by Anna Todd
“She’ll tell you when to go on,” Angelica explains. “This is Aaron, our head cameraman.” She brings up a heavyset man in his fifties. “If his camera is aimed at you, it doesn’t necessarily mean it’s recording, just that it could be. So try to look at it.”
Finally Angelica helps you out of the makeup chair. You thank Tony and his assistants and follow Angelica, Emily, and Aaron back into the studio.
Angelica checks her watch. “And he’s here in three . . . two . . . one . . .”
The wide elevator doors slide open and America’s quintessential funnyman and favorite talk-show host steps out. Now, if you thought you were a big deal stepping out of that elevator and into a crowd of crew members that immediately soaked you up, it’s nothing compared to this, with the crowd, doubled in size, clapping enthusiastically for Mr. Jimmy Fallon. Clearly, he’s the real deal, the star.
Jimmy has drawn himself up to his full six-foot stance and claps with the crew. “Great job, everybody!” he exclaims. “I’m so excited for the show tonight, how about you?” He clasps his hands together and scans his eyes over the horde of people. Jimmy’s chocolate-brown hair is already combed and gelled, and his skin is flushed and full of color. He’s already put on a black suit and a skinny black tie. He looks exactly like he does on television, only less like a 2-D cartoon, and now the childlike gleam in his eye actually matches the excitement you feel stirring around the studio.
Jimmy scans the front of the room until he sees you. He waves enthusiastically and begins to walk toward you. “Hey!” he calls out. “You made it!”
You turn and look behind you, to see who else Jimmy could have been talking to. It definitely wasn’t you, was it? But the only person behind you is Tony, who grins at you like you’re his personal masterpiece and you’re about to be put on display.
You swallow nervously, but then Jimmy Fallon is standing in front of you with his hand outstretched in a way that makes you feel like you’ve already met him: he was the kid in your fourth-grade class who brought in his little brother for show-and-tell; the guy in your school talent show who dressed up in a miniskirt and did a spot-on impression of Britney Spears; the man you’d seen in those comedy groups around campus who could rap and shoot basketballs at a pretend hoop . . . while on a pogo stick. “That was funny,” he says, already laughing, “I like you already. I’m Jimmy Fallon. It’s such a pleasure to have you with us tonight. We’re going to have so much fun!”
Angelica whispers something to Jimmy and he nods. She holds her clipboard tightly to her chest and gently smiles at you. Then the three of you are briskly walking past the makeup room, past the auditorium, and past the wings of the stage. “Usually on the show we have a dress rehearsal before we start taping,” Jimmy explains. “There you’ll meet some of the guests on the show, and we’ll go over everything that’s going to happen. Well, almost everything. The funniest stuff usually happens during improvisation, so we have to leave some room for that.”
Jimmy and Angelica stop walking in front of a tall door labeled REHEARSAL ROOM. Jimmy turns to face you, and that starstruck, tingly feeling in your skin starts to simmer up again.
“Do you have any questions before we go in?”
You open your mouth to reply, but you miss a beat in the conversation. Maybe it is because the nervous feeling in your stomach never settled down, maybe it is the multitude of questions in your mind all trying to come out at once, and maybe you can’t reply to Jimmy because his go-with-the-flow attitude feels contagious, and you want to try it on.
Jimmy smiles at you as if he knows exactly how you feel. “Let me know if anything comes up.”
Angelica opens the door to the rehearsal room, and you follow Jimmy inside. The practice stage in the room is much smaller than the real one, with a place for musicians to stand and a row of chairs across from the stage. Television lights hang from the ceiling and are currently set to a bright yellow. The back walls are lined from the floor to the ceiling with shelves for props: you can see fake swords, purple wigs, harmonicas, and a Finding Nemo Barbie doll . . . and that is just on the shelf closest to you. Only a scattering of people are here: a few musicians, the props crew, and a few men dressed in suits surrounding a man who looks extremely familiar.
The man is young, tall, and dressed in jeans and a striped, collared shirt. Reddish-brown hair grows full-fledged on his face. He’s wearing new-looking sneakers, and you wonder if he’s comfortable in them. Your stomach drops when you recognize him, as if you’re in a dream and you’ve just won a vacation to New York City and met a huge celebrity, except you aren’t actually in a dream. You recognize him as that guy from that movie. You know, the one about the dinosaurs.
