by Mae Respicio
Trey rolls his eyes. “I did give suggestions, but you crossed them all off!”
“Kaia? A little help here? Don’t tell me you hate all of these too,” she says.
“No, it’s just that…something happened at home.” I tell them about Tatang.
“Are you kidding?” Trey says.
“Oh, Kaia, that’s the worst news. No wonder you’re so quiet!” Abby sniffles and hugs me tight, which makes me tear up.
“Should we work on this later?” Trey asks.
“No,” I say. “Wait.” I wipe my face, then rifle through my backpack to dig out Tatang’s journal.
“I have something to help…a little spark,” I say. “For inspiration.”
I flip open to the pages of my Filipino monster sketches and we huddle. Trey jumps up and shakes me by the shoulders. “Kaia, you’ve been holding out on us!”
“Yeah, this is fresh—Filipino fresh!” Abby says.
I’ve never gotten this kind of reaction to my work. I used to get in trouble at school for doodling in the homework margins.
I blush. “Abby, you read my mind! I was thinking we could put a Filipino spin on our movie. Hollywood only makes boring monsters that everyone already knows, but this could make it different. If we get into the festival, it would mean so much to Tatang. I want to give him a win as a going-away gift.”
Now I cross four fingers behind my back.
“You mean when we get into the festival,” Abby says.
“Yes!” Trey punches his fist into the air. “Win it for Tatang!”
“Which creature should we go with?” Abby asks, going into director mode. “Hit me with your best elevator pitch.”
“How about…a bakunawa causes an eclipse, leaving an unsuspecting middle school in total darkness?” I say.
I explain the legend of the sea serpent who eats all the suns and moons until villagers chase him away by clanging on pots, pans, and drums. “There are different versions of this story in other countries, too, not just the Philippines. Neat, huh?”
“Did you say the vacunawa?” Abby asks.
I split my ube cupcake and hand half of it to Trey. He stuffs it into his mouth and his cheeks puff out.
“No, it’s B, for bakunawa.” I pronounce it slowly for them. Bah-coo-nah-wah.
Abby’s eyes get big. “I’ve totally got it! How about a modern-day bakunawa story?”
“I totally don’t get it,” Trey says. “What does that even mean?” Little purple crumbs spray out of his mouth. Before I can stop him he grabs my half and chomps.
“Hey!” I say. He hands me what’s left—one bite—and laughs.
Trey does this kind of thing a lot. Our moms say it’s because we’re like brother and sister. He’s family, but it doesn’t mean he can take without asking.
“A modern retelling is when you set an old story to today’s times,” Abby says.
“Yeah, like movies about Shakespeare but with high-schoolers speaking regular English,” I say.
Trey digs into my lunch bag and I swat his hand away.
“Wait a second….” I look at Trey, his mouth still full. “B is also for bully!” He shoots me a scowl, but I jump in and we start sharing ideas. It’s my favorite part of brainstorming—when one thought explodes into another then another, like popcorn popping.
“I love it, Kaia! It’ll be the ultimate coming-of-age sci-fi postapocalyptic dramedy!” Abby says. We’re quiet; then we all bust up so hard. Now I’m crying from laughing. I wipe my eyes and say:
“Okay, okay…We need to win this for Tatang. I don’t want him to leave without seeing me do something super special—you know, like how both of you do cool things all the time.” It feels good that I can be honest with them. We get each other.
“Stop that,” Abby says. “You’re already the coolest.”
“You know what I mean.”
She smiles. “This is for Tatang.”
We use the rest of our time to sketch and make lists. I’m screenwriter, storyboarder, and head of effects makeup. Trey will star; Abby will direct. We’ll cast some campmates in the minor roles and recruit some onto our production crew. Our movie will take home one of the ten-thousand-dollar jackpots, and we’ll give Tatang the most fabulous, impressive send-off—on a red carpet.
Abby says, “Girl, you and me, we’ll start our own production company one day.” We slap palms.
