by Jen Brady
I hit the help icon in the corner of my screen, entered my name and the account number, and clicked on “get help.” An auto response welcoming me popped up, and I started typing.
ALEIDA M.: Hello. How can I help you?
RICK: I was working on a project and my computer crashed before the save could take effect. I’m hoping you offer autosave so I can grab it off your master server.
ALEIDA M: Certainly! We have a 60-minute autosave for all accounts, even free ones. Please give me a couple of minutes to check your account.
RICK: Thanks.
I drummed my fingers on my desk as I waited. Just one win for the day. One. That’s all I was asking for.
ALEIDA M: Thank you for waiting. Our records show that you have a Premium Plus membership, so you certainly have plenty of autosave records. Let me know which file you’d like, and I will release it to your drive folder.
RICK: Just a sec. I’ll check what I called it.
RICK: But there’s only one file there anyway, right? Because all files automatically disappear from the backup server after 60 minutes. It’s the only file I’ve been working on in the past hour.
ALEIDA M: You have the Premium Plus membership. Premium Plus membership benefits include:
ALEIDA M: Unlimited server space
ALEIDA M: Access to pro templates and beta features
ALEIDA M: 24-hour customer support, even on weekends
ALEIDA M: 6-month archived backup
ALEIDA M: All filters, including Vance Sanders originals
RICK: Wait. What’s “6-month archived backup”?
ALEIDA M: 60-minute archived backup comes with free, basic, and Premium memberships. As you can see, Premium Plus accounts have a 6-month archived backup rather than the 60-minute one.
RICK: You mean EVERYTHING I’ve done for the past 6 months is sitting on your backup server?
ALEIDA M: Yes. Because of this, I need to know which file you would like restored to your workspace.
ALEIDA M: I see one called “Paulson voice over two” that was saved at 7:42 this evening. Would that be the one you’d like restored?
ALIEDA M: ...
ALIEDA M: ...
ALEIDA M: Hello? Are you still there?
More words appeared as Aleida M. kept typing, but my vision tunneled on “6-month archived backup.”
6-month archived backup.
6-month archived backup.
Christopher. Freakin.’ Columbus.
29
JOANNA
THE BEACH HOUSE WAS just as I remembered it: small, no frills, but charming and homey—the perfect place to get away for the weekend.
When we were little, we used to spend a week “at the sea” every year. It was actually a rented cabin in Cape Cod, but we all called it “the sea.” It sounded more romantic. The houses for rent along the ocean were cute and a bit rustic, and the internet and cell reception sucked, so basically it was the perfect place to get away from the constant pings. It felt remote and deserted, even though town was three blocks away.
The entire drive there, I itched to check my phone. Bethany had insisted on driving because she thought I’d be too distracted. She was probably right. All I could think about was Ted, Rick, the channel, and all the haters who had been speaking their mind on social media.
The moment we stood on the porch, breathing in the deep ocean air, my mind cleared. Nothing could be fixed right now, and it would all be waiting for me when we got home, but here, at the sea, I could have a break from life.
Bethany and I had three bedrooms to choose from, but instead of spreading out, we both gravitated toward the room we’d always shared as kids, the one on the second floor that faced the ocean. We didn’t bother unpacking, just threw our bags onto our beds, then headed out to walk along the beach before it got too cold. Darkness had already swallowed the whole place up. Even though the weather was much colder than I’d ever experienced it here, the lapping of the waves sounded the same, majestic and soothing.
THE NEXT MORNING, WE set out in search of ice cream.
In less than five minutes we were walking down Main Street. Usually, we spent hours in town watching bakers pull taffy through candy store windows or sizing up the two-for-one deals at the many souvenir shops. The end of January wasn’t exactly in-season for the little seaside town (which was how Mom could afford to book it for Bethany and me to have our weekend getaway), so most of the shops were closed up. Only a grocery store, a gas station, a restaurant, and three bars were open, which limited our choices of activities.
Oh, well, we weren’t there to be tourists anyway. We were there to get away. Luckily, the gas station had twelve flavors of ice cream. That’s when we discovered the one advantage of going to the sea in winter: we could walk all the way back to the beach house without our double scoops melting all over our hands.
We sat, like we always did, on a patch of sand near the water. I even slipped one foot out of my sock and tennis shoe to feel the grains between my toes. I put them back on quickly. It was balmier here on the Cape than it was inland, but it was still way too cold for sandy toes.
“These were the best vacations,” Bethany said. “Don’t you think so?”
“Sure. But I also loved Six Flags.”
Every year we’d go on two family vacations: a week at the sea and a day trip to the Queensbury Six Flags location. All six of us, no exceptions. Dad hadn’t been around much, even when we were younger, but he always scheduled around those two events.
Bethany shuddered. “I hated those trips.”
“How can you hate Six Flags? You love roller coasters!”
Megan got motion sickness from rides more exciting than the Tilt-a-Whirl, and Mya was always too young, too short, or too scared to try them, so Bethany had been my constant plus-one for the roller coasters. We’d gone on everything together. She’d screamed throughout most rides, but so had I, and she’d grinned and put her hands up, too.
