by Brian Rowe
“The group wants me to be the star, but I really don’t want to be. I don’t want to be an actor, period. And not in a million years would I ever want to sing on camera!”
“I understand your frustration, but—
”Mr. Barker,” the tall and slim Colin Cleaver said, “I really want to be in my movie, but they’re saying I have to write the script! I can’t write. You’ll give me an F. I don’t want an F.”
“It’s OK. If you don’t—” The teacher was inundated with raised hands and loud voices snapping at him from every foreseeable angle.
Brin raised her hand up high and said, “I want to direct our movie!”
“What?” Anaya said to Brin. “We had a deal!” Then she turned to Mr. Barker. “I thought you said we were allowed to—”
“QUIET!” The teacher shouted so boisterously and vindictively that a student in the back hid under her desk. Mr. Barker looked to be a sweet guy. But not now. “This is unacceptable. What are you guys, first graders? You’re high school upperclassmen. One at a time, please. Or I’m just gonna give you all F’s on the short films. How does that sound?”
Nobody responded. The students all looked up at their teacher with apologetic puppy-dog eyes.
“OK, look,” Mr. Barker said, “here’s the deal. Ash. I’m sorry. You’re singing. Colin. Anyone can write a five-minute movie. I trust you to do your best. And Brin and Anaya.” He stared at the two vastly different girls for a moment, before he said, “Here’s the deal. The most prepared of the two of you gets to direct the movie.”
“Oooh!” Brin jumped out of her seat and raced up to the teacher, dropping a sheet of paper in his hand before she had even stopped moving.
“What’s this?”
“I typed up an outline last night. For our movie.”
Mr. Barker glanced down at Brin’s outline, which was slim at only a third of a page.
“OK…”
Before the teacher could say another word, however, Anaya stood up, her gut hanging out over the desk. Her poor make-up and wet, messy hair job didn’t seem to phase her confidence. She had more than a piece of paper in her hand. She had a packet.
“What do you have, Ms. Frost?”
“I have the script,” she said, handing it over to Mr. Barker. “It’s the first draft, about twelve pages in length. It still needs work, but it’s a start.”
“OK then.”
“OK.” Then she handed him a second packet.
“And what is this?”
“It’s my shot list,” Anaya said. “I’ve mapped out every shot I want in the movie.” She brought her hands to her hips and stuck out her giant gut proudly. “Prepared enough for you?”
The teacher nodded, and Brin knew her defense was a lost cause if she didn’t perform a memorable temper tantrum. All she could think of to say was: “But Mr. Barker… she’s… she’s… evil!”
A few students laughed. But the teacher didn’t say a word. He stared forward, past Brin and Anaya, and focused on, of all things, Brin’s backpack.
He stepped past Brin and lifted up the top flap of her backpack. He pulled out the vampire mask.
“I was looking for this,” he said.
“Oh! That’s right!” Brin glanced at Anaya, who was enjoying every moment of Brin’s public display of embarrassment. “I was going to give that back—”
“You took it from me?” he said, turning back to her.
“I… uhh…” Brin looked at Ash, who tried to appear innocent. She sighed. “I wanted to… uhh… scare my mom with it, the way you scared me with it yesterday.”
“You have to ask, Brin. Come on. I’m docking a point from your video for this.”
Mr. Barker walked back to his desk, holding the mask close to him as if it were his own deformed little baby.
“So does this mean I get to direct the movie?” Anaya said.
“Yes, you can direct the movie.”
Mr. Barker dropped the mask into his bottom desk drawer.
“I’m sorry,” Brin said. “I didn’t think—”
“Both of you sit down,” he said. “No more on the short films. It’s time to discuss our first horror film of the semester. F.W. Murnau’s Nosferatu. Who here has ever seen a silent film?”
Brin sat back down at her desk in defeat. Not only had she lost the chance at directing the movie, but she suddenly found herself on the teacher’s naughty list. And it was only the second day of class!
