Viola in Reel Life (17 page)

“Settle down there, girls,” the judge says into the
microphone. “And now, the first-place winner in the Midwest Secondary School Film Competition is Chevon Brickey for
My Grandmother’s Last Day.
”

Cheers erupt from the middle of the auditorium as Chevon makes her way to the stage. She deserved to win, and I’m happy to be second place to her movie. She comes up the stairs. The other winners gather around her.

“And now the Audience Award.” The judge takes the envelope from the professor seated in the first row of the auditorium. “Chevon Brickey for
My Grandmother’s Last Day.
”

The audience applauds loud and long for the winner. Chevon holds up her trophies as her mom and teachers come down to the edge of the stage to take her picture. Mrs. Zidar and Trish and Marisol and Romy and Suzanne get out their cell phones and click away as I stand with the winners.

I look at the trophy. It’s an old-fashioned movie clapper with brass stripes. Evidently they will engrave our names on them later. I think of the clapper that Jared gave me for Christmas and how, because he had given it to me, I thought about him when I filmed a scene. I want to thank him for that.

I look down into the audience where Jared is sitting, and his seat is empty. He is gone.

THE CONSORTIUM OF SCHOOLS WANTS US TO POSE FOR
pictures for the online magazine, so I stand with the winners and have my picture taken about a billion times. I am so thrilled, but my happiness is definitely brought down a notch by thoughts of Jared.

To be fair, I didn’t spring out of my chair and go down to
him
after they showed his movie. It was very polished, and I could have said
that
, but I don’t want to be a phony. He made a very dry movie, and it made me not want to visit an organic farm. Ever. But he is my sort-of boyfriend, and I should put aside my judgments and support him.

I give Marisol the trophy to hold and go up the aisle and out into the lobby. They’ve put out punch and the remaining doughnuts from the morning break, along
with pecan sandy cookies from the package on plastic platters. I look around through the crowd and I see Jared from behind standing by the windows. I thread through the crowd to get to him.

When I squeeze my way through, I am stunned. Jared is standing with his arm around a very pretty girl who appeared in the beauty parlor bomb movie as a customer. She has waist-length red hair with a forest-green velvet ribbon threaded through it. She whispers in his ear and he laughs.

My face burns hot with embarrassment. They must’ve felt my stare because they turn. The place is so packed that I can’t get out of there and besides, it’s too late. Jared Spencer, of two dates, one lecture, five kisses, one cookie, one book, and one movie clapper says, “Viola.”

“I was just checking to see how you were.”

“Congratulations.” His congratulations feel empty.

“I’m Viola Chesterton.” I extend my hand to the pretty girl.

“I’m Zane Pierpont,” she says.

“You were great in the beauty parlor bomb movie.”

“Thanks.” She smiles.

“I could’ve used you in my movie. My RA really sucked as Hedda Hopper.”

There’s an awkward silence that I am inclined to fill
with a lie. “You did a great job on your movie, Jared. I thought it was very compelling.”

“Thanks,” he says. “This competition wasn’t about serious subjects, so I got slammed. But that’s okay, I’ll be back next year.”

I turn to go; clearly he doesn’t want to talk to me. But then, his words settle in—he actually thinks he deserved to win? Jared Spencer cannot see himself in any context other than first place. He isn’t happy for the winners, so he feels compelled to diss the entire competition. That’s not fair. I turn back.

“I thought there were a lot of serious movies. The first-place winner, for example.”

“Total sentimental favorite,” he says dismissively.

“I thought the emotions in it were very real.”

Zane Pierpont shifts uncomfortably, like she doesn’t want to talk about movies, unless she’s in them; otherwise she’s bored.

“It played to the crowd,” Jared says.

“Well, I trust the audience,” I fire back.

“Good for you,” he says, looking into the eyes of Zane Pierpont, his new girlfriend of, like, five and a half seconds. He rolls his eyes and she laughs. Now, if this were Brooklyn, and I was at LaGuardia, I’d just hold up my hand and say “Whatever,” but we’re in Toledo and
I worked really hard on my movie and while it wasn’t perfect, it was mine. And my mom and dad taught me to stand up for what I believe in, so Jared is about to get a little honesty, New York style.

