The Real Z

by Jen Calonita

  I pulled out my tiny voice recorder and turned on my camera. Then I started filming as Mrs. Tollman talked about the right time to plant seeds versus tiny plants and how to know when to water and how much sunlight was needed for a garden to grow. I zoomed in on Mrs. Tollman’s gardening gloves, then shot the tiny vegetable signs she had placed where plants would soon grow. I filmed her straightening her large gardening hat, her face barely visible under the large visor.

  She looked at the dirt patch that would someday turn into a garden. “You know, some people think starting a garden is too much work, but I love a challenge.” She smiled. “What’s that saying? The tougher the problem, the greater the reward? I believe that.”

  I thought of my fight with Lauren. Admitting I was wrong was scary. I realized now how wrong I had been. I had to show Lauren that her ideas and the things she loved were as important to me as what was going on in my own life.

  I glanced at the time on my phone. Lauren would be at her soccer game, which was just starting. Maybe I could catch her there.

  “Thanks for talking to me,” I said to Mrs. Tollman, “and good luck with your garden.” Then I pulled on Popcorn’s leash. “Let’s get you home,” I said, and started to run down the block with her nipping at my heels.

  I flew through the front door and went straight to Mom and Dad who were in the kitchen. It didn’t take me long to explain what I wanted to do. Since Dad was the one who suggested I talk to my friends face-to-face anyway, he was fine with dropping me off at Lauren’s game and keeping my dinner warm (it hadn’t even arrived yet).

  “I just need five minutes,” I said, running upstairs with an idea pounding in my head. I grabbed some giant pieces of poster board that I always had ready for backdrops, then went to the bag of candy still sitting on my dresser from Lauren and my last trip to Sweet Treats, the candy shop in town. Then I grabbed a bottle of quick-drying glue that Lauren always used when we were making AGSM props. I quickly got to work. I walked downstairs carefully, holding the large poster board flat so that nothing would slide off it as it dried. Dad took a look.

  “Perfect,” he said.

  “Good luck,” Mom said, hugging me carefully to avoid wrecking the poster. “Just be honest and tell her how you feel.”

  “I will,” I promised.

  Dad drove me back to school and let me off near the soccer field. The game was already going, and there were some fans sitting up in the bleachers, but not as many as usual. The earlier rain had kept people away. I pulled my Windbreaker hood around my head and carefully pulled the poster board out of the back of our truck.

  Dad rolled down the window. “I’ll pick you up here in an hour, but call me if it starts raining and you want me to get you sooner.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  I was suddenly nervous. What if Lauren saw me on the sidelines during the game and got annoyed? Or became distracted and missed a goal that cost them the game? I had to at least try to explain. I took a deep breath and started walking. By the time I reached the actual field, it had started drizzling again. I looked at the scoreboard. It was 1–0 in our school’s favor and close to the end of the first half.

  Right away, I spotted Lauren running down the field in our school’s green-and-white soccer uniform, keeping the ball away from the opposing team. I took a seat in the first row of the bleachers and watched as Lauren pulled the soccer ball back with her foot and scooted around a girl on the other team. Then Lauren broke away from the pack and kicked the ball down the field. As a striker, she usually scored a lot of goals, and I had a feeling she was about to score one now.

  “Go, Pine Crest!” someone behind me shouted, screaming our middle school’s name.

  “Go, Lauren!” I screamed at the top of my lungs as Lauren punted the ball.

  I felt like I was watching the game in slow motion. I watched the ball sail through the air and the goalie on the other team try to block it. The goalie jumped, her hands over her head, but the ball flew higher than her outstretched arms and landed in the net. Score!

  I jumped up and cheered along with the other fans. The buzzer sounded, ending the first period, and Lauren ran off the field to the bench. I watched her high-five her teammates. That’s when I held up my sign. Then I took a deep breath.

  “Lauren!” I shouted. She immediately looked up to see who was yelling her name. Her face registered surprise when she saw my sign. I held it higher. I had written out the words, “The Horrible Homework Hacker,” an AGSM original coming soon from Lauren and Z! in candy gummies and chocolates. Beneath it, in marker, I’d written: I’M SORRY! Lauren’s mouth turned up into a smile.

