Call the Shots (13 page)

INT. ROCKVILLE ZOO LABORATORY — DAY

All sorts of animals — dogs, cats, ferrets, a parrot — are in cages on the shelves in the background.

DR. SCHMALOOGAN, a mad scientist with crazy eyes, works with test tubes and beakers on a lab table. He mutters to himself as he mixes this with that.

Two MEN IN GRAY SUITS storm into the lab. Dr. Schmaloogan looks up from his work.

Man in Gray #2 flashes a badge shaped like a jungle cat.

Dr. Schmaloogan casually slides his beakers behind a large test-tube shaker.

Man in Gray #1 pulls out a pink piece of paper and hands it to Dr. Schmaloogan.

EXT. ROCKVILLE HIGH SCHOOL — DAY

JACK HARRINGTON and STACY PETERS hang out on the bleachers at the football field.

Suddenly there’s a knock on my bedroom door. I stop typing.

“I’m busy.” I clench my eyes, trying to remember the next thing I was going to write.

“It’s Nessa,” a girl’s voice says from the other side of the door.

“Cathy’s not home,” I say. “I think she’s working today.” I glance at the Death Star clock over my bookcase. Only an hour before I have to leave for Evelyn’s.

“I know,” Nessa says. “That’s why I’m here. Open the door. I want to talk to you.”

Ugh. I don’t need this right now. I have to get this script written.

“One sec.” I save my Word file, then cross the room to open the door, and there’s Nessa — in full ghoul makeup — standing in the hallway. “What’s up?”

She cocks her head. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“I’m kind of in the middle of someth —”

Nessa brushes past me and steps into my bedroom. She looks down at the floor, surveying all of the donated baby stuff. “I don’t think I’ve ever actually been in your bedroom before.” She turns her head and shoots me a coy smile. “At least not while you were home.”

“You think I don’t know that you and Cathy go through my stuff when I’m not around?”

Nessa laughs, running a finger along the partially built crib. “Just a few times. Let me tell you, we got bored pretty fast, Sean. No porn magazines under the mattress. No pot or cigarettes tucked in any of your jacket pockets. Not even a journal with angry diatribes about how your sister and her best friend sneak into your room and look at all your shit. What’s up with that?”

“Sorry to disappoint. So, what do you want?”

She slinks over and stops just a few inches from me. “Do you mean right now or in the grand scheme of things?” Her breath is warm and smells like Good & Plenty.

I take a step back. “You said you wanted to talk to me? What about?”

“Here’s the thing.” Nessa reaches out and casually closes my bedroom door. “I guess . . . I’ve always just thought of you as Cathy’s little brother.”

“Except that we’re twins, remember? Same age.”

“Yeah, no, I know.” She smiles, her eyes cast down. “It’s weird, I just . . . seeing you in your band . . . It was like . . . I don’t know. I saw you differently is all. I can’t really explain it.”

I glance over at the door. “Why’d you shut that?”

“Your mom’s home.” She laughs. “I told her I needed to talk to you about Chemistry.”

I give her an are-you-serious look. “You and Cathy are in AP everything. My mom knows I’m not in AP anything.”

Nessa shrugs. “She didn’t seem to notice.” She takes a step toward me, closing the gap again. Her licorice breath is warm on my face. “Look, why are we talking about your mom? That’s kind of a mood killer, don’tcha think?”

I take another step back and find I’m up against the wall, pinned between the closed door and the footboard of my bed. “What mood?” Jeez Louise, she’s acting bizarre. More bizarre than usual. Whatever this is, I bet Cathy’s behind it.

Of course, that doesn’t change the fact that I’ve got a wizard’s staff trying to make its presence known in my boxers right now.

“Okay, look.” Nessa shakes her head. “I’m not saying this the right way. I think what it is . . . Seeing you playing the keyboards so confidently . . . It was the first time I sort of considered you . . .
separate
from Cathy. Does that make sense?”

“Sure. All right. Sounds good.” I turn my head, plotting an escape route over the bed. “Look, I’ve got to get back to work, so —”

Then, out of the blue, Nessa puts her hands on my face, turns my head toward her, and leans in to kiss me.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” I wiggle free from Nessa’s grasp, leap onto my bed, scramble across the covers, and roll off the other side. “What the hell’s going on?”

Once upon a time, way back in seventh grade, I would have offered up my first-edition Star Wars comics for the chance to get a kiss from Nessa. But that was a long, long time ago. In a galaxy far, far away. Before Nessa and all of her friends were assimilated by the Borg.

Right now the only person I want a kiss from is Leyna, despite what the fully extended lightsaber in my jeans might be saying.

“Sorry,” she says, shaking her head. “I just . . . I couldn’t help myself. I don’t know what came over me. Please don’t tell Cathy, okay? She wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh, so I’m supposed to believe Cathy knows nothing about this?”

“You think your sister would be cool with me wanting to make out with you?” Nessa laughs. “Doubtful.” She points to one of the daggers hanging on my wall. “Cool
main gauche.
I don’t remember seeing
that
last time I was in here.”

“I got it for Christmas.” I look at her suspiciously. “How do you know what that is?”

