I Represent Sean Rosen (17 page)

“E
nglish is such a rich language, isn't that right, Javier?”

“
Sí
, Miss Meglis.
Muy rico
. Very rich.”

“And yet . . . and yet . . . you would never suspect that from reading these.” She held up our homework assignments. “If these tired paragraphs were your only exposure to our beautiful language, it would be sad indeed. Beyond sad. Unpatriotic. Please, ladies and gentlemen. Have pity on your humble teacher. Make your writing more interesting. Be descriptive. Be specific. Be colorful. Help me picture what you're writing about.

“For my sake, I will not ask you to read these. But I
will
give you one example.” Then in a voice like a really bored kid, she read from one of our essays: “‘Then we went to the store.'

“You're telling me
nothing
here.” Then in an English accent she said, “To whom do you refer when you say ‘we'? If you are like me, the Queen of England, one might use the word ‘we' to refer to oneself. ‘No, thank you, sire,
we
do not need to use the restroom before the royal wedding.'”

Then in her normal voice, “In this case, let's assume the author of ‘Then we went to the store' is not using the royal ‘we'.
Who
went? Two people? Three people? The entire cast of
Glee
? To picture this trip to the store, it would be helpful to know.

“‘Then we went to the store.' You
went
. Did you walk? Did you drive? Did you float there in a hot air balloon? There are
no
clues in this sentence. Tell us so we can see it. Did you
stroll
to the store?” Miss Meglis strolled slowly across the front of the room. “Did you
dash
to the store?” She dashed. “Did you pirouette?”

Miss Meglis did a pirouette. She is not a dancer. When she spun around, she knocked Javier's glasses off his face and they went flying across the room. They didn't break. Everyone cracked up, including Javier.

Javier loves Miss Meglis. She never makes him feel dumb for knowing less English than most of us. She sometimes gives him extra help after school.

Javier was one of the best students in his school in Argentina, so he gets frustrated here sometimes. But at least here, he's one of the best soccer players.

The bell rang in the middle of Brianna naming possible stores for “We went to the store.”

When I was walking to school this morning, I saw Brianna getting out of her mom's car. She didn't see me. I started to say hi, but then I saw her face. She wasn't crying, but something was really bothering her. Brianna usually looks more grown up than most seventh graders, but today her face looked different—like a little girl.

Walking to our next class I thought about asking her if everything is okay, but I don't like when people ask me that, and she probably doesn't either. Especially when she's acting like her usual self. “Sean, should I redo my locker?”

This is one of those questions you don't really need to answer. Brianna
will
redo her locker. Maybe not today. But soon.

I guess we're not going to talk about whatever it was this morning.

After school I rushed home because I wanted to see if anything arrived from Los Angeles. I ran up the stairs, I slipped, I spilled some apple juice, I wiped it up, I
walked
up the stairs. I finally got to my room and opened Dan Welch's e-mail.

I'm confused.

I'm not saying this to brag, but I'm usually pretty smart. I get good grades (unless I don't like the subject or the teacher). When anyone in my family gets a new phone or computer, I'm the one who figures out how it works. So why can't I understand the Option Agreement that Dan Welch got by e-mail from the business affairs department?

First of all, why do they call it the business affairs department? Why isn't it just the business department? What do they mean by “affairs”? My grandmother, after the bar mitzvah in Detroit, said, “Except for that horrible emcee, it was a lovely affair.” Brianna told me that her mom had an affair because her dad had an affair. She wasn't talking about bar mitzvahs.

I was able to understand everything Stefanie V. President said at our meeting and wrote to Dan Welch, but this Option Agreement has whole pages that make no sense at all. If you think I'm exaggerating, try reading one paragraph. The blank parts are the name of the company.

