 
DISASTER PRODUCTIONS

by

by Brian Bakos

cover art: Othoniel Ortiz

Copyright 2013 Brian Bakos / revised 03-2020

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to anyone else. If you want to share this book, please buy an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return to Smashwords.com and obtain your own copy. Thanks for respecting the author's hard work.

Table of Contents

One: Thrust for Fame

Two: The Disasters Begin

Three: Taking Stock

Four: Complications

Five: Things Get Dicey

Six: A Fresh Start

Seven: Change of Plans

Eight: Another Fresh Start

Nine: Astonishing Events

Brian's Other Books

#  One: Thrust for Fame

1. Director of the World

I'm surrounded by high school kids.

"Hey, move it, dude!" a guy shouts. "You're in the way."

I roll astride my bike, running my feet along the concrete in the middle of the crowd, trying to keep up with the flow. Somebody gives my rear tire a push.

"Giddy-up, cowboy!"

People laugh. I want to jump off and start swinging, but what chance would I have against so many? Besides, I don't know who the comedian is among the blur of faces.

I can't escape the press of bodies on the sidewalk and along the grass. High school kids walking, running, yelling, shoving. A claustrophobic panic reaches for me, as it does in jammed elevators. I force myself to remain calm.

There are boys ranging from jocks in varsity shirts to regular types like me, dressed every which way. Girls, too, all of them incredibly grown up. They walk together or with boyfriends, while other guys trail behind admiring them.

Everyone is so big!

Nobody pays me the slightest attention now that I'm not blocking the sidewalk. I feel about as important as that used paper cup tumbling along the pavement. Somebody steps on it and mashes it flat.

We had a half day at South Middle School to give us extra study time for finals. I'd assumed the high school would be dismissed early, too, so I came to check things out undisturbed. I was sitting on my bike trying to peer through the green-tinted windows of the media center when classes let out, sending this wave of students rushing over me.

Guess I should have gone home and studied.

The crowd halts by the traffic light. A glowing orange hand holds us back while kids drive out of the parking lot calling to their friends or yelling insults at other kids they don't like much. I'm finally able to detach myself from the mob and roll across the street.

"Look out, dipstick!" someone shouts from the window of a turning car.

Pedestrian traffic on the other side is much lighter, and my claustrophobia fades. I stop on the grassy median in front of a house and take in the entire high school. It's long, enormous – even if you don't include the attached Center for the Arts. You can submerge into nothingness inside that place and never be missed.

I'll be going there in a few months when the twin rivers of freshmen flow in from South and North middle schools.

That is _way_ too soon! My friends are all fourteen already, some well past. My 14th birthday isn't until October. If it was only three days later, I'd still be going to middle school in the fall.

Then I'd be a whole year smarter, bigger, and stronger when I got to this gigantic place. As it is, all the best girls will think I'm a twerp. I'll be the last one to drive, the last one at everything. I'll be Mr. Nobody. There has to be a way to keep myself from getting swallowed up.

My imagination does a huge shift. I seem to be looking at everything from an elevated distance, like a movie director sitting on top a camera crane. That mass of people moving along the sidewalk is an army of extras in my production. I'm 'Matt the Man' in a world where I don't have to care about being ignored or rejected – a place where people seek _my_ approval.

I'm Director of the World . . .

"Get off the grass!" a man yells from the house.

He doesn't seem very friendly. Too bad he doesn't recognize who I am; he could have had bragging rights in his social circle.

"I saw Matt Alpin back when he was still a nobody," he could have said.

But he missed his opportunity.

2. Retreat to the Empire

I must be wearing my dark and thoughtful expression when I get home because Mom doesn't try to start a conversation.

I retreat to my 'basement empire' with its ancient TV and little refrigerator filled with soft drinks and beer. On a day like this, bright and sunny early June, my upstairs bedroom is too exposed to the world's uncertainties. I need a quiet, dim place to sprawl out and ponder my future. The beer is off limits, of course, and Dad keeps an accurate bottle count.

The big One Four birthday is coming this autumn, and I'm not famous yet. I'm nowhere near becoming 'Matt the Man.'

Soon I'll be another faceless high school kid shuffling in the crowd, looking at the girls who don't even know I exist. It won't be long before I rush through the teen years, get married somehow, and have kids of my own.

At my funeral, my kids will say, "Yeah, Dad was all right, but he never amounted to much."

Okay, I know this is a morbid way to think, but the idea of being a terminal nobody is driving me nuts.

* * *

I'm into my second Bomb Cola when I hear Mom open the side door.

"Matt's downstairs," she says. "See if you can get him out, will you, Stephan?"

"I sure will."

Stephan Chrono, better known as "Duals," clatters down the stairs on the great mission to cheer me up. He looks his usual self – thoughtful and easy-going at the same time, like he's one step ahead of things. Maybe a bit shifty, the type of guy who can out maneuver people.

Duals picks up on my mood the instant he sees me. "You look depressed. Did your dream girl shoot you down?"

"I'm trying to think up a Big Idea," I say. "Something that will get me a lot of attention in the world."

"Hmm," Duals strokes his chin. "Sorry, I can't help you there."

"How about a Bomb Cola?"

"No thanks, never touch the stuff."

Duals is not a Big Idea guy. He's what you'd call a left brainer—smart, well-organized, good at details. I'm more of a right brain type—creative, always dreaming up stuff I haven't a clue how to make real. The 'Director of the World' scenario, for instance.

When I get to feeling invalidated and pushed to the sidelines, I often escape into this imaginary place where it's me calling the shots.

Right.

It's not that I look weird or anything. I've even been referred to as 'good looking.' I just _feel_ weird sometimes, like this isn't really my world.

Maybe Duals and me working together could be a whole brain. We've done it before. Back in sixth grade, we built a volcano science fair project that vomited realistic lava, all hot and smoky. It drove people out of the gym and set off the fire alarm. We'd have won first prize if everyone hadn't been so ticked at us.

Maybe my dreams _can_ come true. If I get the right partner, come up with the right Big Idea...

Duals waves a hand in front of my face. "Earth calling Matt."

I drop back to the basement reality. "Pull up a chair."

"Sure, thanks." Duals selects a fold-up from the corner batch. "Did you spend your afternoon pounding the books?"

"No. I stopped by the high school. Thought I'd scope it out."

"How'd that go?"

"Oh, man, we're gonna get swallowed up in that place."

Duals unfolds the lawn chair and sits next to me. "Not necessarily. It's a question of finding your niche."

"Niche? You mean like those little compartments in mausoleums where they put cremation urns?"

"You're in a grim mood today, Matt."

I've been down here an hour trying to sort things out and getting nowhere. The feeling of power I experienced while imagining myself as a movie director still haunts me. It seems to be the key I'm looking for, but how does it work?

And what could I record with a camera, anyway – kids walking along the sidewalk, people standing in line for soft-serve? Maybe I could film the guys unloading the produce truck at the grocery store.

Duals waves his hand in front of my face again. I get the jump on him.

"What have _you_ been up to?" I say.

"I went to the mall with Dylan. Big mistake!"

"What happened this time?"

"We met some interesting girls, and things seemed to be going well. Then Dylan starts with his show-off talk, trying to be cool. You know how he is."

"Yeah."

"Next thing you know, he trips on the steps by the fountain and lands flat on his face."

I practically choke on my drink. A squirt of gagged-up cola burns my nose. "The girls must have been impressed."

"They didn't stick around long enough to tell us. That guy is a _total_ disaster."

Then I have it.

"Oh, man!" I jerk back in my chair and smack my forehead.

"Go easy with the Bomb Cola. You can't handle the caffeine-sugar hit."

"No, it's not that."

I hurry to the wash tub and toss in my unfinished can. It fizzes and hisses like a rattle snake. "I've finally got the Big Idea."

"That's nice... what is it?"

I raise my hands dramatically, spelling out my future in bright lights. "The Disaster Dylan Show!"

Duals looks confounded. "Huh?"

"Look, we all know Dylan is a screw-up. Bad things happen around him. He's jinxed."

"What's your point?"

"The point is, people will love that stuff."

"They'll love Dylan?"

"If we package him right," I say. "It's a matter of following him and recording his various disasters. We post the video online, it goes viral, people demand more. Next thing you know we've got a reality TV show."

Duals has this astonished look on his face, like he's just seen the tooth fairy come fluttering out of the floor drain. "That's quite an idea. You think it'll fly?"

"Why not?"

My hopes are soaring, the world is falling into place. Energy surges through me, and it isn't just the cola.

"Think of all the reality shows." I'm talking fast, almost stumbling over the words. "None of those people would have accomplished anything if somebody with a Big Idea hadn't shoved them out there."

"That's true. Those shows give a push to all kinds of losers."

I slam a fist into my palm. "Man, if we'd just caught him wiping out on the stairs!"

"Now you tell me. I could have used my cell phone."

"We'll need a more high-end type camera." My Director of the World personality is kicking in, big time. "Something that'll give professional results. Make our product stand out."

Duals is on his feet, stroking his chin in that deep concentration way of his. "There's only one problem. Where do we get this 'high-end camera?'"

My high-flying balloon loses some gas. "Oh, yeah..."

Then I have another inspiration.

"I'll ask my Grandpa. I'm supposed to visit him Saturday. He's leaving on one of his trips soon."

"You think he'll go for it?"

"I don't see why not." I'm way beyond recognizing obstacles.

"Saturday, huh?" Duals says. "That'll give me a few days to research cameras and stuff."

"You're in?"

Duals smacks me a high five. "In."

"Great! Meet me here Saturday morning, 10:30."

"Okay." Duals moves toward the stairs. "Guess I'll be taking off now."

"See you Saturday."

Duals pauses. He must be recalling Mom's request. "Want to go outdoors a while? Take a bike ride, maybe?"

"Can't. I have to stay here and keep thinking."

"Got it."

Duals goes up the stairs and out the door. I pop open another Bomb Cola. Things are going according to plan. I just don't know what the plan is, yet.

Documentation is important. Someday I'll look back and smile at my humble beginnings. So, I'd better keep an accurate record. I grab a clean notebook and write with heavy ink on page one:

THE MATT MANIFESTO

Yeah, that has a good ring to it. I write a subheading, along with my mission statement:

The Big Mission

Come my fourteenth birthday, I will be somebody in this world. My name and my creativity will be appreciated by people everywhere.

That's got a good sound, too. I think of putting the date of my fourteenth birthday, but decide against it. Let people look it up for themselves. I continue writing.

Reasons for striving to become famous:

1 – Impress girls

2 –

I can't think of a reason 2 yet, but it'll come.

3. Meeting with Grandpa

The 'Beast' is parked outside Grandpa's garage, so I figure he'll be driving to his next travel adventure.

Duals and I pull up to the vehicle on our bikes and peer through the dark, tinted windows. Inside is a jumble of luggage, water bottles, and road maps.

"I wonder where's he's going this time?" I say.

"Canada I'd guess, or maybe Alaska. Someplace cool."

The great, black, four wheel drive SUV speaks of adventure – of driving impossible distances and leaving the familiar world behind, of making your mark in new and exciting places where the old restrictions don't apply. Where nobody tells you to "giddy up" out of their way.

If only I could go, too.

"Central America is where I'm bound," Grandpa calls from the back porch.

"Hi, Grandpa. Last I heard you were headed for Asia."

He strides toward us. "The Chinese government isn't allowing foreigners into Tibet these days, so I've postponed that trip."

Grandpa shakes Duals' hand. "You must be Stephan Chrono, a.k.a. 'The Duals?'"

"Just 'Duals,'" Duals says.

"I've heard a lot about you. Come on in."

Grandpa leads the way into the house, Duals in tow. I stop to look around outside. This neighborhood is only two miles from mine, but it's a lot less prosperous with little frame houses on narrow lots. The cars parked on the street are mostly old and dinged up. Grandpa doesn't seem to care, though.

"This is just a place to hang my hat between excursions," he says.

Grandpa's place is on a corner with a double lot, giving the tacky little house a sizable yard. On the other side is Mrs. Simpson's house. She's a widow and has her eye on Grandpa, although she must be at least fifteen years younger than him. She's in the backyard watering her flower garden.

"Good morning, Matthew," she calls over the fence.

"Good morning, Mrs. Simpson."

"How is your grandfather doing?"

"He's getting ready for another trip. Central America this time."

She looks disappointed. "Oh."

"Catch you later," I say.

When I get inside the house, Grandpa is parked on the sofa. His laptop is open on the coffee table, along with a beer mug and various publications on Central America.

"Food and drinks are in the refrigerator," he says. "Help yourself."

I join Duals in the kitchen and dig into an excellent deli tray – all my favorite stuff, plus two cans of Bomb Cola. We construct turkey sandwiches and shovel potato salad onto our plates.

"Your grandfather looks young," Duals says. "Mine are all gray and wrinkled."

"He's older than he looks. He claims it's 'virtuous living' that keeps him fresh."

Duals laughs. "Do you think he'll spring for the camera?"

"Oh, that."

Funny, I haven't even thought about the purpose of our visit. I had the Big Idea of getting the camera and sort of figured it would come to me somehow, like a Christmas present. I squirt mustard onto my sandwich.

"I think he's good for it," I say, trying to sound confident.

Actually, I'm not confident at all. My whole Big Idea is starting to sound a bit stupid to me. _The Disaster Dylan Show_ – who'd want to see that? It's too late to back out, though.

We return to the living room and sit down. Grandpa is writing on his laptop.

"Be right with you, boys. One day I'm going to China, the next Central America. It takes some repositioning." He pauses for a slug of beer. "At least they both start with the same letter."

Duals laughs, but I'm too accustomed to Grandpa's jokes to do more than smile. Besides, I'm busy trying to think of a way to approach the camera deal. It's not that Grandpa is stingy, far from it. He just wants to see results from anything he bankrolls, and I haven't shown any.

I've got a closet shelf full of unused science sets, building kits, etc. that he's given me over the years. Also a motorized telescope I never got around to setting up. I haven't got the heart to tell him I'm not the scientific or engineering type. He's probably figured that out by now. The vomiting volcano was my sole venture into the world of science.

Grandpa finishes tapping on his keyboard. He relaxes and flings an arm over the back of the sofa. "What have you been up to, Matt?"

"Well, you see, Grandpa... there's this movie thing I've been considering – "

"Ah, your ex-grandmother was interested in movies. She was always filming this and that – birthday parties, funerals, you name it." He takes another swig of beer. "Come to think of it, she's still your grandmother, even if we're not together anymore. How is she, by the way?"

"Uh, she's fine."

"Glad to hear that."

I go back to my sandwich. Grandpa isn't making things easy, but that's his style – always considering numerous angles at the same time. He's made big money in banking and finance, where people must be constantly alert, ready to grab onto new things, new Big Ideas.

Mom once called him a "speculator." She seemed to think not all his activities were above board. Maybe that's why he leaves the country so often.

"How about you, Duals," Grandpa says, "all ready for summer?"

"Yes, sir. I'm hoping to get a big project off the ground."

"Oh? Tell me about it."

"It concerns documentary video," Duals says. "You see, reality sort of works on two levels – what's happening in the limited world before the camera lens, and what's going on in the wider world..."

Just like that, Duals has grabbed full attention. Grandpa puts down his beer mug and shuts off any talk about other subjects. I'd have to admit to feeling annoyed – jealous, maybe?

I mean, Grandpa blows me off and then listens to Duals as if it's really important.

"Think I'll get some more potato salad," I say.

Nobody notices my withdrawal to the kitchen.

Get some perspective. Duals is new and interesting, while you're familiar old Matthew.

To tell the truth, even I get fed up with my big talk sometimes. 'Famous by fourteen' – how lame can you get?

Grandpa must be disappointed after so many years of not seeing any return on his expensive presents. Can I blame him for not hanging onto my every word? Up to this point, I haven't exactly been the type of person who gets things done.

I pop open a Bomb Cola.

Outside the kitchen windows, the world appears uninspiring. I see drab masses of birds perched on sagging power lines, old garages and fences. The house in back needs a new roof. Mrs. Simpson's flower garden adds the only color.

My future is going to look better than this – isn't it?

When I return to the living room, Grandpa and Duals are raptly studying a photo / video website on the laptop. Duals is throwing around vocabulary I don't understand, words like: _sensor aspect ratio_ , _T stop,_ and _chroma_.

There doesn't seem to be much room for me to squeeze in. I'm feeling a lot like the proverbial third wheel. Frankly, I feel a bit snubbed.

"Well, Grandpa..." I take an indecisive swig of cola. "I've got some errands, so maybe I'll be going."

Grandpa glances up. "Sure thing, Matt. See you Monday night."

He goes back to the website. Duals makes no move to get up, so I figure he'll be staying.

"See you, Duals."

"Yeah, later."

As I leave the house, he flashes me a secretive thumbs-up.

4. Send-Off Dinner

I don't hear back from Duals the rest of the weekend and don't catch him during final exams Monday.

So, I figure my latest Big Idea is a no-go. Duals' thumbs up was more of a poke in the eye, apparently. Maybe he used too much new vocabulary with Grandpa, confused the issue.

What _is_ the issue, anyway?

Matt wants to be Director of the World and we're starting off by filming the local middle school screw-up. After that, it's reality show fame, and after that...

Putting it like this makes everything sound pretty ridiculous. I think of calling Grandpa but feel way too awkward. I mean, he didn't even listen when I tried to explain things. Why force him to refuse again?

When I'm not studying for finals, I work on my latest model airplane—an F-22 stealth fighter, complete with "detailed engines and weapons."

I'll have to think of another Big Idea. I've got plenty in reserve. Maybe I can be a jet fighter ace next.

* * *

Grandpa comes over Monday night for his send-off dinner. Seems like we're always having send-offs for him. Is that why he travels so much, so he can come over for dinner? He lives only two miles away, but Mom doesn't spend much time with him – as if she has plenty of dads to choose from.

He doesn't drive the Beast, but rides his motorbike – the one he says he'll give me in a few years when I'm old enough, if we can get beyond this "over my dead body!" objection Mom has.

I meet him outside to admire the machine which is red, shiny, and fully faired. It looks fast just standing still.

"All ready for Central America?"

"Sure thing, Matt. I'm taking off first thing tomorrow. Hope to reach Mexico on the morning of day three."

Wow! In three days he'll be in a whole different country. I've never been to another country, except Canada, and that hardly seems foreign at all. You glide over the border to where things are pretty much the same as here, except for those maple leaf flags everywhere.

Dinner is frosty. Or rather Mom is frosty; me and Dad are always cool with Grandpa. I think Mom has never forgiven him for the divorce.

Mom should get past it. Grandpa left Grandma their big house along with plenty of money, and he always speaks well of her. They weren't suited to each other, is all. It just took thirty five years to figure that out.

Grandpa doesn't help the situation with his dinner conversation. "On the way down I'll stop in Yucatan and Belize to see the Maya ruins. Those big pyramid temples where they used to sacrifice people."

He shovels mashed potatoes onto his plate. "Have you seen the movie about that?"

"No," Mom replies using the tone which says she wants the subject dropped.

Grandpa plows ahead, though. "It's called _Apocalypto_ , you ought to see it. They used to rip out their victims' beating hearts, then lop off their heads and throw the corpses down the pyramid stairs. Blood spurting everywhere!"

I look at my steak. I like it medium rare, but now I wish it was cooked more.

"They used to skin people and dress themselves up in their hides," Grandpa adds. "Or maybe it was the Aztecs who did that."

Mom is doing a slow burn.

Dad tries to smooth things over. "I've heard of having 'skin in the game,' but that is ridiculous."

He hasn't helped the situation any, judging by the daggers Mom is staring at him. Grandpa laughs it off.

I'm pretty squeamish, but why take it out on Grandpa? At least he's fun, not like Grandma who is the sourest person you'll ever meet. All she does is sit in her fancy house and complain, She was always that way, even before the divorce.

She didn't show Grandpa respect. Now that I'm older, I can understand how he must have felt when she badmouthed him in front of us. She was always running him down because he spent too much time making money, because he didn't have enough money, because he had lousy taste in neckties, you name it.

Then there was her standard remark when she didn't like something he'd said: "Have you lost your mind, Richard?"

I'm amazed he stuck with her for so long.

My other grandparents are super depressing. If I'm not careful, I'll be sent to visit them at their cottage up north this summer. Dad is always offering to drive me. I'd much rather go to Central America, but I know Mom would never allow it.

The evening wraps up. Grandpa gets a hearty handshake from Dad and a little peck on the cheek from Mom. I go with him outside to see the motorbike again.

He fires up the engine, then reaches into his jacket pocket and withdraws some keys. He drops them into my hand.

"What are these for?"

"Keys to the house. It's a go, Matthew, good luck."

Before I can ask any questions, he's gone. I run back inside and phone Duals.

"Yes, it's a go," Duals verifies, and "No," he can't talk right now.

He's cramming for a huge final tomorrow. The whole future of humanity depends on it. Shouldn't I be cramming for finals, too?

I push on anyway. "He got us a camera?"

"Yeah, and some other stuff."

"What other stuff?"

"I really can't talk now," Duals says. "This Chemistry final is the 800 pound gorilla in my life. I've got to get rid of him before he strangles me."

Duals has a knack for over dramatization. It's useless to press him further. We agree to meet at Grandpa's house tomorrow after school.

* * *

That night, visions of fame and adventure play through my dreams—bright lights, cheers, roads leading to exotic destinations. Matt the Man is coming. He's making things work his direction, kicking serious butt.

Come tomorrow, a whole new phase of my life will begin.

# Two: The Disasters Begin

5. Studio Duals

My delusions of grandeur fade a bit in the daylight, but I'm totally unprepared for what I find at Grandpa's house next afternoon. The first thing I notice is a sign over the mail box. It's printed on heavy paper with an impressive color font:

STUDIO DUALS

Another sign is stuck on the front door:

Make the World Duals

I don't need my key to get in since Duals is already there. I step through the doorway and gawk in amazement. The wall mirror shows this kid with his mouth hanging open.

"Hey Matt, what's up?"

"Hi, Duals..."

I scarcely recognize the place. Empty boxes are scattered everywhere. A black camera with a big honking lens stands on a massive tripod like some three-legged alien life form. A long pole with a microphone dangling from it sits in the easy chair.

Big lights on metal stands lurk around the living room. The dining room is cleared out, and one wall is covered in green.

"What's all this?"

"Pretty cool, huh?" Duals says.

"Uh... yeah."

"I'll give you the grand tour in a minute, as soon as I wrap up a few things."

He's typing furiously on a laptop computer – a gleaming new machine with a 17-inch monitor. Beside it on the coffee table are a printer, an external drive, and a second, larger monitor.

I can't grasp the situation. It's as if I've stepped into an alternate reality. Think of popping in a DVD, expecting a light drama, and getting the _Twilight Zone_.

Duals finishes typing with a decisive bang on the _Enter_ key. He sits back and stretches. "This computer is great! It's got the latest video and sound editing programs – plus special effects software."

"Special effects?"

"Yeah." Duals gestures toward the dining room. "For the green screen work and such."

Well, sure, the green screen.

"I thought you'd be here earlier," Duals says.

"I had to run some errands for Mom. What about your Chemistry final?"

Duals waves his hand. "Piece of cake."

I don't care about Duals' final exam. Why am I asking about it?