“I can’t wait to play a villain. Evil!” Trey throws his head back with a loud cackle that makes all the other groups look our way.
* * *
When the class gathers to announce our plans I feel a thrill in the room. My hands tingle, like I’ve captured a secret.
“Okay, gang, quiet down,” Eliza says. “Remember, we’re here to help each other. You have your core groups, but feel free to use your classmates as crew and talent and work together, especially because the grand prize goes directly into our program. Collaborating gives you an advantage because you’re all so amazingly talented!” She flings her arms out. “Now, who’d like to go first?”
Trey shoots his hand up but Abby pushes it down. “Save the best for last,” she whispers, and I nod.
Dave Conway and his group go to the front of the room and explain their 1980s period piece about break dancing lifeguards.
“It’s going to be a music video with an original score that I’m recording on my tuba,” Dave says. Everyone laughs; it sounds pretty fun. They describe each member’s job. Dave will direct and be in charge of craft services. (An important job: snacks.)
After each group finishes Trey raises his hand to volunteer, but Abby keeps pulling it down until we’re the last ones.
Eliza waves us up. “Last but not least, Team Kaia, Abby, and Trey.”
Once we figured out our story line, I drew some large images to help our presentation. We set them up on easels and the room goes silent.
I begin.
“Picture this. The most magical, enchanting Filipino sea creature to ever exist: the bakunawa.” Trey and Abby point to a poster board of my sketches and the class oohs and aahs. Eliza leans in.
First I explain the version Tatang loves about the bakunawa being so intrigued by the beauty of the seven moons that he gobbles them up and causes an eclipse.
My voice shakes. That always happens when I have to speak in front of a group. Trey and Abby never seem to get nervous in front of others, but I can’t help getting jittery when all eyes are on me.
I pause. What do I say next?
“We’re giving an old tale a middle-school spin,” Abby jumps in. “The bakunawa is the newest student at The Summer Baking Institute of Magical Sweets. He makes friends with the other student creatures there—the Siyokoy, the Sirena, and the Tiyanak.” Trey holds up more of my drawings. “They’re baking moon cakes for a class project, but little do they know that their delicious creations are about to disappear.”
“That’s when…,” Trey says in his most dramatic voice, “…the bullying begins. Dun-dun-dun!”
“We’re not going to spoil the rest,” Abby says.
“Wonderful! Feels like a classic creature feature to me. Part mayhem, part destruction, with a touch of magic,” says Eliza.
Trey points his thumb at our teacher. “Exactly. What she said.”
“Any filmmakers have questions or comments for this group?” Eliza asks.
A hand goes up. Dave Conway’s.
“Isn’t that a lunar eclipse you’re describing and not a solar eclipse?” He smirks at us.
“Uh, yeah. Why?” says Trey.
“We’re having a solar eclipse this summer. Solar. It’s called the Beach Season contest, not Moon Season.”
“It’s still a summery beach story. And actually, our main character’s baking sun cakes, not moon cakes,” I say. “The cakes are jus
t symbolic.”
“Good thinking,” Abby whispers.
“Symbolically cringey,” someone says, disguised as a cough. I glance around. Some kids can be so rude.
“That’s enough,” Eliza says. “If I hear that kind of mean-spirited talk then no one gets to enter. Remember, we’re in this together. Group Bakunawa, go on. I’m loving your inventiveness.”
The class pelts us with tough questions: What will the costumes and makeup look like? Will it have dialogue? Does the creature have a language of its own? Why a lunar eclipse instead of a solar eclipse?
My head rattles. None of the other groups got grilled. If they don’t believe in this idea now, what if it’s not strong enough to get us to the top?
Abby says into my ear: “We got this.”
The very next day at camp, Team Bakunawa dives into the thick of preproduction. I love this part, turning nothing into something when everyone’s thinking up their best ideas and the energy spreads. I picture lightbulbs on top of people’s heads glowing brighter and brighter until—ding ding ding!—“Aha!”
