Drawn That Way

by Elissa Sussman

  The applause was polite but quieted quickly as Bear got on the stage. He didn’t have anything in his hands—apparently, he hadn’t written anything down.

  “Hey,” he said.

  There was some laughter. He had a completely different energy from the other guys—all of whom had seemed deeply uncomfortable to be onstage. Bear appeared fine, relaxed, even. He wasn’t trying to impress anyone. He was just Bear.

  “My film doesn’t have a title,” he said. “I thought about calling it Bear’s Fantasia, but that was shot down.”

  He looked out into the chuckling audience. I knew he was looking for me.

  “It’s not really a story,” he said. “It’s more of a bunch of feelings. So. Yeah.”

  With that, he got off the stage. Applause was scattered and confused.

  Bryan stood up again. “We’ll have a Q-and-A after this,” he said. “Where the directors can speak about their work in more detail.”

  That hadn’t been in the program. Had he just added it at the last minute because of Bear’s lackluster introduction?

  The short was good. Unlike Nick’s film, it was something I was proud to have my name on. It wasn’t really a traditional story, but it was beautiful and evocative. The animation was gorgeous—Sally’s especially.

  I hadn’t seen the credits, but there was a quiet little gasp that went through the crowd when the cards came up and Bear had listed me as the codirector. All around me, I saw people whispering to one another. Up at the front of the theater, Bryan turned sharply toward Bear.

  “I didn’t know you were so involved,” Dad said.

  “It was really beautiful,” Mom said.

  “It didn’t suck,” Zach said. A high compliment, especially in front of our parents.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  I waited for the lights to come up, for Bryan to drag the directors back up onstage to answer questions, but the theater stayed dark. My heart began to beat faster.

  Bryan shifted in his seat, turning around to face the projection booth, just as the opening image of my short film flashed across the screen. I grabbed Sloane’s hand.

  “He did it,” I said.

  “Shh,” she said.

  The confused murmurs died out as Sally’s golem appeared. Our film was half the length, and rougher in places than some of the other shorts, but it was good. It was really good.

  Part of me wished that it wasn’t dark, that I could watch the faces of everyone around me. I caught a glimpse of Mom—her face barely illuminated—and her eyes were wide, her mouth hanging open. Even Zach seemed focused on the screen.

  Sloane squeezed my hand as the last frame came up.

  Directed by Hayley Saffitz.

  “You did this?” Dad asked.

  “That… wasn’t bad.” Zach sounded a little stunned.

  “It was incredible,” Mom said.

  There were tears in her eyes. I looked away fast, so I wouldn’t get weepy as well.

  People were applauding. Really applauding. Sloane was on her feet, and a few other people followed suit. I saw Isaac standing—and Bear as well. He had turned, facing the back of the theater. The lights came up and his eyes found mine. His mom was standing next to him, and he bent his head toward her, pointing in my direction.

  Reagan’s eyes widened with recognition when she saw me, and she smiled and waved. I didn’t know what to do, so I waved back. Suddenly half of the theater was turning around to stare at me.

  “Hayley.” Bryan was onstage. He was smiling, but I could tell he was furious.

  “Why don’t you come down here?” he said.

  Now everyone was looking at me.

  I got up from my seat, awkwardly maneuvering in front of my parents’ knees and out into the aisle. My palms were damp, but I didn’t wipe them on my dress, afraid they’d leave big, wet handprints on the skirt. My ankles felt wobbly as I walked toward the front of the theater, and I wasn’t certain I would get there without falling flat on my face.

  “I need a moment with our directors,” Bryan said to the press. He was still smiling, his teeth clenched together. “Come with me,” he said.

  Nick shot me a look as he got up from his seat and followed Bryan through a door at the side of the stage. Jeff and Eddie trailed after him.

  “That was great,” Bear said.

  I looked up at him.

  “Really great,” he said.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  He put his hand on my back. Gently. I leaned into it.

