by Mae Respicio
Dad’s space looks like The Cave at home, with a big desk, computer screens, and a bookshelf crammed with papers.
“Want to see what I’m working on?”
On the screen is a volcano he designed. He clicks his mouse and the volcano erupts. Pow!
“How’d you get it to do that?” Trey asks.
“Magic!” Dad laughs. “Come on, let’s explore.”
We walk down more hallways and finally head onto a long bridge that connects one building to another. We stop to look at the lot below. Everything’s moving—people and props and golf carts.
Dad waves us forward. “Keep going, gang. We have an appointment.”
“For what?” I ask, but he just smiles and walks fast.
We take another elevator down—this place is a huge maze! As it opens, we step into sunlight and onto the backlot.
Finally, where all the action happens.
Everywhere we turn there’s something fun. A group of actors dressed like clowns passes our way. I make eye contact with one and she tips her three-foot-tall hat. A golf cart of women and men in suits honks at us. Crates of fake boulders are rolled across the street as huge lights are set up on an outdoor stage.
“I love it here,” Trey says.
We walk past soundstages with elephant doors—they’re called that because they need to be wide enough for elephants to fit through!—and red wigwag lights on the outside, some of them flashing, which means somewhere inside they’re filming and they want everyone near to be quiet.
We round the corner and enter a street of cafés and shops like we’re in downtown LA—only when you look behind the buildings, you see that they’re just façades with nothing behind them.
A woman in a bright orange safety vest holds out her hand to stop us from going any farther.
Dad turns to us and puts a finger up to his nose.
A director shouts: “Action!”
Out of nowhere, a stunt person drops from high above onto a puffy blue mat as a camera dollies to get the shot.
“And cut!” the director yells. My friends and I grin at each other. The crossing guard motions us along, like it’s nothing. Typical day.
* * *
We reach a row of white portable trailers.
“Kaia, I think you’ll like this,” Dad says with a sly smile as he knocks on the door.
“Oh my gosh…someone famous?” Abby asks.
A woman opens the door. She’s around my parents’ age, with short, spiky black hair and a warm smile. “Hey, everybody, come on in. I’ve been waiting for you!”
We step up into a room lined with red vinyl barbershop chairs, huge mirrors on the walls, and one wall covered with Polaroid pictures of different kinds of characters: bald aliens, hairy bigfoots, enchanting fairies. In the middle sits a long table overflowing with makeup tools and bins. I’m drooling.
“Kids,” Dad says, “I’d like you to meet Flora Yamada. She’s head of makeup effects on the film I’m working on.”
“Kaia, I hear we have a lot in common,” she says.
I feel a little shy at first because I can’t believe we’re here. Then I blurt: “I want your job!”
She chuckles. “Then you’ll have to learn more about what I do, right? Let’s start by naming a character and figuring out some physical traits to re-create.”
Abby and Trey shout out: Frankenstein! A mummy! Dracula!
“How about…a bakunawa?” Dad says.
“Oh yeah, I heard all about your film. I hope I can see it,” Flora says.
Abby nods. “Definitely.”
“What do you think, Kaia? Any of those sound good?” Flora asks.
Not really. I want to try something different from what we’ve been working on. “Hmm…how about…the manananggal?” Dad smiles at me. “She’s a Filipino creature, vampire-like with huge bat wings and a long tongue, who can split her body in two,” I say. “Then she eats people.” Everyone laughs.
“The manananggal it is.” Flora points out which supplies to grab. She quickly creates one, then demonstrates how to do all kinds of effects, like bags under our eyes and scars on our cheeks. We take pictures as we try on dentures of razor-sharp teeth and squeeze red liquid makeup that looks like real blood onto our arms. Dad pops in purple contact lenses and we shriek before exploding in laughter.
“Kaia, why don’t you pick out a specific effect for all of us to try?” Flora says.
“A flesh wound?” I say.
Trey works on Abby and I work on Dad while Flora works on herself. Flora makes it seem easy. I grab a silicone piece and try to stick it to Dad’s cheek but it won’t stay put—no matter what I do, it droops, then falls off.
My hands shake as I try to make it work. I want to show I can do this.
“Here,” Flora says, moving the piece around and trying to help me figure out how to fit it on. “Sometimes you have to test all kinds of different ideas to find the best solution.” It won’t stick for her either, so she leaves the piece hanging as is. I decide to glue a zipper on top of the piece and fill it in with paint, so now it looks like a chunk of skin is bursting out of the metal teeth.
“Gross!” Abby says, and Trey screams.
At the end of the session we stand shoulder to shoulder, three regular old flesh-eating Filipino vampires.
Flora holds up an instant camera and Dad takes our picture with her in the middle. He takes a few more and hands one to each of us. Flora tacks her square onto the wall. We’re officially official.
Our studio day ends at the commissary. Perfect.
The commissary’s a huge cafeteria with different stations, like Burger Bar, Donut Wall, Bibimbap Bowls, and (my favorite) Nacho Boats.
“Grab a tray, load up, and meet me back at that corner table,” Dad says, and we scatter.
