This was my big break. I could feel it. And I couldn’t wait to share the news with my friends.
Dad had made kimchi stew for dinner (a Korean dish his grandmother had taught him to make with pork, scallions, vegetables, and tofu). As we settled in around the table, Mom shared the highlights from her day. She had worn her long black hair down, and I could see her work lanyard still around her neck. My mom teaches film, but also makes her own movies. She’s usually the first person I bounce ideas off of. I may have inherited my dad’s sometimes quirky sense of humor, but I got my love of filmmaking from my mom.
Sharing the highs and the lows from our day was our nightly family tradition, but Mom had jumped in before I could break the exciting news about CloudSong. I had so much to tell them! Without realizing it, I started tapping my spoon against my bowl as Mom talked about the university film study class she was teaching.
“And one of the students had never seen the original Star Wars films, can you believe it?” she said. Then she noticed my excitement. “Z?” She glanced at the spoon that I was using like a drumstick. I immediately stopped. “What’s wrong?”
“Sorry,” I said. “My good news tonight is huge and if I don’t tell you soon, I may explode.”
“Well, we don’t want that to happen,” Dad said, looking at me over the top of his glasses. Mom nodded. “Tell us.”
I took a deep breath. I could hear the ticktock of the cuckoo clock, which had been in my mother’s family for more than a hundred years (and came all the way from Korea in my great-grandmother’s suitcase!).
“I got accepted into the CloudSong Seattle Film Festival Young Filmmakers’ Contest!” I said so quickly it almost sounded like one long word. Mom dropped her spoon. “They’re giving me three hundred dollars to make a short film about Seattle!”
“That’s incredible!” Dad cheered. Popcorn jumped up and down next to the table and barked to be part of the conversation.
Mom reached her hand across the table. Her eyes were teary. “I am so proud of you! Our Z—a real filmmaker.”
“Should I be nervous?” I asked. “I’m flipping out!” They laughed.
Mom nodded. I could already see her filmmaker mind at work. “Of course you are. This is a big deal!”
“Tell us more about the grant,” Dad said, running a hand through his black hair. “What’s your deadline? Do you need our help at all?”
Dad was so organized. Being an aerospace engineer, he had to be. He helped design airplanes for a living and was always working on a bunch of projects at the same time. I quickly filled them in on the contest rules and details.
Dad listened carefully, drumming his fingers on the table. “Seattle … hmm … that’s a lot to cover in one documentary.”
“I guess so,” I said. I looked at Mom. “I’m still just so surprised that I even got this grant.”
Mom grabbed a pen from the buffet table behind us. “Dad’s right. Movies need a clear story or they get messy. You’ll have to decide what your vision is.”
I nodded. “Well, I’m not sure if this counts as a vision, but I guess I would want everyone to see Seattle like I do—as the greatest city in the world.”
“Now you’re talking!” said Dad. “What makes it so great?”
I thought for a moment. “I like that I can walk Popcorn down the block or go paddleboarding on Lake Union.”
Mom wrote the idea down on her napkin.
Now that it was spring, we’d be able to take our two-seater sea kayak back out. Which also meant … “And flying kites on Kite Hill.” Mom wrote that down, too.
“Don’t forget Mount Rainier National Park,” Dad added. “We hike there at least once a month.”
“And Seward Park is great for bike riding. Lauren and I love when you take us there.”
Mom handed Dad the pen, and he wrote both ideas down. Ten minutes later, both sides of the napkin were full. The list had grown to our top fifteen places that made Seattle home. And I was only getting started! I couldn’t wait to run upstairs and start writing things down on my Brainstorm Board.
“You’re excused,” Mom said, the second I finished my last bite of stew and gave her a pleading look.
“Thank you!”
I ran upstairs with Popcorn on my heels and hopped onto the computer to research which landmarks required permits for filming. I’d barely started when my phone pinged with group text messages from my friends.
MARIELA: Z!! What’s the big news?
GIGI: Lauren?! Can you tell us?
LAUREN: It’s your news, Z, not mine!
BECKA: Tell us! Tell us! Tell us!
I started to laugh. I quickly typed back.
