by Jen Calonita
I quickly snapped out of my thoughts and navigated the drone higher, around the top of the sail boat mast. Whoa, that was close. “It’s okay,” I said.
“Be careful,” Dad warned me.
“I know,” I grumbled. I knew Dad wasn’t totally supportive of my spending so much of my grant money on renting the drone. He thought it was a waste, but Becka had seemed so sure that a drone would make my footage look edgy. Mom and I watched a few videos filmed with drones, and they looked really unique. That’s what I was going for with these shots. Now I just hoped I got some good footage.
The drone rose higher and higher before I sent it over the water toward the Hiram M. Chittenden Locks. A ton of people visit the Locks each year to watch boats and ships get raised and lowered at different water levels along the river and canal waterways at the west end of Salmon Bay. I loved watching the boats go through the channels and watching the salmon swim upstream. Dad said I used to beg to take one home as a pet!
“Look at that drone go!” marveled Dad as we watched the machine zoom along, becoming a tiny dot on the horizon. People walking on the docks looked up as they heard a faint buzzing sound over their heads.
I turned my attention back to the handheld device that controlled the drone, looking at the screen that showed me the footage the drone was taking. I had studied the drone manual carefully—I didn’t want to break it!—and I knew how far it could go and what to do if the drone went out of range, but I still wasn’t sure how the footage would look in my movie. I looked at the screen again and frowned. Uh-oh. So far the only thing the drone was recording was choppy water.
“How does the video look?” Dad asked me.
“It looks cool!” I said unconvincingly. I knew the truth—my recording of the Locks looked … dull. Even as a large shipping boat and the channels finally came into view, it was still boring.
Dad leaned over my shoulder and looked at the screen. “Huh. All I see is water.”
“It’s pretty water,” I countered, my heart pounding. I didn’t want Dad to know I was having doubts about renting the drone. I needed something to go right today. “I just need to get closer.”
“Can you do that?” Dad asked.
I stopped paying attention to the drone and looked at him. “What do you mean?”
“Z,” Dad said, sounding slightly impatient. “I told you to look up whether you could fly the drone over a public place like this. There are laws. Didn’t you look up the rules for this area?”
“I forgot,” I said without thinking, and Dad looked at me. “I’m sorry! I’ve been really busy between homework and filming and …” And the CloudSong movie, I thought, hearing Mari in my head. Ugh! Maybe my friends were right, but I couldn’t think about that now.
Was this drone footage going to be a bust, too? I threw back my head, frustrated. “It’s not a big deal. I’m not doing anything dangerous with the drone.”
“Z, there are rules for flying a drone,” he repeated. “Mom and I talked to you about that. If you haven’t done your research, I’m sorry, but you should bring the drone in.”
“Fine,” I said stubbornly, and started to bring the drone back. I was annoyed with Dad, but secretly I knew he was right. I was so anxious about how my movie was going to fit together that I hadn’t done my homework checking out whether I could fly a drone here.
But even if I had, I kind of knew this footage wasn’t working for me. Sure, the water was a gorgeous shade of amber in spots where the setting sun reflected off it, but I wasn’t going to get a good shot of that now.
“You’re right,” I said with a sigh. “I’m sorry I got mad at you. I just had a rough day and wanted so badly to get some footage I could use.”
“Want to talk about it?” Dad’s expression softened. I shook my head. I was afraid if I did, I might get upset in public. “Okay, well, why don’t you use your regular camera down here instead?” Dad suggested.
That was a good idea! I landed the drone safely on the docks and carefully put it back in its carrying bag, then took out my trusty camera. I wasn’t really sure what footage I would get, but Mom always said, Trust your gut. That’s what I would do.
“Mr. Production Assistant?” I joked, referring to Dad. He had been calling himself that since we got in the car and headed downtown that afternoon. “Will you still work for me even though I got mad before?”
Dad smiled. “Of course, director. At your service. What would you like me to do?”
“Let’s walk all the way to the edge of this dock and get some video close-up of the salmon.” I pointed down the walkway. “And maybe we can take one home as a pet.”
