Sean Rosen Is Not for Sale

by Jeff Baron

  “You know, I’ve been thinking about your second honeymoon. You two should go soon.”

  They looked at each other like this was the best idea in the world.

  Then my dad said, “Just the two of us?” He was making fun of me, because when we talked about this before, for like half a second, I thought I would be going too.

  “Beg me all you want, but I’m not going with you. I’ll stay with Grandma.”

  Now they looked at each other like, “Who is this kid?”

  My dad said, “Really? I thought you didn’t want to.” Thorny is his mom.

  “I didn’t, but now I do. Just for a long weekend. Is three days okay?”

  My mom said, “Three days is great. Will you be flying to Florida all by yourself?”

  “No. There will almost definitely be other people in the plane. Plus the pilot. I’ll be fine.”

  They made me call Thorny myself to ask her. I think they think if I can’t get through a phone call with her, I shouldn’t go for a visit.

  She picked up after two rings. She has phones all over her condo.

  GRANDMA: It’s about time you called.

  ME: Hi, Grandma. It’s not Dad. It’s me.

  GRANDMA: Oh. It comes up Jack Rosen.

  ME: I know.

  GRANDMA: Hi, Mr. Adorable.

  ME: Hi.

  GRANDMA: It isn’t my birthday, is it?

  ME: I don’t think so.

  I actually don’t know when her birthday is. My mom hands me a card and I sign it.

  GRANDMA: To what do I owe this pleasure?

  ME: I was thinking it might be fun if I came to Florida to visit you for a few days.

  GRANDMA: Really?

  ME: Yeah.

  GRANDMA: With your parents?

  ME: No. Just me.

  GRANDMA: Really?!

  ME: Yeah. It might be fun.

  GRANDMA: What if it isn’t?

  No one said anything for a second.

  GRANDMA: I’m kidding. Yes. Come. Do not buy a ticket. I have miles out the wazoo.

  I don’t want to know what that means.

  Email me the dates and I’ll take care of the ticket.

  ME: Okay.

  GRANDMA: You’re not a vegetarian or something, are you?

  ME: No. That’s Rachael (my cousin).

  GRANDMA: Good. It doesn’t matter anyway. We’ll go to Publix when you get here. Put your father on.

  ME: I think he’s out on a job.

  GRANDMA: I think he told you to say that. Life goes on. See you soon, sweetheart. Mmm-mmm.

  That was the sound of a hug. Grandma is the world’s hardest hugger. It’s actually a little too much. Maybe when I’m there, I can teach her how to do it softer.

  Chapter 17

  I printed out the email from Dave Motts and brought it to school today. I could have just forwarded it to Buzz, but I don’t think he ever uses email. I actually brought in two copies, one for Brianna and one for Doug.

  I feel a little funny pretending I’m not Dave Motts. I know. I’ve been pretending I’m not Dan Welch for a while now. But not to other kids. Not even to other grown-ups that live in my town. This feels different.

  I don’t want to get into a whole big thing with Brianna, so I didn’t talk to her in any of my classes, which she probably didn’t notice, because she was still ignoring me. I waited until lunch, and then I did something I almost never do. I went to the cafeteria.

  Brianna always sits at the same table, in the same seat. There are always a bunch of girls sitting with her. I’m not sure if they’re the same girls every day, but whoever they are, Brianna is usually talking and they’re listening.

  She saw me walking over, and she kept talking. I got there and stood next to her. The other girls all looked at me. Finally, Brianna stopped talking and turned to me. “Yes?”

  “Can you give this to Buzz for me?” I handed her the paper with the email printed on it, folded in half. She took it from me, opened the paper, and started reading it.

  As I walked away, I said, “Thanks.”

  I saw Ethan sitting by himself. I went over to say hi. He knows I don’t like the cafeteria, so he never expects me to eat lunch with him. I sat down for a second and took out the other copy of the email. One thing I like about being with Ethan is we don’t really have to talk.

