The Real Z

  During the next several days, I re-watched my movie over and over again. I pulled scenes apart in separate windows and tried to figure out which parts were working and which weren’t. I had two columns. On the left were the scenes that I felt worked: Mari’s band in the rain, me on my front porch, walking through the neighborhood with Popcorn, and the footage at the Beanery and Sweet Treats. On the right were all my interviews and pretty generic shots of Seattle. Becka was right: The landmark footage and the drone shots of the Locks felt like they belonged in a different movie. If I ever shot a tourist film of Seattle, I’d break them back out, but for this film, they were gone. That meant I was losing almost three minutes of my ten-minute movie. Gulp.

  Mom popped in one afternoon while I was working on my laptop. “How’s the editing coming?” she asked, carrying in a glass of iced tea and some cookies on a plate. Popcorn picked her head up from my bed when she saw the food.

  “Not great,” I admitted, and spun around in my computer chair to face her. “Mom?” I hesitated. “Have you ever made a movie and realized too late that your movie doesn’t have a story to tell?”

  “Hmm … that’s a big problem,” Mom said, sitting down on my bed by Popcorn. “But I’ve had it happen.” I looked at her in surprise. “It’s easy to lose your way on a project. You get so caught up in the details sometimes your story gets lost in the shuffle.”

  “That sounds familiar,” I told her. “I was so worried about making this movie the best ever that now it looks like someone else’s film. My hands made it, my brain made it, but I’m not sure my heart’s in it. It’s not me.”

  Mom laughed and walked over to me. “So what happened?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrugged. “I guess I got so carried away listening to what everyone else thought I should include that I forgot what I wanted my movie to say in the first place. And it’s like we talked about in the archive. I kept trying to act like I knew what I was doing but didn’t stop to really figure it out.” I looked at Mom. “Now I don’t know how to fix this.”

  “Want to show me what you have already and we can try to figure out the problem?” Mom asked.

  I nodded. I pulled up my movie and pressed PLAY. Mom watched quietly and then at the end she looked at me. “I’m going to ask you the same question I ask my students: What is this movie trying to show the viewer?”

  I was stumped. “I don’t know,” I said. “I wanted it to show things about me and my life here, but I think I forgot to include enough me in my story.” Mom nodded, encouraging me to go on. “It’s, like, I have a lot of cool pieces—like, my friends and my time with Popcorn and stuff, but then I added in all these other things that keep my story from fitting together.”

  Mom nodded again. “I see that.” She squeezed my hand. “I think you’re making progress here. Finding your story can be the hardest part of filmmaking.” She smiled. “I have no doubt you can find yours.”

  What was my Seattle story? I wondered. I looked at my footage, listed out in the two columns. I wasn’t exactly sure yet, but I had a feeling I was getting closer to figuring it out. I needed to take a risk now with this movie. I didn’t want this to be a movie about any old person’s experience of Seattle. I wanted it to be about my Seattle.

  My Seattle.

  Z’s Seattle.

  Zeattle?

  I thought about the idea more and more. In between classes, during breakfast, while watching TV, I wrote lists about what I loved about my life in Seattle. I knew if I wrote down all the things that made my city my own, I’d figure out what I’d been missing.

  “Would you guys want to watch a short film about one person’s real life in Seattle?” I asked Becka and Gigi when I video chatted with them that afternoon. Mari and Lauren were over so we could work on posters for Lauren’s soccer tournament that coming weekend. “Something that showed you what a person was like, who their friends were, what their family was like, and how they had the most amazing dog in the world?” Popcorn barked as if on cue.

  Becka and Gigi laughed.

  “Now that sounds like a movie I want to see!” Becka said. “What are you thinking?”

  Lauren and Mari had walked closer to my computer to hear more. “I’m thinking of calling it ‘Zeattle’. Get it? Z’s Seattle? And it would be a typical day in the life. Something that would make you feel like you know me, even if you don’t.”

  “Nice!” Mari marveled.

  “Right? And it would have to be really authentic—the real Z.” I went on, cautiously, “Like, how the real me worries that I don’t know what I’m doing all the time.”