“Chris!” Jimmy claps his hands together. You’ve only known Jimmy for a few minutes, but so far you’ve noticed that he is always clasping his hands together. He walks over to Chris and his agents, while Angelica motions for you to sit next to her on the folding chairs.
They’re the kind of grayish, metal folding chairs you would see anywhere: in a church basement, in a middle-school gymnasium, or at a comic-book convention. But you know the chairs seem more than that because you’re sitting in one, and so is Chris Pratt.
While Jimmy speaks with Chris, you study the prop shelves more closely. An entire shelf is filled with little toys like basketballs, action figures, and kazoos. Above that is a shelf with a stapler stuck in pretend Jell-O. You look back and notice Chris’s agents in an intense conversation with Jimmy. His smile wavers and the agents hold puzzled expressions. You wonder what the fuss is about, until Jimmy comes over and tells you himself. “So we were supposed to act out that scene with the T. rex costume,” he says to Angelica, “but apparently the props didn’t get ordered.”
Angelica quickly looks at her clipboard. “I’m not sure how that happened. I—”
Jimmy shrugs and pats her clipboard. “It’s cool. We just need to think of something else to do.” He looks at you and explains, “For the main part of the show Chris and I were going to act out a scene from his movie, but it looks like that isn’t going to work.”
He taps his chin and turns toward Angelica. “The show’s in an hour, so we need to think quickly. Call Marketing, they’re creative, maybe they can help. I’ll go speak with Chris’s agents about possible other—”
It’s not that you meant to cut off Jimmy Fallon. You’re usually articulate and know how to hold a conversation. And it’s not like the props people meant not to order the T. rex costume. Sometimes things like this just happen. Sometimes you just blurt out dramatic things like “I know how to save the show!”
Everyone in the room does a double take, including you. Angelica starts to dial the Marketing Department, but Jimmy grins, and you continue, “There’s that scene at the beginning, right? With the raptors? What if you do that scene and you use those kazoos instead of dialogue?” You point to the kazoos you saw on the prop shelves.
Jimmy’s grin grows. “Yes”—he laughs—“I love it. Let me just—”
He turns to speak with the movie star’s agents, but you can hear Chris Pratt calling from across the room, “I would be so down to do that!”
Jimmy rubs his hands together. “Yes!” he exclaims, still laughing. “Hey”—he gestures toward you—“it’s a three-person scene. You’re in.” He turns away from you and runs toward the props crew.
You look at Angelica with wide eyes. “What? For real?”
She stops dialing her phone. “Do you want it to be?”
You know the show is going to be taped and won’t actually be live, but you will still be live in front of a few hundred people, and the YouTube video later will get a few hundred thousand views. At least. But you look around you, at all the fun things in the room. At Chris Pratt, who’s found one of the fake swords and is figuring out how to turn it. At Jimmy Fallon, picking three kazoos off the shelf, who really does remind you of that kid in your fourth-grade class. And you know the point of it is to have fun, and that it can
’t get any better than this. “Yeah,” you reply. “Awesome.”
FINALLY IT’S TIME. The rehearsal with Chris and Jimmy went well, but as Jimmy explained again, “You gotta leave room for improvisation.” So you stand in the wings of the stage of The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon, the gleaming wooden real stage, with three kazoos stored neatly in your pocket. It’s hard for you to see the audience behind the bright glare of the stage lights, but you know it’s filled with a mix of people. You wonder if you know any of them, but assume you do not. But, hey, maybe John from your tenth-grade class is watching!
Jimmy sits at his desk onstage and asks Chris questions about the movie. Jimmy and Chris started joking around during your rehearsal and pretty much never stopped. “So you play a dinosaur trainer in the movie,” says Jimmy, “as in someone who actually trains real dinosaurs?”
“That’s right, Jimmy, real dinosaurs,” Chris replies excitedly. “I’m employed in a really dangerous profession.”
“And the dinosaurs actually respond to you?” Jimmy sits up straighter in his chair.
