—about the message I was trying to send my family by dressing a certain way and failing. You were right: I was hiding too.” Ella shook her head. “I didn’t realize until last night how exhausting it all was. So . . . thanks, I guess. Thanks for helping me see that.”
“I don’t really deserve a thank-you.”
“Yeah, you do. And an apology. What I said about you hiding up on your Civil War mountain—that was mean. Really mean. As soon as I said it I felt awful. I’m sorry I steamrolled you on your H. Weller thing.”
He shrugged. “It’s okay. I never heard anything back from the emails anyway.”
Ella nodded. “I guess I thought I wanted to find out about Susanna because I really, really wanted Stone to matter. I needed him to matter.” The wobble in her voice was back. “I felt like I was him: a tiny person in a family that cares about big things like money and work and being smart. I felt like nobody cared about my story that wasn’t nearly as interesting.”
Oliver felt guilt wash over him. “That makes sense.”
Ella got off the couch and joined him by the TV. She sat on her knees and looked him in the eye. It was very likely this was a dream. “Thanks, Ollie.”
“For what?”
“For the song. For always sticking up for me with my family.”
Oliver could hear Kevin yelling in his head.
Kiss.
Her.
NOW.
Was he at the resolution of his own story?
“Coming in hot.” Kevin threw something at Oliver as he stomped down the steps. “Oh—crap—”
Oliver reached up to grab the flying Capri Sun. It was instinct. Maybe if he’d been an athlete it would have been a more graceful instinct. But Oliver wasn’t an athlete. He hated ball sports because he sucked at them.
And because he sucked, Oliver didn’t catch the Capri Sun.
It hit him directly in the face.
And he dropped Ella’s laptop.
—CHAPTER FORTY-THREE—
THE ALL DAY/NIGHTER
“Crap crap crap,” Kevin said.
Oliver stared at the laptop through one eye. His other one was watering from being hit with a Capri Sun.
Ella tried the power button again.
Nothing.
“Maybe it’s just the battery,” Oliver said. This couldn’t be happening. It just couldn’t. Not after all the work they’d done—not after the roller coaster of the last twenty-four hours. “Plug it in.”
Ella dug the charger out of her backpack and connected it. The beacon lit up green.
Full battery.
“Crap crap CRAP!” Kevin shouted. “I ruined everything.”
“I dropped it,” Oliver said, trying to make Kevin feel better.
“Crap crap crap crap,” Kevin murmured. He started pacing around like a possessed robot. “Mother. Freaking. CRAP!”
The only person who didn’t seem worried was Ella.
In fact, she looked the opposite of worried.
She looked . . . amused.
And now she was laughing.
It was a full body laugh that shook her shoulders and made tears stream down her cheeks. She was laughing so hard, she looked like she was sobbing.
“Ella.” Oliver wondered if maybe she was losing it. “Uh. Are you okay?”
She waved him off, wiped tears from her face, and then flopped onto the couch. She calmed down for a second, and then burst out laughing again.
“She’s snapped,” Kevin said. “CRAP!”
“I’m . . . fine . . .” Ella gasped. “I’m fine.” She wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands. “Okay. For real this time: I’m fine. It’s just unbelievable, isn’t it? I mean, after three weeks of research, hours of filming, a trip to Gettysburg . . . this happens.”
“I’ll pay for it,” Oliver promised. “It might take a while, but I’ve got some birthday money saved up—”
“I don’t care about the computer,” she said. “It was a Trojan horse anyway.”
“A what?”
Ella looked at the laptop like she was glad it had died a sudden death. “My parents got me this a month ago—said it was an early birthday gift. Six months early.” She sighed. “I knew it was a
trick because we met with Mrs. Fastbender a week later and they both kept bringing up how they were doing everything they could to help me at home—even buying me my own laptop.”
“Oh.” But Oliver still didn’t see the humor here. Their project was lost. “Maybe Mr. Carrow will give us an extension.”
“Not a three-week extension,” Kevin said. “It’ll take forever to re-create this thing.”
Ella stood up and smoothed out her ponytail. She walked to the computer, tried to turn it on again, and finally shut the lid. “No, it won’t.”
“What?”
