Sean Rosen Is Not for Sale

by Jeff Baron

  Maybe I should tell someone, because then I would have a witness. Now that I think about it, I haven’t even written the idea down anywhere. If Hank Hollywood’s company suddenly started using it, there would be no way to show that I had the idea first.

  This is hard. But I can’t think about it anymore right now. I have to go to Baxter’s house so Mrs. Dahlin can tell me what to do when they’re away.

  On my way out of school, I passed the auditorium. I thought about going in for a second to see a little of Le Bistro, but then I heard Mademoiselle Fou singing, and it sounded just as bad as last year. Right then, the door to the auditorium opened and Buzz walked out.

  “Sean. That is the worst ____ I ever saw in my life.”

  “That’s why I’m not in there.”

  “Why didn’t you warn me, man?”

  “I thought about texting you, but if she found out . . .”

  “I know. I know. This whole thing . . . her . . . being back in this school . . . I’m going crazy. I gotta get out.” He ran out the door.

  Buzz used to go to school here, but he was having trouble in most of his classes, so his parents moved him to a private school. Then they moved him to a different private school, the one he goes to now. He likes this one. He gets to play guitar in his classes, and they go on a lot of trips.

  I wonder if Brianna knows he bailed on Le Bistro.

  I better get moving too.

  “We’re leaving at some ungodly hour in the morning, so you’re in charge of Baxter all day tomorrow. We get back the next night kinda late. So you’ll walk him and feed him twice that day, and we’ll do his third walk when we get home.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Here’s his food. You mix a can of this . . . with a cup of this.”

  “What size cup?”

  The minute I said it, I knew it was a stupid question. She’s holding a measuring cup.

  “Just use this. Measure out one cup. What time will you come over in the morning?”

  “Before school.”

  “When’s that? No kids, remember?”

  I actually forgot. I guess you don’t have to know when school starts if you don’t have any kids and you don’t work at a school.

  “Guess.”

  “Guess?”

  “Guess what time school starts.”

  “Really? I don’t know. Nine?”

  “I wish. Try seven fifty-five.”

  “I never knew that.”

  “So I guess I’ll be here at seven.”

  “We’ll be gone by then. You still want to do this?”

  “Definitely. Is that okay, Baxter? Seven tomorrow morning? Too early?”

  “If it means food, you can show up at three in the morning, wake him from a deep sleep, and he’ll be in love with you the second he hears this cabinet door open. Okay, these are his treats.”

  “Can he have as many treats as he wants?”

  “No, Sean. Unless you want to be in charge of treats for the rest of his life. Let’s say six treats a day. Less if he’s bad.”

  “Bad?”

  “He’s never really bad.”

  “Sounds like he sometimes is.”

  “I just mean . . . like if he chews up my dish towel.”

  “Has he done that?”

  “Not for a while.”

  “When was the last time?”

  “Two years ago.”

  “What else does he do when he’s bad?”

  “Oh, you know. The usual. Climbing on other dogs and not getting off when you say no.”

  “What do I do if that happens and I say no and he doesn’t stop?”

  “Just yank the leash. Here’s our cell numbers. Bob never has his on, so call mine if you need us. Even if you just have a question. Don’t worry about interrupting. We’re visiting my in-laws. They’re exhausting. A phone call from you will get me out of the room for a little while. Like a little break. But that’s really not your job. What I’m saying is, don’t hesitate to call me.”

  “Okay.”

  “Here’s the fifty dollars. Are you sure that’s enough?”

  “Unless he’s a bad dog. Just kidding, Baxter. You’re gonna be very, very good, right?”

  He wagged his tail and licked my hand.

  Walking home from the Dahlins, I got a text from Brianna.

  Did u see Buzz? He wasn’t there after the show and he’s not answering my texts.

  Uh-oh. I’m not going to answer.

  My dad is in the driveway, getting ready to put a sink into his van.

  “Shawnee Mission, Kansas!”

