by M. F. Lorson
I was both delighted and terrified when last year’s senior anchor asked us all to take our places for a test run. I pulled my wild red hair up into a ponytail to keep it from getting in my way and pointed the camera toward Gabe.
It was different watching him from this side of the lense. Earlier in line, he looked calm and confident. Now he tugged at the collar of his shirt and cleared his throat as he stared down at the script in front of him.
We weren’t actually filming live—not on day one. His script was just a bunch of bologna from last spring, but he practiced anyway, his lips moving silently as he went over the lines.
“Today is just a test run,” reminded Ms. Mitchell. “Week one is about learning to work together. Week two we will start creating content.”
I couldn’t keep the smile from twitching at the corner of my lips.
It was finally happening. I was finally operating the camera for Good Morning, Grover, and I hadn’t even had to beat anyone up to do it.
“Action!” called Nadine. She watched with a pained expression as Becca choked out the first few lines. Despite her desire for the part, Becca had about as much charisma as a wooden spoon. When it was Gabe’s turn, Nadine had to remind him to look up at the camera.
I knew it was the camera he was looking at, but I had a whole lot of trouble focusing on his boring don’t forget to do your AP reading pitch, when it felt like his dark brown eyes were fixed directly on mine. It sure was nice having the display screen between us so I didn’t look like I was memorizing his features for my creepy basement shrine.
“That’s great,” called Nadine once the segment was finished. “Your chemistry could use some work, but for now you get to do the fun part.”
“Which is?” asked Gabe, looking highly skeptical that there was a fun part. I got the distinct feeling that being co-anchors was Becca’s idea and not his.
“Picking the music,” said Nadine, smiling brightly. “The anchors get to pick the passing time music between first and second period. When the camera comes back on, you’ll say, ‘And now to play us out,’ followed by your choice for the day.”
Gabe’s face went blank, and I had to grin. It wasn’t so easy coming up with a brilliant song on the spot.
As if reading my mind, Gabe straightened his spine and looked directly into the camera.
“And now to play us out, ‘Moves Like Jagger’ by those guys that sing ‘Moves Like Jagger.’”
Beside him Becca made an ew face, but it didn’t matter because Gabe was looking directly at camera number one.
Gabe
I had one job. Becca had me prepped for this moment. She told me she would put us both down on the list as co-anchors—without competition—and I would pick one song for our transition.
But I procrastinated. Or rather...I mentally avoided this whole situation because I didn’t want to face the fact that my overly eager girlfriend just wanted to put me on her arm to wave her giant Gabe and Becca: Perfect Couple flag. Meanwhile, I was wondering how on earth we were still even a couple after three years of a long-distance, internet relationship.
So, put on the spot, I did not have a song picked. Maybe Becca wanted something perfect, something that signified us and our unwavering unity, but I didn’t have anything like that in mind.
Instead, I had a familiar red-head and the memory of her truly awful best song choice.
And I went with it.
I couldn’t even remember who sang it. But seeing her blush and bite her lip behind the camera was worth it. I noticed her the moment we walked in. She looked far more excited than anyone else about the class and obviously wasn’t gunning for in-front-of-the-camera spots. She stood proudly behind camera number one like she belonged there.
Becca still thought I took this class because I wanted to be a movie star. She was convinced the last three years were spent learning how to be the next Leonardo DiCaprio. She had no clue that filmmaking was my passion and that I had no less than twenty nearly completed screenplays hiding in hidden folders on my laptop.
Truth be told, Becca and I didn’t talk that much at all while I was gone. If it wasn’t for Snapchat and Insta, I don’t think she would have even remembered I existed. Talking on the phone was too hard and my schedule was crazy busy with classes and...well, touring Europe.
“You can stop staring at the camera now,” Becca giggled beside me.
“I know,” I stammered. “I was just thinking about something.”
I didn’t even realize I was staring at the red-head for so long, but she started messing with the camera to busy herself, so I turned toward Becca.
“We should do that playful banter at the end like they do on news shows. You know, where no one can hear them, but it looks like they’re saying something funny,” she said with a smile so wide her perfect white teeth practically glistened between her dark, almost-purple lips.
“Sure, but it can be total nonsense because no one can hear us. Like,” I said as I turned toward her with my shoulders upright and a fake news anchor smile on my face. “I saw a banana poodle swimming in chocolate milk this morning.”
From somewhere near the cameras, I heard a high-pitched giggle, but when I looked at Becca, she stared back at me like I had a banana poodle growing out of my forehead.
“You’re so weird sometimes,” she said with an uneasy expression.
I laughed it off, poking her in the ribs. When her attention inevitably drifted toward her phone, I let my gaze wander toward the camera again. The red-head was gone, now standing near the audio booth toward the back. The class seemed to be in the middle of a break as Ms. Mitchell was busy discussing something with the writing group—the group I desperately wanted to be in.
So, I stood up and wandered around the room, my absence unnoticed by my girlfriend who was now taking selfies in front of the giant green wall behind her. When I ended up by the sound equipment, I smiled at the red-head who stood there glaring around at the board.
“Good song choice,” she whispered with a tight smile.