“Roller coasters are the best,” she agreed, “but there were way too many people in the park. Everywhere. Wall to wall. And all those lights and the loud music playing everywhere and workers yelling at you, trying to convince you to play their impossible games.” She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply through her nose, and exhaled as she lay back in the cold sand. “I’d take a day here on a deserted beach over the chaos of Six Flags any day.”
Her explanation made sense. I pulled up my hood and lay down next to her. Wow, was the sand chilly! I guess we were lucky the beach wasn’t covered in snow this time of year.
“The people were the best part of Six Flags,” I said.
“Nope. Not hardly. Not at all.”
“I loved people-watching there. Remember the game Megs and I played? When we’d pick a random person and make up their back-story?”
Bethany put a hand to her face and giggled. “Yours were always the best. What was the one about the guy who escaped from prison?”
I laughed as the memory came flooding back.
“He was in for life after a mass murder, but he longed to go on a roller coaster one more time so he dug his way out of his cell with a nail file, hitchhiked to Six Flags, and snuck in because he didn’t have any money to pay at the gate. Security realized who he was, so he had to sneak through the park. He knew he’d get caught eventually, and he figured he might as well partake in his other favorite activity: murder. So he was checking out all the guests until he found the perfect target.”
“You were so convincing, Mya was terrified for the rest of the day. Didn’t you and Ted write part of a movie based on it?”
“Yeah, we called it Murder by the Rides. We only wrote a couple of scenes, but the premise was that a creepy dude kidnapped park-goers and hid out all day, waiting for the park to close so he could kill his victims by tying them to the tracks and starting the ride.”
Bethany made a grossed-out face. “Ugh, gruesome.”
“The very last scene we planned,” I said, my nostalgic smile turning devi
ous, “was of the killer in the ride car careening down to where his latest victim was. That’s when the audience would realize the killer was actually the park manager who’d been helping the police with their investigation the whole day.”
“That’s a pretty good twist for a couple of—how old were you guys then?”
“Thirteen. It was the summer after Ted moved in.” As angry as I was with him, nostalgia for the past had crept in and softened my fury a touch.
I still didn’t want to dwell on anything beyond the beach, so I changed the subject. “The time we got the Fast Pass was the best. We got on so many rides that year.”
Bethany sat up, sending grains of sand my way. “We never had a Fast Pass.”
“Yeah, we did. One year it was super-busy the day we went, so Dad splurged for it.”
She sighed and hugged her legs to her chest. “Splurging. I barely remember being able to splurge.”
“Do you think he ever thinks about us?”
The question was out of my mouth the instant it formed in my mind. I regretted it instantly. Bethany had taken Dad’s leaving harder than the rest of us, probably because she was so sensitive. I hoped my blurted-out question wouldn’t upset her.
She looked away, down the beach toward the other rentals that decorated the landscape, but when she turned back, she didn’t seem upset. She just said quietly, “I’m sure he does.”
I wouldn’t have bet money on it, but I nodded like I agreed with her so she wouldn’t feel bad. The truth was, I wouldn’t be in this mess if I still had a college fund. But he’d taken it and left me to pay my own way through film school and help Mom with the bills.
I felt a sob stick in my throat as my eyes filled with tears.
“I feel like I just lost everything.”
“Don’t think that way.” Bethany scooted across the sand to me. She put her arms around me, and I let my emotions go. Tears streamed down my face. Angry, sad, confused tears.
“Things with Ted are a mess. Rick never had real feelings for me. I don’t have a movie to enter in Lights, Camera, Vance! and . . . and . . .” The worst part squeezed my heart mercilessly.
“And?” Bethany prompted.
The way I felt when Rick had brushed his lips against my forehead washed through me, and my entire body warmed, despite sitting on the sand in the middle of January.
“I think I was falling in love with him.”
Letting myself be vulnerable with Bethany never makes me feel less-than, the way it does with Megan and Mya. I never had to be the strong one around her. She was too sweet.
“You haven’t lost everything.” Bethany smoothed my hair with her hand and gave me an extra squeeze. “You always have me.”
It was strangely comforting.
30
RICK
IT WAS GOOD.
Like really good.
As in, I was a fool to be sitting in my car in her driveway, getting ready to walk up to her door and tell her I’d recovered her files. Whatever place I’d get in the contest was about to fall a notch because Joanna’s film was amazing. Nothing like their usual silly vlog posts. This was the real deal. I couldn’t believe she’d created something of that magnitude in her mind and then translated it to the screen.
It blew me away.
Her film deserved to be seen. I didn’t know if it would win, but it would get her some sort of recognition—and recognition would get her visibility and the dominoes would start falling, propelling her toward film school and an amazing career, one way or another.
She’d duped me, yeah. And so had Laurence. But after seeing even the incomplete version of their film, it was evident how much time and talent had gone into it, and keeping that work of genius from the world would be a crime, no matter how I felt about its creators.
I walked up the sidewalk to her door and held my hand out. My finger hovered next to the doorbell. This was it. There was no going back once I pushed the bell. Was it worth reducing my chances in the contest, sabotaging everything I’d worked for?
