Stacey's Movie

“Maybe,” she said, squeezing his hand. “For your sake, I hope it gets smoother.”

  They say that Einstein’s great theory of relativity came to him in a dream. I can’t say anything that spectacular occurred to me while dreaming. But here’s what did happen.

  I went to bed Friday night feeling very uneasy. Was I worried about the movie? That sounded likely, but I felt it might be more than that.

  When I finally fell asleep, I had a crazy dream. I was in the outback of Australia. The landscape was dry and covered with scrubby bushes, and somehow I just knew that’s where I was. (In dreams you know things like that. Besides, a kangaroo hopped by.) But in the middle of this unfamiliar landscape stood SMS. The entire building was plunked down right there! Ms. Murphy sat cross-legged on the roof. She smiled and waved to me. A bunch of kids ran by the front of the school, laughing. Kristy ran after them with her camera to her eye, trying to film them. And that’s when I woke up.

  The moon was shining on my face, and for a second I wasn’t sure where I was. “Weird dream,” I muttered. Then I rolled over and fell asleep again.

  But in the morning I woke with a great idea, and I think I can thank the dream for it.

  I called Erica, Pete, and Emily. They agreed to come over around lunchtime. When they showed up, we gathered in my living room, and that’s when I sprang it on them. “The problem with our movie is that it’s dumb,” I said.

  “What’s dumb about it?” Erica protested.

  “It’s not dumb,” Pete objected at the same time. “It’s supposed to be fun, and it is.”

  Emily just sat quietly on the couch wearing a thoughtful expression.

  “All right,” I continued. “Maybe dumb is the wrong word. What I mean is … it’s not important. Ms. Murphy is making documentaries about native peoples of Australia and kids with serious eating problems. We’re just playing around. Why can’t we think of something more meaningful and do a documentary about it?”

  “Ms. Murphy didn’t say we had to do a documentary,” Pete said. “It sounds so boring.”

  “It doesn’t have to be,” I argued. “Kristy, Logan, Anna, and Alan are doing one about the funny things kids do.”

  “What do you want to document?” Erica asked.

  I remembered my dream. Now I saw clearly what it meant. SMS is a world unto itself. It has its own culture worth exploring, just like that of the Aborigines. (All right, maybe that was stretching it a bit, but it was the same idea.) “Ourselves,” I answered. “We’ll explore the culture of kids at SMS.”

  “I don’t get it.” Pete said.

  Emily sat forward. “We could interview kids at school, our friends,” she said, obviously excited by my idea. “It would be so much more meaningful than our thriller — and easier. There would be a lot less to set up.”

  “I like the easier part,” Pete admitted.

  “Yeah, easier is good,” Erica agreed. “But what would we ask them?”

  There was a moment of silence as we thought about this. “How they feel,” I said after a moment. “What it’s like to be a middle school student.”

  “Do you think anyone could answer that?” Pete said skeptically. “I’m not sure I could.”

  Emily stood up. “Let’s see if you can,” she suggested.

  “What do you mean?” Pete asked.

  “Stacey, do you have a video camera?” she asked.

  I nodded. “And I already have permission to use it.” I ran to the front hall and found it on a shelf. It was loaded with a blank cassette.

  “Okay, Erica, you’re the director,” Emily said. “Where do you want Pete to sit?”

  She shrugged. “Outside?”

  “Okay,” she agreed. “Let’s go outside.” It was a beautiful, warm day. We sat Pete on my front stoop so that the planter of tulips on the steps would show.

  “I don’t want to sit in a bunch of flowers,” Pete objected.

  “Oh, I guess that’s not manly enough,” Emily teased. She suggested he move over by a maple tree. “Is that more masculine?”

  He made a face at her but sat in front of the tree.

  Switching on the camera, I aimed the lens at Pete. “This is Pete Black,” I said. “Pete, what’s it like to be a middle school student?”

  “I told you, I couldn’t answer that,” he replied, shrugging.

  “Maybe we have to find another way to put it,” Erica said.