  “Let’s do this,” I said.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Bryan was facing away from us, his shoulders hunched. Eddie and Jeff suctioned themselves to a wall, trying to look as unobtrusive as possible, while Nick was hovering dangerously close to Bryan.

  “Which of you knew about this?” Bryan turned to face us.

  Bear cheerfully raised a hand. “I helped,” he said.

  Bryan looked at Eddie and Jeff, the two of them pale and nervous.

  “Go back to your seats,” he said.

  They fled eagerly. Nick was standing next to Bryan, his hands on his hips. While Bryan had been speaking, Nick’s head had bounced up and down like a bobblehead.

  “I knew they were up to something,” Nick said. “I just knew it.”

  Bryan turned toward him. “Who are you?”

  Nick shrank back. “I’m Nick,” he said. “I directed Jack and the Beanstalk.”

  Bryan closed his eyes, pinching his nose between his fingers. “Go away,” he said.

  “I—”

  “Go. Away,” Bryan said.

  “But my film—”

  “Was serviceable,” Bryan said, like the word tasted bad in his mouth.

  It was almost worse than saying it was terrible.

  All of the color drained from Nick’s face and he pushed past us, scrambling for the door. It slammed closed and Bryan fixed me with a stare so intense that I was pretty sure my heart fully stopped.

  “Who the hell do you think you are?” Bryan asked.

  I knew he wasn’t really asking so I said nothing.

  “I did not put this whole internship together so some little brat could show up my son at the last minute.” He waved his hand toward the door. “That’s all they’re going to be talking about, you realize that, don’t you? Not Bear’s film—not my legacy—but your half-finished, half-assed fucking short.”

  His words hurt, but I also knew he wouldn’t have been this upset if my film had actually been bad. That was what was really making him angry—that my project was the best of the bunch.

  “It’s good, and you know it,” Bear said.

  Bryan’s eyes shifted toward his son.

  “Bear,” he said. “I’d hate to know how you were involved in all of this.”

  “I just drew some stuff for them,” he said. “Oh, and I made sure that it got added to the lineup.”

  I looked at him. He smiled.

  “After all I’ve done for you. This whole thing—” Bryan made a sweeping gesture. “This whole thing was for you, and this is how you repay me?”

  Bear crossed his arms. “I didn’t ask for it,” he said.

  “No, of course you didn’t. You never would.” There was a strain in Bryan’s voice, real frustration, real disappointment. “That’s your problem, Bear. You have so much potential, and you’re wasting it.”

  It was immediately clear that Bryan loved Bear. Wanted what was best for him. But it was also clear that he wasn’t listening. That he didn’t see Bear at all.

  “You and your mother were perfectly content to hide your talents,” Bryan said. “Keeping them buried in sketchbooks and those little cartoons you did for the school paper. But this is what you were meant to do.”

  “This is what you want me to do,” Bear said. “You never even gave me a chance to consider it on my own.”

  Bryan ignored him. It was like he had blinders on. All he could see—all he could think about—was what he thought was best for Bear. He
was completely missing out on who Bear actually was. It made me sad for him.

  Not that sad, of course. He was still the brains behind a multibillion-dollar company, with four Oscars under his belt. But he couldn’t see what he already had.

  “What am I going to do now?” Bryan ran a hand over his face. “What am I going to tell the press? They were here for you, Bear. Not her.”

  Bear’s expression was defiant. “I don’t know, Dad. You could tell them the truth. That you rigged this whole internship to make me look good and Hayley beat you at your own game.”

  Bryan faced me. “When I told you to inspire him, this isn’t what I meant.”

  Any sympathy I’d felt for Bryan disappeared quickly.

  “Excuse me?” Bear asked. “You told Hayley to do what?”

  I hadn’t told Bear about that part of my conversation with his father.

  “You’re gross,” Bear said to his dad.

  “And you’re so infatuated that you can’t see straight.”