Where do ideas come from?
Uncle Roy says he gets his in the shower, so he brings whiteboard pens into the bathroom to write on the tiles. Later, he washes off his notes. His best shower idea was deciding to save up and take six months off to learn yoga in Thailand. When he came home he was ready to work even harder for his other goals.
Here’s what I figured out: once an idea sticks, even if it doesn’t seem that interesting at first, it won’t fizzle. It incubates.
The courtyard at camp has lots of shade trees that act as umbrellas, and our group has claimed one. Other groups film scenes or rehearse lines or play with equipment out in the bright sun. For the rest of camp we have flexible mornings to work on our movies however we want, even going off campus to shoot if our parents give permission. Abby’s planning everything so we won’t waste any time. Trey and I watch her pace and talk to herself like she’s a real pro.
“Okay. We have a title: B Is for Bakunawa. And thanks to Kaia, we have a screenplay,” Abby says. Last night I got so excited that I wrote it in thirty minutes. Trey claps and Abby shoots him her please-don’t-interrupt-me glare. “We also decided on two main shooting locations—the beach and the camp cafeteria—but we’ll need to do some location scouting for the beach scenes. Who’s with me?”
I grab Trey’s arm and stretch it high. We end up arm wrestling.
“Team B, how are we going to compete if we don’t take this seriously?” She pounds her fist into her hand. “Time! Is! Money!”
“Location scouting—check!” I say.
“Dave! Get over here!” Abby shrieks across the courtyard, and Dave Conway glances up and scuttles over. Dave goes to our middle school too, and Abby’s the only kid he seems to kind of listen to.
We’ve cast a few other Art Attackers in the supporting roles. Dave gets to play Siyokoy the merman (he’s the only one who Abby made audition). Jalissa Jones will play the Sirena, and Jackson Cho is Tiyanak, the Philippine flesh-eating baby.
“Dave, we need to go over your part,” Abby says. Most of our movie has no dialogue, but he gets one really fabulous line plus a tight shot on his face where Abby will zoom all the way in so you can see every detail in high definition, even his nose hairs.
“Bring it,” he says.
“Watch and learn.” Abby steps onto a patio table and readies herself. She peers off into the distance and shouts: “Bakunawaaaaa!”
A few kids clap.
“All right, let’s see what you can do,” she says to Dave.
He hops up onto the table next to Abby and lowers his head. He jerks it up, gives an intense, frightened stare, drops to his knees, lifts his fists high, and yells at the top of his lungs like he’s in pain:
“Bakuuuuuunaaaaaaaawaaaaaaaaaaaaa!”
This time the whole courtyard applauds. Dave and Abby join hands and bow.
They jump down and Abby says, “Meh. Let’s try it again…but with more feeling this time.”
She hands him the script and I whisper in Abby’s ear: “You guys would make a cute couple.”
“Eww!” she says. I know she’s pretending a little, because she’s told me before that she might like Dave—as in like-like. Of all our friends she’s the first to have crushes. The thought of like-liking someone still seems weird to me.
“What?” Dave says, and I give Abby a little smirk.
Time to focus on one thing: Trey’s monstrous transformation.
We sit across from each other at a patio table, I open my makeup bag, and I pull out the silvery colors Lainey gave me before she left. I keep waiting for Lainey to call so I can tell her about our project. She’d love everything about it.
Trey closes his eyes and I get to work, brushing, painting, and sponging. Kids gather, just like when tourists stop to watch artists on the boardwalk. I hope I don’t flub.
My group and I decided that we don’t want the bakunawa’s makeup to seem too bold, but more subtle and symbolic, like our movie. Trey has silver and charcoal scales along his temples and cheeks, and the fairest dusting of shimmer. Later I’ll mold some prosthetic gills to glue onto his face and neck. Abby thinks it’s artsy-fartsier this way—and that artsy-fartsy wins. That’s good enough for me.
