Drawn That Way

by Elissa Sussman

  “I mean, if you could just tell me a little bit more about what Bryan likes or doesn’t like, that would be really helpful.”

  Sloane leaned back and crossed her arms. A smile began to curve at the corner of her lips. “You know exactly what you’re doing, don’t you?” she asked.

  I didn’t know how to respond to that, though it sounded like a compliment.

  “I’m going to be one of the directors,” I told her.

  “All right, then,” she said, openly grinning now. “Let me see what you’ve got.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  The next morning, bath caddy in hand, I shuffled my way to the shared bathroom, where I opened the door to a flutter of activity.

  “You’re awake!” Sally said. “We missed you last night. We started a mini marathon after the movie—it was really fun. I think we’re going to continue it tonight if you want to join—Jeannette has all the movies on Blu-ray.”

  I felt a twinge of regret. After our first day, I’d headed back to the dorms, wanting to incorporate Sloane’s input while it was still fresh. The others had gone to a screening of A Boy Named Bear in the multipurpose room. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to spend time with them—I just had to get the pitch right. I hadn’t even texted Samantha and Julie, even though I’d had messages from both of them. But I knew they’d understand. They knew how important this was. It was my one shot to impress Bryan. To make everything happen the way it was supposed to.

  “Every moment that isn’t spent creating is a wasted moment,” Bryan had said.

  Even though there were six of us, the bathroom was huge—clearly meant to accommodate an entire floor. I washed my face, the cold water doing a lot to wake me, the overlapping conversations beginning to pierce through my morning haze.

  “How was your run?” Caitlin asked.

  “Good,” Jeannette said. “There’s a park nearby, so Sally and I did some laps.”

  “I can’t believe how dedicated you are.” Rachel brushed her hair. “When I quit ballet, I really quit ballet.”

  “I can’t quit soccer,” Jeannette said. “They’d have to cut my feet off. And even then I’d find a way. I just couldn’t do this and soccer camp, but I have to stay in shape.”

  “I don’t like running that much,” Sally said. “But it definitely helps keep me focused.”

  “That’s how I feel about music,” Caitlin said.

  “When are you going to play us some songs?” Emily asked.

  “Yeah, when do we get a private Caitlin Gonzalez concert?” Rachel asked.

  Caitlin grinned. “I do know how to play the Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse theme.”

  It was hard to imagine how the other girls had time for anything that wasn’t animation-related. My parents always worried I wasn’t well rounded enough in my interests, but I also knew they were mostly concerned with how those interests would look on a college application.

  Animation was my whole life, and I liked it that way.

  Still, it made me feel a little like I was on the outside, even here, even among other girls who liked the same things that I liked. I just seemed to care more. It wasn’t a hobby or something I did for fun like guitar or soccer. This was my future. It was everything.

  I twisted my hair back into a bun and listened as the conversation shifted to our mentors.

  “Amber said she’ll show me concepts for the project that’s coming out in two years,” Rachel said. “She’s already been working on it for six months.”

  “Vicky worked on the very last shot that got approved for Mountains of Manhattan,” Jeannette said, referring to the latest BB Gun Films release.

  Each not-so-humble brag about our mentors was met with an approving “ooooh” from the group. Everyone seemed thrilled with the mentor they’d been assigned to, and I was no exception.

  I brushed my teeth and watched everyone get ready. Rachel had her hair pulled back in a glossy ponytail, the ends of it perfectly curled—giving her a major Disney-princess vibe. She’d mentioned that she, her girlfriend, and her sister would go to Disney World for Dapper Days, where everyone dressed up in vintage-style interpretations of Disney characters. Even now, her outfit looked a little like an updated Elsa with an ice-blue circle skirt and white high-necked blouse. She also seemed the most likely of all of us to have a furry animal sidekick. My imagination whirred, taking the other girls in. If Rachel was the most Disney-esque, then what animation studio would the other girls represent? It was a little like taking one of those online quizzes, only I was creating it as I went.