  “Is that true?” Mari frowned. “You always act like you know what you’re doing.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t! I try to be upbeat, but sometimes I wonder if the ideas I have are good enough.”

  “Z, your ideas are gold!” Lauren scolded me. “You should have told us you were stressing out.”

  “I know, but I wanted you guys to think I knew what I was doing. I love vlogging and making AGSMs, and I try to be the best I can be for the Z Crew, but sometimes I sort of drown in the pressure,” I told them. “I think I got so caught up in trying to win CloudSong that I forgot what I liked about making films in the first place.”

  “At least you’re trying!” Lauren said. “I wish I could admit when I needed some help. On the field, no one can get in my way, no matter if I’m doing an outside of the foot pass, a double scissors move and a chip shot, or whatever, but give me a timed test and I break out in a cold sweat. I never tell anyone that.”

  “Same here,” Becka said quietly. “I hardly ever tell people that being in this wheelchair and doing physical therapy is exhausting. Sometimes I just want to hide away from the world in my room.”

  “I didn’t know that,” I said in surprise. “You’re always so happy!”

  “We travel so much, it’s hard to make friends,” Gigi blurted out. “I know everyone thinks it’s so cool that I go to all these places, and it is, but I hate that whenever I find someone to hang out with, we’re ready to move on to a new city. Then I have to start all over again. It gets lonely.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us that?” Becka asked.

  Gigi shrugged. “I guess I was afraid for people to see the real me and judge me for it.”

  “I’m like that sometimes, too,” Mari added. “I know I call myself the Queen of Fashion, but I worry about how I look a lot.”

  “You?” I sputtered. I couldn’t believe what I’m hearing. “But you always look amazing!”

  “But I don’t always feel amazing,” Mari said.

  “Why haven’t we been telling each other these things?” Lauren asked, sounding almost annoyed with herself and the rest of us.

  “Yeah!” I added, getting fired up, too. “We’re friends! If something is bothering us, we should speak up. Be real. Like we are right now.”

  “We should definitely do this more often,” Mari agreed. “Maybe if we all stopped getting so caught up in taking sixty selfies before we post one or reshooting the same video twenty times till it looks flawless, we’d be better off. Life isn’t perfect. Why should we pretend that it is online?”

  “So let’s stop pretending,” I said, feeling inspired. I jumped up and grabbed my phone and Popcorn wandered over to see what the fuss was about. I held my phone to my chest shyly. “Would you guys want to be part of my vlog this week? We could take turns telling our stories—which are the best kind of stories there are.”

  “I’d like that,” Lauren said, nodding.

  “Me, too,” Mari said, and stood up excitedly.

  “I’m in!” Gigi said.

  “Me, three!” shouted Becka. “Hey! Maybe we should use a hashtag so others in the Z Crew could tell their story, too.”

  I grinned. “What about something like ‘the real me’? Then others could post their stories, and we’d be able to find theirs, too.”

  “Let’s start right now!” Mari suggested. “Gigi and Becka can film their st
ories, then we can add them to ours and try to put a post up this week.”

  “Sounds like a plan to me!” I turned my camera on Popcorn and pressed RECORD. “You first, Popcorn. What’s your story? Do you secretly like cats?” Popcorn actually growled, and we all laughed.

  As I looked around my room, I knew this was a Zeattle moment, the kind I was going to fill my movie with. And if CloudSong didn’t like what they saw, that would be okay. I was going to make a film that told my story—a story about having fun and getting inspired, and filled with the best kind of friends.

  For the next week and a half, I filmed and edited my new, improved, and oh-so-fabulously-Z movie. It felt different the minute I started putting it together. For the first time during this whole CloudSong contest, I was enjoying myself. It was just me and my world through my lens. The parts I kept and the new parts I added in fit together like puzzle pieces.

  On the day of the deadline, I was ready to submit my movie. If the judges liked it, great, and if they didn’t, I was still Z, an aspiring filmmaker who would make it big some day! CloudSong Film Festival, I thought, I’m coming for you!