“Hey,” Anaya whispered, as the teacher turned around to set up the DVD player. “The deal’s off. You lost us a point you stupid bitch.”
Brin’s mouth went agape as Anaya stood up with a toddler-like smile. The teacher seemed to be struggling with the player.
“Did you need help with that, Mr. Barker?”
“Yes, thanks.” He tossed Anaya the remote control. “I thought I had it figured out yesterday. I hate technology.”
“I know what you mean,” Anaya said, smiling at Brin as she walked to the front of the room and quickly got the project and player working.
Brin crossed her arms and sunk down in her chair.
I may be a bitch, Brin thought, but at least I’m not the teacher’s pet.
Chapter Eight
The rest of the week went by a lot less memorably than Tuesday afternoon’s hellish Film class. By Thursday Brin had apologized to Anaya for her behavior and even tried to feign excitement for the upcoming film shoot, which Anaya had scheduled for the coming weekend. By Friday the group had agreed to film the western horror movie at Bodie Ghost Town on Saturday, leaving Grisly at 8 A.M. and returning before nightfall. Anaya desperately wanted two full days to shoot her movie, but the rest of the group managed to sway her burgeoning ego and convince her only one day of filming was necessary.
By Friday Brin also persuaded Mr. Barker to give her a second chance. She apologized five or six times per class period, promised him she was out of line and would never touch one of his things without his permission again. While the class watched Nosferatu—a film that, while silent, managed to reign in all of the students’ attention—Brin became the most involved viewer, even more than Anaya, asking questions before and after the screenings, and staying behind on Thursday afternoon to discuss the film more in detail with Mr. Barker. He could tell she was trying.
When the class ended on Friday, and after Brin jotted down the homework due for Monday—a three-page essay discussing mise-en-scene in Nosferatu—she gave a dispirited nod to Anaya and headed down the hallway. She caught up with Ash outside, who had his head buried in a how-to singing book.
“Fa la la la…” he said, trying to sing. “Fa la la la…. la la la la.”
“Seriously,” Brin said, slapping the book out of his hand. “Stop.”
He grabbed the book off the ground and shook his head in irritation. “It’s a lost cause, Brin. A total lost cause. I’m gonna fail Film class, I know it.”
“No you won’t. You’re gonna do fine.”
They walked to the parking lot in a solemn manner as others raced to their cars screaming with joy for the three-day weekend.
But Brin and Ash weren’t overjoyed. They both were to make their short movies tomorrow—Brin in Bodie, Ash in Grisly—and neither was feeling confident about the process.
“What if I just don’t go?” Brin said.
“What do you mean? You have to.”
She shrugged. “I just… at least you get to make your movie here in Grisly. I have to spend six hours in the car tomorrow with the beast.”
Ash turned his gaze away from her. “Yeah, that actually makes my having to sing tomorrow not all bad.”
“Shut up.” She dug out her car keys as they stepped from the grass to the pavement. “I hate this.”
“It will be fine.”
“It won’t.”
“It will. Everyone else in the group is normal, like you. Anaya can’t make all five of your lives a living hell.”
“You want a bet?”
“Maybe
you’ll learn something. Maybe you’ll realize being on movie sets is what you’ll want to do for the rest of your life.”
“I highly doubt that, given the person we’ll have in the director’s chair tomorrow.”
“Maybe she’ll have a heart attack and die, and then you can direct the movie after all. It’d be a win-win.”
“Always looking on the bright side, aren’t you, Ash?” Brin unlocked her car and threw her backpack in the passenger seat.
When she took her seat, Ash said, “You wanna watch a movie later?”
“Sure. A movie sounds great. What were you thinking?”
“Well, staying on the vampire theme, I thought we could watch Buffy, the Vampire Slayer. The movie, not the show.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I think I’m vampire’d out.”
“Are there vampires in your movie tomorrow?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen the script.”
“I’ve seen my script. It’s insane. I have no idea how it’s going to turn out.” He rubbed his shoulders, then leaned down closer to the passenger side window. “Have you ever been to Bodie Ghost Town?”