"I'm all done with finals," Duals says. "What about you?"

"I've got one more tomorrow, World History."

"No problem, go home and study. I'll hold the fort."

Is he trying to get rid of me, or am I being paranoid and disoriented?

I move toward the camera and study it, my hands stuffed in my pockets for safe keeping like some little kid warned not to touch the merchandise. The camera is gleaming black, the lens mount has a gear type mechanism on it. The whole thing seems way above my pay grade.

"It's got professional quality glass," Duals says, "plus a cinematic type lens barrel for accurate focus pulling."

"Focus pulling?"

"Yeah, we'll get more into that later." Duals flips a hand toward the microphone pole. "That's for when we're shooting with sound, otherwise we'll do Foley and ADR here in the studio."

He points toward one of the light units hulking on a metal stand with its Cyclops eye gaping at me. "Those are all standard tungsten light units. Hot and old-fashioned, but reliable."

"Uh huh."

"I would have preferred an LED system with variable RGB balance," Duals says, "but those are really expensive. I figured your Grandpa was already springing for enough equipment."

My head is swimming, as if I am going M-A-D.

"Grandpa bought all this stuff... for me?"

"Actually it's for the production company." Duals whips some papers out of a manila folder. "Sign here."

"What's this?"

"Incorporation papers for our LLC."

I look blankly at the official papers for _Studio Duals, LLC_. They've been printed out from the state government website.

"We're underage," I say, "we can't sign legal documents."

"It's just for practice. Later we'll have adults co-sign for us."

"I don't know," I say. "There's the matter of the name. It kind of leaves me out, doesn't it?"

As long as I've known him, Stephan Chrono has been called 'Duals.' I think it's because he wore thick glasses when we were little. He had corrective surgery and no longer needed the glasses, but the nickname stuck.

"It's a matter of expanding the horizon," Duals says. "There are two of us right?"

"Yeah."

"So, 'Duals' refers to both of us. Simple."

I'm not sure I get the point.

"It's okay, Matt, we can take care of this later."

He takes back the papers and shoves them into the folder with a gesture that says I'm a bit too thick to understand what's going on. I look around the 'studio,' dazed by its sparkling high-techness.

"Why would Grandpa spring for all this stuff, just so we can record Dylan's screw-ups?"

"Well... I didn't give too many specifics about our first project. I thought he might not understand."

"You lied to my Grandpa?"

"I wouldn't put it that way. I sort of glossed over certain aspects of your big Idea – to fit the occasion."

Something doesn't seem right, but I'm too overwhelmed to figure it out.

"This way we have a free hand for our creative efforts," Duals says. "Who knows where things will end up? Dylan is just a beginning."

"What do we do next?"

"We need to interview talent," Duals says. "Have you talked to Dylan yet?"

"Uh, no."

Things are happening too fast. I came to Grandpa's house a few days ago to ask for a video camera, now I'm some sort of movie mogul.

I haven't even thought about Dylan since I first came up with the Big Idea – he'd been an abstraction, not a real human being. Heck, until last night I figured we were in no-go land.

More important, I haven't bothered to look at things from Dylan's perspective. How would I feel if somebody wanted to make a movie about _my_ disastrous life?

"I'm not sure Dylan will go for any of this," I say. "I mean, well, I didn't really take him into account."

"No problem. I've got some ideas on how to get him on board."

The doorbell rings.

"That must be them," Duals says.

He saunters to the front door and opens it. There's a new swagger to his step I've never seen before – like he's king of the universe, or at least of Studio Duals.

6. The Talent Arrives

"Come in," Duals says.

Three outstanding girls pass through the front door. A cute blonde, a tall and elegant one with reddish hair, and a third who is _truly_ amazing.

She's beyond beautiful – long dark hair, green eyes, a fantastic shape. And the way she walks, all slinky and poised, like a two-legged cat.

How did a guy like Duals meet her, anyway?

I position myself by the camera, hoping to look a bit more impressive. Where's Matt the Man when I need him?

"This is my partner, Matt Alpin," Duals says. "Kaitlyn Slater, Romina Quandt, Tamika Boeing."

Kaitlyn, the petite blonde; Romina, the tall one; Tamika, the goddess.

"Hi," they say; polite but without excessive interest.

"Hi," I say.

I grip the camera tripod, hard. Later, I will learn it's called "the sticks," not a tripod. Camera tripods are for non-filmmaker types.

Tamika glides around the living room, hands on hips. "So, Stephan... this is your new studio, huh?"

"Right," Duals says.

She stops by the microphone pole, looks it up and down as if it's a real person sitting in the easy chair. "Awesome."

"I'm still setting things up," Duals says modestly.

Tamika's exquisite eyes fix on the dining room. "A green screen! I've heard about those."

She leads the other girls into the dining room. She's the dominant one of the group, and the hottest, not that Kaitlyn and Romina aren't great looking, too. All of them would be at the top of the social heap at South Middle School.

They have this aura that tells me: "Sorry, Matt, you're not in our league."

Duals starts to follow the girls, but I hold him back.

"Where'd you meet them?" I say.

"At the mall, when Dylan wiped out. I knew they went to North Middle School, so it wasn't hard to look them up. Tamika's kind of a celebrity there."

I can believe that.

"Why did they come here?" I ask.

"To try out."

"For what?"

Duals gives me a look that says I'm almost too lame to understand. "We'll open the movie with a reenactment of Dylan falling down the stairs. The girls will play themselves."

That makes sense, I suppose.

"Later, we'll work them into the script as we go along," Duals says.

"We have a script?"

"It's under development."

I must look dumbfounded.

Duals speaks in a low, confidential voice. "Every movie needs sex appeal, Matt, just leave it to me."

The girls reenter the living room, chatting and giggling. Wouldn't it be great if they were talking about me? Romina has a foreign accent, German perhaps. I'm curious about it, but she doesn't seem open to conversation.

Duals pulls more papers out of his manila folder. "Take a few minutes to look over these dialog sides. Then we can begin the screen tests."

Screen tests?

He hands each girl a sheet. They stand together looking at them with intense expressions, as if the "screen test" really mattered. As if Duals wouldn't accept them in a heartbeat, no matter how bad they might do.

"We'll use natural light," Duals says. "This window gives us northern exposure."

He opens the heavy picture window drapes, leaving the thin, gauzy ones underneath to soften the light. The girls look up from their papers. They seem impressed by Duals' knowledge of "northern exposure."

I know Duals a lot better than they do. If he understood how to use those studio lights, he'd be setting them up instead of jerking around with the window drapes.

"Could you stand over there, Matt?" Duals says. "I want to get some light readings."

My jaw tightens. Who is this guy ordering me around? This is my Grandpa's house, _my_ movie equipment, _my_ northern exposure. I want to tell Duals off. Instead I move to the indicated spot by the wall. He's the one who brought the girls in. If I front him off now, they might vanish as quickly as they came.

Said girls transition to the kitchen, practicing their lines.

"Oh, look!" Tamika says. "How did that boy get on the floor?"

I think the script could use some work.

So, I'm standing next to the wall with Duals pointing this light meter thing at me. He turns around and aims the meter back at the camera.

"I'm taking an incident light reading," he explains.

"Have you got any idea what you're doing?"

Duals glances toward the kitchen, then trots out his confidential tone: "I'm sort of winging it. Learning as I go along."

I am not pleased. "Listen, Duals—"

"Hang in there, okay? I know this is a lot to take in all at once, but things will improve big time, starting tomorrow night."

"What happens tomorrow night?"

"We're going to the South Middle School farewell skating party. You, me... and them." He gestures toward the kitchen.

"I'm going skating with _them_?"

Duals nods. "That's how we get Dylan on board. I told him we'd be there with the girls from the mall."

I'm too stunned to answer.

Duals elbows me in the ribs. "It's going to be tough, but somebody has to do it, right?"

This bombshell revolutionizes my schedule. I'd planned to study for my History final all night, but now I have a more urgent priority.

I say good-bye to everyone and head out.

"Bye," Tamika says in that soft, yet overwhelming voice of hers.

That makes _two_ words she's spoken to me. It's a start.

7. Studying Up

My head is spinning when I get home. My whole life has been upended, and I'm no longer in charge.

Duals has grabbed control. He outmaneuvered me like a master chess player up against the town dope. He always was better at chess than me; I quit playing him a long time ago.

But hadn't I wanted his help for my Big Idea? Heck, I'd practically dragged him in.

The Big Idea originated with Duals, come to think of it. He got my mind working in reality show mode. Without him, nothing would have happened. I'd still be scooting along on my bike getting pushed around by high school kids.

Things are going in strange and unpredicted directions, but there isn't time to think it through now. I have my own 800 pound gorilla of a final to worry about.

I hit my notes hard. Our World History exam will cover the mid-20th century—the Franklin Roosevelt administration, Adolf Hitler, World War II, the Great Depression. Looking over all the stuff, I'm getting pretty depressed myself.

History isn't my strong point. What _is_ my strong point, coming up with big ideas? Hitler had big ideas, all of them bad, and they didn't work out too well for him.

If his 'master race' crap was actually true, he wouldn't have had to blow his brains out and get burned in a ditch, would he? That must be an awful way to get cremated, not that you'd be in any position to complain. And his declaration war on the US four days after Pearl Harbor was pure genius. It's always smart to attack the United States, especially if you're already fighting Russia and Britain.

I wrap things up after a couple hours. I can study more when I get back.

* * *

It's "cheapskate nite" at the Roll-O-Center, and the admission charge doesn't dent my budget overmuch. The first thing I notice is the new carpet, covered in stars of various sizes—different from the last time I was here, ages ago. I stand in line at the rental counter studying the carpet stars and debating between the in-line and the quad skates.

In-line skates are definitely cooler, but I have sour memories about them. My elbow still aches from last summer when I wiped out at the metro park. Of course, that had been on an asphalt trail, not a relatively forgiving wood floor.

But a single, overwhelming fact hasn't changed – I suck big time on skates.

It's my turn at the counter now.

"What'll it be?" the rental guy asks.

Tamika will be more impressed if can handle the in-lines, but who am I kidding?

My thoughts go back to last January when I attended a dinner event at a fancy hotel with my dad. This beautiful girl stepped out of a car in front of the hotel wearing high heels. She looked great until she fell sprawling on a patch of ice.

"Well?" the rental guy says.

"I'll take the quads."

This is open skating night, and there's a little-kid birthday party going on with second graders zipping around. Problem is, they can all skate better than me.

Lots of other little kids are out, too, some of them so small their parents are guiding them along. Bubbly, circus-type music blares through the loudspeakers. I'm the only person my age on the floor.

I feel like a total loser with the little kids passing me by. It's fairly dark, fortunately, with globes overhead flashing various colors. A black light flicks on occasionally, and anybody wearing white starts glowing. I'm thankful nobody knows who I am.

"Hi, Matt!" a girl's voice says.

Lauren suddenly skates up beside me. I'm so surprised I lose my balance and start to go down – wild and jerky like I'm being electrocuted.

Lauren grabs my arm. "Careful."

Oh, man, isn't this what every guy dreams about? Having a girl rescue him. Two of Lauren's friends are skating behind us, giggling, so I have an even bigger audience.

"Hi, Lauren. W-what are you doing here?"

"Same as you, practicing for the skating party."

She continues holding my arm. Is it possible she's coming on to me, or does she think I'm too lame to skate on my own? I need to assert myself.

"We're going to be filming here tomorrow night," I say.

"Really?"

"Yeah, me and Duals. We've got some great new video equipment."

She looks back toward her friends. "Did you hear that? We're going to be movie stars tomorrow."

The friends giggle; I'm making progress. Lauren lets go of my arm.

"See you, Matt."

She and her friends take off at high speed. Funny, I've never noticed before how cute Lauren is. She's always been this studious girl from my History and English classes – honor roll all the way. We talk once in a while, nothing deep.

Now she's out here happy and relaxed, her light brown hair flying in the circus music slipstream. Of course, she isn't a goddess like Tamika, but who is? Tamika is totally in a class by herself.

I manage to get through the evening without further humiliation, but I come close when I try skating backwards. Definitely not recommended.

After my practice session, I bike the half mile home through gathering twilight. The air is filled with the scent of lilacs, and the world seems loaded with possibilities. Big things are getting ready to happen for me.

I just don't know what they are, yet.

8. School Winds Down

More history cram when I return home from the Roll-O-Center. Late night with Hitler and his murdering maniacs.

To heighten the realism, I get out my souvenir Nazi bayonet. As I study, I pull the thing in and out of its metal scabbard, enjoying the weight and heft in my hand.

What can I say? Some people doodle, I play around with a bayonet.

It's wicked-looking, with a 9-inch blade and a black handle – a 'dress' bayonet that some Nazi dirt bag hung from his belt while he goose stepped in horror parades. Grandpa gave it to me. He got it from my great grandpa who was with our invasion troops during World War II.

It isn't even sharpened, but Mom would freak if she knew I had it. What would Tamika think if she knew I owned a vintage bayonet for a toy? Probably not much.

I put the thing away.

* * *

My efforts pay off, and the next morning I feel confident I've done well on the History final. Lauren is there, too, back in serious student mode. She's one of the first to hand in her paper, and as she leaves the classroom, flashes me a little smile that says: "See you tonight."

I smile back.

I didn't know it then, but this would be the best part of the looming skating disaster.

9. Preparations

I'm convinced Mom has chore radar.

Whenever I want to be someplace else, she's got chores for me to do. This is "straighten up the garage" day and "help me with the shopping" day. I'm so busy I have no time to think about being Matt the Man.

I finally get to Grandpa's house – excuse me, _Studio Duals_ – forty minutes before the skating party is supposed to begin. Duals is already there, practicing with the camera. He has it hooked up to this device with curved rods screwed together and a pistol grip.

"What's that?" I ask.

"A Merlin."

"Is it supposed to be magic?"

Duals laughs. "A Merlin Steadicam. It keeps the picture from jiggling when the camera is off the sticks."

Of course, I knew that.

"It takes getting used to," Duals says. "Walk around the studio for me."

So, I pace the living room, through the dining room past the green screen, and into the kitchen. Duals follows with the Merlin. He has a monitor hooked on top the camera. The smaller one on back must not be enough for him.

"Okay, go out the side door now," Duals says.

I step outside.

"Keep going – around the garage," Duals says.

I'm halfway around the garage when I realize Duals isn't following anymore. I jog back to the driveway where he's viewing the new footage on the monitor.

"Still a bit shaky. The balance isn't quite right." He screws a counterweight onto the bottom rod of the Steadicam. "Focus is a continuing pain. Wish I had a 1st AC."

"What's a 1st AC?"

"Assistant cameraman."

"Can't I do that?"

"You're the sound guy. Come on, I'll show you." Duals leads the way into the living room. "It's assembled and ready to use."

He points to the sofa where the pole with the microphone hanging from it rests. The microphone is covered in foam rubber and looks more like a blackjack than a sound device.

I heft the pole carefully, as if I'm handling a cobra. "What do I do with this?"

"There's not much to it." Duals picks up a rubber-jacketed device that looks like an oversized calculator. "You hang this recorder on your belt, push the button, and aim the microphone at whoever's talking."

"What button?"

"I'll show you when we get there, after I figure it out."

I look over the array of equipment. "Have you thought how we're going to get this stuff to the Roll-O-Center?"

Mom could have taken us, but I didn't ask. Actually, I haven't told her about Studio Duals yet because I figure she might not be pleased with the basic concept, being that it involves Grandpa.

To be honest, I don't plan to inform her at all, if it can be avoided.

"My cousin, Rex, is picking us up," Duals says. "Didn't I tell you?"

"No."

"He's back from college for the summer, so we have wheels for our cinematic exploits."

There's a lot of stuff Duals hasn't told me about – like this ton of equipment he's talked Grandpa into buying, like Studio Duals, like the girls...

"What about the girls?" I ask.

"We're meeting them there. Calm down, Matt, everything's been arranged."

The doorbell rings. Duals goes to answer. Time to meet the latest arrangement.

"Hey, come on in, Rex," Duals says. "Hi, Cindy."

A college-aged guy wearing a State U shirt walks in. He looks a lot like Duals – dark wavy hair, slender, intelligent and a bit crafty.

"Dude!" he says, peering around the room with his hands on hips. "So, this is the big studio you've been telling me about."

"Yeah, how do you like it?" Duals says.

"Sweet," Rex says. "Looks like you've hit the big time, Steph."

He pats Duals on the back.

"Thanks." Duals gestures toward me. "This is my as... partner, Matt Alpin."

"How's it hanging, dude?" Rex says.

Everybody's a "dude" to this guy. I paste on a smile and shake Rex's hand, but inside I'm furious. Duals had almost called me his "assistant." There needs to be a hard discussion about that, soon.

A more insightful person might notice my upset, but Rex doesn't seem the type. He's kind of 'oily,' for lack of a better word. It comes through in his handshake. He is Duals on steroids.

Cindy stands off to the side chewing gum and fiddling with her earrings. She doesn't seem too interested in our studio.

"Let's get going," Rex says. "I've got big plans for tonight."

He gives Cindy a meaningful look. She rolls her eyes and pops her gum. Guess she's the "big plan."

* * *

The ride to the Roll-O-Center is uneventful. Me and Duals jammed in back with our gear, the 'adults' in front blasting music through the sound system. Rex dumps us off in the parking lot.

"Try to get a lift back, if you can," Rex says. "If not, give me a call."

"Sure thing, Rex," Duals says.

"Be careful with your _pole_ , Matt," Rex says.

He laughs, then points his finger at me with a mock gun gesture and drops the hammer.

I want to smack him with the blackjack mike, instead I say: "Sure will, thanks for the ride."

I'm pretty easy going with my expectations for other people, but there's something about Rex that bugs me. Maybe we were enemies in a former life.

We approach the door. In one hand, Duals hauls this orange plastic case of accessories, in the other he carries the Steadicam with camera attached. Behind him, I struggle along with the sound equipment, trying not to trip on the wire or brain somebody with the pole.

How much did Grandpa pay for all this stuff, anyway?

I'd like to speak with Grandpa about now, ask him why he dumped this whole movie thing on me without so much as asking my opinion. Sure I walked out and left everything to Duals, but that's no excuse. Is it?

I'm at my threshold of irritation. I want to stop and have it out with Duals, tell him that his "assistant" slip of the tongue is not appropriate, that he'd better remember _I'm_ the driving force behind this effort. Matt the Man.

Who am I kidding? Anyone looking at us could see who the real guy in charge is – at least for now. And people are looking at us. Somebody holds the door open for Duals. I scoot up behind him before I get shut out.

10. Into the Fray

The girls are already there, holding a table for us in the concession area. I finally get to ditch that lousy pole.

Tamika looks even better than I remembered. Her outfit is so tight I wonder if she'll have room to skate in it. She says "Hi" to me again. Now I've gotten three words from her!

My 'date' is supposed to be Romina, but she doesn't know I exist much more than Tamika does. She's more interested in talking with Tamika than with me. The two of them keep up a constant chatter that I can't hope to break into.

Duals fills me in that Romina came from Stuttgart, Germany, and her father works in the local branch of a German company. Her presence in Tamika's clique adds the right amount of international flair, I figure. If she were French, it would be a cliché.

I want to say something clever that will get her attention – but what?

"So, Romina, any Nazis in your family tree?" I could try for starters. "My great grandpa served with the American troops that kicked their butts, you know. Yeah, and he brought back this cool bayonet."

Probably best to keep my mouth shut.

Romina is speaking in her wonderful accent: "When do your modeling classes begin, Tamika?"

"September. I'm so hoping I can handle them, and my dancing lessons, and my social life – and keep my grades up, too."

She pauses to sip her drink, a Bomb Cola. We have something in common!

"I'm not totally into modeling right now," Tamika continues, "although it would be nice to do some magazine spreads."

She takes another sip. The world waits for her next comment.

"I'm thinking, like, the classes will give me some poise. You know, confidence for when I'm trying out for movie roles. Acting is my first love."

And so on. An outpouring of starry-eyed hopes.

There are the high school plays, and, of course, she'll get leading roles in them. There's this film school in the northern suburbs, and she'll get parts in the student productions there. Her dad's company has a branch in L.A., and please, please, he should ask for a transfer so she'll be close to Hollywood.

The conversation turns to Studio Duals.

"If this video goes viral, like we're hoping, it could open all kinds of doors for me," Tamika says.

She's counting on Duals and me to launch her movie career? I hope she's not barking up the wrong microphone pole. During this time, Kaitlyn is busy with Duals. She seems to have quite an interest in Merlin and the camera. Maybe an interest in Duals, too. That jerk!

Me, jealous? Why would anybody think that?

Duals hands me the camera. The extra monitor has been replaced with an LED light, a buggy little thing like a square insect eye.

"Watch this a few minutes, okay?" Duals says. "I have to get skates."

Yeah, sure. As if I'd let somebody take Grandpa's stuff.

Duals and Kaitlyn stroll off toward the rental counter, relaxed and joking. Before the crowd blocks my view, I see her give Duals a playful little shove. I want to vomit.

My foul mood is getting on my nerves. _Lighten up, Matt_.

Guys stop by our table to check out the new girls. Gerry and Bill show up, but quickly get the cold shoulder. They turn their attention to the camera.

"Wow, that's quite a rig," Gerry says.

"Yeah," I agree.

I want to fire off some technical details, but can't think of any. This camera is as mysterious to me as to anyone else.

Duals comes back, lugging a pair of quad skates – Kaitlyn by his side. Tamika and Romina interrupt their conversation long enough to look up at them.

"I prefer in-lines," Duals says, "but I need extra stability to handle the camera."

There's my excuse! I need extra stability to handle the sound equipment, don't I? No need to feel uncool wearing clunker skates, not that anybody seems to care.

I head for the rental counter.

When I get back, Duals, the Steadicam in hand, has positioned Gerry and Bill next to the wall. The wall has stars on it, like the carpet. I set my skates down under the table.

"Ah, we've got our sound technician," Duals says.

Here's my opportunity to shine. I hook the recorder unit onto my belt, put the headphones on, and pick up the microphone boom pole. Hopefully, Duals will show me what to do next.

And he does.

Unfortunately, I'm holding the microphone upright, pointed toward a loudspeaker that is starting to belch out music. So, when Duals switches on the power, an ear-splitting blast comes through the headphones.

"Ahhh!"

I tear them off. My ears are ringing, but I can still hear laughter all around me. We've drawn quite a crowd. People are jostling each other to get a better look.

"Sorry, Matt," Duals says, "we'll have to tone it down a little."

He moves us to another spot, away from the loudspeaker, and turns on my power again. The noise level is bearable this time.

"Okay?" Duals asks.

I nod.

"Say, 'sound rolling.'"

"Sound rolling."

Duals grasps the boom pole and lowers the mike to just above the heads of Gerry and Bill. Then he flicks on the camera. Light from the LED unit joins the glare from the overheads.

"Speed," Duals says.

Kaitlyn steps in front of the camera holding a clapper board with the top part opened. _Bill & Gerry_ is written on it in erasable marker.

"Bill & Gerry, take one, marker!" She smacks the thing closed and moves out of the way. "Action!"

"How did the school year go for you guys?" Duals asks.