“Yes, I have a special bond with them.” Chris puffs out his chest and the audience laughs. You laugh with them and bite your lip in anticipation—you know where this is going, and it’s more exciting than the audience will ever guess. “Not to brag or anything, but I’m pretty much the dinosaur whisperer.”
Jimmy claps his hands. “That we’re going to have to see!” He looks at the audience and starts announcing quickly and excitedly, “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m Jimmy Fallon, Tonight Show host, and tonight Chris Pratt and I will be demonstrating my new game, Musical Theater. The way this works is, Chris and I, along with one lucky guest, will act out a scene from Chris’s new movie using only the instrument of choice. Tonight the instruments were selected by our second guest tonight, who is someone that’s new to the show but could probably be running it. Let’s give them a hand!”
You hear Jimmy announce your name, and suddenly, without your knowing how it happened, your feet carry you onstage. The first thing you notice is the glare of the stage lights, which are even brighter onstage than in the wings. The only things visible to you are Jimmy’s grin and Chris’s arms-crossed stance. The audience sits behind the lights and you can only make out one long shadow. While you can’t see anyone, you can hear all of them. The audience’s applause hits you like a brilliant epiphany: They are clapping for the show that you’re putting on. You. Hundreds of people are clapping for you.
When the applause dies down, you pull the kazoos out of your pocket and hand one to both Jimmy and Chris. You hear the roar of laughter. Jimmy holds his kazoo up to the audience and has trouble containing his laughter as he dramatically pauses and announces, “The. Instrument. Of. Choice.”
“It’s been a while since I’ve blown one of these,” says Chris, before putting it in his mouth. A tiny quacking noise comes out of it, and he laughs lightly, getting a spattering of laughs from the audience.
You put your kazoo in your mouth and blow through it hard. The kazoos are made out of cheap plastic with tiny sound holes, and you suspect Chris’s barely made a noise because he didn’t put enough air into it. None of you blew the kazoos during the rehearsal because of Jimmy’s wish to improvise. The quacking noise comes out of yours much louder than you intended it to, and the audience claps, laughing along.
“And that’s how it’s done,” says Jimmy, not able to keep a straight face. “All right, so, Chris, you stand over here.” Jimmy positions Chris on the right end of the stage. “And we’ll stand over here.” Jimmy turns toward the audience. “Chris will be playing the role of the dinosaur trainer, and we’ll be playing the roles of Raptor Charlie and Raptor Delta.”
Jimmy looks at you and holds his arms in front of himself like a dinosaur. You do the same thing and clench the kazoo with your jaw. The audience laughs at how ridiculous you two look, and you blow through your kazoo like you’re making a roaring noise. It comes out like a high-pitched quack, and the audience laughs harder. You feel warm and engaged—the audience loves it!
Chris tries to put on a serious face and blows through his kazoo. Quack! He raises his hand like he’s telling a dog to sit. You and Jimmy blow misshapen noises through your kazoos. Chris laughs through his kazoo and holds out his arm like he’s telling a dog to stay, with his hand out at you. You and Jimmy stop moving, but make confused noises through your kazoos. The way your fuzzy sounds are coming out, you might really sound like dinosaurs! Chris blows through his kazoo and spins around in a circle. You and Jimmy look at him confused and hop toward him, still holding your arms like raptors, your eyes trying to keep locked on his. Jimmy almost loses it from laughing and has trouble making kazoo noises. Chris holds out his hand to say stay again. You stay. Slowly, he makes the same noise as before, and slowly, as if he were counting to twenty, he spins around in a circle. Jimmy starts to copy Chris, and you take a hop toward him. The audience starts laughing and you take another hop.
Chris holds out his hand for you to stay again, and you decide to play along this time. Slowly, he spins around in a circle again, and Jimmy does the same. Slowly, you start to spin around, stopping to look back at Chris: Like this? You blow through your kazoo. You spin two more steps and look at Chris. He nods slowly and points to Jimmy, who is spinning around in circles, laughing so hard he can’t blow his kazoo. You finish the circle and the audience cheers loudly. Chris takes a bow and Jimmy stops spinning.
