Movieland

Chapter 4

The afternoon blurred by until final period in the A/V room.

It had a set of three old computer servers locked behind a cage in a room behind Mr. Wei's office. The kind that almost launched World War 3 in War Games. Portions of the Lindley High School campus used to be a research lab for WOPR Industries in the 80s before they received a grant to expand their operation to a new facility outside of town by Starlight Drive-In Theater. That facility promised a life-changing experience with the virtual reality machine featured in The Contest.

When Lindley built the new high school, they constructed around the computers rather than move them. It was cheaper to cage and lock them. According to Mr. Wei, the data still moved freely between the A/V room and the new lab. Why waste perfectly good computers. It all sounded like a cover-up when I first heard it, but stick around long enough and you start thinking, "This is how things have always been. Why change it?"

Plus, I liked the noises they made, the bleeps and sweeps and creeps, like they were talking to each other. No one knew exactly what the lab was testing out there but being in the A/V room felt like we were part of the future.

Carolina studied footage on a monitor in the middle of the room.

The rest of the class was off campus filming footage for their final projects, which would air during our final presentation next week. Not everyone who graduated took A/V, but over the years the final project signaled the culmination of any given graduating class.

My project was a compilation of different movie clips, with each spoken word making up the final speech from The Breakfast Club. Research meant scouring movie databases, quotes, scripts, YouTube, and the like. Even though Mr. Wei had signed off on it, I felt like a cheater, borrowing from everyone else and repurposing it as my own.

I'd never sat in detention. I'd never cried to a classmate about how stressful my life had become due to parental pressure about sports, or academics, or beauty. I hadn't taped anyone's buns together. I wasn't a brain or an athlete or a basket case or a princess or a criminal.

Freshman year in Ms. Genero's science class she had us do an icebreaker on the first day of class. We had to introduce ourselves and say what flavor of ice cream we thought we were, and why. I repeatedly thought "vanilla" and when my time came, I said, "Coffee, because I'm good for a pick me up, smell great, and cause withdrawals."

It got a few laughs, mostly nervous first day of class supportive laughs. Outside I was happy. Inside I felt blah. I knew I was trying too hard to be a character type. At least I could cross joker off my list.

I told my dad once that being a kid was confusing. He answered, "You think being an adult is any easier?"

I wish he would've just asked me why.

"Why can't I just do this for a living," I said, watching a clip from Pulp Fiction, where Samuel L. Jackson eats a Big Kahuna burger and asks Brad about the Royale with Cheese. "Look at the big brain on Brad!"

I weighed the pace and tone of his use of "brain" versus the impact of his iconic Pulp Fiction look. There were other, more toned-down options. Was bigger better?

Carolina rolled back from the desk and pointed a hand-held video camera at me. "Max Magee, as one of the only remaining LHS students to have not entered The Contest, can you tell me how you're feeling on the last day before the deadline?"

I rolled my eyes.

Her camera light went from green to red as she peaked around the lens. "I'm serious. I need the footage. Please and thanks and action."

The light turned green.

"Honestly? I feel pressured, and I feel like a loner, and it's kind of nice. I've spent my entire life going with the flow, and for once I'm taking a stand."

She laughed tiredly. "Ha. Ha."

"What?"

"You are well known around school for being an expert in movies. For Halloween, you once dressed up as John McClane with a grungy tank top and bandages on your feet. This contest would seem to be tailor-made for you. And yet, you resist. Some say you're doing it for a girl. Tell me more about that."

She was shrewder than Sherlock. She was also pressuring more than usual. And blushing. "Can that camera tell I'm blushing? It can. Can you edit this bit out? Or filter it? Carolina, come on."

"I need the footage, Max. Be a good sport and I'll splice it up just right, just for you."

I rubbed the mole on my elbow and got serious. "Okay? Okay. I did it for a girl, sure."

"Because you like her."

She stated it as fact. We had been friends for years. She knew I wasn't talking about her. And yet she egged me on. Judgment is like indigestion; you never know when to ignore or heed it.

"Sure. Yes. And no, I don't like like her. Sure, I like her. Like, I like her. And I didn't want her to feel left out. I know that's not exactly the most courageous act, but it's better than nothing. I meant what I said about being lost in the crowd and--"

"Great!" She snapped the camera shut. "I have to catch Ms. Jenkins before the bell rings."

"Carolina."

Her eyes had the same wet look they always did before she cried during a movie. Only this time her smile dammed them.

"Come on," I begged.

"Mr. Wei said to turn the power strip off before you leave. I guess it's been acting up and shorting the servers out."

She left.

The empty room bleeped, sweeped, and creeped.