"Pretty good," Gerry says, puffing out his chest a little. "I'm sure I aced the History final."

"Are you excited about going to the high school?"

"Yeah," Bill says, "it's gonna be a blast!"

And so on.

After a brief interview with Gerry and Bill, we move on to another guy, then two girls, etc. Everyone seems eager for camera time. The guys try to act cool. A few girls turn giggly – two are wearing glitter dance recital costumes to stand out better under the lights.

The procedure is always the same. Duals has them sign an official Studio Duals release giving us "footage rights." He collects contact information so he can send them the video file and makes vague comments that some of the interviews might be appearing on local TV.

Kaitlyn is the director while Duals asks the questions and handles the camera. I get to flick the recorder on / off and hold the boom pole.

"Why are we doing this?" I ask Duals between takes.

"It expands our fan base. Now that we've got people's info, we can notify them when our productions go live."

That makes sense. I'm not much of a social media type, so I figure it's best to let Duals handle things.

"We should go to the North Middle School skating party, too," he says. "Tamika can get us in tomorrow night."

"Well..."

I roll my shoulders. I'm tired of holding the boom pole and am not keen on another night of hauling it around.

"The more people on our contact list, the better," Duals says. "We'll meet them in high school next year, anyway. Why not get the jump?"

Yeah, high school. Come September, we'll no longer be big shot eighth graders, but twerp freshmen. A whole new world awaits.

"Okay," I say, "but I thought this was supposed to be about Dylan. Where is he?"

"Being on time isn't his gig. He'll show – I think."

11. The Mighty Dylan Appears

We've just started another interview when I feel agonizing pressure on my toes. Dylan has crowded in between me and Duals and is standing on my foot. I pull it away.

"How's it going?" Dylan says, patting Duals on the shoulder.

Duals looks startled, the camera flinches in his hands. "Cut!"

I switch off the sound.

"We'll get back to you in a minute," Duals tells the guys he'd been speaking with.

"Hi, Dylan," I say.

"Hey, Matt. You look good in those headphones."

"Thanks."

"So, Duals, you mentioned those girls would be here?" Dylan says.

As if on cue, Tamika and Romina stroll up.

"Hi, Dylan," Tamika says, "remember us?"

"Yeah, hi!"

He melts under her gaze, as any sensible guy would. She and Romina lead him off to our table. Duals and I begin take two of the interview.

I'm sort of in tree mode doing the sound, standing with the boom pole. It gives me time to look back toward Dylan and the girls.

You'd have to admit Dylan isn't bad looking. A lot of girls would consider him "cute." He doesn't _look_ like a klutz, he just acts like one. I flex my toes, which still ache from when he stepped on them.

And check out the crappy hair style. It's dated and too long for him. He's always combing it back, like a hoodlum from one of those old black and white movies. Maybe this is part of his charm. He's so lame he might actually be cool – a sort of anti-coolness people can admire.

Tamika seems to like him, or is she putting on an act? Acting is her first love, you know.

I feel a stab of guilt. Dylan has never done anything to harm me, not on purpose, and now we're planning to make a fool out of him. We've hooked him up with a hot girl and are waiting for him to blow the situation so we can record it. Maybe he'll brain himself falling in the rink. That would be perfect.

How did all this happen? Sure, it was my Big Idea, but I've had plenty before and nothing ever came of them.

It's Duals' fault.

He's the one that got this whole cruel thing off the ground. I'm only an innocent bystander. Grandpa didn't have to bankroll the effort, either. Why did he put me in this position?

This blame game seems like a loser strategy, though. Isn't that what Hitler always did, rag others for his own screw ups? I can't think more about it now. The interview is over and we're relocating to the area near the rink. The traffic is heavy, kids whiz by on skates.

"I can't handle this equipment out here," I say.

"You can give it to the manager," Duals says. "He'll lock it up."

I drop off the things at the office, then return to the concession area and lace on my skates. Dylan and the girls have already left.

When I get back, Duals is standing outside the rink filming kids as they skate past. There is less light out here, so he's turned the LED array brighter. Kaitlyn stands nearby, admiring his performance.

"I'm glad to get rid of that stuff," I say. "One thing I've learned: nobody loves the sound guy."

Duals laughs. "Any problem with the manager?"

"He's fine."

"We're the official videographers tonight," Duals says. "I promised to make the place look good."

Duals sure thinks of everything. You have to admire him for that, even if it does seem a bit overbearing.

"If anything of interest happens, I hope it's along this side," Duals says. "The manager said I couldn't go out on the floor with the camera."

I scope out the rink. A four-foot barrier runs around the whole thing, but you can only access the floor from two sides. The others are wedged into the building corner. Our long side has two entries, one by us and the other farther down.

"Do you need me for anything?" Kaitlyn asks.

"Not right now," Duals says, "go ahead and skate."

"I'll check back in a little while."

Kaitlyn takes off. A bit later Dylan and Tamika skate past. If anything, he's even worse on skates than I am, but he still manages to run his comb through his long hair. Duals flicks on the LED and pans the camera to follow them, but nothing happens. He looks disappointed.

Romina zips past next, waving to the camera.

"Why don't you get out there, Matt?" Duals says. "Keep an eye on Dylan."

"Sure..."

I move reluctantly through the gate and out onto the floor.

12. Disaster

I have this vague hope I might be able to skate with Romina. Maybe she'll be more sociable out on the floor, especially since Tamika is busy with Dylan now.

So, I keep plunging forward.

The traffic alongside the barrier isn't too fast. There are girls skating in groups, couples holding hands—including one that puts on a kissy show for the camera. I can keep up without much difficulty.

Along the inside track, jocks are skating fast on their in-lines – ice hockey players showing off their wheeled skills and some guys from the football team trying to look impressive. After the disastrous football season we had, they must feel the need to look good at something.

I maneuver behind Dylan and Tamika. Romina is no longer with them. I spy her across the rink skating with some other girls. Maybe she saw me coming and made a quick getaway. I'm feeling pretty lousy about that, but then some brightness enters my life.

"Hi, Matt!"

It's Lauren, coming up beside me like she did last night. Only this time I don't go into my collapse routine.

"Hi, Lauren. I didn't see you before."

"Yeah, I just got here."

We skate past Duals. He's moved from his earlier spot. Kids have grouped around him like he's some sort of celebrity. Lauren and I wave to the camera.

"Want to do an interview later?" I ask.

"Sure."

One of the football players barrels up alongside Lauren. He doesn't seem under good control. He clips her elbow.

"Ow!"

The jock looks back. "Sorry!"

He should have kept his eyes forward because he nearly crashes into someone else. Yup, not hard to figure out the causes of our winless football season.

"Skate on the other side," I say.

Lauren switches places with me. Now I'm the one exposed to danger coming from the racers. I feel macho and protective, like an action movie hero. I forget about Romina and try not to notice the spectacular figure of Tamika skating right in front of me in her Spandex outfit. A couple of laps go by.

How can I tune out Tamika? She's like a shining beacon under the dim lights, her body moving in subtle time with the music blaring over the loudspeakers. How does a guy like Dylan get to bask in her glory? I try not to stare, without much success.

Lauren is here, right next to me. She's nice, she's cute, and she won't like me drooling after Tamika.

Don't blow this situation, Matt!

Dylan is jerking around with that stupid comb again when it slips from his fingers. It lands right in front of me. My left front wheels jam into the comb, and I spin around into the racing lane.

"Look out!" someone yells.

I feel a tremendous impact. Then I'm hurtling toward the barrier at supersonic speed. Through my horror, I see a bright light come on. Are the gates of heaven opening for me? I'm crashing over the barrier, panicked kids jump out of the way. Stars rush toward me...

Next thing I know, I'm sprawled on the carpet, battered and dazed, amid a forest of human legs. Tamika is kneeling at my side.

"You poor thing." She strokes my hair and kisses my cheek.

Maybe I really have died and gone to heaven!

People are helping me stand, and the light is normal again. Out in the rink is a tremendous pile up. Guys in red 'Staff' shirts are trying to straighten things out. Duals films the chaos, then switches off the camera as the manager approaches.

"Thanks for helping me," I tell the folks who have picked me off the floor.

"Take it easy, kid," somebody says.

I glance around for Tamika, but she's gone. I notice Lauren's face in the crowd. She doesn't look pleased.

"Are you all right, Matthew?" she says.

"Yeah." I run my hand over some new bumps on my head. "I think so."

Lauren nods and skates off.

They're bringing out the free pizza, but I don't care to wait for any. One of the chaperone parents drives me home. All the girls, including Lauren, are too busy skating to witness my inglorious departure. That's something, at least.

"Hang in there, Matt," Duals says as I limp out of the Roll-O-Center.

# Three: Taking Stock

13. Recuperation

That was the end of my film making debut.

Somewhere during my nosedive, I picked up a pretty good shiner, which doesn't do much for my appearance. Every bone in my body aches, especially in back where the jocks slammed into me. My face is raw from burning along the carpet. Nothing seems broken, fortunately.

Mom hits the ceiling when she sees my black eye.

"It's okay," I say, "just put something cold on it."

She insists on rushing me to the emergency room. Will the humiliation never stop? The doctor examines me, shines his light, pokes and prods, then he says:

"It's okay, put something cold on it."

* * *

I spend the whole next day in my room 'resting.' Actually, I'm not tired and could have gone out, but don't have the spirit for it.

Duals calls early afternoon. "Hey, you up for the North skating party tonight?"

"No!"

Awkward silence.

Duals says, "Yeah, I can understand after what happened last night. How are you feeling, by the way?"

"Wonderful. I love the black eye."

"Glad to hear it," Duals says. "Listen, there's something I want to talk to you about—"

"I don't want to talk about _anything_ right now, okay?"

"Okay... sure..."

I end the call before I can bite off Duals' head the rest of the way.

Everything has gone horribly wrong. I go to the skating party hoping to have some fun and make a connection with Romina. I come away with a black eye, a carpet burned face, and a destroyed ego. Romina still doesn't know I exist, and Lauren is mad at me, too, for some reason.

Quite a night's work.

Wouldn't you know, the local TV news carries some of our footage. How did Duals pull that off? The spot includes remarks from a few of the kids we interviewed, a shot of Kaitlyn working the slate, and a final shot of "aspiring young filmmaker" Stephan Chrono.

Nothing on Tamika, though. How does she feel about not getting any screen time? My unburned cheek still tingles from where she kissed it. Maybe I was making some headway with her after all, but why didn't she stick around after I got off the floor?

She's so popular she must have to ration her affections. There isn't enough of her to go around. Besides, she could see I was basically all right.

It was a start, anyway.

I feel like calling Duals to complain that I was not included. Of course, if I hadn't done the carpet dive thing I might have been around long enough to get myself filmed. I decide not to call. Let things ride for a while until I feel better.

Come Saturday, the bomb shell hits.

14. Online Celebrity

I'm just starting to feel halfway human again when Gerry's text message arrives.

" _Love the video!"_

I text back. _"On TV?"_

" _No, check it out."_

He includes a URL from a video posting website. I get this sinking feeling in my stomach as I go to the site and search on "Studio Duals."

There it is, a complete video / audio record of my crack up at the Roll-O-Center—my terrified face, the brutal collision against the barrier, my mid-air flip and crash. And finally, the kiss from Tamika as I sprawl on the floor like a total idiot.

So, the light I saw wasn't part of a near-death experience, but Duals' LED flicking on!

The audio from the on-camera mic isn't as good as what I got with the boom pole, but no matter. Duals has included a track of comic sound effects, including a resounding _Crash!_ when I hit the floor.

He's repeated the clip several times, mixing it with scenes of kids skating and of the post-crash pile up. I go through the catastrophe again and again – in slow motion, in reverse, with different sound and visual effects. _BOING!_ _CRUNCH!_

One scenario has an atomic mushroom cloud rising when I hit the floor. The video ends with a shot of me limping out the door and Duals saying, "Hang in there, Matt."

I can scarcely believe what I'm seeing. It's like a nightmare spider reaching out for me from the Web. There are already thousands of views, the comments say it all:

" _This kid is the new definition of dork,"_ one says.

Others take up the theme.

" _This kid is the new definition of pinhead ... dipstick ... idiot."_

" _He's got great style – loser chic."_

" _Who's the hot girl? Man, I'd brain myself, too, for a kiss."_

" _He reminds me of my old boyfriend,"_ a female viewer wrote. _"I wish he'd throw himself over like that."_

Everyone on Duals' contact list must have seen it by now, and everybody on their contact lists and... I fire off a text to Duals.

" _Grandpa's house NOW."_

" _Already there,"_ Duals texts.

" _Take down that video!!!!"_

I leave for Grandpa's house on my bike. The two miles burn past in record time.

* * *

Duals glances up from the computer when I storm in. He looks alarmed.

"The video is down," he says.

I jab a finger at him. "This was _so_ wrong!"

Duals shrugs. "It did get a bit out of hand. I wouldn't say it was 'wrong' by any means."

"I'm, like, the laughing stock of the whole world. Couldn't you ask my permission before putting me out there?"

"I tried to, but you hung up. So, I figured I'd have to use my own judgment."

This is true. Some of the rage goes out of me.

"I'm sorry, man," Duals says, "but isn't that the whole point of this production – showing disasters online?"

"Yeah, but not about me... about somebody else."

"It was the luck of the draw," Duals says. "It could just as well have been me on the floor."

"Yeah, but nobody would have seen it because you had the camera."

"You've got a point, but look on the bright side, Matt. You're famous. A lot of people would kill to get so much attention."

I feel slugged in the gut. Was it only last week I wrote the _Matt Manifesto_ predicting fame by fourteen?

"Yeah, but not like this," I say. "It was supposed to be about 'Disaster Dylan' not 'Maniac Mattie.'"

Duals strokes his chin. " _Maniac Mattie_ , we could build on that."

"No way!"

"Hear me out. We can take some shots of you in front of the green screen. Then, on the computer, we add different backgrounds—make it look like you're tumbling over Niagara Falls or hurtling through outer space. We add the clip to the original video and re-release it as the 'new and improved' version."

I'm too outraged to say anything.

"Not a good idea, huh?" Duals says.

I plop down on the couch.

"I'm the first to admit, some of the viewer comments were over the top," Duals says. "But try to see the big picture..."

I'm no longer listening. My own complaints echo in my mind taking up the available space. Yeah, disasters are great fun, when they happen to somebody else. When they happen to _you_ , it's a whole different ball game. I'm not feeling particularly proud of myself.

"Okay, I shouldn't have hung up on you," I say, "and it wasn't your fault I wiped out. But something's wrong here; we need to rethink this whole project."

"Yeah, how?" Duals sounds apprehensive.

I stand up. The living room feels very confined, like a prison cell. My face is hot and prickly, and not just from the carpet burn. "I can't talk now. My brain's not working too well."

I need to get away, out of this whole town. A vision of Grandma and Grandpa Alpin's cottage up north rises in my mind. It's shiny and bright, like the Emerald City.

"I'm going up north for a week. When I get back, we'll start over."

"Okay," Duals says, "but we have a good thing going here. Once we get our website up – "

"Fine, work on the website. Practice with that Merlin thing, whatever, but no more shock video posts before I get back. Okay?"

"Sure, Matt."

Duals looks kind of small and deflated on the couch, all sunk into the cushions like he expects me to hit him. Do I seem that wacko?

"I'll see you next week." And I'm out of there.

* * *

At dinner, I ask Dad to drive me up north.

"I thought you didn't want to go," he says.

"I've changed my mind, but only for a week."

Dad looks at Mom, and she gives one of her decisive nods.

"Okay, Matt. First thing tomorrow."

15. Retreat North

The drive up north Sunday is pretty quiet.

I think Dad keeps hoping for this father-son bonding thing to kick in; I'm not in the mood for conversation, though. My black eye has faded, but I'm still able to milk it along with my other injuries. I need rest, supposedly, and 'nap' most of the way.

Lunch at one of those country type chain restaurants is pretty noisy, so I can avoid talking much there, too. A big chattering crowd fills the place, and a baby at the next table makes a lot of racket, which works to my advantage.

I mean, he's my dad, he's a great guy, and I love him. But he just isn't who I need right now. His work at the insurance company is tied up with actuarial tables, statistical calculations of risk factors. To set their premiums, they gamble on how long people are expected to live. What are the odds Costumer X will be around long enough to earn a profit on him?

I have different concerns. What are the odds my whole life is going down the drain? I'd say pretty high. My existence is dominated by D's – Dylan, Duals, disaster, depression, defeat. If school was still in session, I'd have D's on my grade report. I need Grandpa to help me sort things out, but he's off in Central America.

My other grandparents are lurking up the road on the shore of their big, cold lake. I'm not saying they're evil or anything, but... It's like those little hamburgers you can buy by the sack full. Every now and then I'll actually eat one, thinking they can't possibly be as bad as I remembered – but they are.

Still, I'm hopeful that maybe this time will be different. Maybe I'll enjoy visiting Grandma and Grandpa Alpin. But my hopes start fading soon after we arrive.

* * *

The last quarter mile of dirt road runs through forest, then we are at their driveway with the giant pickup truck, even bigger than my other Grandpa's beast vehicle. It has a Texas license plate, since they are official residents there now. Apparently, they left their huge trailer behind, rather than haul it back as they've done before.

Their nasty little dog, Smokey, runs out. His shrill barking hurts my ears. You get the impression he'd love to bite you, if he wasn't afraid of getting stomped.

"Come on in!" Grandpa Alpin yells from the screened-in back porch.

We enter the porch, then the house. Smokey, thank heaven, stays outside.

There is the usual brief moment of attention given to me. Grandpa says how good-looking I am, how big I'm getting, do I like school? Then Dad put his foot in it.

"How are you feeling?" he asks Grandpa.

"Oh, not too bad. My arthritis has been acting up, though. Your mother's been under the weather, too. Doctor says she might need surgery soon..."

And so forth. A non-stop complaint about absolutely everything—mostly health issues but also the weather and politics, especially the "idiot" governor we have who is cutting benefit programs for our neediest citizens. Of course, since Grandma and Grandpa Alpin are now official Texas residents, they no longer have to pay our state income tax which funds these programs.

It doesn't seem wise to mention this fact, however. I've learned it's very easy to make somebody else pay for the stuff you think is worthwhile.

Not that I can get a word in. Grandma appears and adds her voice to the general despair. It's like this super depressing TV melodrama, which switched off the last time I left here, is playing full blast again. I try to tune it out as much as possible.

The living room looks pretty much the same, except for the fireplace. It used to be this nice open area with chain link curtains and glass doors. Summer nights can be cold this far north, and it's good to have a cheery fire crackling. But now the fireplace is occupied by this horrible, cast-iron box with a door that looks like it came off a cremation oven.

It's the 'green alternative' to a standard energy-wasting fireplace. Funny, I'd never associate the word _green_ with that monstrosity.

The talk drones on. At least I'm not the only one in pain, judging by the glazed-over look in Dad's eyes.

"Well, I'd better get going," he says. "Have to be at work first thing in the morning, you know."

Dad is super conscientious about work. He almost never takes an extra day off, even when he isn't feeling well. He must have a whole stack of unused personal days.

I can't blame him for wanting to make a quick escape. I follow him outside to the car, the yapping dog in tow.

"Smokey, get in here!" Grandpa yells from the porch.

The little pest runs back to the house, giving me a few quiet moments with Dad. We unload my stuff from the trunk, including the net bag with my snorkeling gear.

"You will be back Saturday, right Dad?"

"Sure thing, count on it."

Then he's driving away down the forested road. I turn back toward the cottage.

Whose brilliant idea was it to come here, anyway?

16. Rethinking My Life

The week goes by surprisingly quick. The weather is nice, so I can go outdoors by myself a lot.

I spend time floating around the lake with my snorkel gear, getting my thoughts together, trying to figure out what I'm going to do when I get home.

While I'm busy thrashing things out, Grandma and Grandpa Alpin are in the house socializing and playing cards with their friends, or else visiting their friends' places and doing the same things.

The water is cold, but I have my wet suit. The neoprene makes me bob like a cork, and I wear a few pounds on my weight belt so that I can submerge a bit now and then.

In some places, huge logs lie on the bottom. Back in the old clear-cutting days, logs floated through this lake in gigantic rafts headed for the saw mills. Some of them sank, and here they are, useless and forgotten.

They're like my life – going nowhere.

I'm still obsessed with what my kids are going to say about me at my funeral. I don't want to be just a dead log.

Another thing occupying my thoughts is my rich Grandpa's motivations. Why did he fork out so much money on the movie studio? And why didn't he include me in the discussion? He just purchased whatever Duals wanted, except for the big LED lights, maybe. Then he drove away to Central America.

To be fair, I took myself out of the discussion and left everything to Duals. I simply abandoned the field and went off to dream up more big ideas.

Here's a mistake I'm _not_ going to repeat!

As far as the money is concerned, Grandpa likes to live large, and throwing money around is part of his style. That little house sure didn't cost him much, and he probably felt the urge to go on a spending spree.

I wonder if he's using the whole thing as a way to re-enter our family, get through to Mom, somehow. Maybe he's trying to buy acceptance so he'll be welcome for more than just the occasional send-off dinner. He probably believes Mom doesn't want him to return from his travels.

This makes me terribly sad. Grandpa belongs in our family. Mom is his only child, and I'm the only grandchild; his brothers have both died. He must be very lonely.

I spot a huge snapping turtle stomping through the underwater weeds like some ancient dinosaur, and I decide snorkeling time is over.

There's no internet access at the house, and cell phone coverage is hit or miss. I could call Duals on the land line but would rather not talk to him yet. Monday is soon enough. I haven't even been to town to use the library computers. I don't want to be connected.

* * *

Friday, Grandpa Alpin says: "Want to go fishing in the boat, Matt?"

"Sure, Grandpa."

Actually, I dislike everything about fishing, except the going out in the boat part. I feel sorry for the fish struggling on the line. I hate cleaning them, and I don't like eating fish, either. You could add being a lousy fisherman to my list of in-capabilities.

We climb into the little blue and white runabout and take off from the dock.

We work the weed banks close to shore. I know there are plenty of fish here from my snorkeling expeditions, but they must sense my queasiness vibrating down my line because I don't get a single bite. Grandpa snags a couple, though.

"We'll be having fish for supper tonight," he says.

"Yeah." I try to look enthusiastic.

Grandpa gets all philosophical. He sits back, lights a cigar, and gazes out across the huge lake. "I wonder what it was like out here a few centuries ago. Before the settlers and the loggers moved in."

"Probably not too many power boats back then."

Grandpa laughs. "How about a little adventure, Matt?"

"Sure."

"There's a shallows in the middle of the lake, kind of a submerged island. Good fishing out there."

"Let's go!" I say.

We pull in our lines. Grandpa fires up the motor and we head toward the far reaches of the lake. I see Grandma on the shore calling out and waving to us. Grandpa looks the other way, so I figure it isn't my place to draw his attention to her. I think we're both happy to escape the dull life on shore.

Things are turning out okay. I'm having fun, and Grandpa isn't nearly so depressing without other adults around. Why can't he be like this all the time?

The front end of the boat raises up as we gain speed, and little splashes of cold water smack my face. Grandpa lets me handle the wheel.

"Woo Wee!" I shout.

Grandpa throttles up the motor.

