I Represent Sean Rosen (18 page)

I didn't know if he meant 650 dollars an hour or 6 dollars and 50 cents an hour, but they both seemed impossible, so I didn't say anything.

No one said anything for 8.1 seconds. That doesn't sound like a very long time, but next time you're having a conversation with someone, stop talking for 8.1 seconds. It's very long and very quiet.

I put the phone down and laid on my bed. I felt like crying, but sometimes even when I want to, I don't. This was one of those times.

I don't understand. It costs 10,000 dollars for a lawyer, but I might only make 500 dollars from my movie. No. My movie
idea
. So far it's only an idea. To me it's a movie, but to them it's worth about the same as an iPad. There are millions of iPads, but there's only one
A Week with Your Grandparents
.

I don't know what to do. I could call Stefanie in the hospital, or wherever she is, and say, “You said you liked it. You said it was absolutely adorable. You said it was new. Here. Listen.” Then I would play the recording of our meeting.

Then I would say, “Really? Five hundred dollars? Why don't you just send me an iPad?”

Then she would say, “I can't believe you recorded our meeting without asking me. That isn't how we work around here. And shouldn't you be complaining about all this to what's-his-name? Your manager?”

Then I would say, “I can't. Dan Welch is just someone I made up.”

Then she would say, “You little liar. How dare you? You wasted my time. You wasted Brad's time. You wasted Ashley, Devin, and Eva's time. Our business affairs department will be sending you a bill for all of
their
time that you wasted. That Option Agreement was forty pages, Sean. Maybe you don't know this, but lawyers are expensive. We don't have any more time to waste, so we'll send the bill directly to your parents.”

Maybe I won't call her.

What would Dan Welch do?

Dear Business Affairs,

I received the Option Agreement for Sean Rosen's
A Week with Your Grandparents.
Please read it again. You obviously made a typing mistake. You accidentally wrote $500. You left out a few zeros.

Please make the correction and send it back to me as soon as possible.

Best,

Dan Welch

He didn't send this, of course. I actually
don't
think it was a typing mistake, because they wrote it out in both numbers and words: $500 (five hundred dollars).

I guess I could just go to Staples, buy some paper, come home, print out the Option Agreement, sign it, and get my $500 (five hundred dollars). I would still be in the movie business. A huge, famous entertainment company would still be paying me for my movie idea. I don't have to tell anyone how little they're paying me. Everyone will definitely think it's more. Much more.

But I can't. It doesn't feel right. I don't know what to do. I checked Dan Welch's e-mail, just in case business affairs wrote to him saying they made a mistake. They didn't. But there was an e-mail there.

To: Dan Welch Management

From: Dan Welch

Hey buddy,

Hows the managing? I was wondering, does anyone ever call you DW? Some of my friends do. One of em calls me DWI, but thats another story.

Hey I just put a rockin set of Cheerios bowls on ebay. Check it out if you want. Hope your havin a good one.

DW

No, DW. We're not “havin a good one.”

I looked at the Cheerios bowls. They're pretty nice, but I don't eat Cheerios, and it would be weird to put another kind of cereal in those bowls.

I gave up and went to bed.

I
woke up at 3:12 am. I can't stop thinking about the Option Agreement. It makes me kind of sick.

I started listening to science podcasts. The first one was about black holes, like in space, but I think it was for people who already know about them. I tried to follow it, but I couldn't. It's like when you put on Spanish radio and you don't speak Spanish. You listen for a while and you think somehow you're going to start understanding it. Every once in a while there's a word you know, but it just turns into random talking that plays in the background while you think about what you're trying not to think about.

Then I started listening to a podcast about insects, about how they reproduce. It was actually a little too interesting.

Finally I gave up trying to fall back to sleep. I got out of bed and looked out my window. All the houses were dark except for Mr. Bentley's. No one knows much about Mr. Bentley except he doesn't go to work and his lights are on most nights. Some people think he's some kind of genius. Maybe I should ring his doorbell right now and ask him to look at this Option Agreement.

I started looking around online. Some website said that for a movie option you can get paid anything from nothing to a million dollars. Five hundred dollars is a little better than nothing, but it's a lot worse than a million dollars. If they like it so much, and they want it so much, why would they pay me so little?

Sometimes doing things on your own is very, very lonely.

I went on Facebook. Nothing very interesting is happening to anybody. Brianna bought new jeans. My grandmother (Thorny Rosen) had a good colonoscopy, whatever that is.

I checked my e-mail. I don't know why. I hardly ever get e-mail. Sure enough, I didn't. But I saw the e-mail I got from Martin Manager. Since I started working with Dan Welch, I forgot about Martin. I read it again.

Dear Sean,

You certainly write a good letter. I admire your ambition and your confidence. I'm not going to represent you right now, but I'll be watching the trades to see how you do with _________
(my first-choice company, not the one I'm dealing with now).

As you proceed, if you have a specific business question I might be able to answer, try me.

Best,

Martin

I guess I do have a specific business question. WHAT THE BLEEP SHOULD I DO????

I sent this e-mail at 4:38
AM
.