  Bear reached out and linked our fingers together. “Her short was better than mine and you know it,” he said.

  “I want a moment alone with Hayley,” Bryan said.

  “Fuck no,” Bear said.

  “Watch your language,” Bryan said.

  “It’s okay,” I said.

  “Hayley—” Bear said, but I put my hand on his arm.

  “I’ll be okay.” I had no idea if that was true, but I wanted to hear what Bryan would say.

  “I’m going to be right outside,” Bear said.

  The door closed and Bryan stood there with his hands on his hips. Not looking at me.

  He took a deep breath, thinking. “Here’s what we’re going to do,” he said. “You’re going to go out there and you’re going to tell the press that this was a surprise that we planned for them. That we weren’t sure you were going to finish the project in time. That we didn’t want to get their hopes up if it didn’t come together.”

  “I’m not going to do that,” I said.

  He blinked, like he had forgotten I was there.

  “Listen to me,” he said. “You made that movie because of me. Because you needed me to tell you no. I did this. And you’re going to go out there and you’re going to tell the press exactly that.”

  I shook my head.

  His face turned an unpleasant shade of red. “Then your career in animation will be over before it even begins,” he said.

  I didn’t respond.

  Suddenly, he laughed. A loud bark of a laugh. A mean laugh. I took a step back, startled.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “It doesn’t even matter.” He looked at me. “Because I own your short. Every frame of that thing belongs to me.”

  My heart sank into my toes. “What?”

  “When you joined this internship, you signed that all away,” he said. “Everything you worked on in my studio during the internship I sponsored, belongs to BB Gun Films.”

  Little black spots began appearing in front of my eyes and the whole ground seemed to shift beneath me. I felt unsteady. Like I might fall.

  Because he was right.

  “It doesn’t matter what you tell them,” Bryan said. “Because I can do whatever I want with your little film. No one will ever know that you made it. You can’t use it in your portfolio, you can’t put it on a résumé. I can bury it—lock it away in our archives so no one else can ever see it.”

  “But you won’t.”

  I hadn’t even heard the door open. I definitely hadn’t heard Reagan come in.

  Bryan and I both turned to stare at her.

  “Stay out of this, Reagan,” Bryan said.

  She smiled. “You’re going to give Hayley the rights to her film, Bryan.”

  He crossed his arms. “Or what?”

  “Or I’ll go to the press and tell them that the great Bryan Beckett isn’t above stealing from a teenage girl.”

  “You can’t tell them anything,” Bryan said. “Everyone who walks through these doors signs an NDA. No one speaks to the press. No one.”

  “I didn’t sign a goddamn thing when I came here today,” she said.

  Bryan went white.

  “After what you pulled with me on A Boy Named Bear you must be the stupidest man alive to think I’d sign a single thing you put in front of me.”

  “You’re not allowed in the studio unless—”

  “I still have plenty of friends here, Bryan,” Reagan said. “People actually like me.”

  Bryan’s jaw was moving, but no sound was coming out.

  “Hayley, Bear’s waiting for you,” Reagan said. “Bryan and I have a few things we need to discuss. It’ll only be a few moments.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Is everything okay?” Bear asked.

  “I think your mom might be tearing your dad a new one,” I said.

  I kept my voice low—I could see reporters straining to hear what we were talking about.

  “Good,” Bear said. “I’m pretty sure it’s long overdue.”

  I looked at him. His expression was cautious, and I noticed his hands at his sides, flexing. Unflexing. He was nervous.

  He really was very cute.

  “You got the film into the lineup?” I asked.

  His grin was a little sheepish. “Yeah,” he said.

  “Why?” I asked. “What made you change your mind?”

  “I might have overheard you talking to my mom last night,” he said. He moved us farther from the row of press who were starting to get restless during Bryan’s absence. “I thought my mom was glad that she’d stopped fighting my dad for credit,” Bear said. “I didn’t realize that she regretted giving it up.”

