by Jen Brady
I was going to kill my sister.
“Who deleted what?” Ted asked.
“Mya deleted our files. That’s why she wanted to see me work on it so badly. She wanted to gloat over my reaction. Now I have to redo everything I did today because you and Megs wouldn’t let me back it up on the flash drive before we left.”
We’d also have to load all the files from the flash drive back into the “My Files” section of the online software. What a pain. Like Mya herself. We really needed to lock our studio somehow.
I yanked the top drawer of my desk open to grab the flash drive, but it wasn’t on top of the pile of random items shoved in the drawer like it usually was. I stuck my hand into the drawer and fished around.
“Where is it?”
“You probably left it out,” Ted said, moving next to me and picking up a couple of scattered pages of notes on top of the desk. He picked up a pink sash that had been part of the Lady Zara costume and moved it to the side. “Actually, I don’t see it here.”
Panic was starting to creep in. With the online files deleted, that flash drive held the only copies of everything we’d done on our movie since Vance had announced the contest at the end of June. I needed it to reupload our files. I couldn’t have lost the flash drive. I’d had it right before we left for the movie.
I scooped all the odds and ends from the drawer up in both hands and deposited them on the desk, then fanned everything out.
No flash drive . . . which meant some bratty little princess was holding it for ransom of some sort—probably a trip to the mall.
“I’m going to kill her,” I said through clenched teeth.
I thundered down two sets of stairs. Mya now sat next to Bethany on the couch, popping potato chips into her mouth, a smug smile on her face, looking as if she were dying to spill the beans on a big secret. I was pretty sure I knew what the secret was.
“Where is it?” I demanded.
Bethany turned toward me and startled, her eyes getting huge and alarmed when she saw my face. “What’s wrong?”
Her reaction told me I must’ve looked like a crazy person. I’m sure I did if I looked anything like I felt.
Footsteps sounded down the steps behind me, and Ted’s hand touched my shoulder. “JoJo?”
I thrust my hand out, palm up, and stalked toward Mya. “Give me the flash drive. Now.”
Bethany stood, shielding Mya from me and dumping kittens off her lap. “Mya wouldn’t take your flash drive. I’m sure you just misplaced it.”
“Oh, no. She has it. She deleted the entire folder from my computer and stole the backup flash drive. And I didn’t have a chance to transfer the latest files before we left for the movie, so she just set us back a day.”
“Relax, spazoid,” Mya said with a smirk. “It’s not your only backup.”
“Yes, it is.”
The color drained instantly from her face, and the satisfied smirk turned to shock. “But you saved it in the Cloud or something, right?”
“No, Mya, now give me the flash drive before something happens to it.”
“But you guys always save to the Cloud Drive.”
“We used to,” Ted said. I felt him closing the space between us until he stood right behind me. “But we ran out of space on that thing months ago. That’s why we finally got a subscription to Wrap Up Pro instead of using the free version. Unlimited storage space.”
“But, but, but . . . .” Mya’s face was so white she looked like she was about to pass out, perhaps like a dying Chihuahua with epilepsy. “But you always save it to the Cloud!”
My temples started pounding in tune with my racing heartbeat. My vision clouded over. She was way too concerned about us having a backup on the Cloud. If something had happened to our only backup drive . . . .
“Give. It. To Me,” I said through clenched teeth, drawing out each word. “Now.”
“I don’t have it.” Tears sprang to her eyes. “The Cloud . . . .”
I leaned forward, barely aware that my hands had balled into fists by my side. “Where is it?”
Mya’s lower lip quivered, and the troughs of tears pooling in her eyes spilled over, leaving a wet trail down each of her cheeks. Sheesh, dramatic much? She opened her mouth and said something, but only a breathy squeak came out.
“What did you say?” Bethany asked.
“I threw it in the river.”
Time stopped for a moment. The rushing in my head peaked to a crescendo as my reeling brain processed everything:
Our movie files had been deleted from the storage space in our online software program.
