My Life as a Stuntboy (7 page)

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Authors: Janet Tashjian

BOOK: My Life as a Stuntboy
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Four candy bars, two muffins, and three hot chocolates later, I almost need to be carried to the car.
“You think you overdid it, champ?” Tony asks.
I tell him I'm fine, but all I want to do is curl up on my bed with Bodi and sleep.
“You did a great job with the climb and the jump,” he says. “But
tomorrow's the real deal—will you be ready?”
“I've been ready my whole life,” I say. “See you at 8 A.M. sharp.”
I'm eternally grateful that my father doesn't spend the ride home yelling at me for indulging in too much sugar. Even though we take surface roads, the streets are clogged with traffic. Dad doesn't complain, and I begin to wonder if the aliens have returned to take over his brain again.
indulging
When my cell rings, I hope it's Matt so I can tell him about the free food and the stunts, but it's my mother asking if I had a fun day. I leave out the part about eating too many snacks and tell her I did.
“Well, that means you fulfilled clause number three in your
contract,” she says. “That just leaves numbers one and two.”
The thought of changing monkey poop when I get home makes me rush for the button to lower the window. The cool air feels good as I stick my head out of the car.
“Derek? Are you still there?”
I tell Mom I'm fine and we'll be home as soon as we can. I text Matt again but get no response.
confide
“I bet Matt wishes he could be there tomorrow. He must be pretty proud of you,” Dad says.
Since we're in rush-hour traffic that's not rushing, I decide to kill some time and confide in my father.
“I thought Matt would've been happy too,” I say, “but he's been kind of weird since this whole thing happened.”
“Really? Why didn't you tell me about it before?”
“I'm telling you now.” Yet again, the downside of being an only child: living under the parental microscope.
“I'm sure Matt could've done those stunts too,” Dad says. “I'd say you're both about the same skill level, wouldn't you?”
“Well, yeah, but I'm definitely the one to try new things first. The day Tony saw me, I walked up five flights of stairs just using the rails.”
“WHAT?” If we hadn't been in gridlocked traffic, I bet Dad would've pulled over the car.
“It was no big deal,” I lie. “I do it all the time.”
Dad calms down a bit. “I'm sure there were several reasons Tony chose you. There's size to consider—Matt's about fifteen pounds heavier than you. The stunt coordinator needs to match the stuntman to the actor in terms of height, weight, and coloring. You could've gotten the job for those reasons too.”
gridlocked
I stick my head back out the window. I liked it better when I thought I got the job because I was braver and faster, not because I was the right size.
When we finally get home, my mother hands me the phone. “Someone wants to hear all about your first day on the set.”
I grab the phone and start to tell Matt about the wall and the free food. Except it isn't Matt who I'm talking to; it's Carly. I continue
telling her about my day but it's with less enthusiasm than when I thought Matt was on the line. As we talk, I check my cell to see if there are any texts from Matt. There aren't.
Mom watches me lift Frank out of his cage and take him into the living room. She tells me I can hang out with Frank while she finishes cooking dinner. I take out my shoe box of miniature knights.
“Come on, Frank. Help me line them up on the table.”
“It's not our job to train him,” Dad says. “We're just helping him get used to living with humans.”
They've told me this numerous times, but that doesn't stop me from wanting to teach Frank a few simple tricks. I mean, Pedro fills Michael's water bottle; it seems only fair that I should get Frank to hand me a crummy old action figure.
numerous
irritation
When Mom calls us for dinner, I head for the kitchen.
“Derek!” Mom says with irritation. “Where's Frank?”
“He's okay. I'll get him.” I go back, get Frank, and put him in his cage. It's not like we live in the rain forest—how much trouble can a monkey get into watching TV?
When I see the platter of broccoli and fish, I tell Mom I'm still full from eating on the set. She says okay and tells me to rest up for my big day tomorrow. Because my stomach hurt earlier, she gives me a one-time pass to get out of changing Frank's diaper and sends me upstairs with my library book.
Instead, I settle onto my bed with Calvin and Hobbes, my sketchbook, and my favorite markers. But even Calvin and Hobbes can't make me feel better tonight—I'm too busy checking my cell every few minutes. I realize I'm being ridiculous. Matt is my best friend. If I want to tell him about my day, I can just call him. Again.
“I had a great time on the set,” I say to his voicemail. “You would've loved it. Call me.”
I spend the rest of the night pretending to read and waiting for Matt's call.
 
 
This time Dad brings work to the set. I'm not sure if it's because he's on deadline or because he wants to pretend he's busy so he won't make me nervous. Either way, I block him out and focus on Tony.
“Scene 22—your scene—is first up today, which means you won't have to spend a lot of time hanging around waiting. Let's get you to
wardrobe so you can put those pajamas on.”
“Is Tanya Billings here today?”
“Dude, right now you need to concentrate on climbing that wall in as few takes as possible, okay?”
production
I suddenly realize that any mistake on my part could hold up this whole production. I look around the set at more than a hundred crewmembers—electricians, sound guys, cameramen, assistants, makeup artists, producers, people from the studio, the director—and grasp the reality of the situation. I'm a kid who slips up a lot; there's always some teacher or neighbor or parent who wishes I'd done things differently. I imagine a crewmember with one of those chalk clapperboards announcing every take. “Scene 22, take 1.”
“Scene 22, take 2.” As I follow Tony across the set, the image intensifies: “Scene 22, take 87 … take 135.” Suppose I screw up and the director screams at me in front of everyone? Suppose they have to close down the movie and everyone loses their jobs? Before long, I am a few breaths away from a full-blown panic attack.
intensifies
scenario
“Derek, are you okay?” Tony asks.
I tell him about the scenario I've just created in my mind.
“With that imagination, you should be writing screenplays instead of doing stunts! What are you worried about? No one's asking you to perform brain surgery. You're climbing a wall, you're running an obstacle course—stuff you do every day. All
the director wants is for you to be you. You can't mess that up, right?”
My father magically appears next to us. It's as if his parent antennae alerted him that something was wrong from the other side of the set.
jitters
“You all right?” he asks.
“He's just got a case of the jitters,” Tony says. “He'll be fine.”
My father pretty much ignores Tony and looks me straight in the eyes. “You don't have to do this if you don't want to,” he says. “They'll move on to another scene and find a new stuntboy. Happens all the time.”
I can tell by the look on Tony's face that this is not the pep talk he was hoping for.
“On the other hand,” Dad says,
“if you want to use your natural instincts and show these people what a twelve-year-old boy is capable of, I suggest you go on out there and kick some butt.” He gives me a wink and holds open the door to the wardrobe trailer.
expectantly
When Tony looks at me expectantly, I realize the only person who would really get yelled at if I screw up is Tony. He took a chance on hiring me, and I'm not going to let him down.
“Give me a minute to get changed,” I say. “I've got a wall to climb.”

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