My heart ached as I realized the more important question.
Was she worth it?
I jabbed my index finger into the doorbell before my brain could talk my heart out of it.
A pretty, blond-haired girl answered the door. I recognized her as the sister who had played the fair lady in their movie. I was also pretty sure she was the little kid who’d freaked out so hardcore at the bald cap video.
“Is Joanna home?”
“No, she’s at the sea.”
She said it like that should explain everything, even though more questions swirled in my mind. The sea? What sea? Where? Why? Did she mean the ocean? Like the Cape? Who goes to the beach in January?
I held up my phone. “I tried to reach her, but . . .”
“Oh, right. There’s no service at the sea. They won’t get messages until the drive home.”
I’d assumed after several ignored calls and texts that she’d blocked me. Now I had reason to hope she just hadn’t gotten the messages. Bah, why did I care? This wasn’t about whether she’d blocked me or not or if she still had feelings for us. There was no “us.”
“When will she be back?”
“Sunday. They went for the whole weekend.”
The deadline was tonight. Twelve a.m. Sunday morning was officially the first minute too late.
“And there’s no way to reach her? No way to get an email or Facebook message to her?”
“Well . . . that’s kind of the point. They went to get away from technology. Hey!” Her eyes flashed with recognition, and she pointed at me, as if seeing me for the first time. “You’re that YouTube guy.”
I don’t think getting recognized in person will ever get old. It’s validation that my channel is reaching people and making a difference.
“Yep, Bhaerly Believable,” I said, trying to keep my smile professional. I swiped my phone screen. I had to figure out how to get to Joanna, but I had time for a quick selfie with a fan.
“No, you’re the guy who yelled at Ted and Joanna in the mall,” the girl said.
I stuck my phone in my flannel pocket, pretending that was where I’d been heading with it all along.
“So there’s no way to contact her?” I asked, letting the less-than-flattering reference slide. “Can you give me directions to wherever they are?”
“Hmm. I don’t know the address. My mom might, but she’s at work.”
I closed my eyes and leaned against the door frame. Think.
There had to be a way to get a message to Joanna. She couldn’t miss the deadline.
Her film was so close to being finished. I could tell. The end credits needed music, and a couple of the scene transitions weren’t great. That wouldn’t take long, but she still needed to come home in time to fix it. If she didn’t have cell reception, there was no way she had the bandwidth necessary to use Wrap Up Pro, wherever she was.
But without service or an address (or more info than “the sea”) I couldn’t tell her. Without Joanna, there was no one to finish and submit her movie.
I opened my eyes. Staring right at me was another option. Granted, it was a less-than-desirable option, but it was there in all its enormous, red brick, Colonial-style glory. I was a few feet away from Laurence’s house. He’d presumably know exactly how they’d meant to finish it. I could hand him the files and let him fix it.
“Thanks anyway,” I said to Joanna’s sister as I jumped off the patio steps to the snow below.
I strode through the snow-covered lawns, having no clue where Joanna’s property ended and Laurence’s started. I rapped on the door with the imposing brass knocker. An older woman answered. She looked at me over the rim of her glasses.
“Can I help you?”
“I need to talk to Laurence.”
Her eyebrows rose as she stood straighter. I’d offended her somehow.
“Mr. Laurence is in his study. May I ask who’s calling?”
“No, not Mr. Laurence. Te
d. I need to talk to Ted. It’s important.” I leaned to the side, trying to see into the house behind her. “Is he here?”
“Oh.” She no longer looked as if she wanted to rap my knuckles or give me a lesson in manners. “Theodore is spending the weekend on the boat.”
The boat. The sea. Of course. Joanna’s sister had said they had gone for the whole weekend. Who did I think they were? They were always JoJo+Teddy.
They were celebrating. They’d dropped a vlog bomb and disappeared for the weekend, leaving viewers to speculate in the comments while they chilled on Laurence’s boat. I didn’t even know you could access a boat in the winter. I guess when your family owned the marina (or when your rich boyfriend’s family owned the marina), you could do whatever you wanted.
Which included secluding yourselves without Wi-Fi access on a forced internet vacation so you wouldn’t be tempted to reply to comments or post any more videos. Radio silence would amp up the intrigue among their fan base.
They were good.
But they’d also left me without options because I wasn’t going to wander around Sleepy Haven Harbor like a moron yelling their names until I found them. The cops would probably think I was trying to steal someone’s boat.
Joanna’s entry was sitting there recovered, and it still wouldn’t get finished.
Unless . . .
Cleaning up scene transitions wouldn’t be hard. And I knew exactly what music she would choose for her end credits if she’d had the chance to finish it. Laurence might not even have known that. He was the genius who’d wanted an Asher Wyatt country song for it.
But still. I’d done my due diligence. I’d texted her and called and gone to her house when I hadn’t heard anything back. Heck, I’d even gone to Laurence’s house. Short of tracking them down wherever they were, I’d gone above and beyond, especially since their film would be huge competition for mine.
But it was such a good movie.