Reel Life Starring Us (25 page)

“That would be hard to watch,” Dina says. “But good idea.” She smiles, and maybe she's softening up to me. “But
we'll just tell people we're not going to go around sharing anything they don't want to share.”

Nobody comes. We just sit there and sit there and sit there.

“Well, maybe people have already gone home today,” Dina says. “It is the end of the day.”

I nod. Maybe she's right. There are so many things I want to bring up right now, but I don't bring up any of them. I don't ask her about Ross and I don't mention the video or my birthday party or anything. I want to bring them up, but I'm just not sure the best way to do it.

“I bet we'll have a ton of interviews tomorrow,” I tell Dina, trying to cheer her up. She looks defeated.

I look at the poster again.

COME BE INTERVIEWED FOR THE
“DAY IN THE LIFE OF A ROCKWOOD
HILLS STUDENT” VIDEO!
IT WILL BE SHOWN AT THE GALA!
MEET IN THE LIBRARY AFTER SCHOOL
UNTIL 5 P.M.!

“I have an idea!” I yell, and I'm actually beyond excited, because it's the first time in this whole process that I've even
had a single good idea. “This poster makes it sound boring! We need to make it more exciting. We need to prove that there's something in it for them.”

“Free food?” Dina laughs. “I could have my mom bring in pizza.”

I crack up. Dina's answer to everything is food, and it's hilarious. “Good idea, but no. Why don't we say something like, ‘Speak your mind about Rockwood Hills. Share an insider's opinion on the school. Be a reality star at the gala! Real life—starring you!'? Stuff like that!”

Dina smiles her closed-mouth smile. “I like it, but do you think people will go for it? Will they actually say anything we can use?”

“I think so,” I tell her. “It makes it sound exciting, a chance to make a name for themselves. A chance for them to speak their minds. That's what Sasha says people want, right?”

Dina agrees after a few minutes more of convincing, and we make new posters. We take the other ones down and recycle the paper and then hang the new ones up.

“I think we're getting somewhere,” I tell Dina as we're waiting for our moms in the parking lot. “Finally.”

“I hope so,” she says.

Dina's mom gets there before my mom does, and as I'm
waiting, I wonder more and more about the interviews, if people will really be honest. But I think it's all about the fact that people do want to be reality stars, and they want to be reality stars because they want to be remembered. I mean, that's the whole thing with Facebook, and documenting everything, right? Why else would people share every photo, every update, every video?

They want to be remembered, they want to be seen.

It's the same thing here.

Video tip: Make your subject feel at ease
and you'll get better footage.

Everyone's talking about our posters
the next day. The new and improved posters, that is.

People stop to look at them in the hallway. Even Mr. Valakis comes up to us after class to discuss them. “So you're interviewing all the students?” he asks. “Interesting idea.”

“And fun!” I add. “This way everyone's getting to be a star.”

“Well, remember it has to be five minutes,” he says. “We can't have this video be hours long. You girls have been quite secretive about this whole thing, and it's going to be very exciting to see it up on the big screen.”

“It totally will be,” Chelsea says.

• • •

We're in the library after school, and there's a line of people waiting to be interviewed. A real line!

“Okay, guys, we'll be calling you up one by one,” Chelsea yells out to everyone. Mr. Singer is behind the circulation desk, and he looks a little nervous, probably about all the noise.

“What? You're the one doing this?” a girl yells at Chelsea. “We can't say what we want to say in front of
you
.”

Chelsea just stands there.

“
You
think everything's perfect here! We can't speak our mind.”

“Calm down, it's okay.” I try to smooth things over, but instead everyone just gets more riled up.

“Yeah, little miss perfect life Chelsea Stern,” another girl says.

“Forget it—let's go,” people start saying.

“No, no, it's okay.” I stand in front of the door to try to get them to stay. We're running out of time, and this was our last idea. But it was our best idea. They should realize that by participating they're going to be a part of something big, something important, something that people will probably be watching for years and years to come.

“No, this is lame. Come on guys, let's go,” a boy says.

“That's what you guys really think?” Chelsea yells. “That my life is perfect all the time? That I love it here?”

Everyone stops. No one says anything.

“Well, I don't. I mean, I love it sometimes. But it's not perfect. I feel like an outsider even with my own friends. You guys all seem to hate me. Things aren't always so easy at my house.” She stops talking suddenly. Everyone's listening intently. “It's not perfect. Things are not always the way they seem.”

People remain quiet. I just look at Chelsea. I wonder how she feels after saying that. I wonder if she feels better. I wonder if everyone will see her differently now.

Only a few people leave; most stay and wait for the interviews.

Our first interviewee is a tall, lanky girl with long hair. I don't know her, and obviously Chelsea has never spoken to this girl in her life.

“So where should I start?” she asks.

I have the camera in my hand, and I'm ready to hit Record. “Anywhere you want.”

“Well, first of all, I can't believe that
you
”—she looks at Chelsea—“would even care to hear what other people think of the school. I'm surprised you're not just making this video of your own little friends.”

Chelsea stays quiet. Was this girl not listening when Chelsea gave that whole speech a few minutes ago?

“Delete that from the video,” the girl says. “I just had to get it off my chest.”

I nod. “Let's just start with your name and something interesting about yourself.”

“Interesting? Something I find interesting or something you guys would find interesting?” She crosses and uncrosses her legs, and leans back in the chair.

“Either,” I say.