Over lunch we share ideas of how to fix our soundless footage—and we try some fried crickets, too. (Crunchy and salty!)
Dad was right. We needed this day.
* * *
At home my friends and I run up to my room and hop onto my bed. Abby closes her eyes and Trey swipes through his phone; we’re quiet and in our own thoughts. That’s how I know we’re connected—we can be together, but separate.
I text Avery:
When do you think we’ll hear back about the application?
We’ve texted a bunch of times now and I’m crossing all my fingers we’ll make something happen. Avery helped me find out that Mom did know about the law passed to recognize Filipino veterans—but she’s been way too busy to do anything about it.
My phone dings as I press send.
Abby sits up. “I want a dad like yours.”
She’s never met her father, and even though her mom calls him a deadbeat, Abby secretly hopes one day they’ll meet so she can decide for herself. Abby’s mom is a supermom—two parents in one—but sometimes I feel bad Abby doesn’t have a dad too, because I’m grateful for how amazing mine is.
I hug her, then smack her lightly with a pillow. We giggle.
Trey yanks the pillow away. “Okay, don’t get mad, but I’ve been thinking about something.”
“Uh-oh,” Abby says. “Does that mean your head hurts?” She and I crack up.
“No, I’m being serious. I was thinking about the contest. What if…what if we don’t place?”
Abby holds her hands up to our faces. “Stop it right there. We need to think big. Only. Positive. Thoughts.”
She’s right.
“I know we stand a chance,” I say.
“Of course we do,” Abby says.
“Yeah,” Trey says, “but there’s not a single middle-schooler in LA who’s into film who’s not entering. A ton of eighth graders and even high-schoolers. My parents were watching the news and they did a story about all the kids making their beach
movies. Some of them go to fancy schools where they use real cameras with film. All we have is makeup. Excellent lizard makeup.”
I shoot him a look.
“Yeah, we did a great job but we should still prepare for the worst, right?” he says.
Abby nods and raises her eyebrows at me: she’s saying he has a point. And maybe he does, but I don’t want to think about it.
Trey turns some music on from my laptop and we settle back down.
I scroll through our soundless shots on my phone, and weirdly they play in time to the song that’s on. It makes our footage feel like a music video.
“Abbs, listen—look.” I hand her my phone. Flora said to find solutions, that we have to try everything. Maybe we don’t need to reshoot after all. “We could use music!”
“Let me see that,” Abby says. “You might be on to something….”
Trey sits up and watches over Abby’s shoulder. “Kaia!” We all glance at each other. This could work—we might have a fix for our soundless footage.
“Yes! Good thinking,” Abby says.
The doorbell rings and voices float up to my room.
“My parents,” Trey says.
The doorbell rings again and this time we hear Abby’s mom, and Uncle Roy, too.
A knock on my door.
“Come in.” It’s Mom and Toby. He runs inside and climbs onto the bed with us.
“I have a surprise for you all,” Mom says, her eyes lit up. “Follow me.”
* * *
Downstairs, Trey hoists Toby onto his back. They yank on an imaginary whistle and shout: “Chooo-chooooo!”
We walk toward the backyard, where Tatang and our parents sit under the trees and twinkle lights. It’s starting to darken and a few stars brighten the sky.
Look up. What do you see? Tatang’s voice in my head.
I spot Mom’s surprise on the patio—our dining table! It has an incredible centerpiece. Instead of place mats and silverware, large wide blades of shiny banana leaves cover the top and a glorious meal sits on the leaves: small mounds of white rice, sweet fried bananas, slices of savory seasoned meat, and whole shrimp with the heads still on. Mangoes cut into grids and folded out like flowers dot the table.
“Boodle fight!” I shout.
“A poodle what?” Abby asks, and my family laughs.
“I hope everyone’s hands are clean,” Tatang says. “If not, wash up, then please take a seat.”
After we wash, Dad helps Toby into his booster chair and we each find a place. I sit next to Tatang. He’s wearing a shirt with plates, knives, and forks on it.
“I thought you were giving all your shirts away?” I ask.
He tugs at it. “I’m hanging on to a few, like this one, because I always need good dinner attire…and the one with the popcorn buckets because it reminds me of when we watch movies together.”
I grin. I’ll bet he’s saving it for walking the red carpet with me.
Once everyone is seated, Tatang says, “Kaia, before our guests think we’re rude not to pass out utensils, would you care to explain?”
“Sure. A boodle fight is an old Philippine military style of eating when soldiers ate with their hands—it’s also called kamayan style. First they’d wash with jugs of water, then they’d dig right in.”
“That’s where the fight part comes from,” Mom says. “They’d ‘attack’ the food, kind of a free-for-all until every last grain of rice disappeared.”
“Although I prefer to think of it less as a fight and more as a humble feast with loved ones,” Tatang adds.
“Were you in the war, Tatang?” asks Eric, Trey’s dad.
He nods. “One of the two hundred fifty thousand Filipino soldiers who fought in World War II.” I think the parents want to hear more, but he says, “We have all night for stories. Please, let’s eat first.”