  He shifted on his feet. “And I thought about what you said—that it wasn’t really about credit, it was about recognition, and I realized I was wrong. I knew how important the short was to you, but I didn’t really understand why. I’m sorry.”

  I put my hand out, resting my palm against Bear’s chest. He put his hand on top of mine.

  “Thank you,” I said. “And you were right.”

  He lifted an eyebrow.

  “About chasing approval. About going outside once in a while. About a lot of things that I want to do differently.”

  “Are you saying I inspired you, Hayley Saffitz?” Bear asked.

  I smiled.

  “I do love you, you know,” he said.

  Magic. Gravity.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I love you too.”

  He smiled at me, putting his hands around my waist. But before he could kiss me, the door next to the stage flew open and Bryan stalked back out into the theater. I didn’t know what Reagan had said to him, but he wore the expression of a little kid who had just gotten his favorite toy taken away. The sour look on his face quickly vanished as he remembered that he had an audience, and by the time he stepped on the stage, he was wearing a smile.

  “Okay, folks,” he said. “Who wants to ask our directors some questions?”

  * * *

  Sally was waiting for me outside the theater.

  “That. Was. Epic,” she said. “I can’t believe it worked. It was incredible. My parents were totally shocked—Maurene, too. She said it’s the best animation I’ve ever done. She said I should totally use it on my reel if I want to apply to CalAn, which I definitely do.”

  Thanks to Reagan, Sally would be able to do exactly that.

  “It looked good on the big screen, didn’t it?” I asked.

  She grinned. “It looked so good.”

  There was a loud squeal and pretty soon we were caught up in a group hug with Caitlin, Jeannette, Rachel, and Emily.

  “You did it!” Caitlin said. “You fucking did it!”

  “We did it,” I said.

  “What did Bryan say to you?” Emily asked.

  “What did you say to him?” Rachel asked.

  I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter.”

  They stared at me.

  “Are you
kidding? It totally matters,” Jeannette said.

  I’d kept my mouth shut during the Q&A where most of the questions had been a less-direct version of what the girls were asking me now. Everyone wanted to know where the short had come from and why Bryan hadn’t announced it at the beginning of the festival.

  But even though Reagan hadn’t signed an NDA, I had. I knew I had to be careful about what I said. Especially with the media still milling around.

  “Let’s just say that he was impressed with our tenacity,” I said.

  It was miles away from the truth, but I had a feeling deep down inside that if Bryan Beckett ever allowed himself to look at this situation from another perspective, he might actually feel that way. After all, he’d made an entire career out of skirting the rules.

  “This was a pretty good summer,” Sally said as we all moved farther away from the theater. From the crowds. “I can’t believe everything we got done. It’s kind of amazing, isn’t it? We’re a little like superheroes.”

  “The summer wasn’t as restful as I would have hoped,” Caitlin said. “But pretty good nonetheless.”

  “I don’t think an animation life is a restful one,” I said.

  “Probably not.” Caitlin grinned. “But it’s still the only life I’m interested in.”

  I saw my parents standing off to the side, talking to each other. Zach was hovering there, hands in his pockets, looking awkward. When he caught me looking, he lifted his eyebrows and started making kissy faces in Bear’s direction. I rolled my eyes, but I knew that I owed everyone in my family some answers. Not just about Bear, but about the whole short film that I hadn’t told them about.

  “I should go,” I said.

  “Yeah,” Emily said.

  “Me too,” Jeannette said.

  “My parents are waiting,” Rachel said.

  None of us moved.

  “I’m going to miss you guys,” Sally said. Her eyes were a little shiny.

  I shuffled my feet. I’d done way more than enough crying this summer.

  “I’m going to miss you too,” I said.

  We fell into a big octopus-style tangle, where we were hugging and patting one another on the back and leaning hard into one another. I thought I saw Caitlin wiping her eyes, but I couldn’t be sure. I definitely wasn’t doing the same thing.