but”—I turn back to Angie—“sorry, I’m not doing it.”
“What? No, Dylan, please, you have to!”
“Nope.” The bell rings and Mr. Wiseman gets up from his chair. Students start pouring into his room.
Val Knudsen, sporting a new eyebrow ring and a shock of purple hair, gets a load of my face as she strolls into class. “Looking good, Fontaine,” she says with a grin. “Didn’t know you were such an animal.”
“Dylan,” Angie pleads. “Come on, you know how important this is to me. You can’t say no!”
“Angie’s right, Dylan,” Jonathan chimes in. “The material she’s got so far—you on the train, in the park—it’s, like, magical.”
The only magical thing I’m interested in right now is Jonathan Reed disappearing into thin air. Or, better yet, being sawed in two. “Angie,” I say, “can I talk to you alone for a minute?”
“Oh, yeah, sure. Um…I’ll see you later, Jonathan?”
For a guy who’s supposedly a literary genius, Jonathan is slow at catching on to plain English. “Oh…right. Later, Angie.” He places one hand on my shoulder, which I deeply resent, and whispers in my ear, “Think about it, Dylan. It’ll make a great short. Angie’s counting on you.”
When Jonathan is halfway down the hall I say to Angie, “My, that was a record-length breakup. What was it? Two and a half weeks?”
“Is that what you’re angry about, Dylan? For your information, Jonathan and I are
not
together. We’re just friends.”
“Friends?” This is an interesting concept, considering Jonathan’s recent philandering. “So what happened to Hannah Jaworski?”
Angie clears her throat and cracks a little smile. “She dumped him a few days ago. Apparently she’s dating an older guy from Brooklyn College. Serves him right, huh?”
“Ahhhh, I see. Jonathan gets dumped, and then he comes crawling back to you.
Classic
.”
Angie gets my joke, but instead of laughing she makes a face. “No, Dylan, it’s not like that at all. Jonathan came by my house last night to say he was sorry for being a jerk, and even though I’ve been angry and hurt and all that, I decided to do the mature thing and accept his apology. Anyway, after that we started talking and I showed him the film I was working on. He thought it was awesome and offered to help shoot it, so—”
“Whoa, whoa, wait a minute. I thought
I
was helping you.”
“Well, you were, I mean, you
are
. It’s just, I need someone else, since you’re too close to the subject matter.” She grins. “In other words,
you
. I want a more objective point of view. Jonathan’s perfect for the job.”
It figures that now that Mr. Cinematography has arrived, I have to take a backseat. I shake my head. “Look, Angie, I’m not your guinea pig, okay? And I’m not going to Washington Square Park with Jonathan Reed. I said I’d help you shoot the film, and yeah, I’d even be in it, but a story about the real
me
is not happening. Besides”—I hold out my arms—“what could possibly be so interesting?”
Her face lights up. “That’s the whole point, Dylan! Nothing!”
“Wow, you’re just full of compliments today, aren’t you?”
I head for class, but Angie grabs my arm. “Wait, Dylan, please, I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant.”
Like a glutton for punishment, I stop and look into her eyes, which have this uncanny way of melting me in two seconds flat. “Okay, then what
did
you mean?”
“What I should have said, Dylan, is that there’s so much inside you, but it’s all locked up in here.” She reaches over and taps my chest. “I want the movie to be an experimental piece about your life, and I think that’s what’ll make it great—stand out above the rest. I know I’m begging, but there’s really no one else who can do it. Only you.”
Somehow, I don’t think Angie has quite redeemed herself. “Hmm,” I say, “sounds to me like I’m the only person you know who’s stupid enough to get filmed with
“What? No, Dylan, please, you have to!”
“Nope.” The bell rings and Mr. Wiseman gets up from his chair. Students start pouring into his room.
Val Knudsen, sporting a new eyebrow ring and a shock of purple hair, gets a load of my face as she strolls into class. “Looking good, Fontaine,” she says with a grin. “Didn’t know you were such an animal.”
“Dylan,” Angie pleads. “Come on, you know how important this is to me. You can’t say no!”
“Angie’s right, Dylan,” Jonathan chimes in. “The material she’s got so far—you on the train, in the park—it’s, like, magical.”
The only magical thing I’m interested in right now is Jonathan Reed disappearing into thin air. Or, better yet, being sawed in two. “Angie,” I say, “can I talk to you alone for a minute?”
“Oh, yeah, sure. Um…I’ll see you later, Jonathan?”
For a guy who’s supposedly a literary genius, Jonathan is slow at catching on to plain English. “Oh…right. Later, Angie.” He places one hand on my shoulder, which I deeply resent, and whispers in my ear, “Think about it, Dylan. It’ll make a great short. Angie’s counting on you.”
When Jonathan is halfway down the hall I say to Angie, “My, that was a record-length breakup. What was it? Two and a half weeks?”
“Is that what you’re angry about, Dylan? For your information, Jonathan and I are
not
together. We’re just friends.”
“Friends?” This is an interesting concept, considering Jonathan’s recent philandering. “So what happened to Hannah Jaworski?”
Angie clears her throat and cracks a little smile. “She dumped him a few days ago. Apparently she’s dating an older guy from Brooklyn College. Serves him right, huh?”
“Ahhhh, I see. Jonathan gets dumped, and then he comes crawling back to you.
Classic
.”
Angie gets my joke, but instead of laughing she makes a face. “No, Dylan, it’s not like that at all. Jonathan came by my house last night to say he was sorry for being a jerk, and even though I’ve been angry and hurt and all that, I decided to do the mature thing and accept his apology. Anyway, after that we started talking and I showed him the film I was working on. He thought it was awesome and offered to help shoot it, so—”
“Whoa, whoa, wait a minute. I thought
I
was helping you.”
“Well, you were, I mean, you
are
. It’s just, I need someone else, since you’re too close to the subject matter.” She grins. “In other words,
you
. I want a more objective point of view. Jonathan’s perfect for the job.”
It figures that now that Mr. Cinematography has arrived, I have to take a backseat. I shake my head. “Look, Angie, I’m not your guinea pig, okay? And I’m not going to Washington Square Park with Jonathan Reed. I said I’d help you shoot the film, and yeah, I’d even be in it, but a story about the real
me
is not happening. Besides”—I hold out my arms—“what could possibly be so interesting?”
Her face lights up. “That’s the whole point, Dylan! Nothing!”
“Wow, you’re just full of compliments today, aren’t you?”
I head for class, but Angie grabs my arm. “Wait, Dylan, please, I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant.”
Like a glutton for punishment, I stop and look into her eyes, which have this uncanny way of melting me in two seconds flat. “Okay, then what
did
you mean?”
“What I should have said, Dylan, is that there’s so much inside you, but it’s all locked up in here.” She reaches over and taps my chest. “I want the movie to be an experimental piece about your life, and I think that’s what’ll make it great—stand out above the rest. I know I’m begging, but there’s really no one else who can do it. Only you.”
Somehow, I don’t think Angie has quite redeemed herself. “Hmm,” I say, “sounds to me like I’m the only person you know who’s stupid enough to get filmed with
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