Call the Shots

by Don Calame

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “Kewl.” She flashes a smile and heads toward the door. “See you around.”

  I look down at the script in my hands. And that’s when I get a crazy idea. It’s probably totally stupid and I’m undoubtedly setting myself up for some Cathy-related abuse, but . . .

  “Hey, Nessa.”

  Nessa stands in the doorway. “Yeah?”

  “I was wondering . . .” My heart starts thumping the inside of my rib cage. “I mean . . . I don’t know . . . You’re so good at this.” I wave the screenplay pages. “And I’m not and . . . Would you . . . ? Would you maybe want to help me out with writing this movie? I mean, me and my friends are actually going to try to film it and . . . Well, it might not go anywhere, but if it does . . . It could be a good credit to have. You know, to put on your résumé and stuff.”

  Nessa stares at me. I can see the cogs turning behind her cat-green eyes. She’s either trying to figure out a polite way to turn me down or she’s weighing which comeback will be the most cutting.

  But then she smiles again. “Sure, all right. That might be fun.”

  I let out a relieved breath. With Nessa’s help, I might actually be able to write a halfway decent screenplay.

  “But we’ll have to keep that a secret too, ’kay? Otherwise Cath might never speak to me again.” Nessa grins. “We’re still mortal enemies, you and I. At least as far as the outside world is concerned. No hellos or acknowledgment at school, either, understand? I have a reputation to uphold.”

  “Sure, no prob.”

  “Kewl,” she says again, and then slips out of my room.

  I’m staring at the open door — wondering what I’ve just gotten myself into — when my phone buzzes.

  I tug it from my pocket and read the text from Evelyn: 6 pm dnt 4get.

  Forget? How could I? Sweet freedom is just a breakup away.

  BREAK UP WITH HER IN PERSON. DO IT IN PRIVATE. CHOOSE WORDS CAREFULLY. DON’T POINT OUT FAULTS EVEN IF SHE ASKS. TRAP! TAKE ALL THE BLAME. LET HER FREAK OUT.

  I’m reviewing the crib notes that I’ve scribbled on the palm of my left hand as I coast my bike up to Evelyn’s house. I don’t want to forget any of Val and Helen’s advice. It’s crucial I get this breakup right. My entire future with Leyna depends on it.

  I get off my bike and lay it on the grass. My hands are trembling and I feel like I’ve got an ice pick jammed into my temple. I take a deep shaky breath and let it out. I can do this. No sweat.

  I walk the stone path toward the porch steps. Evelyn’s house looks totally normal. Just plain old boring beige aluminum siding with a faded blue porch. I’m not really sure what I expected. Something with red and yellow polka dots, maybe. An inflatable-arm-waving air dancer on the roof. A lawn littered with giant garden gnomes and a Sasquatch sculpture. Perhaps some circus music blaring out of the windows.

  But no. It’s just like anyone else’s house. And why not? Evelyn hides her madness pretty well herself. Except when she doesn’t.

  I climb the porch steps and approach the front door, a thick sandy-colored mat “welcoming” me. Black iron letters spell out THE MOSSES under the brass knocker. It’s all so nonthreatening. Meant to lure me into a false sense of security. Just like the girl who lives inside.

  Another slow controlled breath before I announce my presence. Glance at the instructions on my palm one last time, then reach up and give a little rat-a-tat with the knocker.

  A moment later and the door creaks open a few inches.

  Evelyn pokes her head through the gap and smiles. “Hello, Jell-O,” she says.

  “Hi.” My mouth is super pasty. I should have brought a bottle of water or something.

  “Hold on one sec.” She holds up a freckled forefinger. “I’ll be right out. I’ve got something I want to show you.”

  Evelyn shuts the door, leaving me standing there on the porch to stew in my anxiety a bit longer. All of a sudden, my hands feel like a couple of newly acquired appendages. I think about sniffing them, but instead I tuck them into my back pockets. Then untuck them again. I read over my palm notes once more and nearly levitate when the door opens again.

  “Hey,” Evelyn says, slipping out her front door with a large brown paper bag clenched in her hand. “Your hand smells good, does it?”