Dad laughed. “Here we go again. We’ll talk about it. To the Locks!” he declared and ran ahead. I followed, and instinctively pulled my phone out of my pocket to send Lauren a text to share about the drone disaster.
Z: Hey! At the Locks and almost crashed the drone. So distracted. LOL.
I waited a few seconds to see if Lauren would respond. She didn’t. Maybe she was at soccer practice. Oh, wait. Didn’t she say she was doing something with some of the girls on the team after school? Was she reading my text and ignoring it? My stomach tightened. I had made the text all about my filming again—probably not the smartest move. I tried again.
Z: Can’t wait for our presentation on Friday. We will nail it, then we can work on “The Homework Hacker”!
That time I could see the little ball spinning at the bottom of the text, like Lauren was responding. But nothing popped up. If she was texting with someone, it wasn’t me. I shoved my phone back in my pocket. Trying to push Lauren and our fight out of my mind, I set my camera to record and followed after Dad. I soaked in the view—the Locks lifting boats up and down in the water, close-ups of the Locks themselves, the boats floating by, and tourists taking pictures of the sunset. I loved watching people enjoy my city as much as I did. Hmm … maybe I could put on my reporter hat like I did for Camera Club. Adding a few Seattleite characters would give this movie some color. I fished around in my messenger bag for my small pocket recorder, then scanned the area for interesting interview subjects.
“Excuse me?” I asked a couple with a red-headed toddler who was eagerly pointing to the water. I cleared my throat—it was a little nerve-racking interviewing complete strangers. “Do you maybe have a minute to answer some questions on camera? I’m making a documentary about Seattle.”
“Sure!” the woman answered.
“Okay, great—thanks. What brought you to the Locks today?”
“Our son loves looking at the fish, and this is so much better than Pike Place Market where the fish are already”—the woman made a face, and then used air quotes in front of the little boy—“sleeping.”
I laughed. “So you come here all the time?”
“We like to take weekly walks down here to see the fish and the boats,” the dad explained. “Right, Deacon?”
Deacon, the red-headed toddler, seemed too young to talk, but he pointed to the water and giggled every time he saw a salmon swim by under the water. His mom held his hand tightly. I knelt down to Deacon’s level, and he eyed my camera gear with interest.
“You like the fish, buddy?” I asked, and the kid’s face lit up. He kept pointing to the water. I looked up at his parents and asked, “What would you say Seattle means to your family?”
“Home,” the mom said without hesitating. “I can’t imagine living anywhere else.”
“Even somewhere with less rain?” Deacon’s dad teased.
“The rainy days just make the sunny days we have that much more special,” the mom said.
Bingo. I loved that line. I had to make sure I used that footage in my movie.
I thanked the parents and waved good-bye to Deacon before making my way farther down the docks to find Dad. He was standing near the fish ladder, an area of the Locks with a tunnel-like opening that the salmon swam through. At the end of the twenty-one openings in the ladder, the salmon broke free into the fresh water
of Salmon Bay. The salmon work so hard to swim up through the ladder. Working on this project was beginning to make me feel like those salmon. I felt like I was swimming and swimming and getting nowhere. With my friends, with this movie, with my school project.
“Do you want to head home so you can shoot some more footage with the drone before sunset?” Dad asked me.
I shook my head. “It’s okay. I can film it tomorrow,” I told Dad.
“Okay,” Dad said, staring out at the water. I looked at him in his favorite Mariners tee and a baseball cap from one of Mom’s film shoots. He’d hurried home from work to help me and I had been super cranky with him. I tucked myself under his arm. “Thanks again for taking me filming today,” I said quietly.
“Of course,” Dad said, squeezing my arm. “I know you’ve got a lot on your mind. I hope you don’t forget an important part of doing all this, though, is having fun.”
“I know,” I said. I was getting so frustrated with everyone and everything I was forgetting to enjoy myself. Entering my first film contest was hard, but it was supposed to be exciting, too. “I’ll try to have more fun,” I vowed.
“That’s my girl,” Dad said.