“Chris Pratt, everyone!” Jimmy announces, still laughing. “Dinosaur trainer extraordinaire!” Jimmy motions to you and the audience stands up. The cheering intensifies. “Let’s give a hand to our special guest tonight! Thank you, New York, you’ve been lovely!”
It takes a long time for the audience’s cheering to die down, and you, Jimmy, and Chris wave through it. Heat rushes to your face as the clapping continues, but your smile is wide and you’re still laughing a little. You blow your kazoo a few more times for the audience, and Jimmy and Chris copy you.
Finally, you can follow Jimmy off the stage. “What a show!” Jimmy exclaims to you, clasping his hands together. He is beaming at you, and his chocolate-brown eyes are filled with the remnants of a fantastic evening. “You were hilarious! I can tell you’ve done some acting before.” He pats your shoulder, and you shrug. He has no idea, but you knew you were beaming just as brightly. “Hey, do you have a manager or anything? The next time we need an idea for the show, I’d love to give you a call.”
For a moment, it’s like you’ve stopped breathing. Jimmy Fallon wants you back on his show!? But just like the rest of the evening, with your new go-with-the-flow attitude, you manage to get your fingers to stop shaking and plug your phone number into Jimmy’s personal phone.
Jimmy grins back at you. “You know, I never really did get from Angelica about why we had two guests on the show tonight, but I’m so glad that we called you. It was such a pleasure to have you with us. I know you’ll hear from us again.”
Just then he’s called away, leaving you with a burst of bubbling excitement that warms even your littlest toe. You look around Studio 6B as the lights dim and see the audience filing out. They’re all trying to meet Chris Pratt and Jimmy Fallon, who carry the kind of contagious energy around them that stars are literally made of. Still you grin and listen to the hum of the stage crew wrapping things up and the crackling of footsteps of people rushing around. Even the backdrop of Jimmy’s stage summed it up: this was just another night in New York. But like every sparkling building on Jimmy’s background that shone through the fabric, you knew every night was special.
You pick up the gift bag Angelica left you with and walk out of the stage wings. You wave toward the stage crew that you pass, and they congratulate you on the show. Your shoes feel more broken-in than ever as you walk past the rehearsal room, the makeup room, and finally stand at the elevator at the top of Jimmy’s studio. From the middle of it, Jimmy waves to you, a big wave, like his arms are a windmill. You can hear him shouting,
“Thank you!” You pull your blue plastic kazoo out of your pocket and raise it in the air like a toast. You know that it’s a special night for New York, and for you, that you will hold it in your heart forever: tonight was the night that you met Jimmy Fallon, and more important, the night he met you.
Michael Clifford Takes You to Prom
Kassandra Tate
Imagine . . .
You’re sitting in the driver’s seat, dolled up to the best of your abilities in a dress you didn’t want to buy and shoes that almost stabbed you in the process of putting them on. The garage door is open, but the car is off. Your car is compact, so it’s a little crammed, but the way you’ve gotten your knees propped against the steering wheel is comfortable enough for scrolling through Twitter not-so-mindlessly. No matter how many times you refresh your feed, nothing seems to be going on that’s any more exciting than someone you follow’s thoughts on an episode of some obscure HBO show. Still, you keep at it, half hoping you’ll lose track of the time.
Losing track of the time is key—if you let the hours slip by, then you’ll be far too late to even think about leaving.
You could list around a million things you’d rather be doing tonight than going. You considered getting a job at a fast-food joint earlier this week solely so you could claim the weekend night shift. You prayed for a last-minute project from your teachers that would keep you cooped up in your room all night long. Heck, you even asked your neighbors if their imbecilic children needed a babysitter, which is a task you usually avoid like the plague.
You’ll do anything—anything to avoid going to prom.
It’s not like you’re against the whole establishment. Prom is supposed to be one of the more enjoyable aspects of the high school experience, and you’d like it to be so. But none of it is going how you imagined it would. For starters, your dress isn’t even the color you wanted it to be. Your hair refused to cooperate with you while you were getting ready. And like the cherry on top of a vanilla sundae you ordered as chocolate, you’re the only one of your friends who wasn’t able to get a date.