“No.”
“Do you know what it’s gonna be like?”
“No. I know nothing about it.”
“Me neither. But my dads said that it’s freezing cold there in the winter, so bring a coat.”
Brin shook her head. “My weekend’s just getting more fun by the minute.” She started up the car and headed in reverse. “Bye. Call me later.”
“OK.”
Brin reached for her sunglasses below the passenger seat, and her hand grazed a sheet of paper. She picked it up and looked at it. It was her unused outline for the western horror movie.
She ripped it up, tossed the pieces against the back seat, and headed out of the parking lot with a face that screamed madness.
--
Ash ended up having to shoot a night scene for his musical, so Brin found herself friendless on Friday evening, eating slice after slice of pizza with her mother in the kitchen.
“You know what I’ve learned?” Brin said.
“What?” Her mom was perusing the newest Entertainment Weekly. Ian Somerhalder and Nina Dobrev were on the cover.
“Cheese pizza is one of the few foods I’ll always love. I loved it when I was a kid, I love it now, I’ll crave it when I’m ninety. I’m sure of it.”
Tessa had only taken a single bite of her vegetarian pizza. “It makes you fat, Brin. You can’t have it all the time.”
“Mom, when I’m ninety, I won’t care if I look like a whale.”
“Oh, you will,” she said. “Trust me.”
The two didn’t talk for a minute. Tessa focused on her magazine, while Brin kept her eyes glued to the medium-sized framed photo in the adjacent living room. The photo had been taken two years ago in San Francisco, and it featured Brin with her dad, both smiling, both looking like they were a part of a perfect happy family.
Brin looked back down at the pizza and decided she wasn’t hungry anymore. She grabbed her greasy paper plate and stood up from the table.
“Thanks for dinner.”
“Of course.” Brin’s mom looked up from the magazine. “Don’t stay up too late.”
“Why?”
“Your grandparents will be here at ten. We’re leaving to see your father no later than 10:30.”
Brin’s heart sank. She took a step forward, not knowing how to tell her mom about her alternative plans tomorrow.
“Mom, I completely forgot.”
“About what?”
“I’m not gonna be here tomorrow. I have to work on a school project.”
“So? That’s fine. You can go after we’re done.”
“No, we’re leaving super early, at eight tomorrow morning. I’ll be gone the whole day and won’t be back until late.”
Tessa stared at her daughter for a moment. Disappointment covered her angered face. “You’ve known about this day, Brin. For weeks.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Your father would want you there—”
“He’d want me to be anywhere else, Mom.” Brin could feel tears welling up in her eyes. She couldn’t help it. She sat back at the table and brought her hands to her face. “It’s morbid. Having to see his grave… again. Another reminder that he’s gone.” She looked at her mother, trying to control her emotions. “Dad knows we loved him. Can’t we just… move on?”
“This isn’t about moving on, Brin. It’s about paying our respects. Tomorrow would have been your father’s fiftieth birthday. And you can’t visit his grave with your mom and your grandparents because you have some stupid school project—”
“It’s not stupid.”
“It’s not as important.”
“We’re making a movie, Mom. And I have to be there. I promise you I’ll visit his grave on Sunday, all right? I just can’t tomorrow.”
“Now you listen.” Brin’s mom leaned against the table. Brin wondered if she was going to flip it over. “This isn’t a request. I’m tired of this. Visiting your father’s grave is more important than making a goddamn movie, do you understand me? You’re coming with us tomorrow, and that’s final!”
Tessa stood up, knocking her chair over in the process, and stormed out of the kitchen.
“Mom! I’m sorry!”
Brin heard her mother’s bedroom door slam shut upstairs. Her cat Cleo crept into the kitchen and gave Brin a look of sadness.
“Come here, Cleo,” Brin said, petting the petite gray tabby and giving her a kiss on her forehead. “Sorry. You shouldn’t have heard that.”
The cat jumped up into her lap and rested her head on Brin’s arm.