“Well, I'm Christine Whitmore. And, um, I collect T-shirts. I have over four hundred T-shirts.” She laughs. “But that's probably not interesting. They're not cool; no one here thinks they're cool.”

I keep recording, and she goes on and on. “No one likes me here. Can that be in the video? People treat me like I'm some kind of freak because I don't play tennis and buy fancy clothes.” She goes on and on about all the ways she feels excluded and ostracized and then she says, “Happy anniversary, Rockwood Hills. This school's awful.” She gets up and walks away.

“She's always been so crazy,” Chelsea says. “Now she's even crazier! That was just a whole bunch of whining.”

“I don't know if she's crazy,” I say. “But it was whining.”

After that Kendall and Molly come skipping in, and they don't even acknowledge me except to ask me if the camera's on and if I'm ready to tape them.

“We're total stars,” Molly says. “You're gonna thank us for making your video so awesome.”

“Um, hmm,” I mumble. I can't believe I wanted to be friends with these people so badly. Worse than that is that I can't believe I still kind of do. But they're happy. They like it here. So why wouldn't I want to be a part of that?

That's what this is all about. That's what being popular is. The popular people seem happy, and so everyone wants to be friends with them. But if Chelsea's like the rest of them, it's all an act. Maybe none of them are as happy as they seem.

“Just go,” Chelsea says. I've never seen her act this way around them before. It's like she doesn't even care that they're here. She's not making eye contact with them. I wonder if they got into a fight.

I tell them to say their names and an interesting fact about themselves, because after Christine the T-shirt hoarder, I think it's a good way to get each clip started.

“I'm Kendall. I love shopping.”

Boring.

“I'm Molly. I collect shoes.”

Boring.

They go on and on about how Rockwood Hills is so great, how they love each other and the school.

But I don't know if I buy it.

And then after that it's interview after interview after interview of whining.

“Everyone thinks I'm a dork because I want to start a mathletes team,” this kid Keith says. “But I like math—that's the interesting thing about myself. I actually like math.”

Chelsea cracks up at that, which makes me crack up. I realize this is the exact opposite of how we're supposed to respond to a comment like that. But it's just funny, the way he says it.

“My dad's a pilot, for people's private planes. And I've met tons of famous people. But yet I'm known as the bloody-nose kid, just because I got bloody noses in fourth grade,” this kid Jordan says.

Sophia from my gym class goes on and on about how she likes to knit, and how in other places knitting is cool.

Even the Acceptables come in. They said they didn't want to be part of it, but I guess they do now.

“The thing about this place is that everyone wants to be like everyone else,” Maura says, and I think she's onto something. “That's just how it is. So no one wants to stand out.”

And we ask them how we can make the school better, what we could do, what everyone could do.

“If everybody could just be who they are and not worry
about it, it would be better,” this girl Abby Howard says. “Maybe that's cheesy and lame, but it's true.”

Finally, we're done with all the interviews. I'm tired and overwhelmed. Chelsea looks the same way. Her head's down on the table.

“I guess it's up to us to figure out what to do with all of this, how to turn it into something good,” I say. “We can't just show this raw footage.”

Chelsea sighs. “Yeah, you're right.”

I text Ross to tell him I'll be over soon to study, and Chelsea reads the text over my shoulder.

“You're hanging out with Ross again?” she asks, sounding more sad than angry.

“We're just studying.”

Chelsea and I walk out to the parking lot together. “I'll probably spend the whole time thinking about how to get this video done, anyway,” I say.

I say good-bye to Chelsea and find my dad's car. He was working from home today, so he's going to drop me off at Ross's house.

“Who's this Ross kid?” he asks.

“Just a person.” I smile.

“Just a person?” my dad mimics. “A little more info, please.”

“I don't know!” I yell. “He's a kid in my grade, Dad. What?”

He shakes his head. “Fine, don't tell me anything.”

I get to Ross's house and his housekeeper lets me in. I feel really bad that I've forgotten her name, but I was only at his house one other time. I just smile and say hello.

“Ross is upstairs,” she says.

Did he not hear the doorbell ring? Now I have to walk all the way up the twisty staircase by myself. And I don't know where his room is up there. I could be wandering around lost for a while—his house is really big.

He should be here to greet me.

And I'm not sure that I want to be alone with him in his room.

I tiptoe up the spiral staircase, but I don't know why I'm tiptoeing. It's late afternoon, not three in the morning or something.

I hear a door open as I'm walking up. Oh, please don't let it be his mom. Or his dad. That would be even worse.

“Dina?” I hear. It's Ross. “I thought I heard something.”

He's already changed out of what he was wearing at school—dark fancy jeans with a gray thermal. He's the only boy I know who can make a thermal look dressed up. Now he's wearing blue shorts and a Yankees T-shirt.

I wonder if I should tell him now or later that I'm a Red Sox fan. I wonder if he'll care that we're supposed to be big rivals.

“Come in, I'm typing up a study sheet,” he says.

I'm not sure if I'm ready to be alone in a boy's room. That may be pathetic since I'm in eighth grade, but I can't help it. It makes me nervous.

He sits on his bed, and I sit in the swivel desk chair. His room is really neat—way too neat for a boy's. Not that I've ever been in a boy's room before.

“Tell me about the New Deal,” he says.

So I do. I tell him all about President Franklin Delano Roosevelt and how he wanted to get things back on track during the Great Depression and how he started the fireside chats and all the new programs. I tell him that FDR is my favorite president.