“It won’t take three weeks. I don’t even think it will take more than a day. And maybe a night.”
“You think we can redo the entire thing for tomorrow?” Oliver said. “That’s insane.”
“No, it’s not.” She walked to the butcher paper story-board still hanging on the wall. “I still have all the raw footage on my iPhone, and my dad has a MacBook Pro I can use to edit. We have Kevin’s finished script. We just have to throw it all together. Again.”
Kevin had stopped saying crap long enough to nod.
“But the editing,” Oliver said. “That’ll take more than a day.”
“No it won’t,” Ella said. “I’ve gotten pretty good, and I know exactly where to cut each shot already.” Ella looked at both of them. “Guys: We can do this.”
Oliver couldn’t believe he was actually starting to buy it. But they didn’t really have a choice. The thing was due tomorrow.
“Okay.” He nodded. “Let’s do it.”
As soon as Charlie dropped off Ella’s dad’s laptop, they dove in headfirst. Yeah, there were a few disasters, like when Oliver accidentally clicked on a pop-up spyware ad and they got the spinning wheel of death for twenty minutes before restarting the computer and praising Steve Jobs for iMovie’s autosave feature. But then Ella would say something encouraging and Kevin would crack a joke about that time they had to redo an entire project in one day and Oliver would forget the insanity of it all. They were making it happen.
And parts of the documentary got better, like when Ella suggested they reshoot Stone’s death in the guest room upstairs because of the lighting. She even starred as Susanna Wentworth to play up the romantic tragedy angle, and while it murdered Oliver’s abs all over again, the performance no longer screamed This was made by a thirteen-year-old. Addie pitched in by looking up Civil War sheet music and recording it on her keyboard to save them time during editing. Oliver’s mom bussed them sandwiches (and Cheez-Its) to keep up their energy. Capri Suns were not allowed. Oliver’s dad drove Ella’s laptop all the way into Philly just to see if the Apple tech nerds could get anything off the hard drive. They couldn’t.
“Good,” Kevin said. “I think we’re doing it way better anyway this time.”
By dark Ella had trimmed all the footage and was halfway through redoing the title with Kevin. There was nothing for Oliver to do until they finished, so he collapsed onto his bed.
The basement lights were dimmed when he woke up. He could see Ella’s face glowing in the light of the computer screen. He heard the rapid clicking of her mouse and he knew she was slaying it.
The clock read 9:38. He’d slept for almost two hours.
Oliver rubbed his eyes and wandered into the bathroom to drink a gallon of water. Near the couch he almost kicked Kevin, who was sprawled on the floor, drool flowing freely from his mouth, crumpled copies of the script in his hands. Oliver stepped over him and settled in beside Ella.
“How’s it going?” Oliver whispered.
Ella took her earbuds out. “Good. Almost done.”
He watched her drag and drop some transitions in, rewind to view, and then make some small changes. She was like a Hollywood editor whiz kid. How could he ever have doubted her documentary skills?
“Should we record somewhere else, so we don’t wake him?” Oliver asked, nodding at Kevin.
“Nah. He’s a deep sleeper. I sneezed three times in a row pretty loud and he didn’t move.” Ella nodded proudly at the screen. “Okay. I think we’re ready for you.”
Oliver gently took the script from the out-like-a-bear Kevin and plugged in the laptop mic. He cleared his throat a couple of times and then launched into his lines. It started out pretty rough—lots of false starts, as his brain was still waking up—but soon he got into a rhythm. Every now and again Ella would tell him to redo one, and he didn’t argue. She was the director here—she always had been. He’d just been too blind and stubborn to see that she was trying to make pure gold.
He finished just after midnight.
“Fourteen hours and fifty-two minutes,” he said. “We redid an entire project in fourteen hours and fifty-two minutes.”
“Let’s watch it.”
Oliver walked the laptop to the TV like it was a packet of dynamite. After hooking everything up, he sat back down on the couch. He wasn’t sure if he’d sat closer to Ella, or if she’d scooched closer to him, but they were definitely sitting really close, and neither of them seemed to mind.
“Should we wake the Head Writing Consultant?” Oliver asked.
“No. Just us.”
Oliver was down with that.