My excitement starts to fade as we get farther out. The water, which looked so calm from the distance, becomes increasingly choppy. Grandpa takes over the wheel.

A big wave hits us at an unexpected angle. I'm afraid we're going over, but Grandpa gets us through all right.

"Seems a bit rough today. What do you think, Matt?"

"Yeah... it is rough."

"Maybe we should head back, huh?"

I look toward the shore. It seems a long way off – all misty and strange, even though this started out to be a sunny day. A knot in my stomach is getting bigger.

"Sure."

Grandpa eases the boat around. The motor jerks to a halt.

"What the... !" Grandpa lets fly with a string of words I'm certain Grandma wouldn't like. "Something's stuck in the propeller."

He goes to the stern and pulls the motor up. A sheet of thick plastic is tangled in the prop.

"Dang tourists! You never know what they'll toss off their boats."

Our boat rocks and bucks as Grandpa struggles with the plastic. He has to reach far outside to access the prop. The maneuver doesn't look safe, even if the water wasn't so rough.

Every bit of fun has gone out of the day. I wish I was back in the shallows facing down that snapping turtle. Another rogue wave hits, and Grandpa starts tumbling overboard.

"Grandpa!"

I dive toward the stern and grab him by the belt. He flops back inside like a huge fish. He looks scared, then a smile comes over his face – as if he's actually enjoying the situation.

"Thank you. I wasn't looking forward to a swim just yet."

"S-sure, Grandpa."

Finally, he gets the prop cleared and we head back toward shore. As we get closer, the surface calms down again and we are able to increase speed.

"Want to drive, Matt?"

"No thanks. Think I've had enough."

Now that we're running smooth again, the knot in my stomach relaxes. The day is turning back to cheery mode. Then it hits me – the new and definitive Big Idea.

"Oh, wow!" I smack my forehead.

"What's wrong? You're not having one of them post traumatic experiences, are you?"

"Nothing's wrong. In fact, everything is right."

17. Cheery Return

I'm in an excellent mood when we get back to the house, scarcely bothered by Smokey's barking or by the war that breaks out between Grandma and Grandpa.

I go up to my room and flick on the little television, but I can still hear them arguing downstairs.

"That was foolish, Ben," Grandma says. "You know it's dangerous out there for that little boat, and with the weather acting up, too!"

Grandpa says something I can't make out. He doesn't sound too happy.

"I'll bet you forgot to take your medication," Grandma screeches, "and didn't the doctor tell you to stop smoking those cigars?"

No matter how old you might be, you're going to have trouble with women, I think. One of them will always be chewing you out about something.

I turn up the TV volume. Confrontation type shows seem to be on every channel—people yelling at each other, hurling accusations, making threats. In one show guys start swinging at each other; bouncers have to separate them.

And I want to be part of this negative crap? Not any more, I have better ideas now. Later today, after things have calmed a bit, I'll put them down on paper where they will take on the force of law.

One thing I already know is that I have to click into my own left brain and start thinking in practical terms. I can't let Duals, or anybody else, call my shots. And that 'Director of the World' fantasy has to go. I must concentrate on directing my own future course; the world can take care of itself.

This whole movie studio thing may have dropped in my lap unexpected, but that doesn't mean I can't make the most of it. Life is like a baseball game, just because you strike out in the first inning doesn't mean you have to keep repeating your mistakes. Fame and fortune won't come waltzing up, I'll have to work hard for them.

I switch to the weather channel. The report speaks of a cold front moving in, bringing unpleasant effects. I try to nap a little, but can't. I've always been bad with naps, even when people aren't yelling and slamming things around downstairs.

18. A Fun Night

Things have pretty much blown over by dinner time.

Grandma and Grandpa aren't talking much to each other, so at least I don't have to hear about any depressing topics. There isn't enough fish to go around, so I generously volunteer to settle for hamburgers, fresh caught from the freezer.

The TV was right about the weather. Cold air is blowing in across the lake, and the comfortable temperature inside the house nosedives. Grandma hauls out some heavier blankets, and Grandpa lights the woodstove in the fireplace.

You'd have to admit the thing throws a lot of heat, despite its ghastly appearance. And it's supposed to keep burning long after a regular fire would go out.

As Grandma and Grandpa get ready to turn in, I park myself on the sofa in front of the woodstove with my notebook and a cup of hot chocolate. Grandpa comes downstairs a final time to check the fire. He still looks saggy and beat from the argument with Grandma.

"Fire's going real good," I say.

Grandpa nods and shoves in a final log. Then he closes the horrible little door.

"Well, goodnight," he says.

"Goodnight, Grandpa, and thanks for taking me on the fishing trip."

"Sure thing, Matt."

"I really enjoyed going out toward the middle, even though we couldn't make it the whole way."

Grandpa's face brightens. "We'll try it again sometime, maybe."

He goes back upstairs and enters their bedroom, leaving the door open so as to catch any heat wafting up the stairs. I settle down with my notebook to develop my new ideas.

It's simple, really; all great ideas are. Notice I said "great" and not "big" ideas.

From now on, we will not film anything negative – no embarrassing personal disasters. We will record only positive things, such as my 'rescue' of Grandpa on the lake. We'll be into constructive subjects only, not hurting people or making them look foolish. Studio Duals will seek out projects that add to the world's good side.

It's time to revisit and expand the _Matt Manifesto_. I write a title at the top of the notebook page in heavy ink:

The Matt Manifesto – Phase II

I like the Roman numeral, it makes things look more solemn and official. I start numbering the sheet so as to develop the sub-points of my new, upbeat philosophy.

A massive yawn creeps up on me. I'm extremely tired, and the stove heat is making things worse. My brain isn't working at maximum power. The events on the lake exhausted me, and I was too excited to take a nap.

Outside, the weather turns nasty with the sounds of wind and restless leaves buffeting the cabin. A cold draft blows on me through the gap in the sliding glass door frame. I wrap a quilted comforter about myself and take a swig of hot chocolate.

In front of me, the wood stove hisses and crackles like some metallic dragon. Flames flicker behind a tiny window in the door. Smokey crouches in the corner shadows watching me with his mean little eyes. He always looks so angry. Maybe he'd be happier if he could rip somebody's leg off. Mine, for instance.

I drift into sleep and a journey to nightmare land . . .

_Hands appear holding an open slate._ Send-off for a Nobody _is written on it in bold red letters._

An off-camera voice announces, "Scene one, take one, marker!"

The slate bangs closed and withdraws. Camera focuses on a corpse lying on a wheeled stretcher. Someone pulls the shroud back from the face.

It's me lying there! I'm all gray and old looking.

Two high school kids approach the corpse, a boy and a girl.

" _It's time to give Dad the old send-off," the boy says._

" _Let's get this over with." The girl blows on her drying fingernails. "I'm so into not wasting more time here."_

" _Too bad he never amounted to anything," the boy says._

" _Yeah, whatever."_

The gurney rolls toward a cremation oven. A little window in its door glows orange. The door pops open to reveal roaring flames. The corpse starts sliding in, fire licks the toes.

Then I'm not watching events from outside anymore. I'm on the gurney, my feet are in the flames. I try to sit up, but can't.

" _No! No!" I try to yell._

Flames howl over me.

I jerk awake. "Oh, man!"

I'm lying on the couch wrapped tightly in the comforter. The thing is smothering me. I fling off the heavy quilt and rub my eyes.

Smokey glowers at me from his corner, unconcerned with my misery. I want to get up, but lack the energy. The nightmares don't want to let go of me yet. I drift back to sleep.

_A pair of hands holds a slate._ The Gnarly Beast _is written on it with drippy red letters._

" _Scene one... etc."_

Clack!

I'm walking alone through a forest. It's like the metro park outside town but with subtle differences—the shrunken heads hanging from the trees, for instance.

" _Hello," one of them says, and I pick up my pace._

Wind hisses through the dead leaves, cold strikes my back. I look across the scum-covered pond and see cars parked in the lot, so I'm not too worried yet. A rushing sound comes from the woods.

I spin around. The underbrush is being shoved aside by the approach of some fearsome beast. I can't see it yet, but its growls are getting louder. I look back toward the parking lot, the cars there are actually part of a funeral procession – a huge black hearse leads the way out.

I begin running but can hardly move. The beast gains on me, I hear it leap into the air...

I jolt awake again. I'm lying on my side, draped over the sofa edge. Smokey's mean little face is staring into mine. I feel his clammy nose.

"Ah!"

I fling myself into a sitting position.

"Something wrong, Matt?" Grandpa calls from upstairs.

"Uh... no, I'm fine."

I stagger into the bathroom and splash cold water over my face and neck. Then I go to the kitchen for a bottle of water. What I wouldn't give for a Bomb Cola!

I return to the living room couch, fully awake now, and begin to work on my Manifesto.

19. The Matt Manifesto Revisited

I move my pen quickly; must get everything down before I drop off to sleep again. First, I write out the main points of my Manifesto – they total four.

From now on:

1 – Only positive things are filmed.

2 – Nobody is made to look foolish, ever.

3 – Matt rules.

4 – Duals is ...

Duals is what? I can't figure it out just yet. Let me work on the other three points, first.

Point 1 – No more looking on the downside of human nature. Our work will seek to ennoble people, see the heroic in them. Leave all that negative stuff for the reality shows.

There. A suitably noble tone for my guiding principles.

Point 2 – I mean that!

Okay, I used to think it was funny to see somebody take a fall. But now that I've been on the receiving end of dork fame, I don't think it's such a wonderful thing.

Hadn't I felt guilty about "using" Dylan? Maybe it's poetic justice that I got used myself. Well, it's all water under the dam now. First inning stuff.

Point 3 – My word is law!

This is key. Until now, Duals has controlled everything. He's practiced with the equipment, taken on-line tutorials, experimented, bluffed, brought in girls. I know nothing, have done nothing. I've been too busy running errands, cramming for finals, and destroying my reputation at the skating rink. I've let 'Studio Duals' slip through my fingers.

Wouldn't I rather be directing things, operating the camera and taking admiring questions from people, instead of carrying the boom pole? Things are going to change radically when I get back. _I'll_ be the guy in charge.

Back to the tricky fourth point.

Point 4 – Duals is ...

What? I haven't been very pro-Duals in my thinking lately. Am I being too harsh on him?

On the plus side, he's smart, talented, and very social. I'm much more inner-directed. Never in a million years could I have gotten up the nerve to approach three strange girls and ask them to be in my video.

I also have to admit Duals is crucial to my future creative efforts. He has so much energy and drive that I simply can't do without him. We're talking a movie studio, and that's way more than a one-man operation. Maybe I should ease up on him, but things are still going to be done _my_ way!

Duals won't like being a second banana, though. He'll need to be more of a partner. I must handle things tactfully.

For starters, we'll keep the name _Studio Duals_. I'll come first on the letterhead: _Matthew Alpin, CEO_. Duals will come next: _Stephen Chrono, president_.

That would work. Aren't company presidents the nuts and bolts guys while the CEO provides overall direction with his "corporate vision?" Duals should give up his nickname. From now on, _Duals_ will refer only to the studio. It was a dumb nickname, even when he still wore the thick glasses. Maybe he'll be glad to get rid of it.

I'm starting to nod off again. No way am I going to set myself up for another couch nightmare. The Duals issue is very complex, and I'm not going to figure it all out tonight.

I close my notebook and go up to bed.

# Four: Complications

20. Devil's Island

I wake up refreshed – no more nightmares.

It's dark and rainy outside, but I feel great. Dad will be arriving this afternoon, and tomorrow we'll head for home. We can even do the father-son bonding routine on the way back.

A phone call changes everything. It's Mom: "Dad can't pick you up."

"Why not?"

"He's got the flu," Mom says, "he came home from work early yesterday."

Iron man Dad chooses this precise time to get sick! Why couldn't he do this during the school year when I didn't have to depend on him so much?

Wait, there's more exciting news: "Uncle Archie and his family are going up North for the week," Mom says. "You can ride back with them next Sunday."

The whole world is crashing in. Not only will I be stuck here another week, but I'll have to put up with Uncle Archie and his crew. And all the while, Studio Duals will be grinding along without me, leaving me farther behind in the dust.

I want to beg Mom to come get me, but I know she dislikes making long trips on her own. Besides, she'll want to stay home and take care of Dad. I hang up the phone, then pick it up again and call Duals.

" _Help! I'm trapped!"_ I want to shout, but Grandma is working in the kitchen nearby. It doesn't seem wise to let out my true feelings.

Instead, I say: "Look Duals, I'll be up here another week."

"Okay man, that's fine."

He sounds subdued, like he's upset about something. Could it be he's missing me?

"So, I'll see you next Monday, okay?" I say.

"Yeah, enjoy it up there."

"Right."

That's the end of the phone calls – two downer conversations within five minutes.

I glance around the house. What had been a pleasant enough spot yesterday now seems to be a prison, like that Devil's Island place where the French used to send criminals.

One thing is certain – with Uncle Archie, Aunt Theresa and my two cousins here, I won't be able to keep the big guest bedroom upstairs. I'll have to relocate to the tiny back room on the first floor, the grim, dark one like a jail cell.

Maybe things aren't quite so bad. Maybe, with all this rain, Uncle Archie will skid off the road and crash. Nobody hurt, of course, just the trip here cancelled.

Nah, that's too cold. How about this scenario?

Uncle Archie looks at the rainy sky and says: "You know, the weather here really sucks. Let's get on a plane to Bermuda."

* * *

No such luck. Uncle Archie and the gang arrive – just as we're sitting down to lunch.

"Hey Tackhead, how's it going?" is the first thing my cousin Jesse, the big, fat 10th grader, says to me.

He gives me a 'playful' little sock in the arm. _Tackhead_ is this cute nickname he has for me. My other cousin, fourth-grader Linda, thinks this is funny.

"Yeah, Cousin Tackhead, how are you?" she says between giggles.

"Be nice," Aunt Theresa says in this not really disapproving tone.

Uncle Archie goes to the kitchen and snatches a beer out of the fridge without even asking permission or offering to get one for Grandpa. He has to bend over to get at the bottom shelf, and you can see butt crack over his underwear.

I turn toward Jesse. "I'm pretty good, blubberbutt. How about yourself?"

This is a nickname I've just invented. Jesse doesn't like it much, judging by the way his eyes narrow. At least it shuts him up for the time being.

"Boys, let's be civil," Aunt Theresa says.

"That's right." Uncle Archie pops open the beer. "God, I've been needing one of these."

He guzzles from the 24-ounce can, a trickle runs down his chin.

Uncle Archie is totally unlike Dad. How could they be related, much less brothers? Dad is smooth and refined, while this guy... let's just say Uncle Archie was AWOL the day they handed out class.

As far as Jesse is concerned, there'll be trouble with him, I know. I formulate another point for the _Matt Manifesto_ :

Point 5 – No more crap from cousin Jesse.

21. Showdown

I do a pretty good job of avoiding Uncle Archie and the gang. The weather has improved, so I can spend time alone snorkeling or taking long forest walks.

They are always going out in the boat or running into town or throwing lawn darts, keeping to themselves. Grandma and Grandpa have scoped the situation accurately, and they don't try to enforce any 'rah rah!' family togetherness.

I don't think they enjoy Uncle Archie's visit much. He doesn't make their eyes brighten the way Dad does when he's around. That's their problem. I have my own kids to worry about, the ones who shoved me into the cremation oven.

Also, I'm busy working on a screenplay – a new and positive story that will be our next Studio Duals production. It's called: _Adventure Bike Club, the Beginning_

It involves four young people swooping in on their bikes and doing heroic things—saving others from terrible fates, making the world right. I figure this initial episode will run about fifteen minutes. It will show the forming of the Club and their first adventure. After that, we'll roar into episode two, and...

To tell the truth, he script is fairly lame. I'm looking forward to Duals fleshing out the details. Every night I stay awake in my little cell writing in my notebook while an insect orchestra twitters and whirs outside.

Once, I hear something big lumber past my window, but it's gone by the time I look out. I really don't want to know what it is.

Since there's no internet in the house, I didn't bother bringing my laptop. Big mistake. My handwriting is so bad I can scarcely read it myself.

I'm forming other ideas for Studio Duals, too. The high school had a good football team last year, maybe they'll also do well this coming year. In any case, we can document the season—film game highlights, conduct interviews, make them look sharp.

We can do the same for the basketball team. This will get us in good with the jocks, and Duals might be able to put some of our video out on local TV again. We can sell DVDs. The better the sports season, the more we can charge.

And don't forget the brainy types, the National Honor Society crowd. They'd appreciate some positive coverage, too. Not to mention the school plays, with Tamika in the leading roles, of course. We can make a lot of friends, establish connections, get ourselves known.

Things are bending my direction. I can feel Matt the Man emerging from the shadows.

* * *

Friday afternoon while I'm snorkeling, cousin Jesse arrives. I'm busy looking for the snapping turtle, and the first indication that Jesse is around comes when my air suddenly cuts off.

"Gaak!"

I struggle to my feet in the shallow water. Jesse has blocked my snorkel with his hand and is laughing maniacally.

"Take it easy, twerp," he says. "Don't you know that breathing is over rated?"

"Cut it out, you moron!"

"Who's gonna make me?" Jesse says.

I retreat backwards to knee-deep water, shuffling awkwardly on my fins. Jesse follows. He snatches off my mask and snorkel.

"How does this thing work, nerd?"

He tries to force the mask over his pudgy face, but the strap is too tight for him.

"Stop that, you'll break the strap!"

"And that's my problem, because... ?" Jesse sneers.

_Okay, this is it, Blubberbutt_.

I yank off my fins and toss them aside. Then I remove my belt and wrap it around my hand. The nylon weight pouch, filled with lead shot, forms perfectly to my knuckles.

"Come on," Jesse says, "show me how to use it."

"Sure."

I kind of feel sorry for old Jesse. Here he is, the overweight, unlovely kid nobody at school likes. They laugh at him behind his back, and the girls give him a wide berth.

Well, too bad about all that.

I anchor my feet solidly on the bottom. Twisting at the hips for maximum power, I drive my weighted fist in an uppercut to the point of Jesse's chin.

"Umph!" he grunts.

The dive mask flies off his head. He looks astonished for a split second, then his eyes go blank. He crashes backwards into the water.

"Jesse!"

He's out cold and sinking fast. I splash over and grab him under the armpits. Even with the water partly supporting him, he weighs a ton.

"Don't drown, you slob!"

I drag him toward shore – inch by agonizing inch. It feels like my arms are going to tear off any second. Finally, I drop Jesse on his back. He returns to life.

"What happened?" he moans.

"There's more if you want it. All you have to do is ask."

I have this little diving knife strapped to my leg. I pull it out of the scabbard and let him have a look.

"No!" Jesse gurgles.

It's more accurately a 'diving tool' with only a small sharp edge. It makes the desired impression, though.

Jesse rolls onto his side and coughs up water. Then he crawls fully onto dry land. I think he's crying by the time I retrieve my gear and walk off.

Grandma meets me when I come in the house through the sliding doors. "Where's Jesse? He said he was going swimming with you."

"He's fine. The lake just isn't big enough for the two of us."

"Oh, I see."

She looks out toward the shore where Jesse is sitting up now.

"Can you drive me to the library, Grandma?"

22. Word from South of the Border

At the library, I fire up one of the ancient computers to access my email account.

No word from Duals. Guess he's also giving our relationship a break until I get back. There are two emails from Grandpa, though. Meaning my Mom's dad, Grandpa Richard to be precise. He sent the first one from his hotel in Merida, Mexico:

Greetings from south of the border to my favorite grandson (my only grandson, come to think of it). Having a great time. This is no place to lose your head, though.

Two pictures are attached. One shows Grandpa waving at the camera with this huge Maya pyramid looming in the background. The second is taken on top the pyramid. Grandpa is sitting with his back to the camera, he's ducked his head down out of view, trying to look like a decapitated person.

He sent the second email from Alajuela, Costa Rica:

Going into the wilderness for a couple weeks. I've met some American missionaries who are building a church in the far reaches. You can only get there by dugout canoe. They didn't want to take me along at first, but a fat donation changed their minds.

Hope things are going well for you in your film career.

Dang! What I wouldn't give to be in the far reaches of Costa Rica with Grandpa instead of stuck in these northern wilds with the Uncle Archie crowd. As far as my "film career" is concerned, it seems to be going nowhere at top speed—but things will change when I finally get home.

I answer:

Good luck with the mission work, Grandpa. Thanks for all the movie equipment. I hope to have some great things to show you. It's been very educational.

That's putting it mildly. My whole existence has been turned upside down by that camera stuff. It has divided my life into two phases: BSD / ASD. Before Studio Duals and After Studio Duals.

My computer session has plenty of time to run, but I log off. I've seen enough of the outside world. There's still the cousin Jesse question. Will there be more trouble with him?

23. Taking Charge

Jesse is fine. He makes no more _tackhead_ or _twerp_ comments, and I put _blubberbutt_ to rest, as well.

I'm not saying he's being friendly, just more respectful—as if he's concerned maybe next time I'll gut him like one of those fish they're always catching.

On Sunday, I have the entire far back seat of Uncle Archie's minivan to myself for the ride home. Only me and my luggage, my feet propped up on the net bag containing my snorkel gear with its lethal weight belt and knife. Jesse and Linda have the seat ahead of me. The sum total of our conversation equals zero, the way I like it.

I'm busy finishing my screenplay and wouldn't want to talk even if my cousins were cool, rather than being their usual nasty selves. I add a scene where the hero rescues a guy who's been knocked out in the water. There's this hot girl on shore who witnesses the whole thing. She's turned on by the hero's bravery, and...

Well, it needs some polish. Duals can help with that.

* * *

Mom and Dad are happy to see me. Dad still looks a bit down from the flu, though. He dragged himself back to work Friday, Mom says. I'm proud of him for that, as if he's achieved some great athletic success.

I'm so lucky to have him and my two grandpas. Since our adventure on the lake, my opinion of Grandpa Ben has improved a lot.

Grandma is nice, too, if you can head her off depressing conversation topics—like who the latest heart attack victim is, or who lost all their money in an investment scam, or what the latest problems with her dentures are. Hey, I'm still a kid. Why burden me with so many unsolvable problems? Why not talk about fun things now and then?

Cousin Jesse has finally been put in his place. Maybe, if I'm extremely lucky, I'll never have to see him again. Why can't Dad and Uncle Archie have one of those family falling outs where people don't speak to each other for twenty years?

The trip up north has turned out pretty good, after all. I've managed to sort things out, and I've even got a tan.

Then it's upstairs to my glorious room with my computer, books, and model airplanes. Plenty of space to stretch out. I download free script-writing software and type up _Adventure Bike Club, the Beginning_.

# Five: Things Get Dicey

24. Back to the Studio

Late Monday morning, I'm fresh and rested, bursting with new ideas and ready to take charge.

When I stroll into the studio, Duals is sitting on the living room couch. Tamika and Kaitlyn are also present.

"Where's Romina?" I ask.

"She went back to Europe for the summer," Tamika replies. "I am _so_ jealous."

Wow, she actually tossed two whole sentences my direction! I would have died for that honor a couple weeks ago; now I couldn't care less. I'm way past the Tamika thing. That treacherous kiss at the Roll-O-Center cured me forever.