“You wouldn’t want to come with me to Bodie Ghost Town tomorrow, would you?”
The cat looked up and glared at her, as if she could understand her owner’s bogus question.
“No,” Brin said. “I didn’t think so.”
---
Brin put on her tank top and sweatpants and jumped into bed head first. She remained comatose for a few seconds, until she couldn’t breathe, and then she rolled over to stare at her ugly beige ceiling.
She knew the right thing to do was to go to the cemetery. But she also knew she owed it to her group to be at the filming location. She knew she couldn’t do both. She had to choose.
Dad would understand, she thought, as she pulled up her phone and set an alarm for 6 A.M.
She hooked her phone to its charger and rolled back against her pillow, feeling the lethargy sweep through her body like euphoria.
Before closing her eyes, she turned to her bedside dresser one more time and took a sip of water. When she set the glass down, she noticed the familiar sight outside her window.
Brin stood up, crossed her arms, and walked up to the window, enjoying the silence, wondering what tomorrow would have in store.
Clouds had been present all day, but nothing had promised the current snowfall outside the window. It wasn’t coming down strong, but the snowflakes were large and impressive.
The snow meant it would be cold tomorrow. And the snow meant the trip to Bodie was only going to be that much more adventurous.
I pick the adventure, Brin thought.
She rolled back onto her bed and fell asleep.
Chapter Nine
Brin stood on the driveway, freezing to death, but knowing it would be much colder in the house sitting next to her angry mother. The snowfall had ceased, but the clouds still lingered up above, and at least six inches had pounded the ground since she went to sleep. It was almost 8:30. Anaya was late.
Maybe she hit some black ice, crashed, catapulting herself through the windshield, Brin thought. Then I’d definitely get to direct the movie.
When an ugly brown van pulled up to her driveway barely a minute later, Brin shook her head in fear.
“Is this safe?” Brin said, walking up to the passenger side window. “In the snow, I mean?”
�
�It’s Sawyer’s dad’s,” Anaya said. “It’s the only thing we could get that sits six people. Now get in, damn it! We’re behind schedule.”
The cinematographer Sawyer, bundled up for negative degree weather, was in the driver’s seat, while the director Anaya sat next to him. They were in the front presumably so they could discuss the filming, but Brin assumed it was to announce to the rest of the cast and crew who was in charge.
Brin stepped over Chace, who was already dressed in his period clothing. Lavender, on the left side, was also wearing her costume, a faded pink dress and a laughable bonnet secured tightly over her head.
“Hello everyone,” Brin said as she scooted past the actors, finding a seat to herself in the back. She pulled out her iPod immediately, not wanting to have to chat with anybody, at least until they picked up the one member in her group she felt comfortable talking to.
When they stopped in front of Dylan’s house on the other side of the neighborhood, he was standing on the sidewalk, shivering to death in a t-shirt and sweatpants.
“I… wasn’t… sure…” Dylan could barely speak. His face appeared frozen.
“What is it, Dylan?” Anaya said, rolling her window down.
“…if we’re… supposed to change now… or when we get to the… location…”
Anaya dropped his period clothes into his hands and motioned for him to get in the car. “Move it!”
Dylan opened the sliding door, threw the clothes in the back—on top of Brin—and struggled stepping over Chace. Dylan slipped and sprawled out over Chace’s lap.
“Oh my God!” Chace shouted. “Cold! You’re so cold!”
“Sorry,” Dylan said. “My bad.”
“Move your ass!” Chace said, grabbing Dylan’s shoulders and pushing him back against Brin. Now Brin had clothes and Dylan on top of her.
“Morning, Brin,” Dylan said, his palm shoved up against her forehead.
“Morning, Dylan. You mind getting the hell off of me?”
“Sure thing.”
He fell to his right and grabbed his period clothes. Then he started rubbing his palms together.
“Do you have any AC up there?” Dylan said.
Anaya didn’t answer him. Instead she said, “All right! Off we go! Bodie Ghost Town, here we come!”