  Ethan’s quiet. Very quiet. And I know you won’t believe this, but so am I. You probably think I never shut up, and if you’ve seen my podcasts, you know it’s easy for me to just start talking to people. It is, but remember, I’m talking to them about them, not about me. Most of the time, I don’t talk.

  I looked around the cafeteria. I said to Ethan, “Do you see Doug?” Even sitting down, he can see a lot more than I can. He pointed.

  “Thanks. See you later.” That was me. Ethan didn’t say a word that whole time.

  I walked over to Doug, who was sitting with his friends.

  “Hey, Doug. This came from Dave Motts.”

  I handed him the piece of paper and started to leave.

  “Wait.”

  “I can’t right now, but I’ll see you later.”

  I actually might not see him later. We don’t really have classes together. We did in elementary school, but now the smarter kids are in different classes from the not-as-smart kids.

  I went into the boys’ room and texted Buzz.

  Got an email from Dave Motts. Gave it to Brianna and Doug. Talk later.

  I sent it, and the next second, I heard an announcement.

  “Sean Rosen, please report to the principal’s office.”

  Uh-oh.

  Thank goodness I’m not still in the cafeteria. As soon as the assistant principal said my name in the announcement, I’m sure all the kids went “WOOO!” and made other obnoxious sounds, and I would have been embarrassed, which would make me turn red, which would make everyone make fun of me even more.

  I stopped for a second before I left the boys’ room to think about what I might have done. You’re not supposed to text during school. Do they have cameras in here? No. You don’t get called to the principal’s office for turning in a short story a day late, which is good because Mr. Parsons would need a much bigger office. I guess I’ll find out in a minute.

  When I walked into the office, Trish said, “Hi, Sean. Sorry about the announcement, but I never know where you are during lunch. Only where you’re not.”

  “I actually went there today. I’m not in trouble?”

  “No. Not at all.”

  “Good. So . . . the track team didn’t exactly work out.”

  “I know. I ran into Mr. Obester.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Oh, you know. Nothing bad. Just that it wasn’t your cup of tea.”

  “He said ‘cup of tea’?”

  “No. You know, the sports version of that. Anyway, that’s old news. Do you know any other Sean Rosens?”

  “Are there any?”

  “I don’t know. Sometimes people Google themselves and find other people with the same name.”

  “Now that you mention it, I think there are a few other Sean Rosens. Why?”

  “I got a call. I didn’t see her number because it was transferred to me. She said, ‘I’m calling about a student of yours.’”

  “Is that what her voice sounded like?”

  “No. I don’t know. I can’t do impressions. Why do I even try? Anyway, then she said, ‘His name is Sean Rosen.’ And I said, ‘Who am I speaking with?’ She didn’t answer me. She just said, ‘He’s a very creative student.’ And I said, ‘If you can just give me a number to call you back—’ Then she said thank you and hung up. Sean, do you know who it was?”

  “I have no idea. Probably just someone who saw my podcasts.”

  “Your what?”

  I told Trish about my podcasts. We watched a little bit of the dog one. I said I don’t want to make a big thing of it at school, because other kids might think they’re stupid.

  She sa
id she was going to call my parents about the lady who called. I said, “You can call them if you want to, but they already know about my podcasts, and I don’t think there’s anything else to tell.”

  Actually, I do have an idea who it was.

  It was the end of the day, and I was waiting outside school for Ethan. He’s smarter about computer stuff than I am. Kids kept asking me why I’m in trouble. I couldn’t think of a good answer, so I said, “I’m not supposed to talk about it.” Now they really want to know.

  “Hey, Ethan!” He came over. “If someone liked my podcast, and wanted to find out where I live, could they do that?”

  “Depends. Is your domain registration public or private?”

  “I don’t know. How do you know?”

  “Does your phone have internet?”

  “No.”

  “We can check in the library.”