I turn toward Duals. "Let's hop back in the saddle and get things done."

I enjoy the sound of that, like something a Western action hero might say. I pull out my script.

"Here's the screenplay for our first production. Let me know what you think."

I hand it to Duals. He takes it and leafs through the pages. He doesn't look too enthusiastic.

"Well?" I say.

"Oh, it's fine." Duals hands the papers back. "There's only one small problem."

"What?"

"Well, you see... my cousin Rex kind of borrowed the camera."

I am totally appalled. "You loaned him my camera?"

"It seemed like an okay idea at the time. He was driving me all these places, and I figured I owed him. It was only supposed to be for a few days."

"Well, if he 'kind of borrowed' the camera, let's kind of get it back!"

"There's another problem," Duals says. "While Rex had the camera... he sort of lost it in a poker game."

"What!"

"I'm sorry, man. I really screwed up."

I grope my way to the easy chair and plop down. I know how Jesse must have felt getting socked in the jaw.

_This can't be happening – can it?_ My tormented brain shrieks. _Not after everything I've been through._

A towering rage takes hold. I want to strangle Duals slowly and painfully. I want to grab that boom pole and break it over his head. I want... but I'm too stunned to get out of the chair.

"We were discussing what we can do about it," Duals says. "We're going to meet Dylan at the pool and formulate a plan."

"Yeah, sure, whatever."

Where's that cremation oven when I need it?

25. Swimming Pool Fun

Next thing I know, we're standing at the gate of this private swimming / tennis club, a place where Tamika's family has a membership.

I'm not exactly sure how we got here, as I am still in zombie mode. Along the way, I somehow obtained a towel with a bathing suit rolled inside.

_Snap out of it, Matt!_ I force myself back to grim reality.

"I hope the suit is okay," Duals is saying. "It's kind of old, but it's the only spare I have."

Yes, now I remember. Duals gave me this when we left Grandpa's place. It would save time if I didn't have to go home for my own suit, he said.

The full horror of my situation begins to sink in. The camera, with it's professional grade lens, must be worth a lot of money. Grandpa gave it to _me_ , or maybe he bought it for himself and was only loaning it to me. Whatever.

The point is, he trusted me with it, and with his house and all the other equipment. He thought I might be able to accomplish something, live up to his expectations for once.

And now this disaster!

A short time earlier I'd confidently walked into Studio Duals ready to take charge. Now I'm in charge of precisely nothing. I don't even have my own towel. How has all this happened?

Dylan walks up. "Hey, everybody, how's it going?"

It's going great, pal.

He wraps his arm around Tamika's waist and they exchange an obnoxious little kiss.

I take Duals aside. "Hold on. Are they, like, _together_ now?"

"Yeah. Go figure."

There truly is no justice anywhere. Dylan gets the girl, while I get the shaft. There must be some mysterious and unbreakable law of the universe at work: The better looking the girl, the bigger the goofball she goes for.

Calm down, Matt. You're past the Tamika thing, remember?

We move into the reception area where Tamika generously pays our guest fees at the counter. The pool has just opened for the day, so there isn't a crowd yet.

I head to the guys' locker room with Dylan and Duals. Both are wearing suits under their clothes, so they get out fast, leaving me to struggle into my borrowed outfit.

When I get to the pool deck, Duals and Dylan are in the water.

"Come on in, before the crowd shows up!" Dylan calls.

I don't feel much like swimming, though. While they splash around, I drag a chair to the only shady area on the deck, at the shallow end, near some greenery with a small tree arching over it. I sit brooding a few minutes before Kaitlyn and Tamika show up.

They look stunning in their two-piece swimsuits, especially Tamika. When she appears, everything else in the world grinds to a halt. They pull up chairs near mine, but in the sun so they can work on their tans.

Duals and Dylan get out of the water to join us. They wear stylish trunks. Myself, I look impressive in my undersized suit with the little-kid racecars on it.

"Let's finalize our plan of action," Duals says.

"This isn't my thing," Dylan says. "I don't believe I can add much, so I'll agree in advance with anything you decide, okay?"

"Fine," Duals says.

"Okay, Tamika?" Duals says.

"Sure Dylan, whatever you say." Tamika adds a little air kiss.

I feel like vomiting.

Dylan dives into the pool, sending a cold spray over me. He pounds out laps in the roped-off lane. You'd have to say he's a strong swimmer. A nice tan, too. He's probably been hanging out here for weeks with Tamika.

"So, we're all agreed with the plan we discussed earlier?" Duals asks.

"Wait a minute, what plan?" I say. "Why don't we call the cops? I mean, we must have a receipt for the camera, a credit card record with Grandpa's name on it. Nobody else does."

"There are problems with that approach," Duals says.

"More problems?"

"Here's the thing. We don't know exactly who has the camera; it could be any one of several guys. Rex was pretty wasted when he lost the poker game."

"I can believe that," I say.

"We'll have to smoke the camera out to where we can get at it."

"Good thinking, Stephan," Kaitlyn says.

Duals nods, obviously pleased with himself. It must be nice to have your own one-girl cheering squad.

"Besides," Duals adds, "if these guys find out Rex tipped us off, they might kick his butt."

"What's the problem with that?" I say.

"Come on, man, he's my cousin!"

"Yeah, I know all about cousins."

Dylan exits the water at the far end of the pool and shakes himself off. Tamika is watching him with this faraway look in her eyes, like he's some movie star.

"There's a party Friday night," Duals says. "A lot of Rex's friends will be there. Odds are the camera will be on hand, too, so it's just a matter of grabbing it."

"How can you be so sure?" I say.

"An educated guess. Rex originally borrowed the camera to film another party. That's where he lost the poker game."

"It's already been to one party. How do we know some drunk hasn't puked over it?"

"Let's hope that didn't happen," Kaitlyn says.

This whole thing is getting worse and worse, like a nightmare you can't wake up from. I feel this desire to turn violent, but what good would that do?

"Let me guess," I say, "Rex won't be at this party Friday night."

"Uh, yeah," Duals says. "He had to get back to school for something."

"So, we just walk into this college crowd and take back the camera?"

"That's where I come in," Tamika says.

"You?"

"I can handle it. You have no idea how much talent I've got."

Before she can say more about her talents, Dylan yells from the high diving board: "Watch this everybody!"

He's bouncing on the board, gaining height. Tamika runs toward him, followed by Kaitlyn.

Duals fires up his cell phone camera. "I feel something big coming on."

Dylan launches upwards a surprising distance. He folds himself into a jackknife, then opens...

He hits the water in a spectacular belly flop that is almost nuclear. Mini tidal waves wash over the pool edges. The life guard jumps down from his perch to investigate.

"Look at all that drama!" Duals cries. "And we've only got this lousy cell phone video."

Something green and horrible drops from the tree onto my chest.

"Ahhh!"

I bat it away—a huge praying mantis bug. It lands on the chair arm where it stares up at me through bulgy eyes in an alien, triangular head.

"Gross!"

I scramble to my feet. Duals aims his cell phone camera my direction.

"Can you run through that again, Matt?"

"No way!"

The mantis creeps along the chair arm back toward the greenery. It stretches out its body an incredible length and reaches its 'arms' into the leaves. It pulls itself back into concealment. I move my chair away a safe distance.

Out on the deck, Dylan lies recovering from his bell flop. Tamika and Kaitlyn stand in mid pool, bouncing on their toes and chatting.

Later, Tamika does some laps. She's a good swimmer, too. Is there anything she's not good at?

26. Preparing the Raid

We have some time before Friday to develop our rescue plan.

Why do the lousy things always happen on Fridays? Those awful nightmares, the fight with Jesse, and now this. Of course, the skating disaster happened on a Wednesday, but "the exception proves the rule," as I've heard.

Rex has provided the address of the party house. It belongs to one of his college buddy's parents who are conveniently away for a few weeks. They're trusting their son to take care of the place in their absence.

Right.

Fortunately, it's within bike range of Studio Duals, so we have a base of operations.

Duals and I ride out Wednesday afternoon to case the joint. It's a large, two-story place with white siding. In back is a spacious yard containing two big trees, one smaller tree, a garage, and an above-ground swimming pool.

This is an older neighborhood; all the houses are big with spacious yards and towering old trees. An alley runs behind the party house. The garage opens into it, and a little gate in the fence provides access to the back yard.

"I like this," Duals says. "There's an ideal escape route, out the back and down the alley."

"Yeah, it's great."

How about an "escape route" from this whole crazy idea?

Back at Grandpa's, I press Duals for more details about "Operation Rescue."

"Hey, this is on me," he says. "I got us into this mess and I'll get us out. Don't worry."

"That's big of you."

"It's really a two-man operation, plus Tamika, of course. Dylan and I can handle it."

"You're going to bring _Dylan_ in on this?"

"Well, yeah."

"He'll wreck everything!"

"Possibly," Duals says, "but who else is available? He did volunteer, you know."

"Forget it. I'm going on this mission."

Duals strokes his chin, as if he is calculating all the world's difficulties.

"Alright," he finally says, "if you feel that strong about it."

"I do. And not another word about Dylan, okay?"

"Sure, Matt."

It's not until I get home that I suspect things might not be what they appear. Had Duals played the 'Dylan card' in order to get me involved? It sounds like something his devious mind would cook up.

But that doesn't change facts on the ground. There is no way I can remain on the sidelines, and there's no way Disaster Dylan will play a part in this.

27. Operation Rescue Commences

Friday night, I meet Duals and Tamika at Grandpa's house.

I don't know how she did it, but with her hair, makeup, and clothes, Tamika has made herself look a lot older—like a college kid. Maybe she really is a natural-born actress.

My cover story is that I'm staying overnight at Duals' house. His cover story is that he's staying at my place. I don't know what Tamika's story is. I feel shabby telling such a blatant lie, but what else can I do?

My parents trust me so much it's unlikely they'll call Duals' house to verify. Duals has a similar scam going. We've been hanging out together for so long nobody can imagine we'd go off the rails like this.

What would Mom and Dad think of me if they knew the truth? What would Grandpa think?

He'd probably think it was cool.

Anyway, it's too late to opt out, so we get moving. Tamika rides on the back of Duals' bike, standing on the foot supports. Her hands are on Duals' shoulders, and a leather bag is slung over her own shoulder.

"I've arranged for a ride back," she told us. "Don't wait around for me."

This worries me a little. It's as if she doesn't expect me and Duals to survive. Wouldn't it be nice to have her riding on the back of _my_ bike, though, her hands on my shoulders and her dark hair flowing in the wind?

We ride along the residential streets, our handlebar lamps throwing spots on the pavement between the streetlight pools. It occurs to me that I know almost nothing of tonight's "plan of attack." Once I laid down the law about Dylan, I sort of let Duals worry about the details.

I do have a Plan B, though. I've brought the packing slip and hard copy receipt for the camera with Grandpa's name and address on them. If I'm caught trying to 'steal' my own property, I'll 911 the police and throw myself on their mercy.

This would mean Mom and Dad finding out everything. It would mean further disappointment for Grandpa. I'd probably be grounded until high school graduation. Desperate times call for desperate measures, I've read.

28. Party Time!

We arrive in the alley and conceal our bikes behind scrub bushes two doors down from the party house. Tamika walks toward the gate while Duals and I creep along behind. Duals carries the leather bag.

"The big trees are our base," he says. "When we get in the yard, hide yourself behind the first one."

"Then what?"

"Stay out of sight. Be ready to help me if I need it, and always be prepared for a quick getaway."

"Sure... I can do that."

We slip through the gate into the back yard. I move through the shadows to the first big tree. Duals goes to the one nearby. Behind us is empty lawn and a wood fence. Ahead is the main yard with the garage and above-ground pool. Strung lights illuminate the area, but me and Duals are off in the shadows.

The only problem is the gate. If anybody comes through, they can see me, unless I maneuver myself around the tree—but that would expose me to view from the main yard. I'll have to keep a sharp lookout.

A small group stands around the pool drinking. Tamika is socializing with them. A large keg of beer stands on a picnic table, along with various munchies. Most of the party seems to be going on in the house; crowd chatter and music noise comes through the sliding glass door.

Duals gives me a questioning thumbs up. I return the gesture. I look off toward the gate, measuring the steps to it, then the steps to my bike. I'm not cut out for this secret agent stuff, but it is kind of exciting.

Tamika is doing well with the older crowd and has attracted a circle of guys. Her high-pitched laughter drifts across the lawn, followed by the lower tones of the boys – who are sounding louder and drunker. Duals makes another thumbs up.

Tamika walks toward the house with one of her admirers. The music gets louder when they slide open the back door, then quiets down as they go inside. I look toward Duals.

"Now what?" I pantomime.

Duals shrugs.

A half hour, at least, drags past. I don't know for sure because I have no watch and don't dare flash my cell phone to check the time. More people come into the yard from the house. Some are smoking weed.

Rex's buddy must be enforcing a 'no smoking' policy inside. Very considerate.

People start jumping into the pool. Some wear swimsuits, others are fully clothed or stripped to their underwear. This is a real class crowd. Tamika comes out of the house amid a large group. She's holding hands with some college dude.

In his other hand he's carrying my beautiful camera!

Duals raises both fists in a silent cheer. I'm glad to see the camera, but I also feel a deep sense of outrage and injustice. I mean, there's _my_ property being used by a lousy drunk without my permission.

I should be able to simply demand it back. Instead, I'm lurking behind a tree like a petty criminal trespassing in somebody's yard. Well, I don't know about that trespassing part. Judging by the level of people here, it seems anybody can get into this party.

Some idiot places a ladder against the garage and climbs onto the roof. "Outta my way!"

People scatter from the pool. The idiot cannonballs off the roof. A huge splash. The crowd cheers. The college dude flicks on the LED array and films with my camera, saving the glorious moment for posterity.

More people come out of the house. The party's center of gravity is switching to the yard. They leave the door open, and music blasts into the night air. More fools leap off the garage roof. Somebody throws the beer keg into the water. People are dancing in a tight-packed group, and...

Tamika is holding my camera! The college dude is showing her how to use it.

29. Distractions

I detect a brief flash from Duals' hiding place. He's calling on his cell.

The gate to the alley creaks open and a group of girls walks in. I'm caught in plain view!

Most of them give me a quick glance and move on, but one girl stops.

"You're kinda young to be here, aren't you?" she says.

"Uh... I'm older than I look."

"Is that so?"

I glance desperately toward Duals' tree. He isn't there. The girl is standing very close, now. She has spiky black hair and a bunch of piercings in her nose and ears, one in her eyebrow, too.

"Yeah. Virtuous living keeps me fresh," I say.

"I like that!" The girl laughs. The scent of her incredible perfume washes over me. "You're all right for a 'fresh' little boy. How's the party?"

"Oh... it's interesting."

She pulls out a pack of cigarettes. "I'm supposed to meet a friend here, but I've got time for a chat."

She offers me a cigarette.

"No thanks, I don't smoke."

I try to back away, but the tree stops me. The girl finds this amusing. She lights a cigarette and blows out a smoke cloud. She fixes me with this devastating look. I grope for a conversation topic.

"I-I really like your piercings."

"How about this one?" She curls out her tongue, revealing a metal stud punched through it.

"That's very, er, nice."

"Do you know what it's for?" she asks.

"I... well..."

"Maybe it's time you found out."

She's on me, pinning me against the tree. Her mouth presses hard against mine. I can't believe what's happening!

Explosions and bright flashes shake the night. For a second I think it's in my mind, but the girl pulls away and my personal fireworks stop.

"Cool!" She runs to join the screaming, shouting mob.

Black powder smoke drifts across the lawn. Duals dashes out of it with my camera.

"Let's go!"

He shoves the camera into the leather bag. More lights flare, from police cars in front of the house. Police bust into the yard, someone shouts through a bullhorn. We run through the gate into the alley. My heart pounds a million beats a second. Duals rushes past me.

"Hey, where're you going?" somebody yells.

He throws a beer can. It arches through the air streaming liquid and lands nearby. We are at the bikes now. Another loaded can strikes me in the back.

"Ow!"

"Come on!" Duals shouts.

We're barreling down the alley like maniacs, with two guys running close behind. We're out into the street.

Duals swerves to avoid a car. I cut the opposite direction, right into the path of another car. I veer out of the way, missing the fender by inches. Brakes squeal. A thud.

One of the guys chasing us is sprawled on the hood of a car. The other guy is helping him off. The driver gets out, yelling. Everyone is shouting and swearing, but we're already pulling away fast.

We race along a side street, whip down an alley, then more side streets until we reach a dead end by a creek. We fling our bikes on our shoulders and scramble down the steep bank to the water. We collapse in the weeds, breathless.

"Oh man," Duals gasps, "talk about perfect timing."

"Were you the one who called the cops?"

"Yeah. I phoned in a noise complaint, then I supplied the fireworks noise. That guy with the camera never knew what happened."

My breath is coming back under control, and the adrenaline rush eases a little. A whole lifetime has passed in moments—the girl, the explosions, the cops. I don't dare think about the near collision with the car. I can think about that later, when my heart is back in my chest.

"Is the camera okay?"

Duals pulls the camera from the bag and flicks it on. The monitor throws a cheery glow.

"Seems like it." He examines the lens front. "Ah, they left on the UV filter, excellent."

We cross the water and scramble up the opposite bank to the street. As we ride toward Grandpa's house, a big car slows and flicks on its interior lights. Tamika waves from the passenger seat.

The girl with spiky hair is driving. "Catch you later, Freshie!"

With a screech of tires, the car is gone.

"Wow!" Duals says. "She looks hot."

"Yes, very." I'm feeling hot myself, and not just from the getaway.

We return to Grandpa's house and crash for the night.

# Six: A Fresh Start

30. Back to Square One

Aside from a lot of fingerprints on its surfaces, the camera is okay. The LED unit works fine, too.

At Grandpa's house the next morning, I clean and polish it up like a precious gem. Kaitlyn joins us, bringing a bag of fast-food breakfast. It's gotten cold, and she's in the kitchen zapping it with the microwave.

"I'll be hanging onto the camera for a while," I tell Duals.

He starts to object. He probably wants to whine about all the trouble he had getting it back, and don't I have any gratitude, etc. But I'm in no mood for such talk.

Duals seems to figure this out quick, so all he says is: "Sure, Matt, take all the time you need."

"I'll take that Steadicam, too. I want to figure out how everything works."

"Anything else?" Duals says.

I feel like banishing him to the boom pole, but think better of it. If I'm to be the leader of Studio Duals, I'll have to manage people to get the best out of them. Humiliating my number two guy will get me nowhere.

"That's it," I say. "I want to get the hang of things, you understand."

"Right."

I pull the camera's data card and shove it into the laptop's reader. There's some pretty raw footage on it—guys throwing up in the toilet, couples slipping into bedrooms, girls pealing off their tops.

"This is great!" Duals cries.

Kaitlyn joins us and sends a furious glower Duals' way.

"On second thought, let's delete all those files," Duals says. "We can't use them."

I select _Reformat_. This satisfies Kaitlyn. She puts the breakfast items on the side table and returns to the kitchen.

Duals speaks in a low voice. "You downloaded those files to the internal drive first, didn't you?"

"No, I was reading direct from the card."

Duals is appalled. "And you _wiped_ the card?"

"Yeah, the files are gone for good."

"Oh, man!" He rocks back on the couch with his hand over his eyes.

A change of subject seems urgent. "What do you think about my script?" I say.

Duals needs a few seconds before he can answer. "It has some good points, but it needs to get punched up. That lake rescue scene comes out of nowhere. We have to use some foreshadowing."

"Fine, go to it."

Kaitlyn returns with bottled water. "Is there a part in it for me?"

"Sure," I say.

She grins.

"When you 'punch up' the script, that doesn't mean adding a lot of negative stuff, right?" I say. "The message of this movie is strictly upbeat."

"Sure, I get that," Duals says. "It's the perfect cover."

"What does that mean?"

"Look at it this way – reality works on two levels. We have the reality of what we're filming and the reality of what's going on around us."

"Yeah..."

"There's bound to be something interesting we can add to the story," Duals says. "You know, mix the two realities."

This sounds like something he told Grandpa, ages ago when there was no Studio Duals. I hadn't thought much about it at the time, and it's moving past me again.

"It's like Shakespeare, man," Duals says, "a play within a play."

"I'm not real good with English literature."

"Suppose we're doing the lake rescue scene," Duals says. "Elsewhere on the lake, a true disaster could be happening—a boat capsizing maybe. It's like the early moviemakers who'd run out to film a burning building. Later, they'd work the fire into their plot."

I don't like the direction this conversation is going. I knew there'd be friction about this down the road, but now isn't the right time to hash it out.

"How long do you need for the script revisions?" I say.

"Give me a couple days."

"Fine." I grab a breakfast muffin from the side table.

"We're going to need more people for the production crew," Duals says, "not to mention the cast. Have you thought of anybody?"

"Yes, I have."

Lauren. But there could be problems with that.

31. Climbing the Learning Curve

"How is Stephan?" Mom asks the moment I enter the house.

I hoped she'd be out when I got home so I wouldn't have to tell any more crappy lies.

"Oh, he's fine," I say. "We had a little blowup, but that's over now."

Mom gives me a peculiar look, then scopes out my leather bag. I'm already tromping up the stairs to my room, though, playing the uncommunicative teen. I hope the cover holds.

Nobody knocks at my door, so I figure I'm safe. I stash the camera stuff, then get out my cell phone. Before I left Grandpa's house, Duals accessed his data base and provided Lauren's number. There wasn't a chance to ask for it myself during the Roll-O-Center catastrophe.

The phone stares at me—a cold, alien, and dangerous thing, like that praying mantis. In my other hand, I grip the paper with Lauren's number. I haven't added it to my contact list. That seems way too rash, like I expect to be using it again.

This way, if necessary, I can tear the paper up and burn it. Then I have to figure out a way to avoid Lauren the next four years at high school.

Now or never, Matt.

I punch the numbers. After five heart-stopping rings, I get the "please leave a message" routine.

"Uh... hi Lauren. This is Matt Alpin. I was thinking... well you see, we've got this new project... and... well I've been away a couple weeks, and..."

Boy, am I doing great!

Lauren picks up. "I was wondering when you'd call."

"Oh, hi Lauren. I-I was just saying I was up north for a couple weeks, at my grandparents' place."

"How are you feeling?"

My face reddens at the memory of my crash. "I'm all recovered from the... accident."

"That's good."

The conversation goes back and forth for a while. Nothing deep. Lauren isn't unfriendly, exactly, but something seems to be bothering her.

"I didn't like what happened at the skating party," she says. "It was mean."

"Yeah, it was messed up." I feel it necessary to come absolutely clean with her. "We were hoping to catch Dylan in one of his screw-ups. It backfired on me, though."

This doesn't seem to bother her as much as I expected. The more important issue comes out.

"The way that Tamika girl fell all over you was pretty lame," she says.

"It was all for the camera. Did you see the online video?"

"I heard about it."

"If you really want, I'll show it to you," I say, "but please take my word on it."

She's starting to come around. Next thing I know she has sort of agreed to work on my _Adventure Bike Club_ movie. She'll have to see the script first, though.

"I'll email you the initial draft," I say. "It's a bit rough, but we're still working on it."