I bristle a layer of paint onto Trey’s cheeks and try to blend it in.
Done.
“Can I open my eyes now?” he asks.
“Yup.”
Trey peeps from me to the people watching and gives a growl. Some kids snicker.
“What’s he supposed to be again? A weirdo lizard?” someone asks.
“No, a mischievous sea serpent,” I say, and Trey flashes a different creepy expression.
“He looks kind of…constipated?” one girl says with a giggle.
Trey grabs the mirror to see for himself. “Hmmm…I’m not really getting ‘scary monster’ vibes yet.” He mouths Sorry, Kaia.
I scan the courtyard and every kid looks so intense at work. We’re definitely not the only group in it to win it. We’ll have to step up our game.
“Let’s wipe it all off and try it again,” I say.
Finally, I create a look for our main character that I think captures a mysterious mood. I snap a Polaroid and show it to Trey. A few kids peer over my shoulder and the steely-eyed girl says, “Nice-looking frog.”
Some of the kids laugh, but I try to ignore them. I’ll get this right. I’m counting on it.
* * *
After camp, on my walk home, I wish I could tell Lainey all about my day. I text her pictures of my makeup job from earlier and wait for some hearts and exclamation points back…but nothing. She called the other day and talked to my parents, but I missed her.
I walk into the house and Tatang’s in the family room on the couch, sipping his daily smoothie of mainly veggies. I pour myself a glass and join him.
“I see you edited your to-do list in the kitchen,” he says.
I’m glad he noticed. “It’s our list now, so we can fit in every single fun thing we can think of before…well…before you leave.”
Tatang gives me his I really want this drilled into your head look that I imagine he probably used a lot on his students.
“Let’s get this straight, anak. I am not saying goodbye and I am not leaving forever.” He reaches over and raps his knuckles on the coffee table. “This is the next phase in my life, and yours too, huh? Besides, soon you’ll be a teenager, and if you’re anything like your mom and Elena were, you won’t want to hang out with me much longer.” He cracks a grin and I feel better.
“Tatang, what does ‘learn to fly’ mean on your list?” I ask.
“It’s a surprise…for now.”
Fair enough. It wouldn’t be summertime without Tatang’s surprises.
“Can
I tell you what Abby, Trey, and I decided on for Beach Season?” He nods. I reveal the whole plan, and hearing it out loud sounds so good. It makes me sure of one thing: we’re going to snag one of those winning spots.
“Sounds radical!” Tatang says. He wants all of the old eighties slang to come back, which makes Uncle Roy cringe.
“I’m about to work on Trey’s costume. Want to help?”
“I thought you’d never ask!”
In the backyard we lay old clothes on the lawn—jeans, a plain white T-shirt, a fake white leather motorcycle jacket Dad wore on Halloween once as Filipino Elvis—and jazz them up with light sprays of silver and scales that we paint on freehand.
“Can I show you my screenplay? It’s only a few pages.”
“Yes, please.”
I watch Tatang’s eyes scan every line. On the last page he pauses a long time.
Does he think it’s too silly to stand out for the festival’s judges?
“Do you…do you like it?” I finally ask.
“I do, very much, but would it be all right if I made a few small suggestions?”
I knew it. He hates it. Except that Tatang doesn’t criticize. He tells me that some bakunawas have whiskers, gills, and wings, and that depending on the region, some look more like dragons than slithering serpents, or even like monstrous birds. The gears in my head crank and turn and I come up with little changes to make. Tatang’s a huge help, and inside I’m dancing. I wish we could start filming this very second.
“We’re going to give you a proper screen credit, Tatang.”
“Assistant to the head of makeup and costumes?”
“Nope. Executive producer!”
“Great! Now I can cross ‘Become big-shot Hollywood guy’ off my list.” He rubs his hands together. “What’s next?”
I pull some tools and jugs of powder from my desk in The Cave. Now comes the messy but fun part.