The Real Z

  “Finally!” Gigi said in a gorgeous British accent that made even the most mundane words (“bottle,” “water,” “class”) sound so much better. Her red hair was pulled into a high ponytail, and she had on flannel pj’s. (She’s from London, but her dad is a diplomat and she had mentioned earlier in the week that they were visiting DC. It was almost bedtime there.)

  “We can’t stand the suspense anymore!” Becka urged. “Look what you’re making me do: Pop-a-wheelies!” She spun her wheelchair in front of the screen, her blonde hair whipping around her face. Mari, Gigi, and I all applauded. “Now I’m dizzy! What’s going on?”

  I looked at my friends’ eager faces. I had known Mari forever, but Becka, Gigi, and I had only met last year at VidCon (one of the largest video conferences in the world) in Southern California. We like to say it was fate that our parents all took us and we happened to be in line behind one another to meet one of our favorite vloggers. We spent two hours nonstop chatting, and by the time we made it to the front of the line, we were already BFFs!

  We exchanged numbers, and soon Becka and I were sending each other silly videos (like the one I did of Popcorn and me ballroom dancing and one Becka made of herself doing the coolest basketball twirling hand trick I’d ever seen). Gigi goes with her dad a lot when he travels for work, and she liked to vlog about the cool foods she tried in different countries. When she did a post from South Korea about not liking Pocky sticks, I told her she had to try the chocolate-covered desserts again because they were the best thing ever! We were constantly sending each other snack packs. (Recently, I’d sent Gigi Crab Chips and she’d sent me hard-to-find Cadbury chocolate you can only get in the United Kingdom.)

  “Okay, ready?” I asked.

  “YES,” my friends shouted.

  “I got accepted to the CloudSong Film Festival. They want me to do a documentary about Seattle!” I shouted.

  All three of them squealed and yelled “congratulations!” and “well done!” (that was Gigi). Popcorn barked and chased her tail. I gave them all the details, including how I was being given three hundred dollars to help cover any expenses for the film.

  “There is this special camera mount that I’ve been dying to test out—you should definitely try to rent one!” Becka said. “It has six cameras going at once so you can basically get a panoramic shot. You’d be able to shoot some great views of Seattle like that.”

  “That is cool,” I agreed, writing down the words “panoramic camera mount.” “Maybe I can get a shot of the Seattle shipyards and the Locks using that.”

  “You could open on that shot,” Mari suggested.

  “Yeah, maybe,” I said. Dad and I liked watching the salmon swim upstream at the Locks, but we didn’t do it that often. Still, it was definitely famous.

  “Maybe you should rent a drone so you can fly a camera over the city and get amazing aerial shots of your favorite landmarks,” Gigi suggested.

  “Oh yes! That would be great for the Space Needle,” Mari said.

  “Yeah, that’s a good idea,” I agreed, and added “aerial shots” to my list. The judges would definitely want to see the Space Needle in a movie about Seattle, right?

  “Next question: What are you going to wear if you appear on camera?” Mari asked. “Because I already have some thoughts. You look great in greens. I can even lend you green rain boots if you’re shooting in the rain.” Her eyes lit up. “And you could do a segment on Seattle fashion. You love Beat Street Thrift Store.”

  “I got my directing hat there,” I said, and grabbed my purple beanie off my desk. I placed it on my head. “Maybe I could interview you there!”

  “I can be in your movie?” Mari asked.

  “Of course!” I said.

  Fashion, friends, aerial views of Seattle, and panoramic shots of the city. Plus, stops at all the landmarks I talked about with Mom and Dad. Wow, there was a lot to squeeze into a ten-minute movie! I remembered what Mom said about movies needing a vision, but I wasn’t sure I had one yet. I had a lot of pieces so far, but no idea how they all fit together. I had a lot of work to do.

  “Thanks, guys,” I told my friends. “You’ve given me awesome new ideas.”

  “I’ll send you links to some of that camera equipment,” Becka said.

  “And I’ll send you this great video about planning your shots. The girl who posted it made everything in her vlog look cool and artsy,” Gigi said, yawning. “Sorry! Definitely have to go to sleep soon.”