“Thanks. You know, I listened to it on my way to class, and I have to say…”
She glanced up at me, her eyes wide with expectation.
“It’s the worst song I’ve ever heard,” I finished, and she broke out in laughter. A few eyes around us drifted our way, so we quickly composed ourselves. Becca was still scrolling.
“It has memories tied to it,” the girl said quietly.
“Oh, that makes sense then. You are redeemed.”
The moment grew silent and awkward, and I was starting to worry that I was being too harsh about the song, until she finally turned toward me and held her hand out. “My name is Sloane, by the way.”
I couldn’t hold back my smile. I wondered briefly if she knew she shared a name with the girlfriend from my all-time favorite movie. Not something I brought up often, since Becca had informed me that it was a little embarrassing to admit that I watched my quote-unquote ‘parents’ movies.’
“Gabe,” I answered, shaking her hand.
“I know,” she mumbled looking a little ashamed.
Another silent moment passed us by while neither of us moved to walk away. “So, uh, do you know how to work any of this?” I asked, looking down at the very complicated looking soundboard.
“Nope,” she answered. “You?” With her hands behind her back, she peered up at me, rocking back and forth on her heels.
“Not much, but my best friend in film school was a sound editing major, and he taught me a few things.”
She watched me intently as I reached forward and turned up one of the millions of slides. “I think this turns up the boom mic that that guy is holding,” I said, pointing to the scrawny kid holding the boom that was twice his size.
As I pushed the slide up, the room was suddenly filled with deafening feedback, and everyone covered their ears and squealed until I quickly dropped the slide back down to zero. Sloane and I dropped out of sight in a fit of laughter.
�
�Gabe?” a familiar voice called for me from the stage.
“I’m being summoned,” I said to Sloane from our hiding spot in the sound booth.
“Guess so,” she replied.
Then, without wanting to take my eyes off of her freckles and round emerald eyes—and not acknowledging how terrible of a boyfriend that made me, I stood up and walked away toward my waiting girlfriend.
Sloane
Media studies turned out to be everything I wanted it to be, plus a tiny bit more. The bit more being Gabe Maxwell talking to me on purpose. I’m not a hermit or anything. People do talk to me, lots of them, but usually those people are not ultra-gorgeous, ultra-rich Grover legends.
As a non-drug-user I cannot say exactly what it feels like to float through a room on ecstasy, but I imagine it felt the way I did now. Like I could extend one hand toward the sky and just flitter off to a land of cotton candy clouds, pausing only to grin at the tiny grounded people below me.
Speaking of grounded people, Harper snapped two fingers in front of my face. “Return to us, oh, one with the car,”
I shook my head and dangled my keys just out of her reach. “Stop sneaking out at night, and I won’t have to ferry you around everywhere.”
Harper shrugged. “Eh, I don’t mind not having a car all that much.” A wicked grin ripped across her face. “It’s easier to sneak down the driveway on foot than in a car with the lights off.”
I didn’t argue. Harper was a lost cause. If she made it through high school without giving her mother a heart attack I would be very proud of her. The two of us climbed into my 1978 Gremlin, restored to perfection by my dear old dad, and hauled down the road toward Burger Barn.
Reagan was already waiting, her head buried in a paperback romance as she kept our usual booth from being overrun by the horde of Grover High Students currently stampeding the place. The Burger Barn had been dead all summer, and my stomach growled thinking about waiting behind twenty orders of burgers and fries.
Reagan snapped her book shut as we took our seats on either side of her in the booth.
“Ooooh,” cooed Harper. “The Cowboy Billionaire's Baby. What a fresh concept. So very different from last week’s book. What was that one called again?” Harper pretended to think as she tapped a finger on her chin. “Ah yes, A Bride for the Billionaire.”
Reagan scowled and tucked the book in her purse, where no one could scrutinize it further.
“I’ll have you know, that one had a twist ending.”
Harper gasped. “Don’t tell me, it wasn’t the billionaire’s baby?”
“It was his former maid’s!” cried Reagan. “She died in a tragic accident. He chose to raise the baby as his own.” Reagan’s eyes glazed over. “It was really romantic, actually.”
My eyes met Harper’s across the table. Reagan was desperate for a romance with a happy ending. Unfortunately, the whole afraid-to-talk-to-boys thing ensured that all of her romances lived between the pages of a book, or her Netflix watch list. Lord help the first boyfriend she has that doesn’t confess his love via grand gesture. That girl was building a list of expectations no high school boy could fulfill.
“Alright,” said Harper, glancing at Reagan. “It’s time for Sloane to spill the beans. Our girl left school looking like she got lucky during third period, and since I know that not to be true, I demand an explanation for the excessive smiling.”
I twirled a long red lock around my finger, as I pretended not to know what she was referencing.
“Nothing out of the ordin—”
“Spill!” cried Harper jabbing a butter knife at me across the table.
“Fine,” I sighed then rested both my elbows on the table so I could lean in and give them the whole scoop. “As you both know, I finally get to be in Media Studies.”
Reagan smiled brightly. “Finally.”