The call ends. I leap across the room to my computer and access my email. Within moments, the script is winging its way toward Lauren with a "Please let me know what you think" message. Maybe there's hope for me yet!

My inbox has a message from Grandpa in Costa Rica:

I'm back in Alajuela. The church is finished. It could be pretty scary out there in the wilds!

An attached picture shows Grandpa standing by a huge jungle tree with an upraised machete and a crazed look in his eyes as he stares at some off-camera 'danger.'

He also sent a video about the church's construction. Grandpa and other work crew members carry lumber, mix cement, nail up wood paneling. In one shot they haul supplies out of a dugout canoe and up a steep river bank, assisted by smiling Costa Ricans. All around is tropical forest, a tropical river, tropical bugs.

I wonder if they have giant praying mantises there?

The final scene is a grainy night view of a tree. Somebody is shining a light into the top branches where two glowing eyes stare back.

"We think it's a giant tree sloth," Grandpa says off camera. "If not, then we don't want to know what it is."

This is so cool—if only I could be there. I start to call Mom to watch the video but quickly change my mind. The less communication with her today the better. I don't want to deal with any awkward questions about last night.

* * *

I spend the next couple days practicing with the camera, studying online tutorials, reading up on film production. Man, there's a lot to the movie making business. Getting your own studio is only the first step.

I can't get the hang of the Steadicam. The thing seems to have a mind of its own, and I can never get the smooth effect I'm after. The camera is always bouncing in some unexpected direction.

An inspiration strikes me: Duals will be the Steadicam guy, and I'll operate the camera on the sticks. We'll take turns with the hand-held shots when a jerkier, more hectic style is needed.

There. Duals will not feel excluded. I've made my first executive decision as CEO.

I call Gerry and Bill to see if they'd like to work on my movie.

They both say the same thing: "You're not going to get violent if I screw up, are you?"

"What makes you think that?"

"Duals said you were really ticked about the video. He thought you were going to slug him."

"No, no, I was being theatrical. You'll be perfectly safe. Trust me."

With a certain amount of reluctance, they agree to help.

Lauren calls back saying she likes the script and that's she also on board. "A diamond in the rough," she calls my screenplay.

I arrange to meet her at Studio Duals Monday afternoon. Things are starting to pop!

32. Yet Another Bad Surprise

Monday, when I arrive at Grandpa's house, Duals is already there. I'm beginning to wonder if he's moved into the place.

"How are the screenplay revisions going?" I ask.

"Okay. I kind of had to work on this one, too."

Duals hands me a script. On the title page:

RASPBERRY, WHERE ARE YOU?

by Tamika Boeing

"What's this?" I say.

"The screenplay for Tamika's movie. I'm thinking we should make it our first priority."

"What about my movie?"

"We can get to yours next," Duals says. "Tamika wants to do this one for her reel."

"What about _my_ reel!"

"Look, Matt, we owe Tamika a lot. We'd have never got the camera back without her."

This brings me up short. "Let me guess, she made it _very_ clear that we owe her, right?"

"You could put it that way."

"If she's half as well-off and connected as she's letting on, why is she going to public school?" I say. "She should be attending a private academy with the authentic phonies."

"You could put it that way, too."

I know Duals is right, however ticked I am about it. "Let me read her script."

Duals hands it over, and I slump onto the couch with it.

"Look on the bright side," Duals says. "By the time we get to your movie, we'll have more experience. We'll get better results."

"Yeah, whatever."

I fan the script pages. How come every time I walk into the studio I get a nasty surprise? Aren't I supposed to be the guy calling the shots? Well, nobody can accuse Matthew Alpin of not knowing how to repay favors. I start to read.

As far as I can tell, the story is a cross between _Beauty and the Beast_ and _The Frog Prince_. Tamika (playing herself) vies with another girl (Skagg) for the affections of a magical dog. The dog has a habit of appearing at crucial moments and performing rescues, as when Tamika is fleeing through the woods pursued by evil forces.

Eventually, Tamika wins out over Skagg. She's so delighted that she kisses the dog, at which time—supercharged by her love—the thing morphs into this human prince stud.

I toss the script onto the coffee table. "Oh, man, that's a real classic."

"Let's get it done, okay?" Duals says.

"Who's playing the prince?"

"Dylan."

I throw up my hands. "That figures! What are we going to do about a dog?"

"Tamika is providing it."

"That sounds great."

33. Raspberry Debut

The doorbell rings.

"That must be them now." Duals opens the door. "Hi, Tamika. How's it going, Raspberry?"

"Hello, Stephan," Tamika says.

She enters the house with this gigantic black dog. I jerk upright on the sofa.

"Hi, Matt." Tamika seems way too amused by my terror. "Thought I'd bring Raspberry over to get acquainted with the crew."

She unhooks the dog's leash. Raspberry lumbers across the living room toward me, almost knocking over a light unit. The floor shakes. Duals moves the camera sticks away from its huge, wagging tail.

"Say hello to Matt," Tamika says.

The dog shoves its head onto the sofa arm. I pat the massive skull reluctantly.

"W-what kind of dog is this?"

"A Newfie," Tamika says.

"Newfie?"

"Yes, a Newfoundland."

In Canada, right? That's a good place for him to be right now. The dog has a serious, dignified face. He looks friendly enough, but he's so huge!

"How much does he weigh?" I ask.

"Only about 140 pounds. He's not full grown yet. He should top out around 170."

Good grief!

As if I haven't had enough shock for one day, the girl with the spiky hair walks in.

"Hey, it's Freshie," she says.

"Uh, hi..."

"My name's Trace."

"Hi, Trace," I say.

She turns toward Tamika. "You gonna need a ride home?"

"No thanks, we'll walk back. Raspberry needs the exercise."

"Sure."

They exchange this girl hug thing. Trace gives me an amused glance, then she's gone.

"Come on, Raspberry," Tamika says, "let's go see the back yard."

They walk through the dining room and into the kitchen. The dog is so massive I half expect Tamika to climb on and ride it like a horse. They leave through the side door.

"That dog's big enough to wreck the whole studio," I say. "Can't we get something smaller?"

"Tamika insists on using him. She's one of those 'love me, love my dog' people. They're a package deal."

"Great, I'm all for it. Let's ditch both of them."

"We can't do that," Duals says. "We owe her."

I jab an accusing finger. " _You're_ the one who owes her. It wasn't my cousin who gambled away the camera."

"Come on, man. We're partners, right?"

I force myself to calm down. "The deal doesn't include monster dogs."

"Raspberry only appears in outdoor shots, so we don't have to worry about him wrecking the studio."

"That's comforting."

Duals throws up his hands now. "Relax, Matt, I'll be the director. You can take any other job you want."

"Like handling the dog? Who's going to do that when Tamika is on camera?"

"Dylan."

"Oh, man!" I'm off the couch, pounding a fist into my palm.

"Please, Matt. There's also Kaitlyn to consider."

"What's she got to do with it?"

"It's this girl solidarity thing," Duals says. "If we don't let Tamika have her movie, Kaitlyn will be mad at me. Things have been going well with her."

To round out the perfect day, Lauren arrives. I decide to confront the issue head on.

"There's been a change of plan," I say. "We're going to do a movie for Tamika first."

A dark expression comes over her face, and her eyes flash.

"Think I'll see how things are going in the back yard," Duals says.

Lauren holds her piece until Duals leaves the house. Then she lets fly. "I thought you said it was over with you two."

"There was nothing to _be_ over," I protest.

"Could've fooled me, the way you were undressing her with your eyes at the skating party. And that kiss!"

"Please, Lauren, none of this is my idea. Besides, Tamika is going with Dylan."

"Dylan... and _that_ girl?"

"Yeah. I know it seems weird."

Tense silence, then: "Are you putting me on, Matt?"

"No, I – "

Out in the yard, Raspberry lets out deep, powerful barks.

Ruff! Ruff! Ruff!

"What's that?" Lauren says.

"The male lead."

"Oh?"

Lauren flips her ponytail at me and heads for the backyard. I have no time to warn her that Tamika is out there with a monster dog. I plop onto the couch. Wouldn't it be nice to go someplace else today? Costa Rica, for example.

Several minutes pass. More barks. Lauren doesn't come stomping back in, and my fear retreats a little. Through the picture window, I see Tamika walking down the street with Raspberry. Lauren and Duals come in through the back door together.

"What a gorgeous dog!" Lauren says. "I want one like him."

"Yeah, he's pretty cool, isn't he?" I hurry to agree.

Duals shoots me an astonished sidelong glance and shrugs.

"It's going to be a lot of fun making this movie," Lauren says. "I'd like to try doing sound."

A knot in my stomach begins to untie.

* * *

It rains heavily during the night, and I wonder if Duals will cancel the next day's outdoor shoot. By early morning the skies are clear, and it's a go.

I'm in for this, like it or not, which I don't.

# Seven: Change of Plans

34. Exterior Shoot

We all meet at Studio Duals for the trek to the metro park. Everyone is excited, especially the talent. Only Kaitlyn is quiet and tense.

Transportation is being furnished by Trace in her large, beat up sedan. Two trips will be required for our cast, crew, and equipment—not to mention Raspberry who hogs the entire back seat with Tamika somehow squeezed in with him. Fortunately, the park is only a few miles away.

I want to avoid sitting next to Trace. She looks fierce behind the wheel. Her spiky black hair has been bleached white with violent red accents. She wears skull-themed earrings; bloodless, pale makeup covers her face.

"Hop in, Freshie," she says.

"Yeah, let's go," Tamika says from somewhere behind the mass of black dog. "It's crowded back here."

I stand uncertainly in the drive thinking maybe I should wait for the next trip.

Duals walks up. "Get in, Matt. I want to show you the storyboards before we get out there."

"Yeah, right, the storyboards."

I have no idea what a storyboard is, but two females are present and I don't want them to know that I don't know. So, I shove myself in next to Trace on the bench seat. The car begins moving.

"You like my hair?" Trace asks.

"It's very... different," I say.

"I want to look impressive for my screen debut. I'm playing the bad girl, you know."

"I thought Kaitlyn had the Skagg part."

"There's been a last-minute casting change," Duals says.

"Yeah," Trace says. "Having the only car brings its advantages."

I don't like the sound of this. No wonder Kaitlyn looked upset back at the studio. I thought it was just stage fright.

"Kaitlyn's going to have a role in your movie, right Matt?" Duals says.

"I think she'd be a good fit."

"It should be okay then."

I don't know about that. A sinking feeling tells me we've not heard the last of this issue. At least you can't say Trace doesn't make a convincing villain. If she'd looked like this at the college party, I'd have escaped down the alley, with or without the camera.

"If you need wheels for your production, let's talk," Trace says.

"Sure," I say.

She lowers her voice. "I can drive you places you've never been, Freshie."

"Look at this," Duals says on my other side.

He shoves a three-ring notebook into my hands. In it are pages illustrating the scenes we plan to shoot. I flip through the pictures—Tamika and Skagg confronting each other in the 'haunted forest,' the magical dog appearing out of the trees, Tamika running away from an unseen threat.

"These are nice," I say.

"Thanks. I'm getting the hang of the storyboard drawing software." Duals takes back the notebook. "I hope we can get through the entire shot list today. Then we can wrap things up tomorrow at the studio."

A hand strokes my inner thigh.

"Sorry," Trace says. "I was looking for the stick shift."

"It's an automatic," I say.

"Glad to hear it."

* * *

We arrive at the metro park and unload in the nature area lot. Raspberry galumphs out of the back seat and trots off with his head high, like the emperor of all dogs.

"Come back here, Raspberry!" Tamika yells, and the animal returns obediently, tail wagging.

Tamika connects his leash. They make an interesting pair. Tamika, slim and elegant; the dog huge and solid, like he's made of brick. Duals and I unload the camera equipment from the trunk. Trace leaves for the second pickup.

"Today we'll be shooting half Steadicam and half handheld," Duals says. "The chase scenes will be handheld to look panicked and jerky."

"Sounds good," I say.

"You'll be my assistant for the Steadicam shots. Hang onto me and guide me around the obstacles, especially when I have to back up."

"Check," I say. "And you'll do the same for me on the handheld stuff?"

Duals nods. "I want to do continuous takes. I'll move in for close ups or switch angles while the camera's rolling. Sort of documentary style."

"Good. We should get done fairly quick."

"That's the idea," Duals says.

He looks toward Tamika to make sure she isn't listening. She's too busy with Raspberry to pay us any attention.

"The sooner we're finished with Tamika, the better," he says.

"My sentiments exactly."

The old sedan rumbles up with its final load. Cast and crew are all here now:

**Director** – Stephen Chrono (a.k.a. 'Duals')

**Talent** – Tamika, Trace, Raspberry

**Camera** – Duals, me

**Sound** – Lauren, Bill

**Asst. Director / Script Continuity** – Kaitlyn

**Production Assistant / Dog Handler / Magic Prince** – Dylan

The romantic fires between Tamika and Dylan seem to have cooled. She scarcely notices him as he walks up to her; she is far more concerned about her dog. I suppose she's lost interest now that we've cancelled the _Disaster Dylan_ video.

Let me guess: right after Dylan appears in his one scene, he'll get the old ditch-aroo from Tamika.

The tension between Kaitlyn and the talent is pretty obvious. While Tamika and Trace busy themselves checking their makeup, Kaitlyn stands off to the side staring daggers at them.

"Production crew over here, please!" Duals calls.

Kaitlyn reluctantly walks over toward us. Lauren and Bill are still unloading equipment.

"Matt and I were just talking about his upcoming movie," Duals says.

I must look rather blank because Duals gives me a nudge.

"Uh... yeah," I say.

"Matt wants you to play the female lead," Duals says. "Isn't that right, Matt?"

I nod.

Kaitlyn softens a bit. "Really?"

"There aren't specific lead roles," I say. "There are four members of the Adventure Bike Club, two guys, two girls, and they're all pretty equal."

"As long as _she_ isn't playing the other girl," Kaitlyn jerks her head toward Trace.

Duals looks desperately toward me. Lauren and Bill have joined us now.

"I was thinking Lauren might be interested," I say.

"Interested in what?" Lauren asks.

"A role in my movie."

"Let's get through this one first. Then we'll talk about it."

This seems to pacify Kaitlyn, at least for the time being. She goes back to the car to unload her stuff.

Duals speaks softly in my ear. "Thanks, pal, I owe you one."

Everybody seems to be ready. The crew has all necessary equipment; the talent is eager to go. Tamika stands dramatically beside Raspberry, all set to advance into the world of stardom. Dylan and Trace bring up the rear.

"Let's head out!" Duals says.

35. Things Become Unpleasant

We set up the first shot by a big tree near the nature center.

This is an easy one where Tamika encounters Skagg for the first time. Not much movement is required, no running or jumping around.

The scene begins with Tamika examining the tree bark for mysterious coded instructions. Skagg appears from behind the tree, startling her.

_Tamika_ _: Who are you?_

_Skagg_ _: Who do you want me to be?_

_Tamika_ _: I want you to be out of here!_

_Skagg_ _: Not til I've accomplished my mission – little girl!_

You could say they get off on the wrong foot. Skagg's "mission" is to find Raspberry, the magical dog, and get something from him. Exactly what that might be is not specified. Perhaps she wants him to locate the nearest fast food joint.

Duals has them run through the action and dialog three times in rapid succession, during which he moves about with the Steadicam shooting at different angles and distances. He gets into it very intensely, and I have to keep a firm hand on him so that he doesn't trip on anything.

"Cut!" Duals yells, and the first scene is a wrap.

On to the next one, which means walking to a different area of the woods near the pond.

"That went pretty well," Duals says.

He reviews the footage in the monitor as we walk. I'm still holding on to him, guiding him along.

"We can select whatever coverage we need in post production," Duals adds. "I hope the sound went well."

"Of course it did," Lauren says.

She and Kaitlyn catch up with us.

"I still can't believe you threw me out of the movie, Stephan," Kaitlyn says.

"Please, we've been through this before," Duals says. "It was all Tamika's idea. I'll make it up to you."

"In Matt's movie?"

"Yeah, and in my own film, which we're gonna shoot right afterwards," Duals says. "I've got a prime role for you."

This is news to me. Once again, Duals is handing me a done deal without the slightest discussion. I don't object to him making his own movie, but there has to be a procedure established for green lighting new projects.

I mentally place this issue on the agenda for our 'partners only' meeting tomorrow.

* * *

The next scene features Tamika running through the woods screaming, trying to get away from some horrible creature. We never find out what it is.

I run behind her with the camera. _This is like my Up North nightmare._

It's the same place and situation. The only things missing are the skulls hanging in the trees. Duals keeps pace with me, guiding me over the fallen branches and other obstacles.

Next, we film the approach of the mystery creature. It's actually Dylan crawling on all fours through the underbrush.

"I know this looks pretty lame," Duals says, "but we'll speed it up on the computer, plus some eerie sound effects. It won't be half bad."

The scenes are being shot out of sequence, and I soon lose track of where we are in the story. Let Duals worry about that, he's the director. I'm having fun for the first time today.

When he isn't busy crawling through the underbrush, Dylan takes care of Raspberry. There are numerous puddles on the trail from yesterday's rain, which the dog insists on wallowing through.

"Keep him out of those," Tamika scolds. "He'll get muddy."

"Why does he keep doing that?" Dylan asks.

"Because he's bred to be a water rescue dog. He always wants to be in water."

"I wish you'd told me that before."

While this dispute is going on, Trace slips behind me, wraps her arms around my waist, and nibbles my ear.

"There's lots of forest out here," she says in a low, husky voice. "How about you and me taking off for our own little drama?"

She's frightening and irresistible, like an hypnotic vampire. I'm drifting under her power.

"Well... um..." I spy Lauren glaring at us. "Not today, thanks."

Trace laughs. "I get it, little girlfriend's upset, huh?"

She moves away and her erotic spell breaks. I offer Lauren a weak shrug which is meant to convey: "Don't blame me, it was her idea."

Lauren doesn't seem to respect this gesture much. She turns back to her sound recorder with a disgusted look.

The next scene has Tamika creeping terrified through the woods and finally encountering Raspberry.

"Oh, Raspberry," she gushes, "I've found you at last!"

Or something to that effect. I'm not paying much attention to the dialog since that's Lauren's concern. Every time I glance at Lauren, she's looking some other direction. The politics of this shoot are getting really bad.

Things come to a head during the climactic scene when Tamika, Skagg, and Raspberry all meet. Powerful rising emotions lead to a battle between Tamika and Skagg.

The actual battle will be filmed at Studio Duals tomorrow in front of the green screen.

Problem is, Trace keeps blowing her lines. She's supposed to say: "Enough talk, little girl! We'll settle this _mano a mano_!"

That's Spanish for 'hand to hand,' as in combat. It seems like an awkward thing to put in the script, but Tamika likes it. Maybe she thinks it gives her film international flair. Anyway, Trace has trouble saying the line, then she breaks out laughing.

"Cut!" Duals says. "Let's try that again."

Kaitlyn works the slate. "Take one... take two..."

After the third take, she loses her temper.

"Come on, already!" she shouts at Trace. "That dog's got more brains than you do."

"Yeah?" Trace shoots back. "He's got a better face than yours, too."

The shouting escalates. Tamika gets involved. "Shut up Kaitlyn! You are so... _way_ out of my social circle now."

"Cram your social circle!" Kaitlyn yells back.

The rest of us stand by in helpless confusion. Raspberry moves his bulk in front of Tamika, ready to defend her against physical attack. He doesn't growl or act threatening, though. Why can't the humans be that restrained?

Kaitlyn turns and stomps toward the nature center.

Duals trots after her. "Kaitlyn, wait!"

"Where does she get off?" Tamika says.

"Good riddance," Trace says.

Duals catches up with Kaitlyn. They exchange heated remarks. Or at least Kaitlyn throws out heated remarks. Duals stands there looking deflated. She walks away, cell phone at her ear.

Duals comes toward us. He has this sheepish, humiliated look on his face, as if he'd rather be somewhere else. The whole situation begins to unravel.

A young couple picks this precise moment to stroll past on the nature trail with one of those little sausage dogs on a leash. Raspberry spots them and takes off at a gallop.

"Stop him!" Tamika shouts.

36. Pond Drama

Dylan runs after Raspberry but can't keep up over the uneven ground and fallen branches. Soon, he's flat on his face.

The people see this massive animal charging toward them and snatch up their little dog in a panic.

"He won't hurt you!" Dylan calls from his position on the ground. He scrambles up and resumes the pursuit.

Raspberry is by the couple now, barking and wagging his tail—the very image of friendliness. He sees Dylan stumbling after him and takes off at a run.

Tamika catches up. "Get him, he's heading for the water!"

We all chase after Raspberry. He makes a beeline for the pond and charges out to the end the dock. He takes a flying leap into the water. A tremendous splash.

"Raspberry," Tamika yells, "get back here!"

We all pause at the water's edge. A sign freezes us in place:

Keep off! – Dock unsafe

Not Dylan, though. He runs along the dilapidated structure. "Raspberry, get in here!"

The dog keeps swimming.

"Bad boy!" Tamika cries.

The rotten wood gives way with a soggy _crunch!_ and Dylan is in the pond, treading water.

"Oh, man. This is incredible!" Duals shoots away rapturously.

"You all right, Dylan?" I shout.

"Yeah!"

Raspberry ceases his playful circling and swims toward Dylan. The dog has incredible speed.

"Call him off, Tamika!" Dylan yells.

"Grab hold of him," Tamika yells. "He wants to rescue you!"

Dylan holds on to the great Newfoundland's flanks. Raspberry heads for the shore, swimming powerfully—not dog paddling, but doing something like a breast stroke with his forelegs. He drags Dylan onto the shore.

Dylan stands up. You'd have to say he looks rather pathetic, soaked and covered with shore mud. His long hair lies pasted to his skull.

"Thanks, Raspberry... I think," he says.

"Cut!" Duals switches off the camera. "Good work, Dylan!"

"Yeah, right," Dylan says.

Duals turns towards me. He's got this mad glow in his eyes. "What did I tell you? Reality has intruded into our artistic effort. We've blurred the lines."

"Is that going in the movie?" Dylan asks.

"Maybe," Duals says. "If not this one, then some future one."

Tamika is checking Raspberry for injuries. "You've been bad," she scolds.

The dog has such a pitiful expression that Tamika changes her approach. "That was a great rescue, though."

She pats his head, and the great animal barks happily. Duals catches the incident with the camera. Raspberry shakes himself off, sending a spray over us. Duals raises the camera out of harm's way.

A park ranger in a brown uniform walks up. "What's going on here?"

"Uh, nothing, sir," Duals says.

"There's no swimming allowed. And we've had noise complaints about screams and shouting."

"That was us," Duals says. "We've been making a movie."

"Do you have a permit to film here?"

"We were just leaving," I say. "Sorry about the upset."

The ranger crosses his arms and looks us over sharply. Duals and I try to appear humble. Tamika flashes a winning smile. Raspberry wags his tail, and Dylan tries to look less pathetic.

"All right, get going," the park ranger says.

We gather up our stuff and beat a hasty retreat to the parking lot. A car is arriving to pick up Kaitlyn.

"I should go with her," Duals says.

Lauren takes his arm. "Let her cool off a while. You'll only make things worse."