  “I’ll bring over wardrobe choices,” Mari added.

  They were all being so helpful, but I felt my brain beginning to fog up—it was a lot to process. “Perfect.” I looked at my list. It was twice as long as it was before.

  “Ring if you need help,” said Gigi. “We’re headed to Buenos Aires this week, but you know how to find me.” We all oohed. Gigi went to the coolest places.

  After we all said our good-byes, and Becka and Gigi’s video screens went dark, it was just Mari and me. I pulled my purple beanie cap down on my head and stared at my Brainstorm Board, my thoughts swirling. I was in director mode! Vision. I needed to make sense of all these notes and find my vision.

  “Oh! Another lightbulb,” Mari said. “Maybe you should film my band playing at the Beanery on Tuesday. I mean, if you want.”

  I didn’t really need any more ideas for my documentary, but listening to Mari’s band was one of my favorite things to do. “That would be really cool. Besides, I already have my fan tee made.” I ran over to my closet and pulled out the purple shirt I’d been working on. I’d torn the sleeves off, added black bubble-paint lettering that said Needles in a Haystack, and drew a simple picture of the Seattle Space Needle (the inspiration for the band’s name).

  Mari came over and thumbed the dried bubble paint. “This shirt is ah-mazing! Z, you might have a side career in the music tee business.”

  “I’m a little busy for that,” I joked, pulling on my hat again. “I’ve got a movie to make first.” I sighed and turned back to the Brainstorm Board, jumping back into Z Director Mode.

  “Z, don’t worry,” Mari said as she patted me on the back. “Your movie is going to be great—especially if I’m in it.” We both laughed. Mari was right, worrying wasn’t going to get me anywhere. There was no time to waste.

  Open with a fade-in of my house, then cut to me sitting on my front steps. I’ll introduce viewers to Seattle starting small—my house, my block, my neighborhood. Hmm … Is that flashy enough? Maybe I should start with the Locks or the Space Needle instead, like Mari suggested? But where would I go from there? Hmm … What if I …

  “Z?”

  Oh, I could maybe do one of those 360-degree views of my street if I rent that …

  “Z? Do you have the answer?”

  I looked up, startled.

  Ms. Garner was standing in front of the SMART Board with her pointer tapping at a multiplication fraction equation. My math teacher’s eyes were only on me. I could hear my classmates trying to hold in their laughter. I glanced at Lauren, who was sitting in the row across from me. She bit her lip.

  I quickly snapped to attention. “Yep!” I said, and tried to stall for time. “I just need one more second to figure this out.” I scrawled some numbers on my notebook as I tried to think of the answer. I peeked at the board again. Whew! Thankfully this question wasn’t too hard and I knew the answer. “If you simplify three-sixths and make it one-third and multiply it by two-thirds, the answer would be … two-ninths.”

  Mrs. Garner gave me a meaningful look. “That is correct, Z. Thank you for contributing to the class discussion.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said, feeling my cheeks start to burn. That was close! I didn’t take my eyes off the board for the remainder of class. When it was time to leave and head to our free period, Lauren was waiting for me in the hall.

  “You are so lucky you’re good at math,” she said once we were out of earshot of Ms. Garner’s room. We headed down the crowded hallway, dodging and weavi
ng past groups of students. “I would have been toast.”

  “No, I was just lucky it was an easy question,” I said as we turned down a new hall and headed toward the media room. It was off the library and had banks of computers that students could use for projects. It was also where Camera Club met twice a week during free period with Mr. Mullolly, our faculty advisor. Each week, we made a news segment about school happenings that was shown on the SMART Boards in the classrooms on Friday afternoons.

  “Oh, by the way,” Lauren told me as we neared the media room, “I got really inspired after soccer practice last night and wrote a script for a new AGSM video! I’m calling it ‘The Horrible Homework Hacker.’” Lauren whipped some pages out of a binder and handed them to me. “Be honest and tell me if it’s any good.”

  “I’m sure it’s great,” I said, sticking the pages in my shiny silver-and-green polka-dot folder. It was where I kept my ideas for Camera Club. “I love the title!”

  “Good.” Lauren grinned. “I’m so excited about the story! We should get together one day this week and finish up our Kit gold rush video so you can concentrate on the CloudSong project.”

