Call the Shots (11 page)

“One hundred percent,” Coop says.

“Oublie ça!”
Valerie laughs. “Sorry. Thanks, but no thanks.”

“Why not?” Coop asks.

“I just . . .” Val sighs. “Look, no offense or anything, but I’m well aware of your crazy plots and schemes, Cooper, and, quite honestly, I’d prefer not to be included.”

“This is no plot,” Coop insists. “This is a
mission.
A supreme act of kindness. We’re making this film to help out our friend here.” He motions across the table at me. “Sean’s family is in crisis. As I’m sure you’re aware of, his mother is expecting a baby any day now and —”

“Actually, it’s a few months,” I correct him.

“And,”
Coop continues, giving me the stink eye, “they have nowhere for this brand-new bundle of joy to lay its down-covered head.” He turns to address Valerie. “The money we make from this movie is going to help the Hance family expand their home so that they can welcome their new family member with open arms and a room of his — or her — own. Now, if you don’t want to help out a poor innocent baby, well, then, your soul is blacker than I thought.”

With that, Coop averts his gaze, like he can’t bear to look at someone so coldhearted. But by the tell-me-another-one look on Valerie’s face, I don’t think she’s buying it.

Val can barely contain her laughter. “So this is a completely selfless act, then?”

Coop places his hand on his chest. “Did I say that? No, I did not. As it happens, there might be something in it for
all
of us. Namely, fame and fortune and millions of dollars. But that’s beside the point. The chief
main
reason we’re doing this is for Sean-o’s family.”

“We really need you guys,” I plead. “I mean, if we’re actually going to get this thing done before the baby’s born, we’re gonna need all the help we can get.”

Valerie looks over at Helen, who shrugs and smiles.

“I’m game,” Helen says. “What could it hurt?”

Val rolls her eyes. “Okay,
fine.
But I want to do the costumes too. If by some miracle this ever
does
see the light of day, I wouldn’t mind having that credit to put on my premed application. They love to see applicants with diverse interests.”

Coop shrugs. “Knock yourself out. You did a great job with Helen’s outfit at the Battle of the Bands, that’s for sure.” He waggles his eyebrows at Helen. And get this, she actually
giggles.
Girls. Jeez.

“Hey, what’s up, buttercup?”

I do a double take before realizing it’s Evelyn who’s sliding in next to me on the bench.

“Hi,” I say, my stomach gripping up. “What . . . what are you doing here?”

“Guess who has study hall fourth period?” Evelyn squeals. “And guess who got her study-hall teacher to excuse her to go have some lunch today?”

“Wow.” I blink. “That’s . . . great.”

I don’t know why I’m feeling so uneasy. It’s not like Evelyn hasn’t been mostly normal lately. She was totally chill when I told her I couldn’t hang out yesterday after school because I had to visit my uncle. Granted, I may have added that he was dying of emphysema, but there’s a chance that’s not actually a lie. Still, I’ve been bracing myself this whole week, like someone’s squeezing a balloon right next to my ear.

“So.” Evelyn grins across the table. “What are we gabbing about?”

“The guys are making a movie,” Helen blabs. “We’re helping out. You should too.”

“Ohmygod, I definitely want to help.” She looks at me. “I mean, if you want me to.”

“No. Yeah,” I lie. “Sure. Of course.”

“Cool. So, what can I do?” She’s practically vibrating.

“You wouldn’t have access to a professional video camera, would you?” Coop asks.

Evelyn frowns thoughtfully. “What do you mean by professional?”

Coop cants his head, suddenly hopeful. “Something high-def. Why? Do you have one?”

“Is there, like, a particular brand you wanted?” Evelyn asks.

“Any brand is fine,” Matt replies. “As long as it shoots really high-quality video.”

Evelyn shrugs. “I
might
be able to get my hands on something.”

I stare at her in disbelief. “Really? Seriously? Are you kidding?”

“I’ll have to ask around,” she says. “It could take a few days. When do you need it by?”

Coop’s got an excited gleam in his eyes. “We still have a few things to iron out.” He wipes his mouth with his napkin. “We have to cast, of course. And Sean needs to finish writing the script but . . . Maybe two weeks?”

