The Perfect Star

by Rob Buyea

Macho Man opened his mouth and closed it.

  “As I suspected, you haven’t a clue. Nothing but rocks in your head.”

  Macho Man didn’t like that and took a step toward us. I was ready to retreat, but Natalie wasn’t backing down. She held her ground.

  “Just in case you and your sidekicks here don’t know, let me explain. Blackmail starts with me having a video of you bullying my friend—Peachy. You remember him?” Natalie held up Scott’s phone as evidence. “Blackmail comes into play when I tell you what I want, or else said video will be turned over not only to your teachers but to the district attorney, whom I happen to know quite well. You’ll be looking at one to two years behind bars for what you did.”

  Was that true? Or was Natalie making stuff up to sound more intimidating? Either way, it was working.

  Macho Man glanced left, then right, looking to see what his buddies thought. They didn’t say anything, but he still wasn’t ready to give up. He made his next move.

  “I’d say you’re the one with rocks in your head. Gimme that phone.” He stepped forward and reached for Natalie’s arm. He was calling her bluff. Too bad Natalie was always way ahead of her opponents.

  She sidestepped his attempt. “Do you honestly think I would’ve shown up here without making a copy of the video first? You’re dumber than I thought. You can try to get this phone, but you still won’t have all the evidence. And if you take the phone from me, then I guarantee you that the video will be turned over to school and law officials.”

  I watched Macho Man turn into Mousy Man right before my eyes. The color in his face drained, and his puffed-up chest deflated. He was beaten, and he knew it. I loved Natalie so much in these moments.

  “You see, I’m way ahead of you, Stonebreaker. Welcome to blackmailing.”

  Stonebreaker? How did Natalie know this guy? What was on that video?

  “Are you ready to listen now?” she asked him.

  Mousy Man’s chin dropped. He stood there staring at the ground, and gave the slightest nod.

  “Great,” Natalie said. “Here’s how it’s going to work….”

  NATALIE KURTSMAN

  ASPIRING LAWYER

  Kurtsman Law Offices

  Brief #11

  OCTOBER: A SIMULATION

  Everyone is familiar with the adage “Don’t judge a book by its cover.” I have a similar personal mantra: “Don’t judge a person until you’ve had her on the stand”—figuratively, of course. It’s understood that when you put a person on the witness stand, you get to ask her anything you want. The result is that you get to know the person, which is exactly my point—get to know someone before judging. That was my philosophy, but sometimes I fell short. Camp was an important reminder.

  I’m ashamed to admit it, but I’d prematurely labeled each and every one of our camp counselors as a hairy tree hugger. And while there was some truth to that, as the week progressed, I came to see that they were good people with a genuine passion for our planet who had much to teach us—and we had much to learn.

  Lesson number one came at the conclusion of our first meal, when it was announced by the kitchen staff how many pounds of food waste they’d collected from our trays. I’m embarrassed to say it was close to a camp record. Improving on this became one of our class goals. We did simple things like eliminate trays; we opted for carrying only a single plate when getting our food, which resulted in us taking less food, thereby having less to waste. By being mindful, we made steady progress in this area over the course of the week—and that felt good.

  Not only did we talk about food, but we tackled water conservation as well. This introduced a different adage; not my favorite due to its grossness, but effective nonetheless. “If it’s yellow, let it mellow. If it’s brown, flush it down.”

  “What if it’s green?” Scott asked. “Sometimes mine is green. Or blue-green, especially after eating blueberries. I love blueberries.”

  “Well,” Mr. Beard responded, “the short answer is, flush it, but I’d say we need to come up with a phrase to add to our saying. If you or anyone else thinks of one, let us know.”

  Scott nodded and gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up; he was on it. I was relieved when our talk moved on. I was not at all interested in discussing his variously colored scat. (Like how I chose that word? I learned that term during an animal tracking activity led by Mr. Beard.)

  In addition to the meaningful conversations, this outdoorsy bunch led us in numerous activities. For example, the aforementioned animal tracking expedition, bottle rockets, yoga, knot tying, outdoor fire building, bird-watching, identifying edible plants, and stargazing, to name a few. All the activities were a mix of fun and interesting, but the simulation we did at the end of the week was by far the best. Why? Because it challenged my thinking and gave me a new perspective.

  It started with each of us being given an index card that contained our pretend name and story. In short, each of us was homeless, for any number of reasons. Our goal was to seek assistance and get off the streets. That was to be accomplished by going to the different stations that were set up around the camp. Among the stations were a health clinic, a women’s shelter, a regular shelter, the unemployment office, and more. It sounded simple to me, but that all changed once we began—and that was exactly the point.

  At virtually every stop I encountered long lines and not enough help. And when I did get to talk to a person (one of the counselors engaged in role-playing), I often discovered that I lacked the required documentation and couldn’t be helped, so I was told to go someplace else, where, inevitably, long lines waited. I failed to get back to the shelter in time on one occasion and found myself spending the night on the streets. (This was all role-playing, of course, but you get the drift.) The experience was incredibly annoying, frustrating, and depressing. After three rounds (which represented days), I was no better off. I was ready to quit—again, exactly the point.