“No plates?” Trey says.
“Nope. No plates and no utensils, only your appetite,” Dad says.
Tatang goes in first, scooping up a bit of rice with some meat, and we all follow.
It’s so different to eat without forks and spoons, your fingertips feeling food before your taste buds do. I look around the table, and even though everyone seemed a little awkward at first, they’re all enjoying themselves now.
“How was today?” asks Vanessa, Trey’s mom.
We three leap in and tell them about the studio visit and the film so far. The grown-ups ask tons of questions.
At the end of our meal Sam says, “Santos family, this was amazing.”
Mom passes out wipes and says, “I’m so glad everyone could join us. We wanted to get in at least one last boodle fight before Tatang’s trip.” She looks at me and smiles.
I had hoped no one would bring that up.
“We heard your news, Tatang. We’ll miss seeing you,” Eric says.
“Don’t worry, we’re not letting him go without a proper party first,” Mom says. “You’ll be getting an invite soon.”
“And I’ll be making the cake!” Uncle Roy says.
* * *
After everyone’s gone, I’m in my room and there’s a buzzing on my desk. I grab my phone, hoping to see Lainey, but it’s Avery:
Haven’t heard anything yet…don’t stress!
Avery reminds me a little of Lainey—they both seem to know about everything. Although spending time with Flora at the studio made me realize that I know a few things now, too.
It’s all coming together.
Last day of postproduction. This is it. We’ve reached the deadline.
I sit with Trey and Abby in the edit bay at camp and we watch our movie. It ends with bloopers from when Trey plops into the cake—the best ending ever. We’ve watched that scene at least fifty times and even Trey thinks it’s hilarious now.
Dad’s idea of finding inspiration at the studio worked. Instead of trying to reshoot our scene, we cut everything together, added catchy music, and turned that part into a montage where we didn’t need the original audio. It was hard work to finish everything on time, but now we have an amazing project to enter.
Inside I’m fireworks, but I say, “Not too shabby.”
“We’re…pretty dang awesome,” Abby says, equally calm.
We look at each other…and happy-scream at the top of our lungs.
Trey and I jump up and do a silly dance and Abby takes our picture before she stares back at the computer screen.
“Should I?” Abby asks.
“Do it,” Trey says.
“Yup. No turning back now,” I say.
Abby types something and attaches a file. “Ten grand…limo ride…entry into a film workshop next year…Okay, here goes nothin’…”
She covers her eyes with one hand and hovers over the mouse with the other. We pile our hands on top of hers.
“Three…two…one…send!” Trey shouts. We aim and click the button.
Poof! Into the internet galaxy it goes.
An auto-reply pings back:
Thank you for your submission to the youth category of the Beach Season Film Festival. Please expect to hear back from our submission committee within two weeks.
“How high can we make them, Kai-Kai?” Toby’s little voice squeaks out as we build a tower of blocks on the kitchen floor. He piles one more onto the top and it teeters over, crashing to the tile in bright yellows, blues, and reds. He wails.
“We just have to try it again,” I tell him.
“I want the tower now!” he shouts.
I know how he feels. It feels like a year since we sent off our movie and I can’t take it much longer. Eliza said we’ll probably hear after this weekend. Waiting’s as painful as stepping into cold air after a warm swim.
My parents and Uncle Roy hang out with me and Toby while we wait for Tatang
to finish getting ready. Today is our Share Bears brunch.
Mom’s staring at the wall calendar and I catch her worried look. I see why: the days are full of Xs and getting closer to the big red circle around Tatang’s goodbye date. So far Eliza hasn’t gotten any updates about the festival, but we have to get in. We have no other option.
Mom folds her arms and gives a little sigh. “Where should we eat?”
“Let’s have Tatang choose,” Dad says.
“I’ll get him,” Uncle Roy says. He cups his mouth and yells: “Tataaaaang!” Uncle and I burst out laughing, but of course Mom scolds us with a look.
“Roy, can you please be a grown-up?” she says, and he hides behind me.
Tatang rushes down the stairs. “My goodness, none of you are on Filipino time! Nice job, family!”
“As a punctual person, I am completely offended by that,” Uncle Roy says.
“Tatang, where do you want to go for brunch?” Dad asks as he hoists Toby onto his back.
“Ah, an important question for one of our last family meals together…at least until I can get back to visit.” I wish he didn’t have to put it that way. “But I’m thinking we should brunch after our outing.”
“What outing?” Dad asks.
Tatang waves a sheet of paper in the air. “I have a surprise. Someone start up the minivan, please. I’ve downloaded our tickets.”
* * *
We pack into the van and Dad types an address that Tatang gives him into the car’s GPS. We drive along the ocean and I spot surfers bobbing on the water, their silhouettes dark against the midday sun.
“Okay, spill it, dude. Where are we going?” Uncle Roy asks, but Tatang won’t give any clues.
The GPS says “destination reached” as we roll up to a big stucco building with no sign or windows. We look at each other, confused.
“Care to tell us now, Tatang?” Mom says.
“We’re going flying,” he says.