Evelyn nods slowly, pensively. “Yeah. Okay. I can’t make any promises, but I think I can work something out by then. I’ll let you know. Anything else you need?”

“Sure. Some lighting would be nice. Microphones. A DSLR for publicity stills.” Coop laughs. “Seriously, though, if you can get the camera, you’d be a hero.”

“Awesome, possum,” Evelyn says, bouncing in her seat. “This is going to be a blast.”

We spend the rest of the lunch period discussing the film. Coop lays out the basic plot for the girls so that they can get a sense of the outfits, and songs, and props we’ll need. Honestly, I expected them to treat this like a bit of a joke. But they actually seem pretty into it. And seeing their excitement makes me think that maybe, just maybe, Coop may actually have hit the jackpot here.

When the bell rings, everyone gets up from the table, grabbing their trays as they go.

I start to stand when Evelyn grasps my arm.

“One sec,” she says. “I need to talk to you about something.”

“Sure.” I settle back down and lift my chin toward my friends. “Catch you guys later.”

“Adios, muchachos,”
Coop says with a point of his finger gun.

“Bye.” Evelyn smiles and waves. Then she turns on me with this intense look in her eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me you were making a movie?” Her fingers grip my wrists like handcuffs.

“What?” I try to pull my hands away but she’s not letting go. “We
did
tell you.”

“No,
you
didn’t.
Helen
told me. So she obviously knew before me.”

“We only just told them. Before you came in. Could you . . . let go of my wrists, please?”

Evelyn glances down at her clenched hands. “Oh, sorry.” She laughs and releases me. “I’m just . . . It was embarrassing, that’s all. You know, in front of everyone like that. I mean, I
am
your girlfriend, right? So, I should kinda know when you’re doing something so big.”

“We only decided on doing it a little while ago.” I rub my reddened wrists. “I would have told you eventually. I don’t see what the big deal is.”

Evelyn’s right eye squints up like someone squirted her with grapefruit juice. “I just . . . I just . . . Uh-uh . . . No . . . This is not . . .
No!
” She lets out this low growling sound. Like she’s a constipated Rottweiler or something.

I glance around the nearly empty cafeteria to see if anyone else is catching this. But the few stragglers who are left are all self-involved. I look back at Evelyn, who appears to be going purple.

“Are . . . are you okay?” I ask.

All of a sudden, her face completely relaxes, her skin returning to its natural pink color. She takes a deep breath and wrenches a smile from her lips. “I’m fine. You’re right. I’m overreacting. I’m sorry.” Evelyn laughs, like what just happened was not the freaky thing it really was. “It’s all good. Seriously.” She pats my leg. “I’m going to get you your camera, Sean. You’ll see. Don’t you worry.”

“Uhhh, yeah.” I feel myself leaning away, like maybe her madness is catching. “Sure. Okay. Sounds good.”

Evelyn stands, brushing something — the wackies? — from her jeans. “We’re still on for tomorrow night, right?” She stares at me, a trace of the evil spirit still lingering in her watery brown eyes. “For our Web Design tutoring?”

“Oh.” God, I forgot all about that. I had to reschedule due to Uncle Doug. But I kind of assumed she wouldn’t hold me to it. I mean, I’m probably still reeling from visiting my dying uncle and everything, right? But there’s no way in hell I’m canceling on her right now, not when she still looks like her head could start spinning around. “Yeah. Of course. Tomorrow. Right. What time did we say?”

“Six o’clock.” She grins. “You’re in for a big surprise, mister.”

“Great,” I say, a puddle of acid pooling in my stomach. “I . . . I can’t wait.”

“Me, either.” She lunges toward me and grabs my head, squashing her face into mine as she administers a gaping-mouthed saliva-soaked kiss to my lips, chin, and the bottom half of my nose. There’s a loud slurping-up-spaghetti sound as she pulls away.
“Boyfriend!”
she squeals. “I
love
that we found each other, don’t you?”

“Mmm,” I say, trying to casually wipe off my upper lip with my lower one.

Evelyn gives me a little four-finger wave. “See you soon, raccoon!”