They weren’t in the Cloud.
My sister had thrown our only backup drive into the river that ran through the woods behind our houses.
We had nothing to enter in the contest in less than three weeks.
I wouldn’t get linked to by Vance Sanders.
My subscribers (and therefore video views) wouldn’t skyrocket.
I wouldn’t be able to afford film school.
I would be stuck in this boring town leading a boring existence for the rest of my boring life.
Bethany could tell what I was going to do before even I realized. “Joanna, no.” She put her arm up.
But her peacemaking nature was no match for my rage. I knocked her arm out of the way and lunged at Mya, grabbing her by the shoulders. We fell to the floor in a pile of kicking, screaming, and hair pulling. Bethany shrieked and jumped onto the couch, like she’d seen a mouse scurry across the floor.
I pummeled my fists toward Mya. I’d give her a nose that actually needed CGI help! She kept blubbering incoherently about saving files to the Cloud while blocking my smacks.
I felt Ted’s arm circle around my waist, and he yanked me off of her with a grunt. She scurried out from underneath me and backed against the easy chair. The look in her eyes was pure terror.
“I didn’t mean to. I thought it would just mess up what you did today!”
“Nice, Mya,” Ted snapped as he dragged me up the stairs toward our studio. “That was my movie, too.”
Mya’s blubbering turned into wails. My rage gave way to exhaustion, and I stopped fighting Ted. We sank down onto the small landing floor between flights of stairs, and I buried my face in his chest and let the tears fall. His arms wrapped around me. They were the only thing keeping me from either killing my sister or fainting (probably even less gracefully than a dying Chihuahua).
“Shh,” he hushed over and over, tracing soothing circles on my back. “We’ll do it over.”
I took a deep breath and hiccupped. “We can’t do it over. There’s not enough time. It’s gone, Teddy. It’s gone.”
My entire life—all my carefully crafted plans for the future—had changed with a flick of Princess Mya’s wrist.
8
RICK
I SPENT THE MAJORITY of New Year’s Eve day freaking out. I couldn’t even get into our annual December 31 viewing of Dinner for One, that’s how freaked out I was about my camera issues. Every other year, I’d laughed my head off while watching, especially when the guy on the movie tripped over the same rug repeatedly. Today, it just wasn’t amusing, and I wanted to yell, “Walk around it, dude! You know it’s there!”
After a day of searching every help forum in existence and trying every “fix” that was promised to work, my camera still wouldn’t turn on.
I was flat broke, so purchasing a new one was out of the question. I knew it was a long-shot, but that evening, I broached the subject of my parents loaning me the money. It wasn’t the best timing because they were rushing around getting ready for friends to come over to celebrate, but I couldn’t wait because of the approaching deadline.
Unsurprisingly, they didn’t jump on the idea.
“Maybe this is a blessing in disguise,” Dad said as he shredded cabbage into the gigantor pot he was using to make a crap-ton of sauerkraut and pork that we’d be eating for the next six months. “It’s a sign that you’re far too focus
ed on this movie business.”
“But, Dad, I’m in this film competition, and—”
“Which will only distract you from your studies.”
“I’ll be done with my entry before second semester starts.”
“You still haven’t gone through the course books to choose your major.”
More and more cabbage went into the pot. The thought of having to eat all that sauerkraut made my stomach churn. I like it, but after a couple of weeks it gets old, and Dad was making enough to last for months.
“Why are you making so much?”
My dad looked up at me and furrowed his eyebrows like he didn’t understand the question. “Silvester is today.” He always calls it Silvester, no matter how many times I remind him we say New Year’s here.
“Yes, I know, and we have the pork and sauerkraut you already made for tonight. We really don’t need that much more.”
“Of course, we do. Do you not want good luck and good fortune this year?”
All I wanted was a video camera that worked. Not some dumb European good luck myth. If your luck for the entire year comes down to how much fermented cabbage you can fit in a pot, you’ve got issues.