  Jeannette with her Megan Rapinoe jersey and colorful sneakers reminded me a bit of DreamWorks films—playful and energetic. A little all over the place, but in a good way. Caitlin was definitely a Laika girl—indie and offbeat—with her half-shaved head and myriad of piercings. She also knew a lot about obscure animated films I’d never even heard about.

  Emily reminded me of the Aardman films, with her irreverent humor and a tendency to say random words with a British accent despite the fact that she was definitely not British. Her style was a little wild and free, with her long hair and flowy skirts. She was also the only other girl who preferred tea to coffee.

  It wasn’t a perfect analogy, but I could see Sally as a Pixar film. Fast-moving and funny, but with an emotional side. It seemed like she felt all things in big ways. Sloane would be the Miyazaki films—next-level kind of work. I thought about the mural she had done—how epic it was.

  Of course, I cast myself as BB Gun Films. Clever. Thoughtful. Capable of great things.

  Sally looped her arm through mine as we left the bathroom and headed back to our room, her in her robe, me still in my pajamas. “I hope I didn’t wake you when I came back last night,” she said. “It was kind of late, but I tried to be quiet. Did you get your work done?”

  I nodded. “Going to try to do a little more this morning.”

  “You’re so focused,” she said.

  I shrugged, pleased, but a little surprised that she seemed so amazed by my dedication. I’d thought that everyone in the program would be just as committed as I was. Then again, she was probably enjoying the downtime. We’d all be extremely busy once the shorts started—no time for long dinners and movies afterward.

  “Art is work,” Bryan had said in his CalTED Talk. “And it takes sacrifice. You only have so much time. Do you want to look back and regret the things you never made?”

  I didn’t want the girls to think I was antisocial. I wanted to spend time with them, I just had to make some sacrifices. And even if I wanted to relax, there was no way I could. When I was focused on something, it felt like my brain divided itself into two parts. One part was constantly sorting through ideas, looking for solutions, making changes. It never stopped spinning. The other half of my brain was left to deal with everything else. School. Friends. Family.

  Zach told me it was physically impossible for a brain to separate into factions, but that I should donate said brain if I was convinced I was special.

  Last night, Sloane had explained that once the directors were chosen, the rest of us would be given roles similar to a full-length animated film.

  “You’ll only be ten people per team, but you’ll have a head of story, a head of animation, and a head of special effects. Everyone reports to the director, but the heads of each department will have a say in how work is divided up,” she’d said. “You’ll also have PAs—production assistants—to handle the scheduling side of things.”

  According to Sloane, there wasn’t another animation company in the United States—possibly in the world—that had an internship as hands-on and focused as this one was.

  “Bryan doesn’t do things halfway,” she’d said.

  Across the room, Sally was curling her hair—there was the slight smell of burning—while I sat down at my desk to do a little more work.

  “Can I put on some music?” Sally asked. “I call this my ‘Hero’s Journey’ mix,” she said when I nodded.

  I im
mediately knew the track. It was “Almost There” from The Princess and the Frog.

  “I love this song,” I said.

  Sally grinned at me before showing me her phone. “It’s hopelessly nerdy, but I figured that if I can’t be nerdy here, then what’s the point?”

  I looked at the playlist. It was all the best hero ballads from animated movies—like “Journey to the Past” or “When Will My Life Begin.”

  My head started bopping, my shoulders swaying. I’d sung along to all these songs in my bedroom—arms outstretched, belting everything off-key. It was tempting to do that now. Behind me, Sally was humming along. I had a feeling she’d join in if I started singing.

  Then I remembered that Bryan had told us how much he hated animated musicals. The songs seemed to sour in my eardrums as I heard how cheesy and cliché they were. I was annoyed at myself for liking them.

  Sally shimmied along in the background as I tried to focus on my work, doing my best to ignore the music. Trying to clear my head. After finishing with my sketches, I got dressed—a white shirt with little black polka dots and red Vans today—and sat at my desk, my sketches stacked neatly in front of me. When I started experimenting with wearing the same thing every day, I’d expected Mom to be disappointed—after all, we used to have a lot of fun going shopping together—but instead she’d helped me settle on the perfect outfit.