  “I’ve got the Kit stuff under control,” I told her. “There are just voice-overs and sound to add in.”

  “I want to help you,” Lauren insisted. “It’s a group project. You shouldn’t have to do it alone.”

  “Hi, girls,” Mr. Mullolly interrupted as the bell for class rang. He rushed past us. “Coming to the meeting?”

  I smiled. Mr. Mullolly was one of my favorite teachers. He drew funny pictures on the SMART Board every day, and shared my love of old movies. “Wouldn’t miss it,” I said, rushing in the door behind him. I scanned the crowded room for seats and saw two people waving to us. Andrew and Maddie had saved us seats. The four of us had met last fall when we all joined Camera Club.

  “We thought you got lost,” Andrew said as I slid into a chair across from Maddie, who was reading the sports section of the school newspaper. She passed it over to me and pointed to a picture of Lauren scoring the winning goal at last Saturday’s game.

  “Nice one, Lauren,” Maddie said, her brown eyes bright. “You’re putting this school on the Seattle map.”

  “So are you, Miss No-Hitter,” Lauren said, and Maddie’s cheeks reddened. She covered her face with her curly brown hair, but Andrew nudged her shoulder.

  “Don’t be embarrassed!” he told her. “You won us the game!”

  Andrew and Maddie were on the baseball team. Maddie was their ace pitcher and the only girl in the league!

  Maddie always fought Lauren over who got to cover sports, and Andrew and I battled it out over who got the juiciest news assignment of the week, but it was friendly competition.

  “Okay, before we get started, I want to share the great response we got to last week’s show,” Mr. Mullolly said, and the room settled down. “Everyone is still talking about the interview some of you did with Quackers the football mascot last week. Everybody got a kick out of Andrew’s quacking translations.” Andrew stood up and bowed. We all cheered. “Maybe we should consider a follow-up story since people keep stopping me in the halls asking who the real Quackers is. Any takers?” Maddie’s hand shot up. “Okay, Maddie, it’s yours.” Mr. Mullolly went through a few more segments we had done and talked about some upcoming school events we needed to cover. Lauren and I volunteered to cover the soccer team’s first night game against Riverside in a few weeks. Lauren would do the “team bench” report during the game and I would film fan reactions.

  “And now the bad news,” Mr. Mullolly said, and held up the camera we all took turns using for filming. “Our camera broke this past weekend when it was accidentally tripped over at the football game.” Everyone groaned. “I know, bad luck. Worse, the repair costs are so high that it might not even be worth saving.”

  Maddie spoke up. “But it’s the only camera we have. How are we supposed to film our segments?”

  Everyone mumbled in agreement. I felt my heart drop. This was my favorite school activity. I really hoped the club wouldn’t be canceled till we could buy a new camera.

  “I spoke to the principal and there’s not enough money left in the budget this spring to replace the camera,” Mr. Mullolly said. “And I know we have already agreed we need more than one camera for a group this big anyway. In the meantime, we’re just going to have to improvise.” He smiled. “You guys are reporters. I know you can think on your feet.” Some of the kids looked skeptical.

  “This stinks,” Andrew said, leaning in so only Lauren, Maddie, and I could hear. “People are finally talking about our videos and now we can’t even make one.”

  “Maybe we can use our phones,” I suggested.

  “That doesn’t look professional,” he grumbled, pushing his light brown hair out of his eyes. “Everyone films on their phones.”

  “Andrew has a point,” I said.

  Maddie rolled her eyes. “Don’t encourage him, Z! He’s being a downer.” Andrew poked her shoulder, and she poked him back. “It’s true!”

  “What can we do?” I said. “It’s not like we can come up with the kind of money to buy a new camera.”

  “Maybe we could win the money,” Andrew said. “Everyone tell their parents to play the lottery.”

  Maddie and Lauren laughed, but I froze. Win the money. Maybe I could do that!

  “Hold on a second. Andrew isn’t crazy,” I said. “Maybe we could win the money.” My friends looked at me. “I just got accepted to a film festival, and if my film is the top entry, I win fifteen hundred dollars.”