  “Pete, what’s the most difficult thing in your life?” Emily asked suddenly.

  “Don’t you think that’s a little personal?” Pete replied.

  “If we only ask polite questions, we’ll only get polite answers,” Emily said. “We need to be personal.”

  “It seems to me that interviewers on TV — people like Oprah — start out polite and then slowly become more personal,” I pointed out.

  “All right,” Emily said. “Pete, how was your day so far today?”

  “The best,” Pete replied. “I love doing homework on a gorgeous Saturday.”

  “Come on, Pete, be serious,” Emily scolded him.

  “Okay. My day’s been interesting so far,” Pete said more seriously. “I mean, I didn’t expect to be doing this at all. I figured I’d just call some guys and hang out. And then I received this unexpected phone call from Stacey. That’s all right, though. I like it when life is surprising. There aren’t enough surprises in life.”

  “Do you think everyone’s life is lacking in surprise or just yours?” Emily asked.

  “I think when you’re older life might become more interesting. Like, say, if I could drive, then maybe I could go somewhere. And, actually, I can drive. I know how to. I’m just not allowed to. That annoys me, makes me feel stuck.”

  “Would you say being stuck is the most difficult part of being thirteen?” she questioned.

  “You know, it might be. I feel as if I can really handle a lot of things I’m not allowed to do. Like a job. I’m sick of mowing lawns and delivering papers to earn money. I know I could handle a job in the mall, where I’d make better money. I could work a cash register or wait on people. But I can’t get a job like that until I’m sixteen. That’s not fair. Why can’t I take a test to see if I’m qualified? Why does everything have to be based on age?”

  “Why do you want to earn so much money?” Erica asked.

  “So I can buy a car and go somewhere!” Pete answered with unexpected heat. “And I want to make sure I can go to college when the time comes — because I don’t want to be stuck here in Stoneybrook all my life.”

  “What’s wrong with Stoneybrook?” I asked from behind my camera.

  “Nothing! I’m just sick of it!” he cried.

  “Cut!” Erica shouted.

  “That was great!” I said, switching off the camera. “It was interesting, and you got around to some personal stuff.”

  Pete seemed uneasy. “Did I sound stupid?”

  “No way!” Erica insisted. “I bet a lot of kids feel that way. I know I do. It helps to hear someone else talk about the same things you’re feeling.”

  “Really?” he asked.

  “Yes!” Emily said. “This is definitely going to work. We can interview our friends, but we should talk to other kids too. Kids who hang out together tend to be alike in a general way. We’re going to have to interview kids we don’t know as well too, maybe even kids we don’t really like.”

  “Kids we don’t like don’t like us either,” Erica pointed out. “They might not talk to us.”

  “But we don’t all know and like the same kids, so we’ll work something out,” Emily replied.

  “Are we going to keep my interview in the film?” Pete asked.

  “Well, I’m the editor,” Emily answered. “When I see all the interviews together I’ll decide which are the most interesting, revealing ones and then I’ll cut out the rest. Do you want to be in it?”

  “I’m not sure,” he admitted. “Part of me feels strange about it, but now that it’s filmed, another part thinks it might be
cool to be in a movie.”

  “We’ll probably keep yours,” Emily said. “I’m sure it will be one of the best ones.”

  I was really excited about our idea. I was out of the scriptwriting business. Now I’d be writing questions for us to ask. And it looked as if I’d be conducting interviews too. I was kind of nervous about that. I knew Pete — and he’d surprised me with his answers. What other unexpected things was I going to learn about my classmates and friends?

  “Thanks for doing this, Abby,” I said. It was Monday during lunch. My film crew and I had decided to interview Abby, and she’d agreed.

  We wanted her to sit in the field at the side of SMS. We’d film her so that there was mostly blue sky in the background. As director, Erica had decided that would be pretty striking.

  “Abby, turn your head more toward the school,” Erica directed.

  “Why?”

  “I just think it will look better that way.”