I looked out at the water and wondered what Lauren and Mari were doing. The sun was dipping lower, and I’d never seen the Seattle sky look more like a postcard. I tucked my camera back into my bag.
“Don’t you want to film this?” Dad asked as Popcorn took a seat on my feet like she always did when I finally stood still. It was like she didn’t want us to move, either. “That’s a gorgeous sunset.”
I smiled. “It is. But I don’t want to give away all of Seattle’s secrets,” I said. “Let’s keep this one for you and me.”
Dad hugged me back. “I’d like that.”
Then we both turned and watched in silence as the sun slowly sank below the water, taking the last rays of sunlight with it.
It rained for the next two days straight.
In a city as rainy as Seattle, people just put on their rain boots, grab a raincoat and umbrella, and keep moving. Me? I didn’t want to go anywhere.
I was fighting with my two best friends in the world. Neither of them were speaking to me. Lauren ignored me in class and at Camera Club, and Mariela had scootered home without me. Even thinking about helping Camera Club get a new camera didn’t cheer me up. Nothing felt as fun if I didn’t have my friends to share it with.
I lay on my bed and listened to the sound of rain hitting the roof. I was too frustrated to edit my movie. Instead, I pulled “The Horrible Homework Hacker” out of my folder and finally read Lauren’s script. As Popcorn snuggled beside me, I laughed out loud at her story. I was done reading in five minutes. Five minutes I could never find before. My stomach twisted into a knot from guilt. I tried texting Lauren again:
Z: LOVE “The Homework Hacker” script!
For the umpteenth time that week, she didn’t respond. I threw my phone across the bed, startling Popcorn.
“Sorry, girl,” I said, and scratched her behind the ears. At least Popcorn wasn’t mad at me. I looked up. The bulletin board that hung next to my bed caught my eye. My favorite picture of me with Lauren, eating cotton candy at a Seattle street fair, stared back at me. I missed my best friend.
I heard a knock at my door.
“Very late production assistant reporting for duty,” Dad said. He had been working downstairs on a prototype for a new plane, and Mom was at the university grading a big exam. Popcorn jumped off the bed and ran straight toward him.
“It’s okay,” I said. I was going to make a joke about Dad being fired, but my heart wasn’t in it. “I’ve shut the set down today.”
“Shut down the set?” Dad asked, sitting down on the edge of my bed. “Are you on strike?”
I shook my head yes, then shook my head no. “I’m just not in the mood to film today.”
“Everything okay?” Dad asked, growing serious.
“Lauren and Mari are mad at me,” I said. I could feel my lower lip start to quiver.
“Ah, is this why you were so upset at the Locks the other day?” Dad asked.
I sat up. “Yes.” I was dying to tell someone what was going on. Gigi was traveling, and Becka had a wheelchair basketball tournament. I liked Andrew and Maddie, but I didn’t want to make them feel like they had to pick sides. There was no one around to talk to with Mari and Lauren not speaking to me. So I spilled my guts to Dad.
“It sounds like you really hurt Mari’s feelings,” Dad said. “Have you apologized?”
“Well, not exactly, but … ,” I protested. “They both said all I’ve been talking about is CloudSong and nothing else.”
“Well, haven’t you?” Dad asked honestly.
“Well, maybe, but this is a huge deal,” I reminded him.
“It is,” Dad agreed, “but so is the social studies project. Lauren worked hard on it and she wanted to be more involved, and it sounds like you didn’t let her.”
I thought back to how many times she had asked to help and I had shut her down. And it had taken me till today to read her script for our next AGSM.
“And Mari and her band took time out of their practices to record a version of the song you wanted in your movie. How do you think she felt, hearing you act like that was no big deal?” Dad asked.
Well, when he put it that way…
I flopped down on my bed again. Maybe my friends were right: I was living, breathing, and talking about the CloudSong movie 24-7. I had forgotten to pay attention to everything else around me. I had made Mari feel like her music didn’t matter and let Lauren think our project wasn’t important.
“I’m a bad friend,” I said, pulling down my beanie over my face.