To: Martin Manager

From: Sean Rosen

Dear Martin,

I don't know if you remember, but I wrote to you about a month ago to see if you would possibly be my manager. I'm the 13-year-old. You said no (for now), but you said if I had a question I could ask you.

Here's my question. I had a meeting last week with Stefanie V. President
(I used her real name, because he probably knows her),
the Vice President of Production of __________
(her company).
I told her an idea I have for a movie. She liked it. Today I got a 40-page Option Agreement from the business affairs department.

I know this company makes big, expensive movies, but it sounds like they don't want to pay me very much. I know it's my first movie, but still.

I called Pastrami, Salami, Baloney & Hamm
(I used their real name, too)
and they said I would have to give them a 10,000 dollar retainer. I don't have 10,000 dollars.

I'm going to attach the Option Agreement just in case you want to look at it. You don't have to. Or you could just look at a few pages, not all 40.

I don't know what to do. I want them to make my movie, but what if it ends up making 100 million dollars? Some movies that aren't even very good make that much money. If I only get 7,500 dollars and it's my idea, I think I'll be very upset.

I'm afraid if I don't say yes right away they'll change their mind, and then I'll just be a seventh grader who was once almost in the movie business.

I know that managers usually make 15% of what the people they're managing earn. With this agreement, no matter what happens, I get 500 dollars. 15% of 500 dollars is only 75 dollars, but if you can help me with this, I'd be willing to pay you more than that.

Thanks for listening.

Sean

After I sent the e-mail I was able to go to sleep.

I
woke up feeling better. I'm glad I wrote to Martin Manager, and I'm actually glad I have to go to school. Partly to take my mind off the stupid Option Agreement and partly because today is the President's Physical Fitness Test. My dad can't believe we still have this. He had to do it when he was in middle school.

This is my favorite day of the year in phys ed. I actually don't mind phys ed. I'm pretty good at certain games and sports. What I don't like is being on a team.

There's almost always something I don't like about my team. Sometimes it's a kid who hogs the ball. Sometimes it's a kid who doesn't want to play and doesn't even try. Either way, you lose when your team could have won. It's too frustrating.

The President's Physical Fitness Test doesn't have teams. Everyone just does the best they can in five different events—curl-ups (some people call them sit-ups), the shuttle run, the mile run, the V-sit reach, and pull-ups (some people call them chin-ups). You do it during your regular phys ed class.

You compete against all the kids your age in the country, and depending on your results, you can win different awards.

Participant Physical Fitness Award—if you're in the bottom 50% in any event

National Physical Fitness Award—if you're in the top 50% in every event

Presidential Physical Fitness Award—if you're in the top 15% in every event

They're all just certificates. You don't win a car or a week in Hawaii. Trust me, there are a lot of things in life where I'm in the bottom half, or even the bottom 15%. But not the President's Physical Fitness Test. It's something I'm actually good at.

I like all five events okay, but the one I'm the best at is pull-ups. For some strange reason I can do more pull-ups than anyone in my school. Some kids, including kids who look a lot stronger than me, can't even do one pull-up. If you can't do any pull-ups, you're allowed to do push-ups and you can still win a President's Award, but it's not exactly the same thing.

I don't practice pull-ups. The only time I ever do them is the day we take the President's test. I was walking by the gym the other day, and I went in and looked up at the bar.

It looks a little lower than it used to. Or maybe I got taller. Well, I did. Definitely. But I never thought it would matter for pull-ups. I never actually think about pull-ups. I just know I can do them. Or at least I could a year ago.

I also weigh more than I did last year. I'm not fat, but . . . Am I going to be able to pull up all that extra me with
these
arms? The bar may look lower, but it's still high.

I have to try it. I put down my knapsack and took off my sweatshirt. I had a T-shirt on underneath. I got a stool so I could reach the bar. I grabbed it. Yeah, I'm definitely heavier than last year.

I can't think about it. I have to start. Okay. Here . . . we . . . go. UNH!!! (Not out loud, but that feeling.) Your arms slowly start doing their job and you're coming up . . . up . . . and over. You made it! You're over the bar looking at the gym. Good work, Seany.

I only did three. I wanted to save myself for the test.

On the way to the gym today I ran into Brianna. She doesn't do the President's Physical Fitness Test. Her parents convinced the school to let her ballet classes count as phys ed.

“Sean, I can't believe you. You're really into this.”

“I know.”

“It's so funny.”

“It is?”

“Yes. Did I tell you what happened at lunch?”

“No, but . . . I actually have to get going.”

“Okay. Hope you win . . . or whatever.”

I was in the locker room changing when I heard a familiar voice. “Look what's here.” It was Doug talking about me to one of his football friends. “Rosen, what are
you
doing here? Today isn't the Yearbook Olympics.”

They started changing. I wanted to move to another part of the locker room, but I made myself stay. And talk. “You guys aren't usually in this phys ed class.”

His friend (Mike or Mac or Moose—I forget) said, “Some bozo stepped on Coach's stopwatch this morning, so some of us have to do the test now.” I guess they call Mr. Obester “Coach.”