“And I scored camera girl number one with no competition.”
Harper snickered, “As if we were concerned there would be any.”
“And…” I said, drawing the word out until I had captured both of their full attention. “I think I flirted with a boy.”
Reagan’s eyes went wide with excitement.
“Elaborate on that part,” said Harper.
I gave the girls a quick recap, starting with the conversation in line and ending with Gabe nearly destroying the hearing of everyone in the studio.
“Gabe Maxwell?” asked Harper. “Like that Gabe Maxwell?” She pointed to a familiar set of broad shoulders in line to order.
“Mmhmm,” I answered.
“Becca Landry’s Gabe Maxwell?” asked Reagan.
“Yes,” I said with an eye roll. “I said flirted, not jumped. I’m just saying, that gorgeous boy, took the time to talk to me today, and I am reveling in it. Reveling, okay!”
Harper laughed. “Totally acceptable—and totally predictable. He’s like the modern day reincarnation of Jake Ryan.”
“Ooh,” cried Reagan. “You’re right though. He has the car and everything.”
“And the horrible girlfriend,” added Harper, raising one eyebrow.
This was a thing we did. Taking regular people and fitting them into '80s movies. I shouldn’t have been shocked that Harper and Reagan immediately took my crush and applied an '80s filter. Gabe Maxwell was Jake Ryan. The only question was, would the real life Jake fall for Samantha? Or did that sort of thing only happen in movies?
Gabe
I won’t lie. I did miss American food a lot. You just can’t get a good burger outside the continental U.S.
For a short moment, I tried to bail on Becca’s secondary plans for Burger Barn after school, but my love for seasoned meat patties covered in cheese won in the end. Although it wasn’t just her I was trying to avoid. I knew all of my old guy friends would be there too.
Problem there was...I had nothing in common with them anymore. They were only obsessed with sports and girls and getting wasted—and showing off their family’s money in all of those ways. The only questions they asked me about living in Europe were: “How hot were the girls?” and “Did you get hammered all the time because there wasn’t a drinking age?” My answers were consistently, “Pretty hot,” and “Of course.” Nevermind the fact that I never got wasted while I was there, and the girls were the same as anywhere else. I could never be honest with these guys.
The Burger Barn was packed for lunch, a line growing from the counter to the door. Even my brother, Landon, was there, naturally acting like he owned the place. Landon was a full year younger than me in age, but easily ten years younger in maturity. Our dad’s short-lived good fortune went to his head at a very young age.
Well that and Mom’s death.
None of us were really the same after that. Suddenly, I had to grow up very fast. Meanwhile, Landon just stopped growing up at all.
He threw his arm around me while I waited in line. “Lunch is on me, brother! By the way, can I borrow twenty bucks?” He howled with laughter, and the girls standing around us did the same. Becca kept her arms wound around my waist so that I was literally covered, her on one side and him on the other.
“Yeah, I got you, brother,” I mumbled so only he could hear.
When we sat down, Landon wouldn’t let me get a word in. He was constantly talking, mostly about wrestling, his non-existent summer vacation in our non-existent lakehouse, and how epic our traditional post-homecoming rager would be. I just stared at him in his letterman jacket even though it was still practically summer, wondering why on earth it was so important to him to keep up these appearances of being wealthy. Who really cared?
Just then, I spotted a familiar face across the diner.
Sloane was deep into a conversation with the girls at her table. She was clearly telling a story, and with all of her animated features, I couldn’t look away. The other girls, a dark-haired girl with glasses and a more wild-looking blonde with one of those half-shaved hairdos watched her intently as if they too were spellbound by her story.
“Whatcha looking at?” Becca leaned in and smiled at me, stealing my attention back to where it should have been.
“Nothing, just zoning out.” I smiled back. Looking at Becca, I tried to remember the sweet girl I started dating freshmen year. I’d known her my whole life, and I guess I always knew we would end up together. I just thought that with how beautiful she was, I’d be more into it.
She leaned up and pressed her lips to mine. The crowd around us reacted almost immediately, letting loose a combination of oohs, aaah, and whistles from the guys. I pulled back, my cheeks clearly blushing and Becca with a smile so wide she had to hide it in my T-shirt.
My eyes traveled to the table across the diner where the group of girls sat. They were all turned in our direction, their faces stern and frowning, and who could blame them? My friends were obnoxious and absorbed the energy of every room they walked in.
Suddenly, my brother’s voice bellowed across the diner, “What are you losers looking at?”
I turned in mortification to see him glaring at the girls. At that moment, I should have told him to sit down. There were a hundred things I could have done that would have been better than sitting there silent and useless.
The wild blonde threw my brother a scowl and a colorful hand gesture while the brunette turned back around. But Sloane’s eyes stayed on me, and her frown didn’t go away.
Sloane
I never really planned to visit Mom. I just sort of found my way there. I would be driving down Main Street, fully intending to turn left on Elm and pull into my driveway, yet somehow, the wheel had a mind of its own and I’d end up cranking right, instead. Today was no different. The Gremlin bumped down the familiar cemetery road, past the caretakers house to the little parking lot where the headstones first began.