Dad patted me on the back. “Everyone makes mistakes. The important thing about being a good friend is knowing how to apologize. They’ll come around.”
“I’ve been calling and texting them for days,” I said miserably.
“Have you tried apologizing in person?” Dad asked. “You know, the old-fashioned way, not on a screen. Saying sorry face-to-face?”
I sat up. “No,” I admitted. Dad and Popcorn both looked at me. If I wanted to make things right, I needed to show my friends how much they meant to me. “You’re right.” I glanced at the clock. It was 5:45. “Do I have some time before dinner? Maybe I’ll take Popcorn for a walk and stop by Mari’s.”
The word “walk” was all Popcorn had to hear. She started barking and ran to my door.
“Sure,” Dad said. “We’re getting takeout, and I haven’t even ordered yet. You have plenty of time.”
Just knowing I was going to talk to Mari made me feel a little brighter. I grabbed my camera—just in case. I never knew when inspiration was going to strike. I also took my Windbreaker from the downstairs closet and put on Popcorn’s leash, rain hat, and booties. It was drizzling, and I wanted to be prepared if the sky opened up.
When we stepped onto the porch, I stood there for a moment, letting the cool air hit my face. My eyes immediately scanned to Mari’s house next door. Her mom’s car was parked out front, so I hoped that meant Mari was home, too. We walked straight to her front door, Popcorn tugging on her leash. I hesitated for half a second and then knocked. Two seconds later, Mari came to the door. When she saw me her smile faded, and she looked down at her sneakers. She was wearing one black high-top lace-up and one bright pink one.
“I know you’re mad at me and you have every right to be,” I said with a shaky voice “I said something stupid and I didn’t mean it. I’m so grateful to you and your band for doing a song arrangement just for me. I love it.”
“Thanks, Z,” Mari said. I couldn’t really tell what Mari was feeling, so I went on.
“Friends are also supposed to make you feel good about yourself, not bad,” I said quietly. “I’m so sorry I hurt your feelings.”
Mari grabbed my hand and gave it a squeeze. “It’s okay. I knew that you didn’t really mean it, but yeah, you’re right, it d
id hurt my feelings.”
I squeezed her hand back. “Thanks for keeping me honest,” I said with a little laugh.
“What are friends for?” She pulled me in for a hug.
Resolving things with Mari made me want to run over to Lauren’s house right away, but I knew she had a soccer game. And besides, I knew I had to do more than just apologize to Lauren. I had to show her that I really cared about our friendship, even though I hadn’t been acting like it the last few weeks. The question was: how?
Maybe I’d think of something on my walk with Popcorn. The two of us walked quietly down the block listening to the sounds of my neighborhood—car tires splashing through puddles, birds coming out after a storm, the McManus kids skateboarding down their long driveway, a mother talking on her cell phone while her baby babbled in her stroller. Popcorn took her usual turn onto Plum Street, and I saw Mrs. Tollman gardening.
Most people in our neighborhood had their gardens in the back, but the Tollmans’ front yard was huge and everyone in the area loved to look at their gardening boxes, which were always full of watermelon, zucchini, and even pumpkins in the fall. I watched Mrs. Tollman till the dirt that would soon grow into thriving plants that always reminded me of a forest.
“Hi, Z,” Mrs. Tollman greeted me as I approached. “Are you and Popcorn getting in a walk before it pours again?”
“Yes. I see you’re starting your garden.”
“I’ve been waiting weeks to plant,” she told me. “I have French string beans this year and am even trying to grow brussels sprouts. We’ll see how that goes.”
If Dad and I had a question about growing a garden, Mrs. Tollman always had the answer. If someone was in need of a tomato or a zucchini for a recipe, the Tollmans were the first people anyone asked. Everyone in our community knew the Tollmans. They were like family. Family. Hmm … I could feel an idea brewing! “Could you tell me a bit about your garden for a movie I’m working on?” I asked.
“Sure!” Mrs. Tollman touched her hair. “I’ve always wanted to be in a movie.”