  “Mom said she’ll be home in ten minutes,” Dad said as Lauren, Mari, and I had an afterschool snack in my kitchen. “Then we’ll get down to business!”

  My friends had come over after school to help me press SEND on my CloudSong e-mail. I wanted Mom to be there, too. I knew this cut of the film was my best, but I still felt some butterflies fluttering madly in my stomach when I thought about sending my movie off to be judged. It was exciting and a little bit scary at the same time. I needed a distraction.

  “Let’s see if there are any new comments on the video about ‘The Real Me,’” I said. Mom and Dad had loved the video post I had done with my friends, and we had put it up a few days earlier.

  “Sure,” Dad said, and I ran upstairs to get my laptop. Dad had cleared off the kitchen island by the time I got back, and I opened the video post and looked for new comments using our hashtag. Dad, Lauren, and Mari huddled around the laptop, too.

  “Hey, look, there’s Maddie’s,” Lauren pointed out. We clicked on Maddie’s video.

  “Sometimes I get quiet when I’m in a large group,” Maddie said. “People think I’m not interested in what they have to say or think that I’m being rude, but the truth is, large crowds make me nervous. I like talking to friends one-on-one.”

  Andrew jumped into the frame and put an arm around her. “That’s what I’m here for!” We all laughed. So did Maddie on-screen.

  “What about you?” she asked, her brown eyes shining like they always did when she was reporting for Camera Club. “Tell us about the real you.”

  Andrew looked panicked for a moment, like a camera flash went off in his face. “Me … uh …”

  “What’s something I—or we—don’t know about you?” Maddie pressed him.

  Andrew sighed. “Okay. Confession time: I’m in a hip-hop dance class.”

  “What?” Maddie questioned from on-screen. Dad, Lauren, Mari, and I said the same thing out loud, too.

  Andrew nodded. “It’s true. I’ve been dancing for the last five years. I love it, but I never talk about it because I don’t know what people are going to think.”

  “Think?” Maddie asked. “That’s so cool! Show me some moves right now.”

  “No way!” Andrew protested. Then he looked at the camera. “Maybe next time. When I have music, and Z is there to make sure I’m filmed in the perfect lighting.”

  I cracked up. I would have to text Andrew later and tell him I was in. He was getting a hip-hop video! I was learning so much about the Z Crew and my friends with this hashtag. I went back to the original video. There were more than four hundred fifty comments!

  Lauren leaned over my shoulder. “Wow! One hundred and sixty new comments today?! I still can’t believe you finished editing your movie and got this video post done this week.”

  “Look at some of these comments,” Dad said, looking at the screen. “‘The real me likes playing video games more than I like dolls.’ And this one: ‘The real me hates playing sports, but I love my still-life art class I just started taking.’”

  “Can we comment back on all of these?” Lauren asked.

  “Dad and I have been trying to, but there are so many.” I stared at the growing list in awe.

  “Let’s do a few now,” Dad said.

  “I’ll pick one!” Mari pointed to the screen. “Hey, there’s one about fashion.” She dictated her reply as she typed it. “Fashion is about finding your own style and being comfortable in your own skin. Wear what you love and be proud!” Dad nodded, and she hit SEND. “This is fun!”

  Popcorn jumped up and her paws accidentally hit the keyboard. Our video started to play. “Oh, Popcorn,” I said and went to stop the video.

  “Wait!” Lauren said. “I want to watch it again. I think it’s your best post ever.”

  I gave in. We all watched as my face came on the screen.

  “Hi, Z Crew!” I heard myself say. “If we’re all going to be part of the same ‘crew,’ then I thought we should get to know each other a little better. So today we’re being real and sharing things about ourselves that make us unique. Don’t be shy! I’ll even go first.” I launched into how worried I’ve been about my film and how sometimes I panic that I’ll never be as good of a filmmaker as I want to be. Then the shot cut to Lauren and Mari, and they took turns telling their stories, with me adding in photos I had of Lauren on the soccer field and Mari playing with her band. I spliced Gigi’s and Becka’s videos into our post, too, with travel pics from Gigi and video of Becka kicking butt at wheelchair basketball. Then I came back on to wrap things up.