She turns and bounces out of the cafeteria.

“N
OW IT’S RAIN!”
Mr. Nestman calls out, his hands cupped around his mouth. This is the fourth improv “event” he’s had us react to today. So far we’ve had to deal with an imaginary blizzard, a thick fog, and phantom falling trees.

We’re in our socks, gliding around the room, acting as if we’re ice-skating outside on a pond. Pretty strange how just over a week ago I was skating with the girl of my nightmares and today I’m pretending to do the same thing with the girl of my gamer dreams.

Of course, I’d be infinitely happier if Leyna and me could take up our Blazefire Sabers, hop aboard an Eidolon, and ride off to fulfill our Final Fantasy. Which isn’t very likely at this point, seeing as I haven’t had the guts to actually speak to her yet.

“Now it’s a torrential downpour!” Mr. Nestman hollers.

I hunch my shoulders and hold my hands over my head, pretending to be into this exercise but really just “skating” behind Leyna the whole time. Instead of hiding from the rain, she simply opens an “umbrella” and continues to coast light-footedly over the pond.

God, she’s amazing. So smooth and graceful and elegant. If I had any balls, I’d coast up beside her and start chatting. Instead, I pull back. Convince myself that I should watch the other kids. See who’s doing the best improv here. I mean, casting
is
this Saturday, and I still need to decide who to invite.

So I shift my gaze from Princess Leyna to Hunter, who’s taking cover under one of the still-standing “trees.” He wipes the rain from his face and arms pretty convincingly.

Then there’s Kelsey, clutching herself as she crouches in the corner. Her retainered teeth chattering is fairly realistic. Definitely someone to consider.

And here’s Douchebag Dan. Hamming it up, pretending to have fallen through the ice. Though nobody’s rushing to his aid, which only goes to show how we all feel about him.

“Hurricane!” Mr. Nestman shouts.

All of a sudden, everyone in the class is stumbling around, struggling against the gale-force winds. It’s the perfect opportunity to stagger toward Leyna and possibly make some incidental contact. Maybe then I could apologize to her, which would of course lead to a witty and flirtatious conversation. Or something.

But just as I reel in her direction, I hear someone holler, “Look out!” Before I can alter my course, Voluptuous Victoria blindsides me. I bounce off her soft fleshy buxomness, whip around, and trip over my own feet. A second later and I’m timbering right toward a flailing hurricane-buffeted Douchebag Dan.

My hands shoot out to brace my fall, and I end up grabbing Dan right in the crotch. He howls in pain as he shoves me away, screaming something about keeping my mitts off his shillelagh.

I turn and look up to see Leyna cupping her hand over her mouth, laughing hysterically. Not exactly the way I wanted to get her to notice me. I scramble to my feet, hoping the flaming red disappears from my face by the time I’m “blown” into her. But before I can stumble more than a few steps, the bell rings.

“That’s a wrap!” Mr. Nestman claps his hands above his head again. “Nice work, everyone. Really great. Now, get your shoes on and get the hell out of my classroom.”

I head over to the corner and grab my beat-up Nikes, which I strategically kicked off next to Leyna’s baby-blue Keds in the hope that I might be able to muster up some casual conversation when it was time to put our shoes back on. But now that I see her approaching, my mind is a blank.

“Excuse me,” she says, sliding past me to grab her Keds and red shutter shades off the stage steps.

I watch Leyna out of the corner of my eye. She’s sitting on the steps, trying to work a knot out of one of her laces. Any other guy would take full advantage of this lucky turn, maybe make a crack about how they don’t make shoelaces like they used to and then gallantly offer to untangle them for her. But I’m not any other guy. My body’s response to finding itself alone with a hot girl is to turn into a deaf-mute. Evolution fail.

She’s making quick progress with her knot, and before I can even replenish my suddenly depleted saliva supply, Leyna has slipped on her Keds and is standing up, ready to go.

“Wait!” I cry, leaping to my feet. Desperation made my voice much louder than I would have liked — more like a shout, really — and the entire class has turned to stare at me. Sweat prickles my underarms as my sluggish brain scrambles to save itself.