  Abby smiled at me. “Oh, these temperamental directors,” she joked.

  I returned her smile as I sat facing her cross-legged. “And, roll ’em.” Erica signaled Pete to start filming. He put the camera to his eye and began moving around us, which was a little distracting. I did my best to ignore him.

  As the interviewer, I had decided to use the technique that had worked so well with Pete. “So, Abby, how has your day been so far?”

  “Long!” Abby said. “Extremely long.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Every morning my mother’s alarm goes off at five. Five! And it’s so loud. I can never go back to sleep, but at that hour I can’t think clearly enough to do anything very useful. I try to catch up on school reading, since I’m always behind in that. That’s not easy because Mom actually starts leaving messages on people’s voice mail in the office while she’s getting dressed in her bedroom.”

  She stopped and laughed softly. “Still in her nightgown and she’s already bugging people for stuff. So, she’s blabbing away, then Anna starts practicing her violin at about six-thirty. It’s not easy to read under those conditions.”

  I smiled at her sympathetically. “Sounds rough.”

  “I know. Poor me. I don’t mean to whine. Maybe it’s because soccer season has started, but it all seems like too much.”

  I tried to think of a probing question, something that would make interesting film footage. “What’s your favorite part of the day?” I asked. (Weak, I know.)

  “Bedtime!”

  That answer kind of cut things dead. I couldn’t think of where to go from there. We just sat staring at each other.

  “Oh, very funny.” Emily broke the silence. “I don’t believe it. Bedtime isn’t your favorite.”

  “I suppose not,” Abby agreed. “I like soccer. And gym can be fun. BSC meetings are cool. And I like to baby-sit. I don’t know. There are so many favorite parts that I can’t fit them all into one day. I mean I can and I do. But it’s really a lot sometimes.”

  “It sounds as though you’re like your mother,” Emily observed. “Maybe you both like to fill your schedules with more than you can handle.”

  “No way!” Abby cried. “She’s exactly who I don’t want to be like.”

  “She’s got too much to do and so do you,” Emily went on. “You’re going from morning until night, just like she is.”

  Abby jumped to her feet. “That’s not true!” She stopped as a horrified expression swept her face. “Wow! What if it is true? I never thought of it like that. You might be right. But I don’t want to live my life like that — always rushed and pressed for time.”

  She began to wander away from the camera. “Abby, where are you going?” I called after her.

  “Sorry, I have to go think about this,” she said in a distracted way. “I really can’t talk anymore.” She continued walking toward the school.

  “Cut!” Erica instructed Pete.

  I turned to my film crew. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think she’d just walk away like that.”

  “Are you kidding?” Emily said gleefully. “Do you know how great that’s going to be on film? We captured a person experiencing a profound revelation. It was … real-life drama!”

  * * *

  “Roll ’em!” Erica cried.

  It was after school that same day. Pete aimed his camera at Jessi, who was seated under a willow tree near the edge of the school grounds. “How was your day, Jessi?” Emily asked. (She and I had agreed to take turns conducting the interviews.)

  “Good, I guess,” she answered. She seemed a little nervous and glanced at me. I nodded encouragingly. “I just had regular classes. I don’t have ballet class this afternoon, so I have a little time to kill between now and our BSC meeting. Do you want to hear about the BSC?”

  “Maybe later,” Emily said. “Right now, I’d like to know what you do with the in-between time.”

  “Well, often I take ballet classes, which I love. Dance is very important to me. I also read. Horse books are my favorite.”

  “What else do you do in your spare time?” Emily asked.

  Jessi shrugged. “Not much. I used to go to Mallory’s house. She’s my best friend, even though now she’s going to boarding school.”

  “So, you’ve recently lost your best friend?” Emily asked.

  “Not that recently. A few months ago. I have other friends, but not many who are my own age.”

  “Or from your own African-American back-ground,” Emily added.

  I cringed when she said that. It seemed almost rude.