“Grab a knife and help chop,” he suggested. “I want to get this finished before Minna and the boys get here.”
Reluctantly, I took a knife out of the drawer. There were about three hundred things I’d rather be doing than chopping cabbage, but I had a better chance of getting him to listen if I was helpful. My parents had invited two couples, the Hubers and the Konigs, as well as my sister and her two kids, over for the evening. Maybe if I was extra helpful, I could get him to agree to the loan.
Mom bustled into the kitchen with a large bin from the basement marked “NYE.” She removed its dusty top and proceeded to take out a million hats, streamers, and noisemakers. Between all the party favors and the never-ending pot of cabbage, it looked like we were hosting the entire neighborhood, not just our family and a few friends from church.
Minna and her kids arrived early, and then mass chaos descended, so I never had a chance to ask about a new camera again. We Skyped the fireworks in Dresden with my aunts, uncles, and cousins, and I played Monopoly with my nephews so Minna could help my parents get things ready. Their guests arrived, and we had dinner. I went immediately to bed after watching the ball drop and toasting the New Year.
The entire time, my mood vacillated between nervous and depressed. I’d come so far with my documentary. I only had one interview and some odds and ends left to film. I couldn’t be stopped at the last hour by a faulty on/off switch.
I WAS UP BRIGHT AND early the next morning. Minna and the kids had left right after the ball dropped, but my parents’ friends had stayed well into the night, so Mom and Dad were still asleep, which left the house quiet as I dressed, grabbed some of the leftover fondue and pretzels Mrs. Konig had brought for last night’s dinner, and tried the most common fixes on my camera one last time. Ten minutes before the mall officially opened, I grabbed my keys and headed to the garage.
The drive to Concord Crossings seemed to take forever as worst-case scenarios flooded my mind. There had to be something the guys at the Fix-it Force counter of the electronics store could do. I parked and entered the mall, then took the escalator up to the third floor.
A worker was pushing the security grate to the store open when I arrived at the door. I followed him in and headed straight for the Fix-It Force counter. I waited anxiously for almost a minute, then rang the bell when none of the employees showed up.
I was about to hit the bell again when a green-poloed, khaki-pants-wearing guy who looked about mid-twenties trudged over to me. He plodded behind the counter without much enthusiasm. When he turned to look at me and say, “Welcome to the Fix-It Force counter. How may I help you?” I could tell he’d been up late last night. His red-rimmed, drooping eyes screamed New Year’s hangover.
“My video camera won’t turn on,” I said, setting it on the counter. “I’ve tried searching how to fix it, but nothing’s worked.”
The guy fiddled with it for a minute and asked me a couple of questions.
“Unfortunately, I’ve seen this before,” he finally said. “After a while, the switches just wear out on these.”
“Can you fix it?”
He shook his head slowly. “This is an older model. No one really works on these anymore. It’ll run you more to replace the switch than it would to purchase a new camera, and I’d have to send it out.”
“You don’t sell used equipment, do you?”
“Not this time of year. Check back in the spring when everyone’s tired of their new toys or given up on their New Year’s resolution hobby.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled, but spring would be too late. I had to get my hands on a camera within the next two weeks.
Just for kicks, I wandered the store, checking the prices on new digital video cameras. Even the cheapest ones were out of my current price range. I stood stumped in the camera aisle, mentally going through the list of other stores in the mall that might have what I needed at a price I could afford.
The Fix-It Force guy half-heartedly welcomed another customer. I was about to leave and see if I could find anything promising on Craigslist when I heard the customer answer.
“Some important files got deleted, and I’m wondering if you could help us get them back.”
I froze. I’d recognize that mesmerizing voice anywhere: Joanna March.
“Have you looked in the recycle bin?” the Fix-It Force team member asked, sounding sleepy and uninterested.