For the next nine minutes they watched the day’s furious work play out on screen. Ella took notes along the way, but Oliver just stared. He was mesmerized. It really was good.
No—it was great.
When it ended Ella reopened iMovie and fiddled around with tiny changes, then they watched it again. She must have been satisfied, because when the screen went black she just sat there. Her head fell onto Oliver’s shoulder.
“We did it.”
If Kevin weren’t snoring, he’d probably shout for Oliver to JUST KISS HER ALREADY.
And Oliver wanted to. He didn’t know how to do it, exactly, but he wanted to.
But he didn’t need to.
This was enough.
Sitting in the dark with a girl he thought more intricately cool and genuinely beautiful than anyone he’d ever met.
A girl who could do the most amazing card tricks you’d ever seen.
A girl who thought reenacting the Civil War was cool.
A girl who could and would destroy you in a hot-dog-eating contest.
Ella Berry.
The greatest girl he’d ever known.
—CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR—
THE DESCENDANT
“Okay gang, listen up.” Mr. Carrow sat on the auditorium stage and waited for the scattered conversations to end. “We’re gonna see four documentaries today. You’ve got your rubrics. Tomorrow we’ll be back in my room for a gallery of the exhibits, and then in the lab Thursday to check out the websites and papers.” He held up the worksheet. “Score as you see fit, but remember this is not a popularity contest. Be fair. The project with the highest scores will receive a prize so amazing that if I told you what it was, your head would explode.”
Oliver saw Ian shoot up his hand.
“There’s no prize, is there?” Ian asked.
“The prize is your grade. So, yes, technically there is.”
“I’m really nervous,” Oliver whispered to Ella. “My face is about to be on a gigantic screen in front of the entire class.”
“I like your face.”
Oliver decided it was safe to assume they were more than friends. “Should we tell Mr. Carrow we did the whole thing yesterday?”
“No way.”
“Deal.”
Oliver’s stomach got tighter by the minute as they watched the other documentaries. One of them was good; one was okay. The last one was just terrible. In general they all used still photographs instead of footage, and the voiceovers weren’t always in sync with the images. Sometimes you couldn’t hear them at all because the music was too loud; other times the mic was scratchy. Oliver thought Ella should be a consulting
director or something for middle school film projects. She would have caught stuff like that.
“Last one, gang,” Mr. Carrow said from the rear of the auditorium. “Bring me your flash drive, Ollie.”
Oliver walked back and gave his teacher the memory stick. Based on everything that had happened, he half expected the file to be corrupted, but Mr. Carrow opened it, no problem.
“Just waiting for Mrs. Mason and Kevin to join us,” Mr. Carrow said. “Hey. I heard a rumor that some kids almost got arrested yesterday for disturbing the peace in one of the neighborhoods. Something about singing ‘The Battle Hymn of the Republic’? Apparently there was a snare drum. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
Oliver hid a smile. “Nope.”
The rear auditorium door opened and Kevin bounced in. Mrs. Mason trailed after him with a man wearing a really nice suit. He was tall with dark hair and looked the same age as Oliver’s dad.
“Who’s that?” Oliver asked as he and Kevin headed to their seats.
“No idea,” Kevin said. “He was waiting in the office when we walked by. He chatted with Mason and then tagged along.”
Oliver slipped back into his seat as Addie’s piano track floated through the auditorium. The lights lowered. His heart pounded.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” he mumbled.
Ella grabbed his hand and interlaced their fingers. “There’s nothing to do now but watch.”
The whole handholding thing made everything a little hazy. The nine-minute documentary seemed to go by in seconds. Suddenly people were clapping a little. The lights went on and everyone was filling out their rubrics. Ian turned around and said something to Oliver about putting it on YouTube.
It was over.
“Another round of applause for all of our documentaries,” Mr. Carrow said. The students clapped and whistled. “Now get out of my face and go to lunch.”
The trio shuffled out of their row with the rest of the herd. Oliver glanced back and saw Mrs. Mason chatting with Tall Suit Guy.
“I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up,” Kevin said, “but one day we might look back at this documentary as the moment that catapulted us all into greatness.”
The Not-So-Boring Letters of Private Nobody Page 17