  After running the simulation, we gathered together and debriefed. We shared the stories from our cards. This part was eye-opening. Why? Because prior to the simulation, we’d all assumed that people on the streets had wound up there as a result of drug or alcohol abuse. Yes, that might be true for some, but not for all. Listening to one another, we learned that some of us were homeless because of mounting medical bills, because of running away from an abusive situation, because of a gambling addiction, because of a house fire or other natural disaster, because we’d lost money in the stock market, or lost our job, and more.

  Here was the big takeaway. In some ways it seemed easy for a person to wind up homeless—and it wasn’t always that person’s fault—but it could be incredibly difficult to improve your situation once you got there.

  Just think about that for a second—I sure did. And that wouldn’t be the last time I thought about those lessons, either.

  I was looking forward to sleeping in my own bed. I was looking forward to my blankets and pillows, my slippers and shower, Mom’s cooking, and my personal toilet. I’d had a good time at camp, but I’d roughed it long enough. It’s funny how you end up missing the simple things in life when you’re without them for a while.

  Most of all, I’d missed Mom. We had plans for a nice dinner and a movie, but things changed after I got into the house. I dropped my stuff by the door and plopped onto the couch.

  “Good to be home?” Mom asked.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “So how was it?” she asked, sitting next to me.

  I sat up, and that was when I spotted the flowers perched in our bay window. You couldn’t miss them. It was a huge bouquet in a brand-new vase.

  “Where’d you get those?” I asked.

  “Oh, from Jacob,” Mom said. “Aren’t they beautiful?”

  “He sent you flowers?”

  She hesitated. “Actually, no. He brought them to me.”

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nbsp; “Brought them to you? You mean, like, in person?”

  “Yes. He came to visit while you were at camp.”

  “Came to visit? Did he stay here?”

  Mom nodded.

  “Where did he sleep?”

  “Randi, I don’t think that is any of your business.”

  That was all the answer I needed. I wasn’t a little kid anymore. I knew how these things worked.

  “Do you love him?”

  She didn’t answer, again telling me all I needed to know. This was beyond serious. We were talking potentially life changing. I stared at the floor. I wanted to be happy for Mom, but I was scared. The next step would be selling our house and moving so that Mom could be with Jacob. I couldn’t let that happen.

  “It scares me, too,” Mom said.

  Not the same, I thought.

  “I don’t want to do something stupid and get hurt…or see you get hurt,” she said.

  “Then take it slow,” I warned. “I don’t trust him.”

  That wasn’t true, but fear can make you do terrible things. Mom looked hurt by my words, and that sent a shot of pain through my body worse than when I’d torn my ACL. I got up and went to my room. I didn’t like what I’d done, but what choice did I have?

  Mark missed the broadcast on Monday morning, our first one since camp, but that wasn’t because he was mad at me. It was because he had an appointment with his doc to see if he could play yet. He didn’t make it to school until after third period, but I spotted him in the halls in between classes. I’d been looking for him all morning because I was dying to find out what the doctor had said. I ran up to him.

  “Hey, bro. What did he say? Can you play?”

  He frowned and shook his head.

  My shoulders dropped. “No?” I mumbled. “Sorry.”

  He shoved me. “Dude, I’m joking. I’m back.”

  “You jerk!” I yelled.

  “Ribs are completely healed.” He patted them to show me.

  I still felt terrible and responsible for him getting hurt, but man, I was pumped. It was going to feel like we were playing football on the same team again—for the first time all season.

  “Strong side,” I said, popping him in the chest.

  “Left side,” he responded, popping me back.

  “Strong side!”

  “Left side!”

  The students walking by looked at us like we were nuts, but we didn’t care.

  “Strong side!”

  “Left side!”

  “Gentlemen!” Mrs. Carson yelled, charging out of her classroom. “This is not the practice field. Get to class.”

  “It’s from the movie Remember the Titans,” I tried explaining.

  “I don’t care. Get to class!” she ordered.

  “Sorry. On our way.”

  I turned back to Mark. “See you at practice, bro.”

  “Later, dude.”

  I jogged to ELA. I hoped we had to do some of that mushy writing about our feelings, because I had the perfect poem in mind. It was titled “Bring on Stonebreaker.”

  NATALIE KURTSMAN

  ASPIRING LAWYER

  Kurtsman Law Offices

  BRIEF #12

  November: Firing on All Cylinders

  In our first week back from camp, we featured Scott’s videos on The Razzle-Dazzle Show every morning. I must admit, he captured a plethora of great moments—none more important than the bathroom episode, which I couldn’t share, but that was okay because I’d found a good use for it anyway. His documentary was a huge hit. The seventh grade was already buzzing with excitement, and their turn was still a whole year off.