  I suddenly realize I’ve got my right palm cupped over my nose. Jesus, how did that get there? I yank it away from my face and smile nervously. “I was . . . um . . . helping my mom make cookies.” I waft my ink-free hand about. “I washed them but . . . they still smell like oatmeal.”

  “I can think of worse things,” Evelyn says, laughing. “Come on, let’s sit down.” She makes her way over to a rickety old porch swing, brushes a thin layer of snow off it, and takes a seat.

  “Oh, uh . . .” I glance over my shoulder. “I was wondering if we could . . . go for a walk?”

  “Sure. Maybe after dinner.” She places the bag on the ground between her legs.

  “Dinner? What dinner? Aren’t we just —?”

  “I told you I had a surprise for you. You think you’re going to come all the way over here for a study session and my mom’s not going to feed you? Fat chance.”

  “I, um . . .” This is not going according to plan. The last thing I want to do is go into that house. “What about just a little jaunt around the block? You know, a relaxing premeal stroll.”

  “Sure, okay. But I want to show you something first.” Her eyes flit to the front door like she’s expecting someone to emerge.

  “But . . .” I look over my shoulder again, feeling like my escape portal is rapidly closing behind me. “Can’t you show it to me while we walk?” I swing my arms like I’m already ambling.

  “No. I want to show it to you here. Why are you acting so weird?”

  “Weird?” I look around like I’m trying to find this weirdness she’s speaking of. “Am I acting weird?”

  “Yes. Very. Now get over here. You’ll be happy, I promise.”

  One last peek over my shoulder and I finally give up and make my way over to her.

  “Okey-dokey.” Evelyn wriggles with excitement as I sit. “Now, remember our conversation at lunch yesterday?”

  “Yeah, sure, of course.” How could I forget?

  “Wellll . . .” She smiles big and unfolds the top of the paper bag. “I told you I was going to get you something for your movie”— she reaches into the bag and gently lifts out a fairly large, very professional-looking video camera —“and here it is.”

  “Holy crap!” I say, staring at it like it’s an ultra-scarce Pokémon Illustrator card. “These things are like three thousand dollars!” I can’t believe she actually did it. She got us a professional video camera.

  I’m pumped at first. The biggest hurdle in the way of moviemaking glory has suddenly been removed. But then the full impact of this surprise hits me: how the heck am I supposed to break up with her now?

  “Wow,” I say, blinking like a madman. “That’s . . . wow. But . . . where did you get it?”

  Evelyn smiles coyly. “Ah, you know. It was just lying around. Take a look.” She holds up the camera by its handle, turning it this way and that, like she’s some kind of hostess on the Home Shopping Network. “It’s a pro model. High-definition and everything. Just like Coop asked for.”

  I stare at it suspiciously. “You just happened to have this video camera lying around?”

  “Who cares where I got it?” she says testily. “God. The point is, I got it. Just like I told you I would. Don’t you want to use it for the movie?”

  “Yeah. No. I do, but . . .” I rub my aching forehead. “I’m just . . . a little confused.” It seems too good to be true. And if it is too good to be true, then I don’t have to accept the camera and I can still break up with her. Then we’ll just have to figure out another way to shoot our movie.

  Evelyn sighs, her shoulders deflating. “Okay, fine. You want to know where it came from? Would that make you feel better? All right
, then. It was my dad’s. He left it here when he went to live with his mistress and their secret love child. Are you happy now, Sean? That you have an explanation?”

  “Jeez. I’m sorry. I had no idea —”

  “Forget it,” Evelyn says, stuffing the camera back in the paper bag. “What matters is we have a camera now, right? We might as well make something good out of something bad. Just”— she glances at the front door again —“don’t mention it to my family, okay? They don’t know that I’m lending this to you. And it’ll only bring up bad memories.”

  “Yeah. For sure. Definitely.” I reach for the camcorder, knowing that the moment I accept it, my fate will be sealed. But what choice do I have?

  Just as my fingertips brush the paper bag, Evelyn suddenly pulls it back like Lucy yanking away Charlie Brown’s football.

  “There’s one condition, though,” she says, suddenly dead serious, all signs of the sad little abandoned-by-Daddy girl gone.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “You can use this camera. But . . .”

  I sneak a quick sniff of my palm. “But what?”