  “So what do you say, Z Crew?” I asked. “Do you want to share your story? Comment, post your own video, or tweet with the hashtag ‘the real me’ and let’s get real. That’s what friends are for—to help us through the hard times and be there with us when it’s time to laugh, too. When we come together as a crew, we are stronger than we could ever be alone.” I smiled and Lauren and Mari appeared in the shot, too. “Z Crew out!”

  Mom walked into the kitchen carrying a bag of groceries. “Were you watching the video post again?” I nodded. “I showed it to some other professors today and we all agreed—you are a true filmmaker.”

  “Mom!” I blushed. “Stop.”

  She wrapped her arms around me. “I’m serious! We’re so proud of you. No matter what happens with CloudSong, that video you made proves you know what you’re doing. This is what real artists do—they spark conversations and create movements—and you’ve done that with this post.”

  “Maybe we should do a follow-up video on how inspired we are by everyone’s posts and encourage people to keep them coming?” I suggested, and Lauren and Mari nodded enthusiastically.

  “Great idea, but don’t you have something to do first?” Dad asked, nodding to the computer.

  “Yes! I guess it’s time.” I closed the video window and opened my inbox. I’d already composed my submission e-mail earlier. “Okay, this is it.” I wiggled my fingers and breathed in and out.

  “You got this, Z!” Lauren shouted.

  “Power to the Z Crew!” Mari chanted.

  “This is your moment,” Mom said, sounding excited.

  “No matter what happens, we are so proud of you,” Dad added.

  I was ready.

  Everyone leaned around the kitchen island to watch. Here … we … go. I closed my eyes and pressed SEND.

  Woo-hoo! My movie was officially submitted!

  “I did it! I just officially entered a movie in my first film festival!” Everyone applauded.

  “Does this mean we can see the movie now?” Lauren begged.

  “Please?” Mari seconded.

  I looked at Mom. We came up with this idea together. “Not yet,” I said. My friends groaned. “I want us all to see it together when it makes it into the festival.”

  “I love how you just said when it
makes it into the festival,” Mari said.

  “We should celebrate,” Dad suggested. “You can pick what we have for dinner tonight.”

  Oooh. I liked the sound of that. There were so many choices. Baked ziti? Bossam, my favorite Korean dish? Or did I go with my old standby—a good burger and fries? I was torn.

  Ping!

  I glanced at the laptop. “CloudSong already sent a reply!” I said, surprised.

  “What does it say?” Dad asked.

  I opened the e-mail and saw the small paragraph. My heart sunk ever so slightly. There was a tiny part of me that hoped someone had opened my movie up right away, watched it, and thought it was too brilliant to wait any longer to tell me.

  Thank you for your CloudSong entry. We look forward to viewing your submission! A final decision will be made by May 15. In the meantime, we ask you to be a judge as well. As future filmmakers, we would love for you to vote on your fellow young filmmaker grant entries. Visit the CloudSong website to watch them and weigh in. Happy viewing!

  “Wow, we can see the other submissions?” I said aloud and quickly clicked on the link. “I want to see what other people did!”

  “None of them are going to be as good as yours,” Lauren said like the true bestie she was.

  I snorted. “I’m not so sure about that,” I said as the first film loaded.

  We gathered around as the video began to play. I wasn’t sure what I was watching at first because it was really dark. Then things slowly came into focus.

  “Where is he, a basement?” Mari asked.

  “No, I think he’s in the Seattle underground,” I said.

  A boy around my age, maybe slightly older, had done his whole film about the tunnels and secret passageways below the streets of the city. The passageways used to be at street level in the middle of the nineteenth century, but then the streets were elevated and the passages became abandoned. Now people could take tours of the underground. The boy climbed up and down ladders, and through tunnels to show us all these hidden doorways and rooms and even how the tunnels held up when there were heavy rains. It was actually really cool.