  She walked over to the fence. “Come see me after the game,” she said. She smiled a little. “That is, if you don’t have too much work to do on CloudSong to stay and watch.”

  “I’m staying,” I said.

  I sat back down with my sign. It was a really good game. Pine Crest Middle School wound up winning 6–4, and Lauren scored three goals. I cheered, shouted, and shimmied as Lauren tore up the field. I knew she was fast, but I hadn’t realized how much faster she’d gotten since last year. The season had started only a few weeks ago, and I had been so busy, I hadn’t come to see Lauren play yet. Meanwhile, she’d given up her Saturday to help me shoot a video. When the game was over, I waited for Lauren in the bleachers.

  “Hey,” I said awkwardly. My hands were sweaty and my mouth felt dry. I wanted to say the right thing for once. “You should win team MVP. You were amazing out there.”

  “Thanks,” Lauren said quietly. “It was great of you to come to the game.”

  “I’m going to come to more of them,” I said. “That’s what best friends do.” I felt my throat tighten. “They also know when they’ve royally screwed up. I’m sorry I made you feel like your ideas for our project didn’t matter.” Lauren scuffed her cleats on the muddy grass and didn’t respond. “You kept asking to help edit, and I just ignored you. That was wrong. So was not reading your script. You helped me with my movie. I should have cared more about what you wanted to work on, too.”

  Lauren shrugged. “I know making movies is your thing, but it really hurt when you kept telling me you didn’t need my help with our social studies project. And then when the presentation was missing from the flash drive, you kind of acted like it was no big deal. But it was to me. I need a good grade on that project.” Lauren looked upset again.

  “I know how important it is for you to get good grades,” I said. “That’s why I’m going to tell Mr. Kozak again in class tomorrow that this was all my fault. He should know you were prepared and I wasn’t.”

  “Thanks,” Lauren said, and sort of smiled. “Look, I know I’m good on the field, but when we’re in class, sometimes facts get jumbled in my head. I understand them better when we’re working together. Plus, I like making stuff with you.”

  “I do, too,” I assured her. “I know our presentation comes first, but then do you want to start working on ‘The Horrible Homework Hacker’? The script is really good. I seriously LOL’ed.”

  Lauren’s smile widened. “Thanks. That sounds awesome.” She touched the poster. “Let’s do something like this for our title treatment.”

  I looked at the poster again. “Good idea!”

  “Too bad you wasted all that perfectly good candy,” Lauren teased, perking up.

  “I can always get more candy,” I said, “but I can’t replace my best friend.”

  “Aww,” Lauren said as she dramatically pretended to wipe away a tear. “This is like a scene in a movie.”

  “Yes! I think this is the part where we’re supposed to hug before the scene fades out,” I said.

  We looked at each other, then yelled at the same time, “HUG!” and collapsed into laughter.

  Lauren and I pushed open the classroom door to the crowded hallway and let out the sound we’d been holding in for fifteen minutes.

  Squeeeee!

  The two of us jumped up and down.

  �
�Mr. Kozak loved it! He actually used the word ‘love,’” Lauren said in awe.

  “We did it,” I said. “Together.”

  Lauren smiled. “Yes we did!”

  Lauren had come over Thursday after school, and we’d ended up changing the instrumental music (Lauren’s option was better) and cutting a quick scene that felt out of place. Her suggestions were great—I should have been listening to them all along. A good director, I was learning, could take criticism.

  Lauren bounced on her toes. “We have to celebrate! I don’t have soccer practice until five thirty today.”

  “Okay,” I said, happy that Lauren and I were hanging out again. “Where should we go?”

  I looked out the window. The sun was peeking through the clouds, and the weather was just the way I liked it—warm but not sticky. “How about Sweet Treats? I’ve been wanting to try their watermelon coconut smoothie, and they have it for only a few weeks a year. I can ask my dad if he can drop us off after school.”

  “Perfect!” Lauren said.

