by Tom Ryan
My stomach sinks as I realize that this might well be the last of my appearances on Pop Quiz, maybe my last chance to act forever. I catch Bill’s eye and try to return his smile, but I know inside that we’re both just acting.
Satri and Anais are waiting along the edges of the set as the cameras are repositioned for another shot.
“That was crazy, Aiden,” says Anais. “I didn’t know where you were going with that, but it was awesome. I thought I was going to start crying too.”
“It’s like I told you, Aiden,” says Satri. “Don’t give up on the big leagues just yet!”
Six
Although all my scenes are done for the season, I have to keep showing up for the rest of the week. Everybody has to do their fair share of background work, even though we all hate it.
At least I don’t have any more lines to remember. I’m free to pay attention to Bill and try to figure out what’s going on.
After a couple of uneventful days on set, I start to think that maybe I imagined the whole thing. Bill seems a little bit distracted, but he’s as friendly as ever. Shooting moves along smoothly. Maybe if things are going this well, there’s nothing to worry about.
During a break one afternoon I notice Bill standing with Dexi near the craft-services table. They look like they’re having a serious conversation, so I make a beeline for the snacks and start to fill up a plate. As I pretend to debate between cheez doodles and caramel corn, I manage to pick up a bit of their conversation.
“So it’s just a budget problem?” Dexi asks.
“Pretty much,” says Bill. “You know how it goes. I’m sure they’ll figure everything out.”
“I feel like we go through this every year,” says Dexi. “Barbara gets all worried about money, and then everything turns out fine.”
I freeze, my hand over the bowl of M&M’s, waiting to hear Bill’s response, but Satri practically collapses into me.
“M&M’s!” he says excitedly. “My fave!”
“Everything’s your fave,” I say, frustrated that he’s interrupted my spy games. Behind us, Dexi’s walkie-talkie crackles to life, and she hurries away to put out some fire.
Bill comes over to the crafts-services table. “So how are two of my finest actors doing today?” he asks, helping himself to a few pieces of broccoli. Bill’s kind of a health nut.
“You mean two of your finest lead actors,” says Satri.
“Yes, of course,” says Bill. “I’ll have to remember that.”
His smile seems genuine. As we walk back to the set, I decide that I must have misunderstood the conversation between Bill and Barbara Kale. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. So much happens behind the scenes every year that there are bound to be arguments all the time. I am happy that I got it all wrong.
The rest of the week goes by uneventfully. At end of day on Friday, I linger on the edges of the set with the rest of the cast and crew, watching as the last scene of the season is filmed.
In what looks like an empty classroom, Celeste tells Fenn that she has decided to take a year off before college, and he decides on the spot to give up Busted Kneecap’s big summer tour to follow her to Europe.
Diana and Darwin are such good actors that it’s almost possible to forget that the room is stuffed full of people and lights and microphones on poles.
Satri sidles up next to me. “So romantic,” he whispers, before sticking his finger in his mouth and pretending to barf.
“Cut!” yells Dexi. “Ladies and gentlemen, that’s a wrap on season nine of Pop Quiz!”
Everyone hoots and hollers. People exchange hugs and high fives. In the background, I see Bill sneaking away and disappearing around the back of the school. Nobody notices him leave but me.
We gradually drift into the gym for the wrap party. Someone has set up a microphone on the stage so Bill can hand out diplomas. So far Bill is nowhere to be seen.
I grab some Hawaiian pizza and take a seat next to Satri on the bleachers at the back of the gym.
“It’s good,” he says through a mouthful of pizza. Looking at him, you’d think this was the best party ever. I’m not so sure though. Compared to other wrap parties I’ve been to, there’s something weird about this one.
I notice that some of the crew are standing off to the side, huddled together and whispering seriously to one another. They don’t look like they’re in a party mood. I wonder if they really look upset or if I’m imagining things again.
“Something’s up,” says Anais as she and Belva approach. “Bill is always here at the start, handing out wrap presents and giving us high fives and stuff.”
“I think he might be sick,” says Belva. “Andrew says he heard Bill in the bathroom earlier, barfing.”
“Oh man,” says Satri. “I hope it wasn’t the pizza.” He takes another huge bite.
There’s a sudden commotion, and everyone turns toward the doors of the gym as they burst open and Bill comes in, marching purposefully and waving a handful of papers in the air.
“Let’s get this show on the road!” he yells. He sounds cheerful, but there’s a weird edge to his voice.
He leaps up onto the stage and turns on the microphone that’s been set up for the karaoke machine.
“Let’s do this!” he says into the mic, which is set really loud so that his voice booms into the audience.
He drops a stack of paper on his desk and picks the top piece off.
“ ‘Most Likely to Join the Fire Department,’ ” he says, and everyone cheers and laughs. We all know what’s coming. “Janaya Bliss!”
Laughing, Janaya edges through the crowd and hops up onto the stage. Earlier this season she accidentally set off the fire alarm during a scene, and it took half a day to get everything back in order after the sprinklers were set off.