“Maybe you should listen to the audience. They were asleep during your movie. It was the most boring one in the competition. But that’s because you think you know more than anyone else about the technical side of filmmaking. But I have a newsflash for you, Jared Spencer, you don’t know anything about feelings. And feelings are what make art.”

I don’t wait for his response, because in this moment I just broke up with my first boyfriend—in public—and my face burns hot like it’s a boiling egg. I turn and see that Romy, Suzanne, and Marisol have heard the whole thing and created a wall of support behind me.

“Let’s go,” Marisol says, handing me the trophy.

We turn and push through the crowd and walk outside into the fresh air. Mrs. Zidar and Trish are already waiting in the van.

“Are you okay?” Suzanne asks.

I should feel awful. After all, I really liked him, but that’s before I
knew
him.

“I’m fabulous!” I tell my roommates. “Never better!”

Romy, Suzanne, and Marisol high-five and laugh.

“You won second place!” Romy says.

“It feels really good,” I say as we pile into the van.

“Okay, girls, we thought Red Lobster for the victory dinner,” Mrs. Zidar says.

“Bring it on,” I tell her.

When we drive onto the campus of the Prefect Academy, it’s after midnight. I called Grand and George (they opened to rave reviews in Cincinnati; Grand says the revival will run forever and there will be a national tour), who were thrilled. I called Mom and Dad, who were totally happy and wanted every detail, including my take on every other movie in the competition.

The girls and I spent a lot of time on the ride home talking about Jared Spencer. They marvel at how well I’m handling it, but the truth is, when I look back, especially while we were making our movies, Jared was distant. The emails became shorter and shorter, and the texts fewer and fewer. I chalked it up to being busy and in production, but maybe he was already planning on breaking up with me. He didn’t want me to be the best I could be, and I only want to be the best I can be. It just took me winning second place and him going home empty-handed to finalize the break.

I wanted to get to six kisses. I really did. I felt that
five was a murky number, hovering between sort-of boyfriend and real boyfriend. Six would sort of seal the deal, I had thought in my mind. But all in all, it was a good first relationship, and I learned a lot.

Marisol can’t understand why I’m not more upset. I probably would be, if I hadn’t won second place. A prize for a film I made has definitely taken the edge off my grief in losing my very first boyfriend. I also know that boys are boys. They can never be true sisters. Ever. I believe in Suzanne’s philosophy—you can’t get too crazy about this, because boys
are
different, and you can’t trust them with your feelings. Maybe not
all
boys. I mean, I trust Andrew, for example.

Mrs. Zidar drops us off in front of Curley Kerner, where Mr. Simpson, head of security, lets us in to go up to our quad. Trish follows us up the stairs. We tiptoe down the hallway, not wanting to wake anyone. When we get to our room, we hear “Surprise!” All the girls on our floor are in our quad with a big sign that says CONGRATULATIONS, VIOLA!

I don’t know what to say. I’m so overwhelmed. I pass the trophy around and the girls scream and marvel at it, so proud that their classmate went to Toledo and actually won something.

IIM Andrew even though it’s late.

Me: I won second place!

AB: Oh man, that is fantastic! Good for you!

Me: It was really fun.

AB: Your movie is great and you deserved to win! I didn’t know if those chuckleheads in the Midwest would know quality when they saw it. But they did! Brooklyn rules in South Bend, Indiana.

Me: Imagine that!

AB: You did
—
and you won! Whoo-hoo
.

Me: Thanks. Now do you want the bad news?

AB: You okay?

Me: Kind of.

AB: What’s wrong—stop typing and call me.

Me: No, keep typing.

AB: Okay.

Me: I broke up with Jared Spencer. He freaked when I won and he didn’t and I went out to talk to him after the competition and he hooked up with this pretty redhead named Zane Pierpont (like, what kind of a name is that?). Anyhow, it was kind of humiliating, but I told him that his movie sucked because he dissed all the winners and I don’t know if he got mad or whatever because we just left right away.

AB: Good for you for taking a stand.

Me: I thought so.