  Of course, in addition to sharing camp videos during the broadcast, we also continued with our typical announcements, weather reports, and previews of upcoming athletic contests. I could tolerate a sports segment on the show as long as it wasn’t the sole focus. Besides, to be fair, it would’ve been negligent, if not completely unacceptable, and maybe even a case of borderline censorship, if I hadn’t made time to talk about the football team when they were still undefeated. Such an act could’ve been grounds for my termination. But to be realistic, the guys never would’ve let me get away with that. I would’ve had a mutiny on my hands if I’d tried.

  All in all, it was a splendid week for the show. I definitely got the sense that people had missed us while we’d been at camp. Numerous teachers and students went out of their way to tell me so, which made me feel both appreciated and proud, but nothing meant more than when Mrs. Woods shared her praise.

  “You’ve really got this Razzle-Dazzle Show firing on all cylinders now, Miss Kurtsman.”

  I smiled. “Thanks.”

  “Seems to me there was at least one important development at that camp not caught on Mr. Mason’s phone.” She was referring to Mark being around again. Mrs. Woods knew full well that something had been amiss and now it was fixed. She was still as sharp as a tack.

  “Yes,” I acknowledged.

  “That’s good. Now that you’ve got everyone on board, I’d say this show is ready for great things.”

  “What great things?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, but you’ll figure it out. I’ve got no doubt about that.”

  Doing something of significance with The Razzle-Dazzle Show had been my goal from the onset, but suddenly there was pressure to deliver. It wasn’t until the end of the week—Friday, to be exact—when I’d finally finished editing all of Scott’s videos that I got around to thinking about what could be next. It needed to be special, whatever it was. It needed to open eyes and push thinking, like the homelessness simulation had done for me at camp. I had no way of knowing if Mr. Holmes had responded to my letter, but I’d promised Robbie that I’d be back to see him, so paying him a visit was next on my list.

  I didn’t stop smiling all week because so many people kept telling me how terrific my documentary was. Mr. Allen stopped me on my way to class—I thought because I was running in the halls—but he just wanted to talk to me. “Scott, the seventh graders are going to owe you. Your documentary is all the proof I’ll need to convince the board to approve sending them to camp next year.”

  Boy, did that make me smile. “Thanks, Mr. Allen. That’s super.”

  “No, thank you, Scott.”

  I sped off to class, and Mr. Allen yelled for me to slow down, but I was way too excited for that. My documentary was a hit—and the best parts of camp weren’t even in it, like Trevor and Mark becoming best friends again. Their fight had been a doozy, with a real punch and some blood and a black eye, but that wasn’t the good part. Their getting back together after the fight was the good part. It was good for The Razzle-Dazzle Show, for the Recruits, and especially for our football team.

  One week with Trevor and Mark playing together again, and we looked like a whole new team. I dressed and participated in warm-ups for our next game, but after that I put my helmet on the bench and picked up my deluxe clipboard and play sheet. We didn’t need a secret-weapon play against Morristown. We blanked them 45–0.

  The only thing we were missing was Coach and Mrs. Woods.

  It’s always a good feeling when all kinds of people—cheerleaders, parents, teachers, friends, classmates, you name it—offer congratulations and pat you on the back after a big win. You feel special in those few minutes, even more when your girlfriend happens to be standing next to you during it all. Man, I wanted to take Natalie’s hand or throw my arm around her and pull her close, but she had a strict no-PDA policy—no public displays of affection. There would be absolutely none of that—and definitely no kissing. So we walked side by side from the field back to the school. Sounds boring, but that was when things got exciting.

  “One more W and then Stonebreaker,” I said, making conversation.

  “Wait, Stoneb
reaker? The guy from the bathroom—”

  I stopped dead in my tracks. Natalie’s hand flew up to cover her mouth, but she’d already let too much slip.

  “How’d you know about that?” I asked.

  She sighed. “I wasn’t going to say anything. I saw Scott’s video from the bathroom when I was downloading his files to my computer. It was spotty and only audio in parts, but I saw enough.”

  “You mean, you saw those jerks pants him?”

  “Pants him?” she repeated, not understanding.

  “Yanking his sweats down,” I explained.

  “Yes.”

  “Whoa.”

  “Oh, I didn’t see his you know, if that’s what you’re thinking. I saw his white butt, but not his—”

  I laughed. “No, that’s not what I was thinking, but thanks for clearing that up.”

  She punched me in the arm.

  I waved my finger. “Naughty, naughty. No PDA,” I teased her.

  She punched me again, and I laughed.

  “I didn’t know he got all that on video,” I said. “I forgot he had his phone recording.”

  “The boy documented everything at camp.”

  “I guess so.” I worried that his video might’ve started with me on the pot, but Natalie didn’t mention that, and I wasn’t asking. I had a different question for her. “So what did you do after you saw it?” There was no way the answer was nothing. This was Natalie we were talking about.

  “Blackmail.”

  “What?”

  “Blackmail,” she repeated.

  “You know how to do that?”

  “Of course I know how to do that! This is me we’re talking about. How did you think I got Murdoch to be your assistant coach? I bring him breakfast and his mail from the office every morning before homeroom. Technically speaking, that’s not blackmail, but you get the point.”

  “Really? You do that?”