37. The Grandpa Issue

So, the first day of filming is over.

Things might have gone worse, I suppose. At least it wasn't me flopping around in the pond. We've lost Kaitlyn, our assistant director, though, and we weren't able to finish all the shots.

Tomorrow, we'll have to film the remaining outdoor scenes in the 'back lot,' meaning Grandpa's yard. This will cramp our style, but it can be done, according to Duals. We'll also film a couple of indoor scenes with Tamika at the studio, plus the green screen work to get a 'surreal effect' for the final battle.

If we can just hold things together for another day. Then it will be good-bye to Tamika and all her drama.

What would Grandpa think of our efforts so far? I believe he'd be impressed, or at least surprised. Speaking of Grandpa, how about watching the Costa Rica video again?

Mom is out when I return home, so Dad gets a private showing of the video and the still photos. We enjoy some laughs, especially about the giant tree sloth and the machete.

When Mom comes home, I show her the video in my room. There's no laughter this time. I thought she'd be pleased about Grandpa's mission work. It looks like hard labor out in the tropical heat—and he donated money to get on the crew. That should count for something, right? She stares at the video with this tight-lipped, disapproving expression on her face.

"What's the matter, Mom?"

She shakes her head. "What's he going to do next? He's getting a bit old to be running around the world."

We haven't even got to the giant sloth part, but Mom is already leaving. I can't stop my true feelings from spilling out.

"You're being very unfair about Grandpa."

Mom focuses a surprised expression on me. "What?"

"He's fun, he's generous, and he loves us... but you won't love him back," I blurt.

I can't tell what Mom is going to do. Will she begin yelling, will she try to smack me for the first time in years, will she call Dad?

I plow ahead. "My friend, Randy—his father was killed serving with the Marines. Now he has to grow up without a dad. You've still got yours, and you don't care!"

A whole bunch of emotions play across her face—outrage, shock, anger, something like fear. I'm getting choked up myself. I prepare to dodge any slaps coming my way. Whatever else happens, I am not going to accept punishment for speaking the truth.

Mom glowers at me. A tear rolls from one of her eyes. She leaves my room, slamming the door behind her.

"We think it's a giant tree sloth," my computer is saying. "If not, then we don't want to know what it is."

I switch the thing off. _Well, Matt, you handled that great._ It does feel good to get the Grandpa issue off my chest, though.

I call Lauren. "Hey, I'm really sorry about all the trouble at the park today."

"It's not your fault," Lauren says. "Those girls should know better than to act like that."

"We only need to hold things together for one more day at the studio, then we'll be rid of them."

"Have you thought maybe you're _too_ nice sometimes?" Lauren says.

This remark hits home, illuminating my situation like the LED array. I move the phone from my ear and gaze at it a few seconds. Yeah... why am I always so nice?

Why do I have this feeling I've got to please everybody, as if all opinions are important as long as they aren't my own? Who's in charge of Studio Duals, me or Tamika Boeing and her clique?

Okay, I owe her, and I'm willing to pay up. But that doesn't mean she can walk all over me with spiked heels—making last second cast changes, driving away our assistant director. I might not be Matt the Man yet, but this doesn't mean I have to be Matt the Doormat.

"You still there?" Lauren says.

"Yeah. Tomorrow, I'll tell everyone I'm cancelling the project if there are any more problems."

"That's a good idea."

I'm pleased with Lauren's attitude, her calm way of talking. With all the theatrics today, it's great to hear a more mature voice.

"Do you want me to come tomorrow?" she asks.

"The afternoon would be cool if you can make it. We're not doing sound in the morning."

"Is one o'clock okay?"

"Sure, if the project is still going. I'll call if we've pulled the plug."

The conversation ends on a friendly note. Wow! Maybe it really is possible to have a healthy relationship with a member of the female sex. One that's not based on stupidity and power struggles.

In my mind, I fast forward through the high school years: me and Lauren attending football games, dancing at the prom, going to movies, making movies . . .

# Eight: Another Fresh Start

38. Laying Down the Law

The next day is dark and overcast with an on again / off again light rain. Not the sort of day for running around the woods, so it's just as well we'll be shooting at Studio Duals.

First thing after getting there, I draw people aside for private conferences. Trace is first to meet the new, assertive Matt.

"You need to drop the slut routine," I say. "Anyone can see you're hot, but you're throwing it around like it means nothing."

Her mouth drops open, and her eyes widen.

"You're complicating everything," I say. "It stops now, or you're off the project."

A shocked pause, then: "Alright, Freshie."

"My name's Matt, okay?"

"Okay... Matt."

Next, it's Duals' turn. He tries to get off the first word. "I'm not sure we should finish this movie. Kaitlyn is mad at Tamika and she'll be mad at me if I go on."

I shake my head. "We've made a commitment. If everyone plays straight with us, we have to see it through. Nobody will respect us otherwise."

"Yeah, but – "

"I've known you since kindergarten. In some ways, you're almost like a brother, especially since I don't have a real one." I let this sink in a moment. "But I can't be involved in your social traumas. If you've got problems with Kaitlyn, or Rex, or whoever, leave me out of it, alright?"

He gives me a wide-eyed look, like Trace did. I'm starting to get used to it.

"Alright, Matt... that's cool." A long pause. "Are we still friends?"

"Of course we are." I smack a low five with him. "So, in or out?"

"In!"

And finally, Tamika.

"You might be queen bee with your clique," I say, "but here, I'm in charge. Leave the power games at home."

She gives me a dark and murderous glower; it doesn't intimidate me, though.

"I'll cancel this whole project if people won't cooperate, got it?"

"Got it."

* * *

After this, events go smoothly. Everything is strictly business.

I'll admit there's a temptation to become a dictator, shove people around, but I fight against it. Where would I be if everyone walked out? I could end up like Grandma, grumbling in her fancy house, pushing away the important people in her life.

Things beyond my experience level are going on. I need somebody older and wiser to guide me—Grandpa. For now, I'll have to play it cool. The fear I've created only has to last one day, then I can sort matters out.

39. Studio Shoot

Things still seem okay with Duals, fortunately. After some early chill, he begins warming to our creative endeavor.

First thing, we'll shoot the battle sequence between the girls for the affections of the magical dog. This is the most technically challenging part of the movie.

"It's is gonna be great!" Duals says as we lug the green screen into the basement. "I've downloaded some amazing clips."

On the computer, he'll replace the green background with visual effects. I don't know beans about this and am happy to let Duals handle it. Besides, his ego must be bruised from the dressing-down I gave him, and this will be a good way to build it up again.

I'm feeling new enthusiasm. Maybe this movie won't suck nearly as bad as I thought. We spend the whole morning in the basement. Tamika acts her part—running in place, calling for the dog, struggling with the evil Skagg character.

She's pretty convincing. Her high opinion of her acting ability does not seem unfounded. Hey, she conned those college guys into giving her the camera, didn't she?

Later, we'll have an ADR session where we'll record the characters' voices.

We do numerous takes. People get tired, nerves get frayed, yet everyone holds together. Meanwhile, Raspberry stays in the back yard with Dylan keeping an eye on him.

I've left the garage door open in case they have to retreat from the rain. I hope that isn't a mistake. When Dylan saw Grandpa's workbench with its gleaming array of tools, his eyes lit up.

"Please, please, don't touch anything!" I told him. "Grandpa would kill me."

"You've got my word on that," Dylan said.

I'm sure he means well, unless his curiosity gets the better of him, again.

Occasionally, we hear the dog barking, but it doesn't matter. We're filming MOS, "mit out sound" in movie-making lingo. Besides, maybe Raspberry is guarding the tool bench and keeping Dylan away.

We break for lunch. Lauren arrives at one, just as the pizza guy delivers.

"Good timing, Lauren," I say. "Pepperoni or vegetarian?"

"Pepperoni."

I'm liking her more all the time. Tamika is the only one eating vegetarian. Broccoli on pizza, weird.

Trace walks up to us. "Hi, Lauren, how's it going?"

"Fine," Lauren replies cautiously.

"That's good."

Trace keeps out of our way, which is exactly what I want.

After lunch, we set up the shots in the living room. The two scenes are very simple, Tamika sitting in the easy chair blabbing on the phone. Since these are supposed to take place on different days, all she has to do is change outfits.

I'd hoped we could bang through the scenes quickly, but the weather isn't cooperating. Outside is still dark and gloomy, so our northern exposure natural light isn't an option.

We set up two tungsten light units and move them around to avoid throwing awkward shadows. Bill and Gerry do the grunt work.

"Man, these things are hot!" they complain.

They have to wear gloves to protect their hands from getting burned. The air conditioning kicks on more frequently. We experiment with lighting unit positions, with various reflector boards and light-reducing scrims.

"I hope we don't blow the circuit breakers," I say.

"All part of the creative process," Duals says.

"Grandpa's going to wonder about the electric bill. Maybe we should have gone for those LED units."

"Don't worry about a thing. He's going to love this movie, trust me."

At last, the lighting setup meets Duals' standard. The filming is done quickly, with me operating the camera on the sticks. Lauren and Gerry work sound.

We're coming together well as a team. I'm starting to feel optimistic about the future of Studio Duals. Tamika heads to the bathroom for a final costume change.

40. Back Lot Brawl

Duals consults the shooting script. "Out to the back lot now. We'll recreate some of the battle to cut in with the green screen shots. Then the closing scene where Tamika kisses Raspberry and he turns into Dylan."

"Sounds good," I say.

"After that, the ADR work, and we're done with production. We can knock that off first thing tomorrow."

Exhaustion is creeping up on me. I want this project and the whole Tamika / Trace thing to be over. I want to explore my Lauren possibilities and shoot my own movie. Matt the Man needs to emerge from the shadows.

Tamika emerges from the bathroom in her outdoor clothes.

"Ready to redo the fight scene on the back lot?" Duals asks.

"Yeah. Raspberry has to come indoors, though. If he sees us fighting, he'll bark and try to break it up."

"Right." Duals turns toward me. "Want to do the hand-held work?"

"Sure."

I grab the camera off the sticks and head to the backyard with Duals.

"Let's get this over quick," I say, "before it starts raining again."

"That's the plan," Duals says.

Dylan approaches. "When are we doing my scene?"

"We'll get to that next," Duals says. "For now, Raspberry has to go inside. Put him in the basement, okay?"

"Be sure to hook the basement door," I say. "He can shove it open otherwise."

"Got it," Dylan says.

He brings the dog inside, then comes back out alone to watch the shoot. Everyone else moves to the edges—no sound or light crew required this time, only me and the talent.

"Action!" Duals calls.

Trace and Tamika redo their earlier struggle from the green screen. This time, they go at it with more venom—screaming, pulling hair, rolling on the ground. As they battle, I move around them with the camera. No smooth rolling Steadicam now, but jerky, hectic fierceness.

I'm digging it!

The level of violence increases; I think they'll be coming to actual blows any second. I move in to get close ups of their snarling faces. I catch a kick on my shin, but keep filming through the pain.

Something clicks in my mind. It's as if I've entered my new reality where I'm Director of the World. All my loose and scattered potentialities are working together. I'm firing on all cylinders at last! Nobody will ever call me "tackhead" again or tell me to "giddy up" out of the way.

The scene rolls on and on, in one continuous take. It has heated, violent energy. The low battery warning pops on in the monitor. Just a little more...

"Cut!" Duals yells.

I switch off the camera. My personal energy shuts down with it, and I sag with exhaustion. The girls get unsteadily to their feet. They look stunned as they transition from their characters into their real selves.

I've gotten some great footage. I've done everything right for once. If only Grandpa was here to see me.

All seems perfect with the world, then...

41. Catastrophe

Frantic barking comes from inside the house. Raspberry is throwing himself against the back door.

"Raspberry!" Tamika cries.

She rushes to the door and flings it open. Raspberry barrels out, pursued by billowing smoke. The panicked dog comes straight at me, moving in nightmare slow motion. I can't get out of the way. Raspberry slams into me.

The camera flies out of my hands as I tumble over. It arches high in the air, hangs for a moment, then smashes on the driveway with a sickening _CRACK!_

Pieces fly off the camera as it bounces on the pavement. It lies still, dead. No time to think about it, though. There's a fire in the house!

I struggle up, run into the garage, and snatch the chemical extinguisher off Grandpa's workbench.

"Get the hose, Duals! Everybody else stay outside!"

I take a deep breath and run into the house alone, fighting through the smoke to the living room. I crash into the coffee table. The impact must hurt my legs, but I can't afford to notice.

A hot tungsten light unit leans against the picture window. The curtains burn, and flames move along the walls, igniting the wood panels. The throw rug is on fire.

Raspberry must have knocked over the light. He got up here somehow!

The fire extinguisher roars in my hands. The flames begin to retreat, and the light unit shorts out. My eyes burn; my lungs are ready to burst. I have to breathe! A torrent of water hits me in the back.

"I've got it!" Duals yells.

I squeeze off a final blast, then retreat to the front door. I wrench it open and stumble onto the porch. A cloud of smoke follows me out like an evil genie. I suck in a lungful of glorious air.

Behind me comes the screech of smoke alarms and the frantic spraying of the garden hose. Mrs. Simpson comes running over from her house, phone in hand.

"What's going on, Matthew?" she cries.

"Oh... nothing," I gasp.

Duals exits the house, smudged and smoky.

"It's out man," he says between coughs. "What a mess!"

42. Demise of Studio Duals

"I'm calling the fire department," Mrs. Simpson says.

"Please don't do that," I say. "It's all under control."

"They need to know about this." She tries to look around us into the house, but Duals and I block the view.

The nightmare keeps spreading like some horrid disease. The firemen are coming, and the police. Soon Mom and Dad will be here. How can I possibly explain this situation? I'll be grounded permanently if I ever get out of juvenile lockup.

I play my final card. "I know Grandpa would be grateful if you didn't involve the fire department."

"He would?" Mrs. Simpson lowers her phone a little.

"Yes. He hates dealing with the authorities."

"But—"

"He was telling me before he left how much he likes having you for a neighbor," I say, "and how he wants to get better acquainted."

The phone lowers some more. "He did?"

"Yes."

"Well, in that case... I suppose..."

Mrs. Simpson drops the phone into her pocket and starts walking toward her house. She pauses to look back.

"You will tell him to come talk to me about this, won't you, Matt?"

"I sure will."

She disappears into her house.

"That was real smooth," Duals says. "I didn't know you were such a great BS artist."

"Thanks."

We reenter the house and shut off the smoke alarms. The damage to Studio Duals is massive. The curtains and throw rug are a total, charred loss. The floor and wall paneling are scorched, the whole living room is soaked and stinking.

The picture window is cracked. The coffee table is knocked over. The extra monitor, printer, and external drive are busted and sodden. Somebody stepped on the laptop, breaking its keyboard and monitor—me, probably.

Not to mention the wrecked camera in the back yard. It's like the end of the world has roared through my life.

"Looks like we're out of business," Duals says.

I plop down on the waterlogged sofa and cradle my head in my hands. Clammy water soaks through my clothes like the fingers of death, but I'm beyond caring.

"What else can possibly go wrong?" I mutter.

A text message pings on my phone. It's from Grandpa:

Hi Matt!

I'm at the airport, will be home in an hour.

The others come in to view the destruction. They all wear awestruck expressions. Lauren carries the ruined camera in her arms like a sick baby.

"What happened?" Dylan asks.

"Raspberry knocked over a hot light," Duals says. "The curtains went up.

All eyes turn toward Dylan. The room becomes deathly silent.

"Weren't you were supposed to lock the basement door?" I say.

Dylan turns pale. "I'm sorry, man, I-I must have forgot..."

"You idiot!" Tamika shrieks. "Raspberry could have been killed, and you wrecked my movie!"

She looks angry and offended, as if somebody else's pet has caused the disaster.

"Who left that light on?" she demands.

Bill and Gerry exchanged glances.

"Don't look at me," Gerry says. "I was working sound, remember?"

"Well, somebody screwed up," Tamika says.

"Leave them alone, okay, Tamika?" I say. "You're the one who brought that dog here, don't forget."

She throws a lethal glower my direction. I turn away from it.

"Please, can you all go home now?"

The stuffing is knocked out of me. I'm not even mad at Dylan. Why would I be when the whole tragedy is my fault?

I should have checked the basement door myself; I should have made sure the light was shut down. I'd been too puffed up slinging around the camera, trying to look impressive. The safety of Studio Duals was my responsibility, and I blew it.

Lauren gives me a hug. "Oh, Matt, I wish there was something I could do."

"There isn't. Maybe you'll call me tonight if my Grandpa hasn't killed me first? He'll be here in an hour."

"Let me stay. I can help explain things."

"Me, too," Duals says. "I can't let you face the wrath by yourself. We're partners, right?"

Through my agony, I feel a burst of affection for Duals and Lauren. My truest friends.

I shake my head. "It's better if I talk to him alone."

"Let's go, Trace," Tamika says, "before something else happens they blame me for."

She heads out the front door without so much as a good-bye. Trace follows, stopping long enough to give my arm a sympathetic squeeze.

"Sorry about this, Fr... Matt. See you around."

"Yeah, see you."

She exits with a regretful backward glance.

Duals hands me his keys to the house. "Guess I won't be needing these again, huh?"

"I suppose not."

The others troop out, each with a sympathetic utterance. Dylan looks so grief-stricken he could be at a funeral... mine. Only Lauren remains.

"This has been quite an experience." She kisses my cheek. "Are you sure you don't want me to stay?"

"I'm sure."

"I will definitely call you tonight."

Lauren takes a final glance around the living room, then back at me. If I look half as bad as I feel, I must be a pitiful sight.

"Don't worry so much, Matt. Your grandpa sounds amazing, a lot like you, actually."

Yeah, and he'll probably think of some _amazing_ way to get back at me.

She leaves, taking the last bit of warmth with her. I'm alone with my misery. Studio Duals hulks around me like an abandoned tomb. I wash up and change into the clean clothes I'd stashed in the bedroom closet; I still smell like a fire. I need an airing outside.

On my way out the door, I snatch the _Studio Duals_ signs and tear them to shreds. Then I park myself in the front porch lawn chair and wait for Grandpa to show up.

Behind me, the picture window gapes curtain-less and charred. A crack runs its whole width. Hopefully, I can distract Grandpa's attention enough when he arrives so that he won't notice the window right off.

Why is he coming home today, anyhow, and why did he fly in? I thought he'd be driving back with the Beast later this summer. As I sit on the porch nursing my anguish, such questions occur to my tortured brain. Maybe it's better this way, get the trauma over in one massive dose.

43. Dreaded Return

Half an hour later, a big, gleaming rental car pulls into the drive. I stand up and wave, trying to block the window crack as much as possible.

"Hi, Grandpa!" I'm scared to death, but my voice comes out cheerful. How did I do that?

Grandpa beeps the horn and lowers the window. "Hey, Matt, great to see you!"

He pulls into the back yard and parks in front of the garage. I run to meet him.

"How come you flew back?" I say. "Where's the Beast?"

"Left it with the missionaries, that 'donation' I told you about." He gets out of the car and stretches. "It's been a long day."

"Yeah, I know..."

He grabs a package off the front seat. "I've got great Costa Rican coffee; let's brew up a pot."

"Uh... before we go inside, there are some things you need to know."

A few minutes later, we're standing in the living room surveying the damage. Grandpa has an astonished look on his face, as if he's stepped into some horrible alternate reality.

"I figured you'd have problems... but nothing like this," he says.

"Things were going fine until an hour ago. I was so proud. I wanted you to be proud of me, too."

I struggle to keep the tears back, without much success.

Grandpa examines the cracked picture window. "This is quite a remodeling job. It's going to cost a fair amount to put things right."

"I know. And the equipment is all ruined—the camera, the computer..."

He gazes at me with a very stern expression, like a judge from Hell Court. Every expectation he's ever had for me is shattered for good. He's wasted a ton of money and all I can show him is a pile of fire damage. I feel small enough to slip through the cracks in the wood floor. Unbearable seconds drag by.

Grandpa waves his hand breezily. "Ah, to heck with all this. I've got plenty of money; it's family that's in short supply."

He wraps an arm over my shoulders and gives me a little shake. "Lighten up, Matt. It's not the end of the world."

"You mean... you're not mad at me?"

"What for? You gave it your best shot, that's all anyone can do. I'm just glad you're all safe."

I'm so relieved I can barely keep standing. Only the thought of the soaked furniture keeps me on my feet.

"People my age get to thinking they've seen everything." Grandpa gestures about the living room. "Here's something entirely new."

He heads for the front door. "Let's get something to eat. I'm dying for Italian food."

I gratefully follow. A death row inmate getting a reprieve must feel something like I do now.

Outside, I spot Mrs. Simpson watching us from her porch.

"Mrs. Simpson was a big help today. Can we bring her along?"

"Of course." Grandpa waves to her. "We're dining Italian. Come join us."

"Be right with you!" She calls back.

# Nine: Astonishing Events

44. Reconciliation

The next night, Mom throws a welcome home party for Grandpa, the first time she's ever done that.

We order pizza and ribs. The adults drink Margaritas, made with Grandpa-imported tequila, while I have Bomb Cola. I'm worried Grandpa will say something about the fire, but he keeps that off the list of conversation topics.

We watch more videos of the Costa Rican adventure.

"It was great working on the church," Grandpa says. "Ever since I retired, I've been looking for some contribution I could make. Give something back for all the blessings I've had."

"Like Andrew Carnegie," I say. "We studied him in History. He gave away his money building libraries and stuff."

"I wouldn't put myself quite on that level," Grandpa says.

Incredibly, as we are watching a video on Maya history, Mom moves behind Grandpa's chair and wraps her arms around his neck. She kisses his cheek.

"I love you, Dad."

As Duals pointed out, Grandpa looks a lot younger than he really is, but suddenly he drops another ten years. He almost glows. He places a hand on one of Mom's, and they remain that way for a while.

Later, Grandpa and I go up to my room to check out my latest model airplanes.

"You know, Matt," he says, "I'd like to meet those kids who were involved with you in 'Studio Duals.' Have you heard about that new cruise boat they're starting on the river?"

"Yeah. It's supposed to bring in lots of tourist bucks."

"I managed to get a baker's dozen of tickets for the first cruise," Grandpa says. "There'll be live music, dinner. Do you think your collaborators would like that?"

"Sure they would! Er, what's a 'baker's dozen?'"

"Thirteen. In past centuries bakers gave customers an extra item so that they wouldn't get their hands chopped off for short changing on the dozen."

"That's... interesting."

"We can make an early birthday party out of it," Grandpa says. "Are thirteen tickets enough?"

I do some mental calculation. "There's nine of us, max."

"Let's bring your Mom and Dad."

"Well, there's a problem with that. I sort of never got around to telling them about Studio Duals. They might not be too happy."

"Oh, I see."

"There's no way I can stop everyone from talking about the fire."

"Better leave the sleeping dog lie for now?" Grandpa says.

"Yeah, something like that."

* * *

I call Lauren first. Yes, she'd be delighted to come on the cruise, she says, and didn't she tell me Grandpa was super cool?

Duals gets the next call.

"Glad to hear you're still around," he says. "The way you were talking, I thought your Grandpa was going to make sausage out of you."

"Things turned out a little better than that."