  He calls me that sometimes. It’s an actual place. He’s never been there, but he says it because Shawnee sounds like his nickname for me.

  “You’ll never guess who called me today.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “Aren’t you gonna guess?”

  “If you tell me I’m never gonna guess, why bother?”

  “Good point. Your grandmother. My mother.”

  They almost never talk on the phone. They figured out that whenever they do, they fight, so my mom usually handles the phone calls with Thorny.

  “She called to tell me that somehow, in spite of me being your dad and her being your grandma, you’re turning out okay.”

  “Is that what she actually said?”

  “Something like that.”

  “You want a hand with that?”

  “I got it. Thanks.”

  Oh, no. Another text from Brianna.

  Where is he?????

  I better text back.

  Don’t know. Sorry.

  Chapter 29

  The doorbell rang. I ran downstairs. It was a tall man with dark hair. He was wearing sunglasses, even though it wasn’t sunny out.

  “Hi.” That was me.

  “Are you Sean Rosen?”

  “Actually . . . yeah.”

  He stuck out his hand, like to shake hands. I didn’t know what to do, so I shook his hand.

  “Hank Hollywood. Glad to finally meet you. Mind if I come in?” He didn’t wait for me to answer. He walked right in.

  “We have a lot to talk about, Sean.”

  We do have a lot to talk about, but I wasn’t expecting to do it right now, right here in my own house. My parents still don’t know about any of this.

  “You look nervous, Sean. Would you prefer I talk business with Dan Welch?”

  The second he said “Dan Welch,” I heard a terrible loud sound. Like the Truth Police were coming to arrest me.

  Hank Hollywood just stood there waiting, but I couldn’t talk. I didn’t know what to say, and I couldn’t think because of that horrible sound.

  That horrible sound. My alarm clock. I woke up and turned it off. My clock says 6:02. What a scary dream.

  Is that what Hank Hollywood looks like? I don’t even know. I Googled him, but I didn’t look at pictures of him. I want to do it right now, but I don’t have time. I have a lot to do this morning.

  When I got to the kitchen, my mom was there having coffee, dressed in her nurse clothes.

  “Hey, early bird. Are you gonna get the worm?”

  “I hope not.”

  “It’s an expression. The early bird gets the worm. Birds eat worms. There’s a limited supply. So the birds that get up early get the worms.”

  “Very interesting. I have to go feed and walk Baxter. Hmmm. I wonder which one you do first.”

  “Mrs. Dahlin didn’t say?”

  “No. I could call and ask her, but I think I’ll just Google it.” And make myself not look up Hank Hollywood.

  I made my lunch, then ate some cereal. It was actually one of the ones I bought with Thorny that she told me to take home.

  “My little boy’s growing up.”

  “Finally.”

  “Flying to Florida by yourself, taking on new responsibilities . . .”

  She’s talking about Baxter. What will she say when she finds out about Dan Welch and the bidding war for my movie?
/>   “I should get going.”

  “Google. Dog info.”

  “Oh, right. Thanks.” I ran upstairs.

  “Baxter! Good morning. Have you been up long?”

  It’s funny to ask a dog a question. You wait for an answer, even though you know you’re not going to get one.

  “Okay, Baxter. It’s walk first, then eat. Everyone says so. How many plastic bags do you think I’ll need? Two? Three? Twenty-three? Just kidding, just kidding.”

  Do dogs ever get jokes?

  I remembered to lock the Dahlins’ door, so nobody will rob them while Baxter and I are walking. I don’t think our neighborhood has ever gotten robbed, but you don’t want to be the first.

  I was glad I walked Baxter before this, because I know what to expect. It’s actually nice to be out this early in the morning. I only needed one plastic bag, which I put in the garbage in the park.

  There were a few other dogs in the park. Baxter didn’t climb on top of any of them, so I gave him a treat.