AB: I’m sure his movie sucked
.

Me: Well, I thought so
.

AB: I have news too
.

Me: What?

AB: I broke up with Olivia
.

I stop typing for a minute. Huh.

Me: Why?

AB: She was, like, running my life. She made me do stuff—like make plans every weekend—and, like, take her to the library and then right after, to the nail salon. I would almost choke to death in that nail salon from the fumes. Breathing in there can’t be good for people. And then she’d want to run errands. She has, like, more errands than a boatload of girls. She runs errands all day on Saturday and it, like, eats up the entire day.

Me: I’m sorry.

AB: It’s not fun hanging out with her, like it is with you.

I sit back in my chair. As much as I liked Jared, he was never as much fun as Andrew. Jared never read my mind. And shouldn’t a boyfriend be able to?

Me: Thanks. I’ll be home for the summer.

AB: Can’t wait
.

Me: BFFAA
.

AB: Oh yeah. Vi?

Me: Yeah
.

AB: One more thing. IM Caitlin
.

Me: She’s not allowed.

AB: Her mom said she could tonight—because of the contest. So go ahead and IM her. She’s waiting
.

I click over to Caitlin’s email and IM her.

Me: Caitlin, it’s me, how did you score getting your mom to let you IM?

CP: I have to do laundry for a month. Just kidding! Mom knows I couldn’t wait to talk to you about the movie. What happened?

Me: I won second place!

CP: OMG!

Me: I know!

CP: And you’re coming home soon. Andrew misses you—and so do I!

Me: And I miss you guys.

CP: What are you going to do about Jared? Wait for college?

Me: It’s O-VUH.

CP: Why?

Me: He dropped me—got all jealous of my movie.

CP: His loss!

Me: You think?

CP: Totally. Okay, Mom breathing in the doorway.

Me: Go!

CP: Got it.

Me: LOL.

CP: LOL
.

My parents are driving out to pick me up today, and I realize, with the spring fling, the charity auction, and midterms, and then finals, I haven’t kept up at all with my video diary. Now, maybe my mom will give me a pass because I made an actual movie—but a deal’s a deal and I always honor my commitments.

I take out my camera in the field in front of the Prefect Academy, and fill the frame with the lush greenery of Indiana in late spring. You can smell the grass and first buds of corn that have the scent of sweet earth. The sun is shining way high in the sky, looking like a gold button on a sea of blue. There’s not a cloud to be seen.

I film the sign:

THE PREFECT ACADEMY FOR YOUNG WOMEN SINCE 1890

Then the microphone picks up my voice in narration.

“I have enjoyed my ninth-grade year at the Prefect Academy. Next week, I turn fifteen and this fall, I’ll be back at LaGuardia and hanging out with Andrew, and life will be normal again. I’m going to miss Romy and Suzanne and especially Marisol, who understands me in a way that I thought only Andrew could. It’s been very cool here.”

I film the buildings and the glass atriums between them. Outside Curley Kerner, cars are jammed with parents picking up their daughters, filling trunks with boxes and suitcases and the odd sculpture or painting or science project.

I walk to the creek by the bend and instead of being all gnarly and gross as it was in September, crystal water rushes over the rocks like ribbons of pale-blue satin. I film the rushing water for a long time.

Then I turn to get one last shot of the field. I do a slow pan and try to catch the depth of the field and the first shoots of the stalks of corn rising beyond it to the farm in the next acreage. The color gold has never been so brilliant, or as shimmering as the 24K necklaces that the Brooklyn girls wear with such style.

And then, on the far edge of the field, something red moves in the gold. It’s almost as if the landscape is
splashed with a quick shot of red ink. I keep the camera on and hold it steady, but look from behind the lens with both eyes and squint. The red goes—it must have been a bird, I think. That, or May McGlynn is officially moving on—just like me.

I walk back to the dorm to wait for my parents, due to arrive any moment. I look down at my feet. This morning I went deep into my closet and pulled out my bright yellow patent leather Verve flats to wear on the trip east. I haven’t worn them much in Indiana; they’re way too bright and say New York like nothing else can…or did. But they’re just right for today, just right for going home.