I explain about the cruise and ask him to spread the word. I don't say anything about it being a de facto birthday party. They can find that out on board.

"What about Tamika?" Duals asks. "You don't want her along, do you?"

"Hmmm."

No, I definitely don't want to see Tamika. Even more, I don't want to _act_ like her.

"She can be a snot if she wants, but I've got more class. Yeah, tell her about the cruise; don't twist her arm to come, though."

"She probably won't, anyhow," Duals says. "Why waste time with low-class slobs like us, huh?"

"Exactly."

On the local news program, I learn a television crew will be on board for the 'VIP Champagne Cruise.' I realize, with a sinking heart, that Tamika will certainly be there now.

45. Champagne Cruise

The entire Studio Duals crew assembles on the tour boat pier: me, Lauren, Duals, Kaitlyn, Dylan, Bill, Gerry, Trace... and Tamika. Also our gracious host, Grandpa, who is escorting Mrs. Simpson.

At first I don't recognize her. I'd only seen Mrs. Simpson before wear gardening clothes or a frumpy house coat. Now she's dressed up sharp with good hair and make-up. She actually looks rather hot, especially for a woman dating a guy Grandpa's age.

Grandpa is always elegant. He even looked sophisticated dressed in work clothes and toting lumber in the Costa Rica video. His present outfit is a perfect blend of formal and low-key.

He shakes hands and greets each of my 'collaborators' individually. Then he makes a general announcement.

"I'd like to welcome you all to this event in recognition of your cinematic efforts with Studio Duals. Let's hope nobody gets 'fired' this time."

We all laugh.

Grandpa has this knack of treating everyone as if they're a mature person instead of a kid fresh out of middle school. Everyone takes to him; even Tamika is at her charming best.

"She can sure pour it on when she wants," Duals whispers in my ear.

"You didn't tell me your grandfather is so sexy," Trace murmurs in my other one. "Runs in the family, huh?"

The crowd starts boarding. As we move along toward the entry gate, Grandpa notices a young couple standing off to the side with a little sausage dog. They're the same ones we saw at the park! I try to make myself invisible.

"Aren't you going on the cruise?" Grandpa asks them.

"We'd love to," the woman says, "but it's out of our price range."

"We're just here to watch," the guy says. "See how the other half lives."

Grandpa hands them his two extra tickets. "You can go now."

The couple looks astonished. "Uh, sir... w-we couldn't..."

"Please take them. It's my grandson's birthday."

"Thanks!"

The man scoops up the sausage dog. "We live nearby. We'll get Perky home quick."

Before they take off, I see a flicker of recognition in their eyes. They're too excited to connect the dots, hopefully.

"That was sweet, Richard," Mrs. Simpson says.

"I didn't want the tickets to go to waste."

Duals and Lauren are close enough to hear Grandpa's remarks.

"I didn't know it was your birthday," Duals says.

"It's really not until October. This is unofficial."

"Happy unofficial birthday," Lauren says.

Out of sight in the press of the crowd, she takes my hand. We lace our fingers together. This event is getting better all the time.

We follow the crowd onto the boat. I'd be tempted to call this a 'ship.' It's a pretty good size, in any case.

Quite a few big shot types are on board, including the mayor. After hanging around the dock a while, we take off churning down the river. My friends and I scatter—sightseeing off the decks, gobbling the complimentary munchies and soft drinks.

The band on the upper deck plays classic rock we can dance to. Then a slow number with Lauren in my arms. Fantastic! Trace watches us with an amused smile on her lips, waiting for an opening. The red highlights are gone from her hair, and her make-up is more moderate, but her basic personality is shining through.

I give her a wide berth. Up to this point, I've blown every good opportunity that's come into my life, and it isn't going to happen again.

Grandpa, cocktail in hand, circulates with Mrs. Simpson, chatting with various big shots. Retired or not, he still seems well connected. A television reporter wanders around with his cameraman interviewing people, kind of like we did at the skating party.

The skating party... it seems like years have passed since then. I hope I don't pitch over any barriers tonight. That water looks cold.

Tamika follows the TV people around, trying to gain their attention whenever possible. Let me guess, she was the first person they interviewed—after the mayor, perhaps.

46. Banquet Surprise

I'm on the lower deck leaning on the rail, watching the shore drift by. The water looks pretty rough, and I'm grateful we're on this big watercraft instead of Grandpa Alpin's boat. Duals and Lauren stand on either side of me. I don't know where everyone else is.

Suddenly, a microphone is thrust into my face.

"So, young man," the TV reporter says. "What do you think of all this?"

"I'll tell you what _I_ think," Duals interrupts. He flings an arm over my shoulders and points a finger at me. "This here is Matthew Alpin, and the kid rocks!"

The reporter chuckles and moves on to the next interview without getting any comment from me. Tamika trails after him, per usual.

"Thanks, Duals," I say.

"Oh, sorry, Matt. I kind of got carried away. It's all this fresh air."

I'm getting pretty hungry by now. The dining room isn't big enough to serve everybody at once, so the passengers are divided up. We're in the second group. An announcement comes over the loudspeakers calling us to eat.

"I'm for that!" Duals says.

We arrange ourselves down a long table with Grandpa and Mrs. Simpson in the middle. I sit across from them—flanked by Lauren and Duals. Tamika sits on Grandpa's side, on the left edge of the group. Dylan is on the right edge, as far from Tamika as possible. The big romance is obviously a thing of the past.

Duals is in rare form. "Hey, Tamika," he calls across the table.

"Yes?" She replies with an indulgent look, as if she's doing him a big favor acknowledging his existence.

"For a while, I thought you were Raspberry out there, following that TV crew like a puppy dog."

Kaitlyn laughs. Judging by the dagger in her eyes, she still has issues with Tamika.

"At least they know what they're doing," Tamika says. "Maybe you should talk to them, Stephan. They'll be leaving soon."

"Right, like they're going to step overboard."

"No, a shuttle boat is coming to pick them up."

"Imagine that?" Duals says. "You really can learn something new every day."

Tamika rolls her eyes and turns her attention to Trace sitting next to her.

Alex and Carrie, the sausage dog couple, round out the table. Grandpa welcomes them into our group. At one point, I see him slip Alex the phone number of a business associate who "might be able to help with your job search."

Dinner comes, served by bustling wait staff in black and white outfits. I pig out on the prime rib. Lauren favors the sea food. I glance at Tamika who is getting by on a plate of veggies.

Enjoy that!

Then dessert, and finally a champagne toast for the adults, with sparkling fruit juice for us. Somebody gives a toast to "the exciting new tourist attraction" we're floating in.

I notice Grandpa slipping fat tips to our wait staff. That is so cool! Someday, I'd like to throw generosity around like he does.

Grandpa stands and taps a spoon on his water glass. "As my grandson has doubtlessly not told you, this get-together is also in recognition of his upcoming 14th birthday."

Everyone applauds. Even Tamika pats her hands together.

Duals thrusts a fist upward. "The big one four!"

"I know Matt's sensitive about being the youngest in the freshman class," Grandpa says, "but from my perspective, being a bit younger is a positive thing."

Everyone laughs.

"So, in observance of the occasion..." Grandpa gestures toward an approaching waiter.

The waiter plunks a large, colorfully wrapped package in front of me.

I'm dazzled by the beauty of my present. It seems a crime to destroy the magnificent wrapping job. Everyone leans in for a better view.

"Open it already," Duals said.

I tear the paper off the large box, then open it to find two smaller boxes inside. One contains a video camera, the other a professional grade lens—the same models that were destroyed in my collision with Raspberry.

"Oh, man, we're back in business!" Duals cries.

"Thanks, Grandpa," I blurt, too stunned by this incredible vote of confidence to say anything more.

Everyone applauds again. Tamika is more enthusiastic this time, and her eyes have a strange intensity—like a cat who's caught sight of a mouse.

"It is my hope that all of you will enjoy this camera," Grandpa says, "either in front of the lens or behind it."

The dinner wraps up soon afterwards. My present is whisked away for safe keeping and everyone heads outside. I stay behind with Grandpa and Mrs. Simpson... Kathleen.

"This has been absolutely wonderful, Richard," Kathleen says. "Think I'll get some air and let you two catch up on things."

She gives his hand a squeeze, then takes off. She's so graceful, nothing like the woman I'd seen rooting around in the flower garden. I think everybody who deals with Grandpa picks up some of his class.

"You didn't have to replace the camera, Grandpa. After the way I botched things up, I don't deserve such generosity."

"It's not _that_ generous. The old equipment was insured. Everything will be replaced. Besides, it belongs to the production company. Did Stephan explain that?"

"Uh, yeah, he said something about it."

So, all that stuff about the LLC papers wasn't a con job as I'd suspected.

"I'm glad you returned early from Central America," I say. "I couldn't have handled the blowback from the fire by myself."

"I thought you handled it quite well. It took real character to own up to things."

Wow! Aren't I feeling proud?

"Why did you cut things short in Central America?" I say.

"The church construction was finished, and I'd seen all the bloody temples I wanted. Besides, I got to thinking I might have dumped too much responsibility on you, that you'd need some support."

"You've got that right. It was impossible to keep control. Every time I thought I had a handle on things, something else blew up."

"Some things can't be controlled," Grandpa says. "You just have to manage the chaos so that it all works out in the end."

"Right..."

I want to give the impression I understand what he's saying, though I must look kind of blank.

"It's like a kayaker going down a white-water rapid," Grandpa explains. "There's no way he can control the river, but he can manage the chaos long enough to avoid getting creamed."

"Yeah, I've learned a few things about getting creamed," I say, recalling my airborne episode at the Roll-O-Center.

Grandpa leans back and takes a final sip from his coffee cup.

"Being a filmmaker has always been one of my unrealized ambitions. I got to wondering if maybe I'd gone overboard, trying to relive my life through you. Now I can see now you've got a genuine interest."

"That's true. I've finally discovered my goal in life."

" _Finally_?" Grandpa smiles and shakes his head. "Teenagers."

The dining room is almost empty. Duals calls in from the door.

"The shuttle boat's here!"

47. The Shuttle Boat

We take our places near the stern, along the crowded lower deck rail with Lauren and Duals. Most of the others in our group are nearby, though I don't see Dylan or Gerry. Kathleen sidles up to Grandpa.

Although the sun is low, visibility is still good. A small boat approaches. It looks like a tug boat, tiny beside our large craft.

"Hi!" we all yell.

The shuttle toots its whistle. The powerful sound is amazing coming from such a small boat. A guy wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses stands on the deck waving to us. The pilot ducks her head out the cabin door and waves, too.

"What do you know," Grandpa says, "a female captain. Times sure have changed."

"This is so cool," Duals says. "I wish we had the camera set up."

"Maybe I'll be a boat captain someday," Lauren says. "What would you think of that, Matthew?"

"Sure, why not? I'm all for woman power."

"Good answer."

Yeah, it is. Hanging out with Grandpa is bringing me new sophistication. Lauren's arm slips around my waist, and I draw closer to her. We fit together real nice.

The reporter and his cameraman stand near us. I wonder how they're going to transition from here to the shuttle boat without getting wet. They don't look too pleased.

They must have another important story to cover someplace, a house fire, maybe. I'm glad they didn't show up at Studio Duals for the conflagration.

They content themselves with filming the shuttle boat. Needless to say, Tamika is with them.

Things don't seem to be going well. The water is much rougher now and the shuttle boat is having difficulty positioning itself alongside our ship. It's leaning over too much, as far as I can tell.

"We should forget the whole thing," the reporter says.

"Yeah," the cameraman agrees.

Then it happens, like a nightmare turning real. Just as the shuttle boat is at maximum lean, it slams against our ship. There's no time to brace ourselves. People around me fall over, including Lauren. I barely avoid joining them.

In a single horrifying instant, the shuttle boat flips over. Its propeller whines in the open air. A collective scream shoots through the passengers.

"My God!" Grandpa cries.

His face is bloodless. He suddenly looks every one of his years and more. I help Lauren back up. She's wide-eyed and frightened, like the rest of us.

The deck hand bobs to the surface, minus his baseball cap. He looks battered and stunned. There is no sign of the captain.

"She's drowning!" somebody wails.

The whole world stands frozen. It's the absolute worst moment of my life...

From the deck above, somebody hurtles past us feet first. He hits the water, zooms under, then shoots back to the surface.

It's Dylan. With a few powerful strokes, he's at the capsized shuttle boat. He dives underwater. The crowd cheers.

"Go Dylan!" we all shout.

Tamika is standing on the rail, looking toward the shuttle boat, then back at us. She jumps in. Another cheer from the crowd. The TV crew trains their camera on the unfolding drama.

My brain swirls. Somebody is in desperate trouble; others are risking their lives to help. Here's a chance to do something truly noteworthy. I find myself climbing onto the rail.

"Matt, no!" Grandpa shouts.

He tries to grab me, but I'm already jumping off. I instantly realize my error. Heck, I'm no lifeguard. The choppy surface rushes up like watery doom.

"Manage the chaos!" I yell, or maybe it's a maniac shrieking in my mind.

The water hits me hard, cold and smothering. I'm going under, pulled by my flooded shoes. I kick them off and fight back to the surface. Duals is on the railing; Grandpa drags him off. Why didn't he move faster to stop me?

I've somehow made it beside the upended shuttle boat. It's sinking fast—I'm sinking, too. The undertow is pulling me to a watery grave. This is it! How could I have been so foolish?

As I go down, Dylan and Tamika are struggling up with the captain between them. Dylan reaches out his free hand and grabs my arm. We all kick together against the deadly water with every ounce of our strength. My lungs are about to burst . . .

We break the surface at last.

The roar from the crowd nearly shatters my eardrums. Next thing I know, people are hauling me aboard. Then I'm lying on the deck, gulping in air. Lauren and Grandpa kneel beside me.

"Are you okay?" Grandpa says.

"Never better," I gasp.

Lauren kisses my cheek. "You're a hero, Matt."

I don't feel particularly heroic. It's nice to hear the praise, though.

The captain is also lying on the deck. People work frantically on her. She coughs up water and splutters back to life. Another cheer from the onlookers.

I've hardly got my breath back before the microphone is in my face. The TV camera rolls as I blubber some statement.

"Didn't I tell you?" Duals shouts in the background. "The kid rocks!"

Tamika has no difficulty with her interview. Turning her best facial angle toward the camera, she gives a running commentary of the rescue—what a terrible shock the accident was, how she couldn't bear the thought of the captain drowning and of Dylan struggling in the river alone, how she loves all people, etc.

She flashes a glowing smile Dylan's way. The big romance seems to be back on, for the camera, anyhow.

The Coast Guard arrives to haul away Captain Montrose and the deck hand; we stay behind. Although we're fully recovered from our swim, the tour boat captain pleads with us to get a medical exam, liability issues and all that.

I would have liked going on the Coast Guard boat, but Tamika is insistent.

"We need to stay together," she says. "It's more dramatic that way."

Once on shore, we're whisked to the emergency room for a check up. The same doctor who treated my black eye is on duty.

"You again?" he says. "You sure have some interesting adventures."

Mom and Dad are there, along with Dylan and Tamika's parents. Everyone looks terribly stressed, as if the danger is still ongoing. We learn that Captain Montrose and the deck hand are okay.

Another TV crew puts in an appearance. The three of us smile and flash victory signs for the camera. Tamika wraps her arms around Dylan's neck and gives him a joyful kiss. She gives me one, too.

48. Media Heroes

So, I get to be famous by my 14th birthday after all.

The long, tortuous path that began in my basement with Duals and a can of Bomb Cola has led me to the attention of the world. Everywhere, the media screams:

Three Heroic Young People Rescue Capsized Boat Captain!

All across the country and the world—on TV, over the internet—the footage of us jumping into the river plays for millions of people. Billions maybe. We get a 'Citizenship Award' from the governor. We appear on TV interview programs, sometimes with Captain Montrose.

The boat company wanted to blame her for the sinking at first, but it comes out the steering was faulty and the cargo doors not properly watertight. So, they change their minds quick, pay her a settlement, and get onboard the hero thing.

The fact that Captain Montrose is a good-looking single mom with two teenaged girls helps our media appeal. There is even some nonsense about hooking me up with one of her daughters. Pure hype.

And the capper, a phone call from the President! He says how proud he is that young people in our country still have the spirit of valor and selfless concern for others. I'm pretty blown away listening to him talk.

Mom and Dad were not fond of the President before, but now he walks on water for them, and they'll certainly vote for him next time.

I could have used that walk on water capability. I had little to do with the actual rescue and could have drowned, myself. Dylan is the real hero, but he generously shares the credit.

"I owe you one for burning up your grandpa's house," he says. "Not to mention that comb thing at the skating party."

I tried to explain the situation early on, but the reporter I was talking to shut me up. No sense ruining the _Three Heroic Young People_ narrative.

Besides, "the kid rocks!" comment from Duals guaranteed my place in the drama. The clip with me and Duals standing at the rail is generally shown before the disaster / rescue footage.

Thank heaven, nobody made the connection between my hero persona and my earlier appearance in the Roll-O-Center video.

* * *

Dylan and I soon fade back into obscurity. At least I've got something to show my future kids, let them know that old Dad amounted to something. I've done the fame thing; maybe I'll do it again someday.

Things turn out different for Tamika. She plays the media angles right and lands herself a spot on a new reality TV show: _High School Queen Bees_.

She and other Alpha girls around the country will be featured as they rule their exclusive social cliques. The show promises lots of drama and conflict, on a no-brain level. It's a four year gig for Tamika at our high school, unless she gets her wish to move to L.A.

Please let her move to L.A.

Things are cool with Lauren, and I think there might be a future for us. I've heard from Trace, as well. She's cleaned up her act a little and ditched the Goth persona.

"It was just a phase," she says.

She's a senior this year and admits, "I've got this thing for younger guys, and older ones, too."

It would be way too much of a stretch to say Dylan's presence on the boat had anything to do with the accident. Quite the opposite. His daring rescue of Captain Montrose broke the disaster jinx.

Some kids outgrow pimples, Dylan has outgrown disasters. Not only that, but once the media spotlight shut off, Tamika dumped him again, adding to his good fortune.

Grandpa is fully back in our family. Mom has turned 180 degrees in her attitude. Maybe my outburst had something to do with it, or maybe she wised up on her own.

He's going to Costa Rica during Christmas break and taking me along. He wants to shoot documentary footage about the mission work. We're hoping to bring Duals with us.

Unanswered questions remain. I wonder what Tamika would have done that fateful day if a TV crew hadn't been on the boat. Would she have still jumped in to help? Would _I_ have jumped in? I keep thinking Dylan is the only one who acted from purely unselfish motives. Well, some questions can never be answered, so there's no sense beating myself up about them.

That's the whole story. I hope you enjoyed it, and may all your great ideas work out. – _Matthew Alpin_.

THE END

Thanks for reading! You must have liked the story if you got this far, so why not write a review? Just a few words, either at the online bookstore where you obtained this book or in any other medium you wish. May numerous blessings come your way.

# Brian's Other Books

Here are brief descriptions of my other books for young readers. They are available at all major online retailers in ebook format. Also, please check my Smashwords author page.

The Lost Country

Crown Prince Rupert struggles against ignorance and superstition to rally his countrymen against a dire threat coming from the mysterious Eastlands. When disaster finally strikes, it's up to Rupert and his band of often questionable allies to win through or face destruction of his kingdom and everything he holds dear.

Young adult action / adventure fantasy

Captive in Terror Orchard

Book 1 of the _Terror Orchard series_

To the authorities, Billy Conner is just a rebellious and defiant juvenile delinquent. To his foster parents, he's a pawn in a fiendish drug plot. He's much more than anyone realizes, though – he'd better be, or the consequences will be unspeakable. Assisted by unlikely allies, one of them literally "dug up" from the orange orchard, Billy struggles for his freedom and for the lives of countless other potential victims.

light horror / action adventure

The Bulb People

Sequel to _Captive in Terror Orchard_

Book 2 of the _Terror Orchard series_

What's going on in the awful little town of Bridgestock? Why did the English teacher's husband race his truck down the streets screaming his head off, and why are people vanishing? Of course, only nasty types have disappeared so far, but that could change at any time.

Ryan Keppen, a 13-year-old newcomer, must tackle these mysteries, along with the issue of his "happy blended family" which he desperately wants to disappear as well. Maybe everything is related, and one problem can help solve another.

light horror / action adventure / humor

Raptor Aces

The terrifying Zone of Destruction – ZOD, the absence of God. It has taken over the Raptor Aces, an elite Youth League air squadron.

Its leader, Dytran is the cream of his totalitarian country. His world unravels when a poor decision goes horribly wrong, resulting in death and destruction. He grabs at a chance to volunteer for support aviation duty in the war. At the front, he and his comrades are swept up in violence and revenge until escape seems beyond reach.

New Adult / Action-Adventure / War

A Hurricane in Your Suitcase

Brett's constant lying is getting him into serious trouble. Can big brother Joe stop admiring himself long enough to help turn things around? A strange mixture of cautionary tales leads to a showdown with the Giant Hill.

Children's humor / satire

The Daring Rooftop Rescue

"Coming up in the world" can bring unexpected problems as Johnny Badger learns the hard way. Despite his new-found wealth, Johnny is no match for the complicated political situation in Forest Towne. His own bumbling arrogance adds to his woes.

Children's humor / satire

TIME BEFORE COLOR TV SERIES

Follow the adventures of Amanda Searles and her friends as they make astonishing discoveries, invent new stuff, and generally save the world. Based in 1950's USA, they branch out into strange realms of the wider universe to set things right. It's all in a day's work.

Middle grade – Young Adult humor / adventure / fantasy

How Raspberry Jam got Invented

Book 1 of the _Time before Color TV series_

The last summer picnic turns into an astonishing disaster! Melissa's snotty arrogance involves the friends in a situation they may not survive, but maybe they will.

Middle grade humor / adventure / fantasy

The First Ring Rainbow

Book 2 of the _Time before Color TV series_

1950's cold war tension at it's scariest. Anything can happen during the Atomic Summer. Amanda struggles to deal with the era's sexist restraints, her fugitive Russian communist grandparents, and the appearance of a bizarre creature at Secret Pond. Somehow, everything ties together.

Middle grade humor / adventure / fantasy

Adventure Bike Club& the Tire Giant

Book 3 of the _Time before Color TV series_

The huge tire on the freeway outside town is not an advertisement, as people think, but a vessel from another universe on a sinister mission. Can Amanda and her friends make it back out alive? The fate of the world might hinge on the outcome. Not only that, but the town mayor stands to lose a fair amount of money.

Middle grade humor / adventure / fantasy

The Great Flying Adventure

Book 4 of the _Time before Color TV series_

Amanda and Quentin fly to an alien universe where Quentin competes in a brutal sports tournament to determine the fate of the Earth and of human civilization. Amanda falls for the enemy team captain, and things become terribly complicated.

Tween humor / adventure / fantasy

Return of Mr. Badpenny

Book 5 of the _Time before Color TV series_

Tommy gets more than he expected from a mysterious two-headed coin. The power it gives him goes rapidly to his own head, setting him on a course to moral decay. Solution? Hand it off to Melissa, who also goes off the rails with her new found power. Eventually, they team up to battle the danger.

Tween humor / adventure / fantasy