  We went back into school, and on one of the library computers, Ethan went to a site called Whois.net. He typed in SeanRosen.com, and there it was: the exact address of my house, plus my cell phone number. I guess I gave it to them when I got my website.

  I don’t know why, but it felt a little scary seeing it there. Like if you hated my podcast, you could come to my town and throw eggs at my house. Or keep calling me and not say anything and use up all of my minutes.

  But I don’t think the lady who called my school was someone who hated my podcast. I think it was Kendra or someone else who works for Hank Hollywood. First they tried to find out where Dan Welch lives, and now they’re trying to find out where I live.

  But why, Kendra??? Please! Do what Dan Welch asked you. Set up a Skype meeting for me and Hank Hollywood, then you can just ask me where I live. I’ll tell you. Probably.

  Anyway, when I get home, I’m changing my domain registration to private. I think it costs more, but I don’t want people throwing eggs at my house.

  Chapter 18

  I came home from school and checked Dan Welch’s email. I saw something I never saw before. The number 3 next to his inbox. He has three new emails. Things are happening. I guess I’ll just read them in order. Some people would open all three emails and take a quick look to see what they say. Like this one girl I know. Whenever she gets a new book, she reads the last few pages first. She can’t stand not knowing how it ends.

  I never want to know how something ends until the end. And if you’re reading something I wrote, I never want you to know how it ends until the end. Miss Meglis says a good story always has a beginning, a middle, and an end, and my advice is to read it in that exact order.

  That’s what I’m going to do with these emails. But first I’m going to change the domain registration on my website from public to private, so I don’t forget.

  Making SeanRosen.com private was very easy to do. It only costs about twelve dollars a year. My parents gave me a debit card to use for emergencies. I don’t know if this counts as an emergency, but it is a little weird that someone I don’t know called my school. Anyway, I’ll give my parents the twelve dollars. They don’t have to pay for my website.

  Okay. That’s done. I can look at the emails.

  To: Dan Welch Management

  From: Stefanie V. President

  Dear Dan,

  I can’t believe Ashley had the nerve to write to you. Finally! We know which Director of Development it was. I still can’t believe she left, and now she’s trying to take something that’s rightfully mine.

  I know what you’re thinking. I used to work for Hank Hollywood, and now he and I compete for projects. That’s true, of course, but when I left there, I didn’t abruptly abandon the studio (with no notice). And on my way out, I didn’t try to grab most of my boss’s goodies (like Sean’s movie) and cram them into my counterfeit Gucci bag. That’s exactly what she’s doing. Do I sound angry? I am.

  And just for the record, I was Hank’s intern. Ashley was paid an unbelievably high salary to learn every single thing she knows—from me. Then she leaves without even the hint of a thank you, plundering the relationships I took so long to build.

  Dan, I’m sure you’ve had clients leave you. I know this happens all the time in our business. It doesn’t make it hurt any less.

  Okay. Enough wound licking. You’re your own man, and Sean is his own boy, and I know that together you’ll make the decision that’s right for him as he begins his career.

  But as someone who knows you well (my best to your wife and kids), who cherishes our working relationship, I must say this to you. Do not let that woman near any artistic property that you care about. She is not to be trusted.

  I know this is one of those emails I should write and never send, but I also know that you’ll take it in the spirit of friendship. Call me.

  xo,

  S

  To: Dan Welch Management

  From: Ashley _______________

  Dear Dan,

  I can’t tell you how happy I am to be sending you this email. I have been desperately wanting to be in touch with you about Sean Rosen’s A Week with Your Grandparents. (The title actually sounds good that way.)

  I have been in love with this project since the day Sean pitched it to us on Skype. I was devastated (but not surprised) that Stefanie President wasn’t able to make a deal with you. I had been lobbying to be put in charge of the project, and when her attempt to play “hardball” in your negotiation failed, I gave a silent cheer for Sean through my tears of disappointment.

  Flash forward! I was offered a production job at __________________ a different big Hollywood studio, also very famous, which I had to think about for a grand total of five seconds. Any studio that would let Sean Rosen go so easily is not a place I’m betting my future on.