As certificates are handed out, the mood in the room seems to mellow. People are laughing and having a good time, even the crew members I saw huddling together earlier.
“This next certificate is the ‘Early Bird Gets the Gummy Worm’ prize,” says Bill. “It goes out to Aiden Cavanaugh, who is always quick to arrive on set and even quicker to fill up a plate at the craft-services table!”
“Atta boy, Aiden,” yells Satri over the applause. He claps me on the back as I make my way toward the front of the gym.
Onstage, Bill hands me the certificate with a big smile. I grin back at him, but when I look closely, I can see that his eyes aren’t smiling at all.
“Good job, buddy,” he whispers as I shake his hand.
“Thanks, Bill,” I say, happy to get offstage.
After the certificates have been handed out, it’s time for “graduation,” which is more serious. Bill works through the stack of diplomas efficiently, cracking jokes and giving each of the graduates a big hug.
“And last but not least,” he says with a flourish, “Diana Parker! I think we can all agree that we will be looking forward to whatever this talented young woman does next.”
Diana walks onto the stage and reaches to take the diploma from Bill. But just as she reaches out to take it, he pulls it back.
“I just have to say something to you all,” says Bill. The tone of his voice is very different now. The joking is gone. His shoulders droop, and he drops his chin, staring at the stage while the microphone hangs limply in one hand, Diana’s diploma in the other.
For a long, stretched-out moment Bill doesn’t say anything. Diana is still standing there awkwardly. She puts her hand on his shoulder.
“Bill?” she asks. The DJ has stopped the music, and it’s so quiet in the gym that we all can hear Diana loud and clear, even without a microphone.
Bill looks up, and to our shock, there are tears on his face.
“I’m sorry, Diana,” he says. “I thought I’d get through this.”
He hands her the diploma, and she takes it gingerly. With his free hand,
Bill gestures toward her, a broad smile fighting through his obvious upset.
“Diana Parker, ladies and gentlemen!” Bill says, his resumed cheer obviously forced. “Can we give her a big hand?”
We all clap politely, and Diana looks relieved to be able to leave the stage.
“Guys,” Bill says. “I’m sorry, but it’s been an emotional day. I have some things to tell you, but first I want to say that in my eyes, you are all the most likely to succeed. I see big futures for each and every one of you. You’re great actors, crew and friends.”
“Is Bill going to fly back to Oz?” Satri asks in a stage whisper.
“Shhhhh,” says Anais.
“Unfortunately,” Bill goes on, “after nine full seasons on the air, the producers of Pop Quiz have decided that it’s time to bring things to a close.”
There are audible gasps throughout the crowd, and to my left Satri begins to hiccup. Satri always hiccups when he’s surprised.
“Wha—HIC—did he—HIC—say?” he asks.
“He said we’re done,” says Anais.
“I want you all to know that I fought really hard to keep this show going,” says Bill. “It was as much of a surprise to me as it is to you. I think of you all as family, and I know you see yourselves that way too.”
Whatever party atmosphere was left in the room has completely disappeared. Bill walks off the stage and hurries out of the gym. Dexi runs after him.
The rest of us are left standing there, wondering what just happened.
Seven
My parents aren’t as disappointed as I’d expected.
“You know we’ve always thought it was very cool that you had this show on the side,” my mother says at breakfast the morning after Bill’s big announcement. “But I think it’s important, and healthy, for you to have something else to do with your summers as well. There is more to life than Pop Quiz.”
My father nods in agreement over the top of his iPad, where he’s busy playing Words with Friends.
“I have lots to do in the summer!” I say. “I have tons of friends on the show, and I’ve been making money too!”
“Yes, you’ve been fortunate enough to be able to save a little chunk of money for college. You’re starting off better than we did, that’s for sure.”
I know this already. My parents are fond of telling me how lucky I’ve had it, being part of an adventure like Pop Quiz. That doesn’t mean I’m ready to just hang up my hat.
“Well, I’m really disappointed,” I say.
“Of course you are,” says my father, putting down the iPad. “We’re disappointed too. But to be honest, your mother and I were always worried that this little bit of fame would go to your head. Fortunately it hasn’t, but we think that now it’s time to start looking into something else.”
“Like what?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” says my mother, shrugging. “You could take up a summer sport. Join some new clubs, or start a band. Get a part-time job at the ice-cream shack down on Tulip Street. I saw a sign that they are hiring.”
“The ice-cream shack?” I repeat. “Are you serious?”
She shrugs. “You don’t have to. I just thought it might be kind of neat for you to do something different.”
“You weren’t starting to get any ideas about acting full time, were you?” Dad asks.
Wow, I think. They really don’t get me. “I don’t know. Diana Parker is going to Los Angeles to audition for roles this summer. Seth March did it too.”
Mom leans forward and puts her chin in her hands, giving me her “serious talk” face. “Aiden,” she says, “those success stories are rare. I know acting on Pop Quiz has been exciting and a lot of fun, and it’s great that you had this unique opportunity.”
“But?” I say, knowing there’s more. There’s always more.