  That afternoon, Lauren and I ordered the watermelon coconut smoothie with sprinkles and whipped cream topping. Lauren took a long sip of her icy drink, coming up with a smoothie mustache. I started to laugh and snapped a picture with my phone.

  “What’s so funny?” Lauren asked.

  “You’ve got a mustache,” I said, and showed her the picture. She started to laugh, too, then made funny faces.

  “Oh, I’ve got to film this,” I said, holding up my phone to record. I hesitated. “Do you mind?”

  “Nope,” Lauren said, and made another mustache. She was acting like a total goofball. “This smoothie is amazing. Might be their best.”

  “I’m not sure,” I said, and turned the camera on myself. “I also like the Strawberry Who-Are-You-Calling-Short? Cake Smoothie.”

  Lauren laughed so hard she hiccupped. “You made that flavor up! I’ve never heard of that!”

  “Maybe,” I answered. “But you have to admit it would be a great flavor!”

  Filming the two of us was so much fun. I liked having a record of things that made me happy. And I wasn’t thinking about my CloudSong movie at all. We didn’t even talk about it once. And that was okay.

  That evening, pumped up by my afternoon (and sugary smoothie) with Lauren, I took a new look at my documentary. I put sticky notes representing all the footage I had on my whiteboard and moved them around in different combinations, figuring out how they fit together. Where was the story?

  Maybe the Locks could lead into the walking shot, and … hmmm. That could actually work! I moved some more sticky notes around, writing script ideas on a notepad as I went.

  By the time Mom popped her head in to tell me it was time for bed, I’d put together a rough cut. I looked at the calendar—I still had four weeks to perfect the edit. I needed to do my title treatment and my credits and add in some music, but I thought the footage looked great. Especially the part where Mari’s band danced in the rain and I played their version of “Singin’ in the Rain.” I couldn’t wait for her to see it.

  I sent off a quick e-mail to my friends:

  Anyone want to see a sneak preview of my movie tomorrow morning? Popcorn’s on me! (No, really, she’s sitting on me. It’s super hard to type this.)

  Everyone responded excitedly, so we’d decided on 10 a.m. Mari and Lauren would come over and we’d video chat with Gigi and Becka.

  When I heard the doorbell ring the next morning, I jumped up and shouted, “It’s movie premiere time!”

  Lauren and Mari came running up the stairs and burst into my bedroom. Mari was carrying a small bouquet of sunflowers, and Lauren had a roll of red paper. I watched her stretch it out onto the floor.

  “It’s your first red carpet,” Lauren said triumphantly.

  I strutted up and down the paper walkway as Lauren and Mari cheered, snapping pictures with their phones. Popcorn looked on in bewilderment.

  “I can’t wait for you guys to see the film,” I said. “I think it’s really coming along.”

  “We can’t wait, either!” Lauren said. “It’s like we’re watching an exclusive director’s cut.”

  We all laughed and I walked over to my computer to make sure the video chat window was open. Gigi and Becka waved back at me.

  “Hi, guys! Are you ready?” I asked. “You got the e-mail attachment of the video and it’s loaded? I want you all to see it at the same time.”

  “All good here!” Becka said.

  “Ready in London, too!” said Gigi, who was now home again for a few weeks.

  “Okay, then,” I said as Lauren and Mari gathered around my laptop. I pretended to play the trumpet to announce my movie. Then I opened the large playback window and saw my video on pause. “And three-two-one! Press PLAY!”

  I sat back with Mari and Lauren and watched. I had decided to arrange the footage from sunrise to sunset with the rain storm with Mari’s band at the end. The movie opened with a shot of the sun and drone footage of my house—a bird’s-eye view of my world. Then I took viewers through a day in Seattle. Some parts were scenes from my life and some scenes featured my city. I loved the footage I shot of Mari while we scootered to school and the scene with Lauren in Sweet Treats from the previous day. I kept in the footage of the Locks—when it was all cut together, it was beautiful. I also experimented with some grainy shots and ones in sharp focus. There were quick shots of famous landmarks and a segment where I interviewed the couple with the toddler on the docks. When I wasn’t doing an interview on camera, I stuck with some instrumental music Mari had given me from her band. I was considering adding a voice-over that played over the course of the whole movie, like I do on my vlog, but then I read an article online about how continuous voice-overs were distracting. Plus, I wanted my film to speak for itself. Next, I included footage of Mari’s band playing at the Beanery. But the best part was the rain dance at the end with Needles in a Haystack. As we watched, the three of us were rocking out to Mari’s group’s song arrangement of “Singin’ in the Rain” in my bedroom. This was starting to feel like a real movie! I ended with an image of the sun coming out from behind a cloud and setting on the city, and finally the last shot was of me standing on my front porch again, slowly waving good-bye as the sun began to set. As the screen faded to black, Mari and Lauren applauded. Becka whistled and Gigi cheered.