This Agreement, including the terms contained in _________'s standard terms and conditions for an Artist incorporated herein by reference (subject only to such changes as may be mutually agreed in writing after good faith negotiations within _________'s standard parameters), contains the full and complete understanding between the parties and supersedes all prior agreements and understandings pertaining hereto and cannot be modified except by a writing signed by each party. Artist's sole and exclusive remedy for _________'s breach, termination, or cancellation of this Agreement or any term hereof (including any term pertaining to credit) shall be an action for damages and Artist irrevocably waives any right to equitable or injunctive relief. If _________ exercises the option by written notice but unlawfully fails to pay Artist the Purchase Price set forth in Paragraph 2 above within a reasonable period of time after _________'s receipt of written notice from Artist of such a failure and provided _________ is not entitled to any legal right of offset or withholding of the Purchase Price, then the rights to the Property (excluding any material written by Artist as a work made for hire for _________) shall revert to the Artist.

There are forty pages of that. The only part I like is that they call me the Artist. I started to print it out, but we only have twenty-three pieces of paper. I tried to read it, I really did. It's impossible. They probably expect you to just give up and say “I Agree.”

Here's what I can figure out. They'll pay me 500 dollars for the option of making a movie based on my idea. I looked up
option
. That means while they have the option I can't sell my movie to anyone else. So for 500 dollars they have three years to decide if they actually want to make my movie. If they still haven't decided, they can have two
more
years to think about it, if they give me another 500 dollars.

If they decide to make the movie, they'll “Purchase the Property” for 7,500 dollars, minus the 500 dollars (or 1,000 dollars) they already paid me. If they Purchase the Property, they own all rights to the plot, theme, title, characters, sequels, remakes, translations, and adaptations of my idea for motion pictures, television movies, television series, stage plays including musicals, books, merchandise, and theme park rides. They'll own these rights in perpetuity (that means forever) throughout the universe.

I think that means if I want to go on the
A Week with Your Grandparents
ride at a theme park on Mars in the year 2075, I have to pay just like everyone else, because they'll own it.

After that amazing Skype meeting, even after Stefanie's “We LOVE Sean” e-mail, I didn't think about how much money I would make. I was happy they liked my movie, and I was excited to be able to work on it with a big, successful entertainment company.

I knew it wouldn't be 100 million dollars, which is how much I think my big entertainment idea is worth. This is only one movie. But still, I never thought they would pay me so little.

I know how much money movies make. Everyone does, even if you don't read
The Hollywood Reporter
. It's in the newspaper, it's on TV, it's online. Movies from big companies like Stefanie's make millions of dollars, just in one weekend. And they cost millions of dollars to make. Why would the person who thought the whole thing up only get 7,500 dollars? It doesn't sound fair.

If they buy my idea, they own the characters. That makes me sad. It means I can't have any more ideas with Chris and Chloe. I like them. During history today I started thinking of another story with them.

And why do they need five years to decide if they want to make the movie? Stefanie said she wanted it five minutes after hearing it.

I don't understand any of this. On Friday I was like the happiest kid in the world and now I feel terrible.

I
don't know what to do. I want to ask Dan Welch, but unfortunately I can't. I could ask my parents. They're both smart and they like movies, but they don't know anything about the movie business. They never want to read my
Hollywood Reporter
.

I know there are lawyers in my town, but I seriously doubt that any of them ever worked on an Option Agreement for a movie.

Wait! I just remembered. A few months ago there was an article about the best lawyers in the entertainment business. Fortunately, I save all my
Hollywood Reporter
s. I picked a law firm that sounds good and found their phone number on the internet.

It isn't as late in Los Angeles as it is where I live, so I hit “record” on my digital voice recorder and called them.

She waited 3.6 seconds, then she hung up.

I couldn't figure out why, so I called back.

After 2.4 seconds, she hung up.

What is it with these people? For some reason, I decided to call again. For three reasons, actually. One, I don't like to give up. Two, if they know I have a forty-page Option Agreement from a huge famous company (everyone except Buzz knows them—
you
know them), they might at least talk to me about being my lawyer. And three, it's easier to hit
REDIAL
than start all over again.

Suddenly they were nice to me. I don't think she remembered me from my first call, which was only fifteen minutes ago. The hold music was very relaxing.

Actually, I wanted to throw up.