  “Whoa!” Andrew leaned back in his chair. “That’s enough for Mariners season tickets!”

  “Or new video equipment,” Lauren said. “Z, you’d really do that if you won?”

  “Why not?” I said with a shrug. “I already have my own equipment at home, and this way I’d still get to use the new camera to film Maddie and Andrew decorating the gym for Spring Bash or Lauren winning a soccer game.”

  “Those things are all going to happen, so you better win that contest fast,” Andrew teased. “Seriously, Z, it would be so cool if you did that.”

  I felt good inside. Maybe CloudSong would turn out to be more than just my chance to prove I was a real filmmaker. Maybe it would be my chance to help my club, too.

  Still pumped up from our conversation in the Camera Club meeting, I decided to shoot a rainy day scene with Popcorn as soon as I got home from school. Mom and I had watched a video Gigi had sent of a girl filming herself on a walk that made you feel like you were actually in the girl’s shoes. It looked really cool. I wrangled Popcorn into her raingear so I could give it a try. Once we were outside, I got out my camera and began to record. It wasn’t raining at the moment, but there were plenty of puddles, and everything was wet from the day’s showers.

  “Popcorn takes a walk, take one,” I said as I held the camera out in front of me and started walking down the quiet street.

  I zoomed in tight on Popcorn’s raincoat and adorable hat and filmed a shot of her sniffing the grass. Then I slowly zoomed out so that the viewer could see our whole street, from the different style houses to the gardens and hilly lawns. As Popcorn trotted along happily, I held the camera steady.

  Then Popcorn spotted her archenemy: the squirrel.

  Popcorn began barking like crazy and tugged on the leash. I tried to hold on tight as the squirrel went up the nearest tree and Popcorn attempted to follow. I tried pulling Popcorn away—even though this was a pretty sweet action scene. Then the squirrel jumped and took off down the sidewalk. Popcorn darted after her, and I struggled to hang on to my camera. In the process, I felt Popcorn’s leash slip out of my hand.

  “Popcorn, wait!” I panicked, running down the sidewalk after her as she took off at a full sprint. The squirrel dove left into the street, and Popcorn tore off after her, just as a car came cruising by.

  “Popcorn!” I screamed. The car screeched to a stop, and Popcorn kept going to t
he other side of the street where the squirrel went up the tree and disappeared. Popcorn sat down, wagging her tail, and looked over at me as if to say, What? My heart was pounding out of my chest as I held up my hand to the car to thank the driver for stopping, looked both ways, and dashed across the street after my dog. When I reached her, I pulled her in tight.

  “Don’t … ever … do … that … again,” I told Popcorn. Popcorn just wagged her tail.

  “Z!” Mom cried, running down the block. “I just pulled in and heard a squeal of tires.” She leaned down to me and Popcorn, placing a hand on both of us. I could see worry written all over her face. “What happened?”

  “I was trying to shoot a scene with Popcorn, but she spotted a squirrel and I was trying to hold on to my camera and she got away from me. I couldn’t keep hold of her leash.” My eyes welled with tears, and Popcorn tried to lick my face.

  “She’s okay,” Mom said, pulling me in for a hug. “And you are, too, thank goodness, but you can’t be careless, Z. You’re trying to do too much at once. You could have waited and asked me for help.”

  “You’re right,” I admitted, wiping my eyes with the back of my sleeve. “I shouldn’t have tried to do everything alone.” I felt a drop fall on my head and looked up. It was starting to rain again.

  “Come on,” Mom said. “Let’s get home before it starts to pour.” We both held on to Popcorn’s leash for safekeeping. My heart was still beating fast. I kept seeing Popcorn darting in front of that car.

  Mom started humming to herself.

  “What song is that?” I asked.

  “Oh!” Mom looked embarrassed. “It’s ‘Singin’ in the Rain.’” I looked at her blankly. “You know, from that movie with Gene Kelly.” I shook my head. “It’s a classic! I show it to my students every term.” Mom started singing the song this time and I paid attention to the words.

  I’m singing in the rain, just singin’ in the rain

  What a glorious feeling, I’m happy again.

  And that’s when I got it—a flash of genius, as my mom would call it.