  “I get to be in the movie.”

  ALL THE MUSCLES IN MY SHOULDERS and neck seize up. “Wait a second. I don’t think —”

  “And not just any part, either,” she says. “I want to be the leading lady.”

  “Okay, first of all, I haven’t even written the script yet, so I don’t even know —”

  “Perfect. Just make sure you write a major role for a cute, spunky, clever girl.”

  “Do you even know how to act, Evelyn?”

  She shrugs. “How hard could it be? I’m really good at pretending.”

  “Okay, look,” I say. “It’s vital that we do this as professionally as possible. We’re trying to win a film festival here. I don’t really think that —”

  “Fine.” She hugs the brown-bagged camera. “Maybe I’ll just make my own movie with my camera.”

  I try to rub some of the tension from my neck. I could so use this as an excuse to break things off with her. I mean, she is basically blackmailing me here. I can hear the words in my head. I don’t think things are going to work out with you and me, Evelyn. I don’t appreciate being coerced. Thank you, but no, thank you.

  Except then where does that leave me? Much further away from getting my own room. And with no movie to shoot, what excuse will I have to spend some quality time with Leyna?

  “Okay. Fine,” I say through clenched teeth. “I’ll . . . I’ll see what I can do.”

  Evelyn smiles and hands over the precious camera. It feels like it weighs about a million pounds.

  “Hey, is this your guy?” a deep manly voice calls from behind me.

  I turn my head to see a seriously ripped dude — maybe nineteen or twenty — standing in the doorway in a wifebeater and gray-and-white khakis. Here is a person who could kick my ass six ways to Saturn and not even break a sweat.

  Evelyn leaps up, causing me and the porch swing to sway. She bounds to the door and grabs the guy’s burly left arm.

  “This is my big brother, Nick,” she says, beaming. “He’s a Navy SEAL.” She cups a hand around her mouth and stage-whispers, “He just got back from a secret mission in South America, but we’re not supposed to tell anyone.”

  Oh.

  Shit.

  My stomach knots. Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, enter Evelyn’s killing-machine brother.

  Nick holds out his massive right hand. “You must be Sean,” he says, his voice all Clint Eastwoody.

  I place the camera down, get to my feet, and reach out to take Nick’s massive meat hook.

  “Hi,” I squeak.

  I fully expect the bones in my fingers to be ground into powder by Nick’s handshake, but he’s surprisingly gentle with his grip. Not to mention his skin is oddly soft and smooth.

  “You’re all we’ve been hearing about for the past week,” Nick says, letting go of my hand. “My sister’s totally smitten with you.” He smiles big. “And I can see why. You’re a handsome fella.” He smacks me lightly across the cheek. “And you’ve got a good energy. I can tell; I’ve got a sixth sense about these things.”

  “Thanks,” I manage.

  “Whatcha got there?” Nick gestures with his square chin toward the porch swing.

  “That’s Sean’s new video camera,” Evelyn says, furtively winking at me. “He’s making a movie with his friends. And guess what? He just asked me to be his leading lady. How cool is that?”

  Nick cocks a single eyebrow. “That so?”

  Oh, crap. He knows she’s lying about the video camera. My throat closes up. “Yeah, well. I mean . . . We’re still writing the script and everything. . . . We haven’t exactly worked out all of the characters yet. . . .”

  Evelyn’s jaw starts jumping. She glares at me, her eyes like dagger tips.

  “I mean, yeah, though,” I say. “Definitely. Evelyn’s going to be in the film. For sure.”

  “Nice.” Nick bobs his head. “Hey. What about me? Can I be in it too? I mean, I’ve got some free time on my hands. I was just put on stress leave.” He leans in conspiratorially. “Apparently I have a tendency toward ‘outbursts.’” He laughs. “Whatever that means.”

  Evelyn perks up. “What do you say, Sean? You think there’s a role for my big brother?”

  “Uhhh . . . I’m not . . . I mean, I’d have to see. . . .”

  Nick stares at me without blinking. It’s the most intimidating stare I’ve ever seen in my entire life.

  “What am I saying? It’s my script. Of course you can be in the movie . . . somewhere.” I laugh nervously, waiting for the blow to fall. But after another insanely long second, Nick blinks.