  “What do you think?” Sally had on a pair of jeans and a black top with floaty, sheer sleeves. “The yellow sweater or the orange one?” She held out the two options.

  “I like the yellow,” I said.

  “I don’t think I could wear the same thing every day,” Sally said. “Sometimes I even change my clothes after school just to mix things up. I get bored really easily. But it seems to really suit you.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “My mom thinks I look like Katharine Hepburn.”

  It had been the ultimate compliment coming from her. She’d even helped me find shirts that weren’t see-through and flimsy like most women’s button-downs were. When it was cold, I usually added a cardigan. The whole thing had a bit of a vintage vibe to it, which made it seem a little less like full-on Bryan Beckett cosplay.

  “I’m so nervous,” Sally said. “What if they realize I’m terrible and throw me out of the program?”

  “They won’t,” I said. “Your work is really good.”

  She’d shown me the animation test she’d used for her application. It had utilized shadow puppets—black over a pale indigo background—and the effect was beautiful and eerie. She had the puppets pinned up on her bulletin board and every morning she put them in different poses. At the moment, one of them was standing on its head, while the other was balancing on the first one’s feet.

  Sally leaned close to the mirror, putting the finishing touches on her eyeliner. “What do you think?” she asked. “Are they even?”

  Even though I had basically gotten this internship based on the things I could do with a pencil, I was still in awe of the perfect, identical swoops of black that Sally had applied to the corners of her eyes. I’d yet to master eyeliner.

  “They look great,” I said.

  She beamed and shoved her sketchbook into her bag. “Okay. Let’s go!”

  * * *

  Sloane’s office was small and full of stuff. Yesterday, we’d spent most of our time outside or around the building, but today she had cleared off a space for me in the corner.

  “Sorry about the mess,” she said.

  In Bryan’s CalTED Talk, he’d spoken about the importance of having a clean and clear working space. “Clutter on your desk only leads to clutter in your brain,” he’d said. “You can’t create if you’re distracted.”

  He spoke a lot about distractions. How one had to get rid of them in order to work.

  My desk at home—and in the dorm—was spotless. I couldn’t imagine how Sloane managed to get anything done in this space—everything was covered in drawings. They were taped up on the walls, several pieces of paper stuck on top of one another, others sliding down to the desks and bookcases, which were crammed full of books. There were even sketches on the floor, and when I rolled my chair back, I ran over a couple of them, the crinkle of the paper making me cringe.

  “I’m so sorry.” I tried to free the paper from the plastic wheels of the chair. To my great horror, I ripped one sheet in two.

  Zach had once spilled an entire can of soda on my sketchbook and I’d screamed so loud, Mom thought I’d cut my finger off.

  “Oh, don’t worry about it.” Sloane took the two ruined halves of her drawing from my hands and smoothed them out on her desk. Then, with a piece of Scotch tape, she reconnected them and tacked it back onto the wall. It stared at me, looking like a gaping wound held together by a single stitch.

  “I know it’s a lot,” Sloane said. “But it’s the only way I can work.”

  I eyed the chaos suspiciously.

  Sloane sat. “I’ve been thinking about your pitch.”

  I immediately perked up. “Me too.” Reaching into my bag, I pulled out the sketches I had worked on last night and this morning. “I think you’re right about making sure everyone knows what a golem is.”

  “These are great,” she said, looking at the drawings I handed her. “This is the one you should start with.” She pointed to one of my favorite images.