Z: Okay, I’ll tell you guys. Drumroll, please …
MARIELA: WAIT. I’m coming over! I want to hear this in person!
GIGI: Hurry, Mari!
While I waited for Mari to arrive from the house next door, I wrote down some notes. Gum Wall close-up—gross or cool? Include the Beanery! Must show everyone Queen Anne Hill. That was my neighborhood. It sat on the highest peak in the city, northwest of downtown Seattle. I loved eating at outdoor restaurants with my parents and going biking with Mariela. Ooh! Maybe I could wear my GoPro camera and film Seattle by bike, too! I jotted that idea down as well. I heard a knock at my door, and Popcorn started barking, wagging her tail madly to welcome our visitor.
“Come in!” I yelled, spinning around in my chair.
“Whatisitwhatisitwhatisit,” Mariela said quickly as she bent down to pet Popcorn then rushed over to my desk. Her cheeks were flushed like she’d been jogging, but she looked ready for the runway in a slouchy white scarf that she’d paired with a cute, fringed navy shirt and bright green skinny jeans. I’d never think to put those items together, but they looked great on Mari, especially the white scarf against her bronze skin and curly black hair. She plopped down on my bed, and a stack of beaded bracelets on her arm slid down to her wrist, sounding like a wind chime. “You can’t tease me like this! What’s your big news?”
Mari is my oldest friend in the world. She’s the one who started calling me Z when I was a toddler and it stuck. She’s one year older and in a cool band, but she still finds time to play official fashion consultant for Lauren and me on our AGSM videos. (Kit had Mari to thank for her rocking knit hat and sweater with jeans in our California gold rush video.)
“Hmm …” I scratched my head. “I don’t know if I’m ready to spill the beans yet.” Mari’s jaw dropped and I laughed. “I’m just kidding! Get over here so that we can chat with Becka and Gigi.” I waved her to my desk.
I quickly set up a video chat, and soon saw little moving images of my friends staring back at me from the computer screen.
“Finally!” Gigi said in a gorgeous British accent that made even the most mundane words (“bottle,” “water,” “class”) sound so much better. Her red hair was pulled into a high ponytail, and she had on flannel pj’s. (She’s from London, but her dad is a diplomat and she had mentioned earlier in the week that they were visiting DC. It was almost bedtime there.)
“We can’t stand the suspense anymore!” Becka urged. “Look what you’re making me do: Pop-a-wheelies!” She spun her wheelchair in front of the screen, her blonde hair whipping around her face. Mari, Gigi, and I all applauded. “Now I’m dizzy! What’s going on?”
I looked at my friends’ eager faces. I had known Mari forever, but Becka, Gigi, and I had only met last year at VidCon (one of the largest video conferences in the world) in Southern California. We like to say it was fate that our parents all took us and we happened to be in line behind one another to meet one of our favorite vloggers. We spent two hours nonstop chatting, and by the time we made it to the front of the line, we were already BFFs!
We exchanged numbers, and soon Becka and I were sending each other silly videos (like the one I did of Popcorn and me ballroom dancing and one Becka made of herself doing the coolest basketball twirling hand trick I’d ever seen). Gigi goes with her dad a l
ot when he travels for work, and she liked to vlog about the cool foods she tried in different countries. When she did a post from South Korea about not liking Pocky sticks, I told her she had to try the chocolate-covered desserts again because they were the best thing ever! We were constantly sending each other snack packs. (Recently, I’d sent Gigi Crab Chips and she’d sent me hard-to-find Cadbury chocolate you can only get in the United Kingdom.)
“Okay, ready?” I asked.
“YES,” my friends shouted.
“I got accepted to the CloudSong Film Festival. They want me to do a documentary about Seattle!” I shouted.
All three of them squealed and yelled “congratulations!” and “well done!” (that was Gigi). Popcorn barked and chased her tail. I gave them all the details, including how I was being given three hundred dollars to help cover any expenses for the film.
“There is this special camera mount that I’ve been dying to test out—you should definitely try to rent one!” Becka said. “It has six cameras going at once so you can basically get a panoramic shot. You’d be able to shoot some great views of Seattle like that.”