  We got back to the Dahlins, and first I filled up Baxter’s water dish. He was a little thirsty after our walk. Then I mixed up his food, which he started eating the second I put it on the floor.

  “Okay, Baxter. I would love to stay and play, but I have to go to school. Have a good day. See you this afternoon.”

  I gave him a treat before I left. He would probably appreciate it more in a few hours as a snack. You know, when he isn’t already eating his regular food. But I decided not to bother suggesting that to him, because the treat was gone as soon as Baxter saw it.

  Every time I go to the cafeteria for lunch, I remember why I never go to the cafeteria for lunch. Noisy, smelly, and all those kids. You’re trapped in rooms all morning with kids. You don’t need any more of it.

  I wish I could go say hi to Baxter, but we aren’t allowed to leave school during lunch. Since I’m stuck here, and I want to talk to Ethan, the cafeteria is a good place. We actually have more privacy here than almost anywhere, because he has his table, and no one ever sits with him except me.

  On my way to Ethan’s table, I saw Brianna and she saw me. I waved, and she didn’t wave back. She just made a sad face, like the human version of . I guess Buzz hasn’t texted her back yet.

  I sat down with Ethan and opened my lunch.

  “How was Le Bistro?”

  He didn’t say anything. He just held his nose.

  “I know. You haven’t seen that girl again, have you?”

  He shook his head.

  “Ethan, you have a phone, right?”

  “Sort of.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the exact same old-fashioned flip phone that I have. “My brother had a cool phone.”

  “You mean, until the . . .”

  “No. Even after the crash. It’s in a box. We have a big stack of boxes with his stuff.”

  “Would your parents let you use it?”

  “I doubt it. I don’t want to ask.”

  Ethan gave me his phone number, and I gave him mine. He’s turning into a good friend, and if Hank Hollywood actually is trying to steal my idea, and if that girl shows up again, we have to be able to communicate quickly.

  As soon as I finished eating, I left. I was walking toward phys ed when I heard:

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

  Here we go again. Too bad we can’t use our phones in school. Then they could text you to come to the principal’s office instead of announcing it to every single person in the whole school.

  Trish was waiting for me. “Sean, someone just called here about you. Mr. Parsons is going to tell you about it. It’s not that woman who called that day. We checked it out, and it’s a real thing.”

  I must have looked nervous.

  “Don’t worry. It’s good.”

  I have no idea what she’s talking about.

  “Okay.” I walked into Mr. Parsons’ office.

  “So, Sean, how come I never knew about these podcasts?”

  I like Mr. Parsons, but I hate questions like that. “I don’t know.”

  “They’re very clever.”

  “Thanks. Did Trish tell you about them?”

  “No. She knew about them?”

  “I only told her like a week ago.”

  “How long have you been doing them?”

  “I started last year.”

  “They’re very clever.”

  “Thanks. Was there something else?”

  “Yes. We got a call from Teen Doers.”

  “From what?”

  “Teen Doers. It’s a magazine. They’re legit. Trish checked it out. They want to interview you.”

  “They do?”

  “Yes. About your podcasts.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Your podcasts aren’t a secret or anything, are they?”

  “No.”

  “Then why didn’t I know about them?”

  “I don’t know. . . . I wasn’t sure I wanted people at school to know. You never know what people are going to make fun of.”

  “They’re good, Sean. What would anyone make fun of?”

  “How I talk, how I sing, my songs, my questions, the people I interview—”

  “Okay, okay. You’re probably right. Well, Teen Doers is an online magazine, and since I never heard of it and you never heard of it, chances are it doesn’t have a big readership at this school. So your secret might be safe.”

  “Unless someone Googles me.”

  “Oh, right. Well, I’ll leave it up to you. If you want to be interviewed, you can do it after school right here. I’ll have the reporter call my number, and you can talk to him in my office. We’ll have to clear this with your parents, of course. Do they know about your podcasts?”

  “Yes. Definitely.”

  “Good. So what do you think?”