“A Renaissance parrying dagger. I’m a big fan of sharp objects. I’ve got a few knives myself. So.” She spins around and makes her way toward my desk. “What were you so busy with that you didn’t want to answer your door?”

“Nothing. It’s not —” I reach out to stop her but it’s too late.

“I didn’t know you wrote, Sean.” She’s bent over and peering at my laptop screen.

I don’t know if she’s giving me this view of her butt on purpose, but either way the stretched-tight pockets on her black jeans have me mesmerized.

“A horror movie. Cool.” Nessa glances over her shoulder. “Are you taking Mr. Coozman’s creative-writing class?”

“It’s not for school,” I say, my voice an octave higher than normal. I clear my throat and force my tone deeper. “It’s just something I’m fooling with.”

“Okay, well.” Nessa glances back at the computer. “Would you mind if I offered a little constructive criticism?”

“I know, it sucks.” I walk over to the desk and shut my laptop screen.

Nessa places her hand on top of mine. My knees buckle, but I catch myself.

“The first thing any writer will tell you,” she says, “is that self-flagellation is no way to get the juices flowing.”

“What?” I pull my hand away, feeling my face go hot. “No, I don’t . . . I don’t . . . do . . . that.”

Nessa grins. “Beating yourself
up.
Not beating yourself
off,
silly boy. And on both counts you’re lying.” She lifts the laptop screen up and slides into the chair. “You mind?” She gestures at my script on the screen. “I’m an expert on all things horror.”

I step back and shrug. “Sure. Go ahead.” It’ll give me time to cool off and remind myself that she’s not actually a girl-girl, just Cathy’s annoying other half.

“Okay, let’s start with your evil doctor.” Nessa puts her fingers on the keyboard and starts to type. “At least, I assume that’s who he is, yes?” Nessa looks up at me and I nod. “Good, okay, well, right now he’s coming across as a bit of a dork. You don’t want that. You want him to be charismatic. Maybe even a bit misunderstood. So that you’re almost rooting for him. Think Count Dracula. Hannibal Lecter. Or even Mr. Freeze.”

“You root for the bad guys?”

Nessa flashes a quick grin. “You’re not
ultimately
rooting for them. But if you can add that level of enigmatic complexity to your villain, then your audience gets that much more invested. Of course you still want him to be menacing, but with an undercurrent of allure.”

Nessa’s talking and typing at the same time. Amazing. I can’t even read a book and eat at the same time. And what she’s saying sounds pretty impressive, too, even if I’m not entirely sure what it means. I lean in close and watch her transform my script.

A half hour later, she’s rewritten the entire beginning of the movie — along with the two audition scenes I’ve been struggling with — and it’s all a billion times better than what I had.

“Okay, I get that you know your horror movies,” I say, flipping through the printed script pages. “But how do you know how to write so well?”

Nessa shrugs. “I’ve always liked writing. As long as it isn’t for school.” She laughs at this. “Back in sixth grade, me and Michelle Audette almost got held back because we had this contest to see who could write the longest story by the end of the year. We hardly did any of our schoolwork. Just wrote like crazy and then read our stories aloud to each other at lunch. I think hers was called ‘The Witch Trials.’ And mine was ‘SPPS.’”

“What’s that?”

“The Secret Psychic Princess Society, of course,” Nessa deadpans. “It was such a blast. Well, until our parents got called in for an ‘urgent’ conference with Mr. Provost. Anyway.” She pushes the desk chair back and stands. “I should probably get going. Remember now, not a word to Cathy about . . . you know.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Kewl.” She flashes a smile and heads toward the door. “See you around.”

I look down at the script in my hands. And that’s when I get a crazy idea. It’s probably totally stupid and I’m undoubtedly setting myself up for some Cathy-related abuse, but . . .

“Hey, Nessa.”

Nessa stands in the doorway. “Yeah?”

“I was wondering . . .” My heart starts thumping the inside of my rib cage. “I mean . . . I don’t know . . . You’re so good at this.” I wave the screenplay pages. “And I’m not and . . . Would you . . . ? Would you maybe want to help me out with writing this movie? I mean, me and my friends are actually going to try to film it and . . . Well, it might not go anywhere, but if it does . . . It could be a good credit to have. You know, to put on your résumé and stuff.”

Nessa stares at me. I can see the cogs turning behind her cat-green eyes. She’s either trying to figure out a polite way to turn me down or she’s weighing which comeback will be the most cutting.

But then she smiles again. “Sure, all right. That might be fun.”

I let out a relieved breath. With Nessa’s help, I might actually be able to write a halfway decent screenplay.

“But we’ll have to keep that a secret too, ’kay? Otherwise Cath might never speak to me again.” Nessa grins. “We’re still mortal enemies, you and I. At least as far as the outside world is concerned. No hellos or acknowledgment at school, either, understand? I have a reputation to uphold.”

“Sure, no prob.”

“Kewl,” she says again, and then slips out of my room.

I’m staring at the open door — wondering what I’ve just gotten myself into — when my phone buzzes.

I tug it from my pocket and read the text from Evelyn:
6 pm dnt 4get.

Forget? How could I? Sweet freedom is just a breakup away.