“But,” she goes on, “you’re young, and your life could still go in many different directions. We don’t want you to be disappointed if this plan doesn’t work out. You have to realize that it’s unrealistic at best.”
“I don’t think it’s totally unrealistic,” I say.
“Of course not,” says my father. “You’re a very talented guy. But Pop Quiz is over now, and there’s no point getting too upset about it. Let’s see what new doors open up for you now. Sound good?”
I nod reluctantly, and just like that, we’ve moved away from Pop Quiz. It’s like they’ve already forgotten about the whole thing. I sure haven’t.
After breakfast I bike to Satri’s house. He lives a couple of neighborhoods away, and although we go to different schools, we spend a lot of time hanging out at each other’s houses. It’s funny that we met by playing best friends on a TV show and now we’re best friends in real life. Sometimes when we go to the mall or hang out at the beach, people come up to us and make a big deal out of it. Satri is always happy to pretend to be his character, but I find it a bit awkward.
His mom is on her way out of the house when I arrive.
“Hi, Aiden!” she says as she gets into her car. “Satri told me the sad news. Don’t worry, you guys will be fine. Now you can focus on your real schoolwork for a change instead of the fake homework you did on the show.”
“I guess so,” I say. “That’s not really something I’m super excited about though.”
She smiles and then rolls up the window and pulls away, waving as she disappears down the street.
Satri is sprawled on his couch with his laptop. I flop next to him, and he angles the screen so I can see it too. He’s watching WowKids, an online show made by a bunch of teens around our age. It’s super-low-budget, but they write, shoot and edit it all themselves, then upload it.
“Have you seen this one?” he asks.
“I don’t think so.”
On-screen three kids are standing next to a swimming pool. They’re talking quickly, not really saying anything important. A seagull, obviously a puppet, flies into the shot, and they all get scared and fall into the pool.
I laugh along with Satri. It doesn’t really make much sense, but it’s hilarious all the same. The show ends, and Satri slams his laptop shut and slides it onto the coffee table.
“That’s good humor,” he says.
“What are we going to do, Satri?” I say.
“About what?” he asks, tilting his head.
“Satri, you know what I’m talking about,” I say. He still looks blank. “The show!” I yell.
“Oh yeah,” he says. “I don’t know. There’s not much we can do, is there?”
“Don’t you even care?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Sure I do,” he says. “Pop Quiz is fun, and it’s cool having a paycheck. To tell you the truth, though, I kind of like the idea of getting my summers off from now on.”
“You’re kidding me, right?”
“Not really,” he says. “I mean, I’d stay with the show if it kept going. But now that it’s not, I’m kind of happy that I don’t have to worry about it anymore.”
I slump back into the couch and put my face in my hands.
“Oh come on, man,” he says. “It isn’t that bad. Now you and Anais can get to know each other in real life.”
I groan. “I didn’t even think about that,” I say. “She’ll never hang out with me for real now that there’s no show anymore.”
He doesn’t say anything, and after a few seconds I lift my head. He’s typing something on his cell phone.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
He holds up a finger, telling me to wait. After a moment his phone dings and he reads it, then grins.
“Who is it?” I ask.
“It’s Anais,” he says. “She says of course she’ll still hang out with you.”
“What?” I yell. “Why did you ask her that?”
He opens his mouth to answer me, but his phone dings again.
“In fact, she want
s to hang out with us now,” he says. “She’s at the mall.”
He gets up from the couch as I stare at him with my mouth hanging open.
“You coming or what?” he asks. “She definitely won’t hang out with you again if you stand her up.”
Eight
We find Anais in the basement of the mall, sitting in the food court. She’s staring at her phone and doesn’t notice us until we sit down across from her.
“The word is out,” she says, turning her phone around to show us her Twitter feed. “People are already talking about Pop Quiz being canceled.”
“That was quick,” I say.
“It doesn’t take long for news to spread,” says Satri. “Besides, we have fans, remember?”
“That’s the thing,” says Anais. “I don’t understand why they decided to cancel now. We’re popular, aren’t we?”
“Actually, our ratings have been going down,” I say. “I think it has something to do with the Internet.”
They both look at me like I’ve sprouted a third eye in the middle of my forehead.
“What are you talking about?” asks Anais.
“Uh, well,” I stumble. “It’s just that everyone watches stuff online now. Nobody really watches TV much anymore.”
“But how do you know that has anything to do with Pop Quiz?” says Satri.
“Well, I kind of overheard a conversation between Bill and Barbara Kale, the producer,” I admit. “A few days before the wrap party.”
“That’s crazy!” says Satri. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I only heard part of the conversation. I was hoping I just misunderstood.”
“What exactly did you hear?” asks Anais.
“They were talking about budgets,” I say. “Barbara Kale said, ‘Traditional TV is dead,’ or something like that.”
“It is true, when you think about it,” says Satri. “I don’t really watch TV much anymore. I use Netflix or YouTube or whatever for my favorite shows. Like WowKids.”
“I love WowKids,” says Anais.
“Who doesn’t?” asks Satri.