  “I’m usually the one doing the interviewing. It might be fun to be on the other side.”

  “Okay, good. An article about you could be helpful . . . you know, when you’re applying to colleges. Good. See you here after school.”

  I got to phys ed late. They were in the middle of a game of something. Mr. Obester saw me walk in.

  “Rosen, you’re late. Go to the principal’s office.”

  “I just came from there.”

  Javier came over. “Coach, this is the truth. We all hear the message.”

  “We all heard the message.” (That was me.)

  Then Javier imitated the message. “‘Sean Rosen, report to the principal’s office.’”

  “Back to the game, Javier.” Then Mr. Obester turned to me. “We lost that track meet.”

  “Sorry.”

  “By just a few points.”

  “I’m really sorry.” I don’t know if I should have said this, but I did. “I would have run in the race if you let me.”

  “Get changed.”

  He put me on Doug’s team. Now that Doug knows I can’t help the band get famous, he isn’t pretending to be nice to me anymore. I thought it was good that I was on his team so he wouldn’t be attacking me (I swear, I don’t know what game this is), but being on his team is even worse.

  He keeps passing the ball to me when I don’t expect it, and when I drop it and the other team picks it up, he says, “You suck, Rosen.” I guess Doug doesn’t mind losing the game if he can make it look like it’s my fault.

  After phys ed finally ended, I walked to my last class with Javier.

  “Sean, are you on trouble?”

  “In trouble. No.”

  “Good. Want to come over after school?”

  “I can’t. I have this thing. Then this other thing.”

  “Okay, my friend. Good luck with your things.”

  Probably everyone thinks I’m in trouble. I went into the boys’ room and texted Ethan.

  No news on mystery girl, but some magazine, Teen Doers (??) wants to interview me about the podcast. If you want to come, it’s in Mr. Parsons’ office after school.
/>   He texted right back.

  Good luck.

  I actually didn’t think he’d come. A second later, I got a text from Brianna.

  I need you after school.

  There’s too much going on.

  Sorry. Can’t today.

  Chapter 30

  It actually is interesting being the person getting interviewed. You have no idea what they’re going to ask you, so you can’t really prepare. I thought about looking at my podcasts, but I don’t have to. I know every word and every picture of every podcast. That’s what happens when you work on something for hours and hours that only lasts a minute.

  So I’m just sitting here in Mr. Parsons’ office waiting for the phone to ring. He’s here too, but he’s going to leave when the reporter calls. Meanwhile, he’s staring at his computer screen. Students, teachers, the principal . . . everyone looks exactly the same when they’re looking at their computer.

  Trish stuck her head in.

  “Sean, you want some water?”

  “No thanks.”

  “Are you nervous?”

  “I don’t know why, but yeah.”

  “You’ll be great. I shouldn’t be watching your podcast. Now I’m dying for a donut.”

  The phone rang. Mr. Parsons, Trish, and I all looked at each other.

  Mr. Parsons said, “It’s showtime.” Then he picked up the phone. “Hello.” He listened for a second. “Oh, hi, Ben. Yeah, Sean is right here. Hold on a sec.” Then he covered the phone and said, “Sean, I can put the phone on speaker if you want.”

  “No. I mean yes!”

  I quickly pulled out my digital voice recorder and hit RECORD.

  Mr. Parsons and Trish left the room and shut the door. Then I heard the interviewer’s voice through the speaker.

  BEN: Are you there, Sean?

  ME: I’m here.

  BEN: Hi. My name is Ben Patel, and I’m the editor of Teen Doers. Do you know our magazine?

  ME: Well . . . I’ve seen it. I mean, I saw it today.

  BEN: We write about entrepreneurial kids.

  ME: About what?

  BEN: Kids who are entrepreneurs, who start their own businesses. Kids who are doers, not just watchers.

  ME: Okay.

  BEN: So, your podcasts are pretty cool.

  ME: Thanks.