  Dan, you know this business. We hear ten pitches a day, from the biggest and brightest names in Hollywood. When someone cuts through all the noise and tells us a story we actually want to see . . . right now . . . with our families and our best friends, we know it immediately. Well, some of us do.

  And when you hear a story like that from someone just beginning his career, you can imagine making movie after movie with this bright light named Sean. That’s why I’m writing.

  I truly do not understand my former company’s conduct and lack of vision. I’m sorry you had to experience that, but it’s a new day, with a studio that values young talent and will do whatever we have to do to make this happen.

  I was having trouble finding your info, Dan. Thank goodness I remembered Sean’s podcasts, which I love, Love, LOVE!! I want a donut! And a dog! And a stamp!

  I have to warn you. There’s a very odd person whose name also happens to be Dan Welch, who is claiming he’s your close friend and “the representor” (whatever that is) of both you and Sean Rosen. Steer clear of that guy!

  Let’s make a deal. Love to Sean. Call me. Soon.

  Best,

  Ashley

  To: Dan Welch Management

  From: Dan Welch

  Hey Dan Welch,

  Hows your week? Mine is going good, thanks to the biz we’re both in. No, not collectibles (least I hope not - I don’t need the competish). Show biz! You will not beleive what someone just paid me for a fork used by the one and only Miss Miley Cyrus.

  Usually you need there autograph for the big bucks, but if you ever tried to sign a fork, you know. You cant. But I had a picture of Miley holding the fork and a signed affadavid from the waiter, which was fine for my rich customer, who is now the proud owner of The Miley Fork.

  I didnt hear back from you about what we should tell that movie person. I figure your busy. How many people do you manage anyway? Since your busy and we already got the fish on the line, I wrote and told them we’ed be back to them soon.

  Dan, I been selling people stuff for a long time now and we dont want to lose our mojo on this sale, now do we? I think we’re good for now, but think about our next move and let me know soon, ok? You got my number, right?

  Hey, if Sean ever wants to do a Collectibles podcast, I
’m in.

  Peace and carrots,

  Dan K. Welch (K for Kelvin. I know.)

  “Sean! Dinner!”

  Chapter 19

  In one way, I’m glad it’s time to eat. I’m hungry, and those emails are just . . . I don’t know . . . too much. All these grown-ups trying really hard to talk me into doing something. Stefanie and Ashley having a fight, and the fight is over me. I know. I wanted a bidding war. Now I have one. Now what do I do?

  It’s exciting, but it makes me think of something my dad says to me. “Seany, you’re in over your head.” Like when you’re swimming, and you stop, and you think you can stand on the bottom. But then when you try, your head goes under the water. It’s deeper than you thought it was. But you don’t know how deep. Should you try to touch the bottom, or just turn around and swim back to where it’s safe? I can’t decide right now.

  I went downstairs.

  “It’s just us tonight. Your dad has Boys’ Night.”

  This isn’t good. If it’s just my mom and me, she’ll know something’s going on, and it’ll be hard not to answer her questions.

  I guess I could tell her. Why wouldn’t I want to? I feel bad keeping a secret from my parents. I actually don’t think of it as a secret. It’s just my own thing. She doesn’t tell me everything either, and to tell you the truth, I wouldn’t want her to.

  “How was your day?”

  It took me a second to remember she was talking to me.

  “Oh. Good. How about you?”

  She was busy at the stove making sure everything was ready and hot. That’s the only way I got away with that answer. If she was looking at me, she would have read my mind by now.

  “My day was good. We sent three patients home. The new nurse manager started.”

  “What’s she like?” The longer I can keep her talking, the better.

  She brought our plates to the table. It’s some kind of fish that actually looks really good, and string beans and those little red potatoes. She poured herself a glass of wine and poured me a mixture of cran-grape juice and seltzer. It’s like soda, but a little healthier.