I Represent Sean Rosen (23 page)

He was still tugging when I left. Maybe Mr. Bentley isn't a genius.

I grabbed some cookies, and for good luck, some grape juice, and I went upstairs to check Dan Welch's e-mail.

To: Dan Welch Management

From: Stefanie V. President

Dan,

I got your e-mail. Call me at 555-666-7777 (not her real number). It's my cell. Call anytime. I never sleep anymore.

S

I
tried very hard to stay calm. Then I yelled the word “NO!!!!!!!!” really loud. Fortunately, no one else was home. But Mrs. Mancino, our next door neighbor, heard me. She called to see if everything was all right. I told her I was just about to break my record on Halo when my Xbox crashed. I actually don't have an Xbox. And she probably saw me outside a minute ago helping Mr. Bentley. Whatever.

What does Stefanie want to talk about? I'm going to write this movie. Why can't she just say that? Why can't she put it in an e-mail? What's with the phone all of a sudden?

Dan Welch is not going to call her. He
can't
call her. What can he do?

Dear Stefanie,

Great to hear from you. I would love to call you, but a bizarre series of accidents destroyed every one of the cell towers where I live. It's terrible. Fortunately, we still have electricity, so feel free to send me an e-mail.

No. If Dan has e-mail, he can call her on the internet.

Dear Stefanie,

Great to hear from you. I would love to call you, but unfortunately, I was born without a mouth. I usually don't tell people, but I know I can trust you and you won't hold it against me. If it's okay with you, we'll continue to “talk” by e-mail.

No.

Dear Stefanie,

Great to hear from you. I would love to be able to call you, but unfortunately, I have a terrible cold and I completely lost my voice. We can wait until I'm better and talk then.

The reason we might not want to do that is Sean. He keeps asking me to call _________
(my first-choice entertainment company)
to talk about
A Week with Your Grandparents.

Why don't we stick to e-mail for now, and if we can't work things out, I'll call you as soon as I can talk again.

Best,

Dan

P.S. We could also do an online chat. Just tell me when.

That's the one he actually sent. Of course I read it twenty times first. That's one of the reasons that Dan Welch having a chat with Stefanie makes me nervous. There won't be time to make sure we don't make any stupid mistakes.

I know how Dan writes an e-mail, but I don't know how he chats. I never even thought about him chatting until he suggested it. I hope he knows what he's doing. I don't know why he mentioned a phone call when he's better, because he can't ever talk on the phone.

Why does she want to talk to him? He asked her a simple question. Maybe she's afraid that if I write the movie, we're going to ask for more money or a bigger share of the profits. Actually, that would be fair, but the main thing is I want it to come out right.

The way Stefanie told Dan to call her sounded like an emergency. Like, “We have to talk right away.” Why?

I've heard of anxiety attacks. I wonder if I'm having one right now. If I am, I wonder how you make it stop.

I was looking up anxiety attacks when my phone beeped. It was a text. I was afraid to look. It doesn't make sense, but I thought it was Stefanie sending a text to Dan Welch. Like maybe I gave her my phone number by mistake.

I was scared, but I made myself look.

Wottup

It's Buzz. Maybe it's Buzz trying to sound like a hip hop guy or maybe it's Buzz not being able to spell, but it's Buzz. I texted back.

Not much. You?

I know. How can I say “Not much” in the middle of a possible anxiety attack. But if I tried to explain what was up it would be the world's longest text, and then Buzz would just tell it all to Doug and whoever they got to sing in their bannd.

Anyway, when people say “Wottup” or “What's up? or “How are you?” most of the time they don't actually want to know. Buzz texted again.

Chilin U

Why did he say “U”? I just told him what I'm doing. “Not much.” It isn't true, but I told him. I understand not reading all the way to the end of a long, boring e-mail, but I think people do that with texts, too. You get the main idea, then you stop reading it, even if the whole text is three words long.

Buzz is saying let's hang out, and part of me wants to, but I know I can't stop thinking about all this.

Can't. Homework.

It's a good thing I didn't go to Buzz's, because a few minutes later, I heard a sound from my computer. I left Dan Welch's e-mail account open. It was Stefanie, starting a chat.

STEFANIE: Hi Dan. Are you there?

Damn. I wanted more time to think about what Dan is going to say before he has to actually say it. He can just not answer her. Maybe he's away from his computer and his other devices. Maybe he's in the bathroom. I wonder if Dan Welch is one of those people who bring their devices with them to the bathroom.

I don't know what to do. If I don't answer, I'll just worry about what Stefanie wants to say. I want it to be over with, but I don't want to mess it up. If I wait until tomorrow, I still won't know what to do.

We might as well do it right now. She's the one who wants to talk to him, so maybe he can mostly listen. I trust Dan Welch.

DAN: Yes, I'm here. How are you? How's Marisa?

STEFANIE: Sleep deprived, upset stomach, crying a lot. That's me. She's fine.

DAN: My wife went through that, too. She's okay now.

STEFANIE: How old is your youngest?

How should I know? Why did he have to bring up his family?

DAN: 13.

STEFANIE: It better not take me 13 years to recover from this. So you have experience with kids Sean's age.

DAN: Yes. I do.

STEFANIE: Obviously he can't write the screenplay.

I'm glad this isn't a Skype meeting, because the second I read that, I almost started crying. Then a second later I got so mad I punched something. My bed, actually.

I came back to the computer.

DAN: Why not?

STEFANIE: He's 13. He's never written a screenplay (Has he?). Even if he was 24, we'd bring in a name screenwriter to write it. You know how it works.