“Of course, I looked in the recycle bin!” Joanna exclaimed. “Everyone knows—”
“Joanna.” I peered over the shelf to catch a glimpse of Laurence placing his hand on her shoulder. “He’s just trying to help. Maybe there’s something we haven’t thought of.”
She closed her eyes and sighed. “You’re right.” She opened them and smiled weakly at the Fix-It Force guy. “Sorry. I’m just really stressed out. I need these files. They’re our entry for the Lights, Camera, Vance! competition.”
This perked the guy up. He leaned over the counter. “You’re entering that?”
“Yeah. If we can recover our files.”
“You don’t practice backup protocol?” Fix-It Force guy asked, his eyes narrowing.
Joanna’s entire body tensed at his condescending look. “Yes, I back things up.” She sounded perturbed at his dig. Laurence’s hand massaged her shoulder, and some of the tension released in her posture. “Sorry,” she muttered again. “Our external backup files were compromised, too.”
Now the guy behind the counter winced in sympathy. “Ooh. Harsh.”
She pushed the laptop closer to him. “I uploaded the files directly to an online site. But I was hoping there was still a way to recover them from the hard drive.”
The guy pulled the laptop to his side of the counter and opened it. “I could try a restore from your file history.”
“Thank you,” Joanna said.
“Don’t thank me yet.” He winced apologetically. “I’m not sure it’ll work since you uploaded directly to the web. Not sure if any fragments remain to grab.”
Joanna drummed her fingers on the counter as the Fix-It Force guy clicked around on her computer. I repositioned myself behind a life-sized cardboard cutout of the elf and the troll from the Sword of Serenity movie that offered more concealment than the middle of the digital camera aisle. I was interested in the outcome of their technical issue, but I didn’t want them to know I was interested, so I hid behind that troll. Luckily, the character had a rather large nose that helped keep me out of their line of sight.
“Okay,” Fix-It Force guy said after a few minutes. “No luck there, but I’m going to try searching for hidden files with a program called Disk Detect.”
I watched from behind the cardboard troll’s nose as Joanna turned and buried her face in Laurence’s chest. His arms wrapped around her, and he rested his chin on t
he top of her head as they waited.
The guy behind the counter finally shook his head and pushed the laptop toward them. “It’s not here. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”
Joanna pulled her face away from Laurence, leaving a wet spot on his sweatshirt that I could see all the way from my hiding spot. She turned, and my heart ached at her red, puffy eyes. Heartbreak was evident all over her face.
“It must be because we uploaded straight to the editing site,” Laurence said, sounding pretty bummed out himself.
Joanna whirled around and smacked her hand on the counter so hard that I flinched from three aisles away. “I can’t believe we were so stupid! Why didn’t we transfer it to the computer and then upload it to the online site?”
“It saved time,” Laurence said. “And we downloaded from the program to the flash drive every day.”
“Again, if only we’d downloaded to the computer, then from the computer to the flash drive . . .”
The Fix-It Force guy nodded once. “Yep, that’d be your best bet moving forward.”
Joanna slapped the laptop shut. She turned and fled for the door, her eyes filling with tears.
I swiveled and pretended to be studying the new PlayStation releases on the other side of the cardboard troll. I heard her mutter, “You should call yourselves the Can’t-Fix-It Force,” as she brushed past me.
Laurence muttered a rushed apology to the Fix-It Force guy, then was hot on her heels.
Man, that sucked. I knew what it was like to be stopped right in the middle of a creative endeavor. At least I hadn’t lost all my files. Ironic that both of our projects were stalled due to equipment failures. My broken camera. Her lost files. Between the two of us, we could almost make one YouTuber.
And then it hit me.
There was a solution . . . if only they’d go for it.
I crossed my fingers as I jogged out of the store and headed after them.
9
JOANNA
I WILLED MYSELF NOT to cry in public any more that day. I clamped my mouth shut, widened my eyes so the air could help dry the tears starting to pool, and booked it to the parking garage.