Point of View: north
[Can we go back, this is the moment
Tonight is the night, we’ll fight 'til it’s over
So we put our hands up like the ceiling can’t hold us
Like the ceiling can’t hold us] {Can't Hold Us; Macklemore}
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I reach up and turn the radio down with one hand, the speakers blaring through my huge room, reverberating across the walls. My fingers glide across my guitar, strumming the strings. I am intent on learning a new song before next week. I make YouTube covers every week, and I would really like to put one up this Saturday. This means, of course, that I will have to learn how to play a new song in two days.
I chew on the inside of my lip as I move papers around with my feet until I find the chords for Follow My Feet by The Unlikely Candidates. I finally find it under a stack of math papers. It's one of the easier ones I printed out, and I think I have a decent chance of getting this done today actually.
I position my fingers on the strings and get ready to strum when the door of my room is slammed open, making it creak on its hinges. I hear my mother yell something up the stairs about it, and then a voice mumbles, "Sorry, Mrs. Salem!" back down. I set my guitar back down next to my desk as my best friend Sam saunters into my room.
"I don't think your mom likes me, man." He states as he flops onto my bed, blonde hair spilling off the sides of the bedspread. His deep blue eyes are covered totally in his unruly hair, and I shake my head at his messiness.
I shove the chords of the now forgotten song back into the pile on the floor. "My mom doesn't like anyone who endangers pieces of her house. Myself included. You know that."
He nods in agreement, and I turn the radio back on, but make sure it's quieter. "What's up?" I ask and he rolls over so he's facing me.
"What are you making for your video? I'm stuck."
I sigh through my nose in frustration. We're both in a movie making class at school, sort of an intro to film school. We just got our big assignment of the year. It's to make a movie of anything. It can be of anyone, anything, whatever time period. It has to be several minutes long, can be up to more than that, and it has to be really interesting. Like really really interesting. A ten minute video of a fish swimming in a glass bowl doesn't cut it. I need something really awesome.
And I'm really stuck.
"I don't know, honestly," I confess, spinning in my desk chair. My room starts to get smaller and smaller as I continue to spin and spin and spin-and I have to stop before I puke on the carpet.
Sam groans. "That's not what I was wanting to hear."
Our teacher told us we had a month until we had to present it in front of the entire school. And I'm panicking. That's a lot of people. And I have no clue what I'm doing.
Sam grabs a stuffed basketball off my bed and tosses it up into the air. "I could do like a zombie movie... or vampires or some crap. The girls would love that."
I scoff, "We were told to make something interesting, Sam. Not a teen YA novel."
He rolls his eyes, but I know he knows I'm right, "Okay, yeah bad idea. What about like a modern remake on a classic movie or book? Like Frankenstein, or The Prince and The Pauper, or something?"
YOU ARE READING
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