I do? He does? That makes no sense to me. What's a name screenwriter? I have a name. Anyway, all those name screenwriters, whoever they are, were once people who never wrote a screenplay.

DAN: I think Sean can do it.

STEFANIE: Dan, he's absolutely adorable, and I saw his podcast. Very cute. But we're talking about a big Hollywood feature film. I couldn't write it. You couldn't write it. We'll get someone who can.

What does she mean, she saw my podcast? Which one? “Very cute”? I bet she didn't even watch a whole one.

DAN: How about letting him try it, and if you're not happy with it, you can bring in someone else.

STEFANIE: Even if I could convince the studio to do that, which I absolutely can't, we don't have the time or money to wait around for something I know right now we'll never be able to use.

How can you say that?! I never had a movie idea until a few weeks ago, but I thought of one in a day that you like enough to pay me 10,000 or 50,000 or a million dollars for. And what do you mean, you don't have the time? The Option Agreement gives you five years!

DAN: I'm not sure what to do.

STEFANIE: Tell Sean he can't write it.

Dan didn't know what to say. No one said anything for a little while.

STEFANIE: Tell Sean that ___________
(my first-choice entertainment company)
won't let him write it either.

Is that really true?

More time went by.

STEFANIE: No one will.

DAN: I think he can do it.

STEFANIE: You're a loyal manager, Dan. Sorry. Let us know whether or not Sean wants this to happen. Gotta go. You-know-who is crying. I might need a pep talk from your wife.

STEFANIE: Oh. I forgot. One more thing. Business affairs didn't know Sean is only 13. Since he's a minor, one of his parents will have to sign the contract. They'll send you a new signature page tomorrow. Talk to you when your voice comes back
.

I
t's almost dark, but I have to get out of my house. I got on my bike. My parents don't really like me riding my bike when it's dark. My bike has a light but it's broken, so I took a flashlight with me. I left a note.

OUT. BACK SOON.

I rode over to the tree house. I climbed up and just sat there for a few minutes. Last time I brought pillows so I would be comfortable. This time I didn't. I'm not comfortable. I don't want to be comfortable. There's nothing to be comfortable about.

Why is life like this? You think things are good, and then suddenly they're bad. Like the last time I was up here. I was sure there was good news in that envelope, not a stupid letter telling me that whatever my idea was, they already have it.

I guess
A Week with Your Grandparents
was one idea they didn't already have. Now they want it, but they don't want
me
. I still don't get why they won't even let me
try
to write it.

Was Stefanie just being nice to me because she wants the idea? How much is it worth? I knew it wasn't $500. Is it $10,000? Is it $50,000? Is it $50,000 and 1 percent of the net profits? Is it a lot more? I don't know.

So I'll have some money, and they'll give my idea to a “name screenwriter.” Maybe it will even be someone who wrote a movie I like.

But this is a new movie. This is
A Week with Your Grandparents
. How can anyone, even a name screenwriter, write this movie without talking to me?

What if I end up hating the movie? What if they make Chloe one of those sarcastic girls, where everything she says is a mean joke? What if they make Chris a dumb jock? What if Steve and Jill, their parents, are horrible selfish people who only think about work and actually don't care about their kids?

What if the grandparents are like stupid movie grandparents, where Grandpa is a crazy scientist who farts all the time and Grandma is a little old lady who always talks about sex? What if all those awful people suddenly turn into perfect people right at the end of the movie?

That could happen.
A Week with Your Grandparents
could turn into a movie that I would actually hate. I'll have 50,000 dollars and 1 percent of the net profits, but when we drive past a movie theater that has
YOUR GRANDPARENTS
on the sign, I won't feel proud. I'll duck down in the back seat so I don't have to see it. And so nobody sees
me
, the kid who made you waste your money going to see a stupid bad movie.

I just heard a siren. From where I am in the tree, I can see an ambulance go by with its lights flashing. This tree isn't in the middle of a forest. It's in an empty lot a few blocks from the main street in my town.

I wonder who's in the ambulance. Mr. Bentley? Maybe my mom will help take care of him. She's working tonight.

If I sell my idea, and the movie turns out really bad, at least no one will know I had anything to do with it. No one except Ethan, and he won't tell anyone.

Wait a minute. Sometimes near the beginning of movies you'll see “Story by So and So.” I definitely don't want it to say “Story by Sean Rosen” if the movie sucks. I wonder if it has to say that. I might have to read that stupid Revised Option Agreement again. And what's this garbage about me being a minor? If I'm old enough to have something you want, I'm old enough to sign my own contract.

Maybe Dan Welch can sign the Revised Option Agreement. He has a wife and kids. His youngest is my age. He's not a minor.

What would my parents say about this? Would they feel bad that I did it all without telling them? Would their feelings be hurt that I trusted Dan Welch, but I didn't trust them?

It isn't that I don't trust them. This just isn't something they know about. My dad is still mad at that “producer” he introduced me to. He probably thinks everyone in the business is like that guy. Maybe they are.

My mom would be afraid I'll get my feelings hurt. Maybe I will.

Sitting up in the tree I feel very, very small. Even smaller than I was when I used to come here with Buzz and Doug. I feel like a tiny little molecule.

Knowing that Stefanie and the business affairs department of a huge company have been talking about this little molecule and writing fifty-page contracts for him and offering him thousands of dollars and part of their profits should make me feel bigger, but it doesn't. Am I being piggy for wanting even more than that?