  “That’s not exactly true,” Jessi answered. “I have African-American friends — and some Latina ones too — in New York City. I met them when I was involved in a dance program called Dance New York. I’m still in touch with them. Two of my friends came up for a sleepover not long ago. They got along great with my other friends from Stoneybrook.”

  “How was that experience for you?” Emily asked.

  “Fun,” Jessi replied.

  “No problems?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe I sometimes feel as if my Stoneybrook friends will be bored if I go on and on about dance. I think even Mallory was bored when I talked about it too much. But with my dance friends, I can talk forever about the difficulty of performing certain steps and jumps and also the fun of it. It was a little weird being part of two such different groups.”

  “Is it also easier to be around other kids from similar backgrounds?” Emily asked. I wished she’d stop with that line of questioning.

  “Not really,” Jessi answered. “Before Stoneybrook, I came from a pretty integrated town in New Jersey. I’m used to being around white kids.”

  White kids — that sounded so strange coming from Jessi. It never occurred to me that she might think of us as white kids.

  “But doesn’t it put a strain on you, being a minority here in Stoneybrook?”

  “Emily,” I cut in. “Do you think this is really —”

  “It’s okay.” Jessi cut me off. She turned back to Emily. “You know, no one has ever asked me that before. But it’s true. It can be a strain.”

  My jaw fell open. I hadn’t realized that.

  “I feel it more now that Mallory is gone. Before, I was never alone, but without Mallory I am. I’m suddenly more aware that I stand out, that I’m different.”

  “How does that affect you?” Emily asked.

  “I feel that I always have to be on my best behavior. I can never look messy, or act dumb, or goof off on my schoolwork. I feel almost as if I’m representing my race in a white world, and sometimes I resent the pressure.”

  Boy, was I shocked to hear that.

  “And you feel more relaxed with your Dance New York friends?” Emily inquired.

  I breathed in deeply, waiting for her to say no.

  “Yes. I suppose that I have more in common with them and I don’t feel I always have to be perfect.”

  “Jessi,” I cried softly.

  It was almost as though she’d forgotten I was there. Once
I spoke, she looked slightly panicked. “But my friends here are great,” she added. “Really, they’re the best.”

  “But you don’t feel totally relaxed with them?” Emily prompted.

  “They’re older than me,” Jessi replied. “That makes a difference. And I suppose being the only African-American in the group does make me feel different sometimes.”

  I became aware that Pete was now filming me, instead of Jessi. He must have felt that the amazed, distressed expression on my face was as much a part of this interview as Jessi’s words.

  * * *

  “What’s wrong? I’m not good enough to be in your film?”

  That was how Cokie Mason greeted us on Tuesday morning. Emily, Erica, and I were standing at my locker discussing who to interview next.

  The last person we’d have thought of was Cokie. Even though she runs with a crowd of kids some might consider popular, none of us particularly likes her or her friends.

  But here was the opportunity we’d been waiting for — the chance to interview someone we disliked. The three of us exchanged glances.

  “We’ll interview you, Cokie,” Emily spoke up.

  Judging from Cokie’s expression, this shocked her. She’d probably been expecting an argument. “Okay,” she said in a small voice.

  “Meet us outside at lunchtime,” Erica told her.

  “I’m not skipping lunch,” Cokie protested.

  Typical Cokie. Even after we agreed to what she wanted, she gave us a hard time. “Then come after you eat,” I said.

  That afternoon, she showed up fifteen minutes after lunch began. Cokie thought it would be “cool” if she sat on the back end of a car in the parking lot. She then spent almost ten minutes selecting the nicest and cleanest car. Finally, though, she was seated and ready.

  “Let’s roll.” Erica signaled Pete.

  “Wait, wait,” Cokie said, sliding off the car trunk.

  “Cut!” Erica yelled. “What is it?”

  “I forgot to fix my makeup.” Cokie dug around in her shoulder bag. We sighed and waited for her to touch up her eye shadow, liner, and lipstick in the side mirror of the car.

  “You look gorgeous, now come on,” Emily prodded her as she fussed with her hair.