  It was the sketch that had inspired the whole thing. Miriam—the hero of the story—was standing next to a giant man made out of mud wearing a vest and torn pants. It was a pose loosely inspired by Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid—one of my dad’s favorite old movies that he had made me and Zach watch growing up. Both characters had cowboy hats and stood with their hands on their hips. There were flowers and other green things sprouting out of the golem’s wide shoulders. I’d been playing around with contrasts when I drew them—using simple, bold lines with the golem while Miriam had a sketchier feel to her. In the story, despite the golem’s physical strength, Miriam was the strongest of the two. I liked the idea of putting together characters that looked the opposite of how they’d usually be perceived. Miriam had a grim look on her face, but the golem was smiling.

  “It conveys the central theme of the story perfectly,” Sloane said. “The way that the mystical and the familiar exist together in this world.”

  I released a satisfied breath—it was exactly what I had been aiming for.

  “I think you should lean into that even further.” Sloane sat back in her chair, her pencil against her chin. “Maybe even see if you can incorporate it into your title. We want to know exactly what we’re getting into from the very beginning.”

  Right now, the project was just called The Golem. I wasn’t very good at titles, so I tended to name everything exactly what it was.

  Sloane was slowly spinning in her chair now, her fingers tapping together like a villain in a comic book. “Hmm, hmm,” she said. “Hmm.”

  I sat there, notebook open, pencil poised. Was this how Sloane’s creative process worked? Spinning and humming? When I needed ideas, I sat at my desk, feet on the ground, staring at the blank wall. Sometimes I put some music on and just started drawing. It’s what Bryan did.

  “Golem. Golem. Golem,” Sloane was now saying. “Cowboy Golem. Farmer Golem.”

  I wrote it all down.

  “Golem on the Prairie. Little House Golem. Adventure Golem.”

  This went on for a while, Sloane spinning, me recording all her thoughts. Then she grew silent, her chair still rotating, with her staring off into the distance. While she did that, I let my pencil wander.

  I still hadn’t seen any of the famous BB Gun ducks, so I did a few sketches of how I imagined they would look. I made them fancier than the average duck, their feathers fluffier, their eyes shinier. I drew them hiding under the bridge, imagining that they had their own world under there—a little duck town.

  Suddenly Sloane stopped and faced me. “I don’t know,” she said. “I think we’ll need to marinate on that some mor
e.”

  I looked at the clock. We’d been marinating for an hour. I felt a rush of panic—an hour wasted trying to think up a title! I didn’t have that kind of time. This pitch had to be perfect.

  “Want to go for a walk?” Sloane pushed up from her chair.

  I didn’t—I wanted to find a quiet, clean conference room and work, but Sloane was my mentor and I wasn’t exactly sure if I was allowed to say no to things she suggested.

  Sloane was wearing a gauzy blue vest decorated with little sparkling crystals over black jeans and a black shirt. It swayed from side to side as we walked down the hall, a floating constellation. She waved at open doors, and occasionally people popped their heads up from their cubicles like little gophers to greet her.

  “Hey, Flores.” Sloane all but swung into a nearby office. “Question for you.”

  Inside was a bespectacled guy with brown skin in a plaid shirt, a little older than Sloane. His hair was curly on top, shaved close on the sides. It was black with little twists of gray throughout.

  “Hit me,” he said.

  “What do you imagine when you hear the word ‘golem’?” she asked. “We need a title.”

  What was she doing? Why was she telling some random guy about my pitch? I hadn’t even told Sally about it—I wanted it to be a complete surprise to Bryan and the brain trust.

  “Hmm.” He leaned back in his chair. “Golem. Like the fictional creature?”

  “The one and the same.” Sloane was bouncing on her feet, back and forth, more like she was playing a sport instead of spitballing in an animation studio.

  “Big,” he said. “Made of mud.”

  “Ooh, mud, yeah.” Sloane snapped her fingers. “Good. Really good.”

  “Mud Man,” he said. “Dirt. Clay. Dust.”

  Sloane was nodding. I wasn’t sure if I should be writing all this down.

  “Dust to dust,” he said.

  “Exactly,” said Sloane. “Exactly.”

  “The Incredible Shrinking Dust Man,” he said.

  He looked at Sloane. Sloane looked at me. I wrote it down.