  “Sweet,” Nick says, puffing up his chest. “I’m gonna be a movie star.”

  He and Evelyn practically do little happy dances. Meanwhile, my mind is racing, trying to figure out how I can work both crazy Evelyn and her roided-out brother into the film. Maybe Nick could be one of the humanzees. I wonder if we could get him to wear a monkey costume.

  “Dinner!” a woman shouts from inside the house. “Everyone come and get their plates.”

  “Homemade pasta,” Nick says. “You must be special. Ma only makes that once or twice a year. You’re in for a real treat, guy.”

  Oh, I think I’ve had about as many treats as I can handle for one day.

  “THESE ARE DELICIOUS, Mrs. Moss,” I lie, cutting a tiny corner off one of the foot-size raviolis.

  Evelyn’s stick-thin bug-eyed mom smiles as she chews. “I’m so glad you like them.”

  I don’t know if homemade pasta is supposed to taste this gummy and doughy, but somehow I doubt it. I stare down at the mountain range of raviolis Evelyn has heaped onto my plate and wonder how in the heck I am ever going to plow through them all.

  “There’s plenty more where that came from,” Mrs. Moss adds.

  “Oh. I think I’m good for now.” I shift in my seat at the kitchen table, supremely aware of the tiny scratchy tag at the back of my boxer shorts.

  “You have any brothers or sisters, Sean?” Nick asks, refilling his water glass.

  “Twin sister,” I say. “Not identical. Obviously.” I laugh awkwardly but no one else even cracks a smile. “Oh, and, um, actually, it looks like I’m going to have another brother or sister in a few months. My mom’s pregnant,” I explain.

  “Ohhhh, a little bundle of joy,” Mrs. Moss coos. “You must be so excited.”

  “Mmm.” I force a smile. “Yeah. Really thrilled.”

  Evelyn stares at me. “You didn’t tell me that, Sean. I guess you forgot to mention it.”

  Uh-oh. Here we go again.

  “Yeah. No. I mean . . .” I shift in my chair again. “We just found out. Today.” The lies just keep flopping from my mouth. “So . . . That’s why, you know, I’m telling you now.”

  “So you haven’t told Matt or Coop yet?” she asks, all fake-casual. “Or Valerie and Helen?”

 
; “What? Um. No.” My dang underwear tag is slicing my lower back to bits. “When would I have done that?” Oh, God, I better text them all before she tries to verify this.

  “Oh. Okay.” Evelyn pats my arm. “Well, then, congratulations.”

  I start breathing again, my clenched-up shoulders relaxing.

  We sit in silence for a bit. All the sounds of dinner — the clinking utensils, the slurping of water, the smacky chewing that must be a Moss family trait — seem intensely loud to me.

  “So,” Nick finally says, “tell me something. You have a test today?”

  At first I’m not sure who he’s talking to, since he seems to be focused on his third helping of ravioli. But then I realize that Evelyn and her mom are looking at me expectantly.

  “A test?” I ask, confused.

  “Yeah.” He lifts his chin at me. “The writing on your hand. Is that some kind of . . . crib sheet? You’re not a cheater are you, Sean?”

  My entire body flushes hot and cold. I grip my left hand tightly around my fork so that nobody can read the breakup notes.

  “No,” I say, my voice cracking. “It’s not . . . No . . . It’s private . . . notes for stuff . . .”

  Nick narrows his eyes. “You’re not being honest with us, Sean. As a SEAL, I’m trained to tell when someone is being deceptive.”

  “What?” I say, clearing my throat. “I’m not . . . being deceptive. Why would I be deceptive?” I reach up and pretend to scratch my nose with my right hand, hoping to take a quick, reassuring sniff of my palm.

  “Right there.” Nick slaps the table. “You see that? Scratching his nose. Clearing his throat. Using my words to answer the question. It’s textbook dishonesty.”

  “Just because I had an itchy nose?” I drop my hand, suddenly hyper-aware of all my movements. “That’s ridiculous.”

  Nick glares at me. “We don’t like cheaters in this family. And we like liars even less.”

  “That’s enough, Nick,” Mrs. Moss says. “He said it was private.”