  “Take a bow!” Gigi shouted.

  I stood up in front of the computer screen and bowed to Becka and Gigi and then curtsied to Mari and Lauren. “So … what did you guys think?” I asked eagerly.

  “Great cinematography,” Becka said.

  “I can’t believe you included the milk mustache,” Lauren added. “That was funny.”

  “I liked that part the best,” Mari added. “Well, that and the part of everyone dancing in the rain. I didn’t think you got anything worth using that day, but that part looked cool and I loved hearing the song in the movie. Hey, my song is in a movie!”

  “That was the best part in the film,” Gigi said, and the others nodded. “I wish you had more scenes like that.”

  “Me, too,” Lauren said. “That scene felt very you, very Z.”

  “Yeah!” Becka agreed. “Some of the other scenes felt like they were someone else’s movie.”

  I paused. Uh-oh. That didn’t sound good. “What do you mean?” I asked, grabbing my notebook to take notes.

  Everyone got kind of quiet. “Come on, guys, I need your help! If you don’t tell me what to fix, how can I make my movie better?” Good filmmakers take criticism, I reminded myself, remembering how valuable Lauren’s insight had been for our Kit video. I could handle my friends’ comments.

  Hopefully.

  “I didn’t not like anything,” Lauren said carefully. “Does that make sense?” She turned to Mari for confirmation. “It’s just … all the pieces were nice, but … I don’t know. I wasn’t sure if they all fit together.”

  “Yes, that’s it!” Gigi exclaimed. “The movie was miss
ing a story.”

  My stomach lurched. My movie still didn’t have a story? That was the most important part of a movie! “But I told the story of the city from sun up to sun down,” I reminded them. “You know all those shots of the sun and the rain throughout the day …” I trailed off.

  “I got that,” Becka said, “but it didn’t feel like a movie really made by you. Some parts of the movie felt like you made them, like the part with the smoothies, but other parts were pretty but kind of, well, dull like a travel commercial.”

  “That’s a good way to put it—a travel commercial for Seattle,” Mari said, and looked at me. “The dancing in the rain is perfect, but it was so unique it didn’t seem to fit in with some of your other scenes, you know?”

  “I wanted more Z flair,” Mari said. “We barely saw you except for the shot on your porch.”

  “Yeah!” Lauren seconded. “Your vlogs are so great because it’s all you.”

  I nodded, jotting down notes, and trying to hide that I was blinking back tears. I didn’t want my friends to think I didn’t appreciate them sharing their thoughts, but it was hard to hear them say they didn’t love the film I had been working so hard on. “Okay,” I said quietly. “Thanks for being honest.”

  “You’ll get there, Z,” Lauren said. “Maybe you just need to rearrange things.”

  “Or maybe you just need to simplify,” Becka suggested.

  “Whatever the fix is, we know you can do it,” Mari said. “The great Z never fails!”

  “Thanks.” I tried to smile, but I was feeling pretty crummy. My movie wasn’t working. I’d concentrated so much on how it looked rather than the story I was trying to tell. But now I had only four weeks to make it right. I was pretty nervous I wouldn’t get it done in time. But there was only one way to find out.

  “Thanks, guys,” I said. “I guess I better get back to work.”

  Ticktock. Ticktock.

  I could feel the minutes slipping away with each passing day. I dreamed of clocks and calendars and never finishing my movie. I still hadn’t figured out my story.