“That is cool,” I agreed, writing down the words “panoramic camera mount.” “Maybe I can get a shot of the Seattle shipyards and the Locks using that.”
“You could open on that shot,” Mari suggested.
“Yeah, maybe,” I said. Dad and I liked watching the salmon swim upstream at the Locks, but we didn’t do it that often. Still, it was definitely famous.
“Maybe you should rent a drone so you can fly a camera over the city and get amazing aerial shots of your favorite landmarks,” Gigi suggested.
“Oh yes! That would be great for the Space Needle,” Mari said.
“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” I agreed, and added “aerial shots” to my list. The judges would definitely want to see the Space Needle in a movie about Seattle, right?
“Next question: What are you going to wear if you appear on camera?” Mari asked. “Because I already have some thoughts. You look great in greens. I can even lend you green rain boots if you’re shooting in the rain.” Her eyes lit up. “And you could do a segment on Seattle fashion. You love Beat Street Thrift Store.”
“I got my directing hat there,” I said, and grabbed my purple beanie off my desk. I placed it on my head. “Maybe I could interview you there!”
“I can be in your movie?” Mari asked.
“Of course!” I said.
Fashion, friends, aerial views of Seattle, and panoramic shots of the city. Plus, stops at all the landmarks I talked about with Mom and Dad. Wow, there was a lot to squeeze into a ten-minute movie! I remembered what Mom said about movies needing a vision, but I wasn’t sure I had one yet. I had a lot of pieces so far, but no idea how they all fit together. I had a lot of work to do.
“Thanks, guys,” I told my friends. “You’ve given me awesome new ideas.”
“I’ll send you links to some of that camera equipment,” Becka said.
“And I’ll send you this great video about planning your shots. The girl who posted it made everything in her vlog look cool and artsy,” Gigi said, yawning. “Sorry! Definitely have to go to sleep soon.”
“I’ll bring over wardrobe choices,” Mari added.
They were all being so helpful, but I felt my brain beginning to fog up—it was a lot to process. “Perfect.” I looked at my list. It was twice as long as it was before.
“Ring if you need help,” said Gigi. “We’re headed to Buenos Aires this week, but you know how to find me.” We all oohed. Gigi went to the coolest places.
After we all said our good-byes, and Becka and Gigi’s video screens went dark, it was just Mari and me. I pulled my purple beanie cap down on my head and stared at my Brainstorm Board, my thoughts swirling. I was in director mode! Vision. I needed to make sense of all these notes and find my vision.
“Oh! Another lightbulb,” Mari said. “Maybe you should film my band playing at the Beanery on Tuesday. I mean, if you want.”
I didn’t really need any more ideas for my documentary, but listening to Mari’s band was one of my favorite things to do. “That would be really cool. Besides, I already have my fan tee made.” I ran over to my closet and pulled out the purple shirt I’d been working on. I’d torn the sleeves off, added black bubble-paint lettering that said Needles in a Haystack, and drew a simple picture of the Seattle Space Needle (the inspiration for the band’s name).
Mari came over and thumbed the dried bubble paint. “This shirt is ah-mazing! Z, you might have a side career in the music tee business.”
“I’m a little busy for that,” I joked, pulling on my hat again. “I’ve got a movie to make first.” I sighed and turned back to the Brainstorm Board, jumping back into Z Director Mode.
“Z, don’t worry,” Mari said as she patted me on the back. “Your movie is going to be great—especially if I’m in it.” We both laughed. Mari was right, worrying wasn’t going to get me anywhere. There was no time to waste.
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental and not intended by American Girl or Scholastic Inc.
Book design by Angela Jun
Cover photo by Michael Frost for Scholastic
Author photo by Kenneth P. Vail
Special thanks to Martha Chapman.
© 2017 American Girl. All rights reserved. All American Girl marks, Gabriela™, Gabriela McBride™, and Girl of the Year™ are trademarks of American Girl. Used under license by Scholastic Inc.
First printing 2017
e-ISBN 978-1-338-15223-4
Time for Change Page 12
