Pop Quiz Read online

  “Maybe someday we’ll be super famous,” says Satri. “Just like Diana.”

  “We’re just minor characters,” I say. “Diana’s really talented.”

  “Speak for yourself,” says Satri. “Diana started off as a minor character too.”

  “Yeah, although I don’t know if I’d call her super famous just yet—”

  The camera operator gives the cue that we’re good to go, and a production assistant yells for our attention. “Okay, everyone! Places!”

  Diana moves down the hallway to her first position, smiling warmly at us as she passes us. “Hi, guys.”

  “Hi, Diana,” Satri and I say in unison. I wonder if it’s true, if Diana Parker will fly to Los Angeles and try to make it in the big leagues. Despite myself, I start to imagine the same thing happening to me someday. Today, Pop Quiz; tomorrow, the world!

  The afternoon drags. Background work is the most boring part of acting. When the camera is running, we have to pretend to talk, even though we can’t actually talk. It’s a lot harder than it sounds. We also have to be really careful about our blocking.

  Blocking maps out how to get across a room, where to stand, when to open a door and leave—all that stuff that disappears into the background. Because the editors have to cut various scenes together from the many takes we film, it’s important that we all repeat the same movements and positions every time we do a shot, so everything comes together naturally.

  For what seems like a hundred takes, Satri and I have to walk down the hallway behind Diana and Darwin, who are actually acting, stop at our lockers and shove our books inside. It’s easy but monotonous.

  Finally the director calls a wrap, and I wander around with Satri as the cast and crew clean up for the day. Once the place is more or less empty, we head to the gym, also known as production central. Equipment is stored in one corner, sets in another, and the far end is a sound stage—a set that has been built out of lumber and wall panels. The art department does wonders with this space. Whenever there’s a need for a quick scene at a doctor’s office, or someone’s bedroom, somehow they’re able to quickly transform it into an entirely new space using paint, props and furniture. Right now it’s decorated as a cheerful little apartment kitchen.

  Bill is in his “office,” which is really just a big, long folding table that sits dead center on the stage at the front. He says that he likes to be able to yell down to whatever department he needs to talk to and they can just yell back to him.

  He looks up from his laptop as we approach the stage and then stands, smiling.

  “Come on up, guys,” he says, and we jump onto the stage. A moment later Anais and Belva come into the room, followed by Jorge and Janaya.

  “Great, you’re all here.” Bill claps his hands and rubs them together, then perches on the edge of his table, dangling his legs and smiling at us like a total goofball. We wait for him to talk. He still doesn’t say anything.

  “Come on, Bill,” says Anais finally. “You’re killing us here.”

  He laughs. “Okay, that’s enough fooling around. I’ve been working with the writers on the next season of Pop Quiz. Just like every year, some of the more prominent cast members will be graduating and moving on to other things. That means we need to decide who will take over the lead roles. I would like that to be you guys. We are going to make all of your characters more prominent in the upcoming season.”

  Satri lets out a hoot and throws his hands up in a victory salute. Anais beams.

  “What do you think, Aiden?” Bill asks me. “You in?”

  “Totally,” I say. I realize I don’t appear as excited as the other two, but I’m really just kind of overwhelmed. Being a supporting character on Pop Quiz has been amazing, but I never expected to be promoted to a lead. There are a lot of kids working on the show, but only a few of them get regular speaking roles, and even fewer get written into the main story lines. I can’t quite believe what’s happening.

  “So there’s lots to work out yet,” says Bill, “but we will have time to figure it all out as soon as we wrap up this season.”

  “Do you have any idea what we’ll be doing?” asks Anais.

  “It’s still too early to know for sure,” says Bill, “but we have a couple of ideas. I can tell you that we’ve had a lot of feedback on the Dane and Penny story line.”

  “What does that mean?” I ask.

  “It means that we’ll probably run with it next year,” says Bill. “Make you guys a full-fledged couple.”

  It takes all my willpower not to blush. I’m dying to know what Anais thinks, but I’m afraid to glance at her.

  Bill reaches into his bag and pulls out some scripts. He hands one to each of us.

  “Scripts for next week,” he says. “Last episode of the year. Penny is going to be heading to the west coast to live with her dad for the summer, and Dane hears her tell Dara that she might not be coming back. They have an emotional goodbye.”

  Anais turns and gives me a smile, which I return, still trying desperately not to blush. I don’t need everyone knowing that Aiden likes Anais as much, or more, than Dane likes Penny.

  Could this turn into an example of life imitating art?

  Four

  On Monday morning my mom pulls up outside the school.

  “Honey, I’m so proud of you,” she tells me for the millionth time since I brought home the good news. She leans across to give me a kiss on the cheek before I get out of the car.

  “Thanks, Mom,” I say, reaching into the backseat for my backpack.

  “All this hard work just keeps paying off for you.”

  “It is pretty cool.”

  “You’re not exactly doing backflips though,” she adds.

  “I am excited. Seriously. I just—I don’t know. I hope I’m up for it.”

  “Of course you’re up for it,” she says. “Bill wouldn’t have chosen you if he didn’t have total faith in your abilities.”

  “Yeah,” I say, not convinced. “I guess so. Anyway, I’d better get a move on. They’ll be looking for me in wardrobe.”

  I climb out of the car and wave goodbye as she drives away. As I head in, I pass the large, heavy-looking Cherry Lane High School sign that sits in the middle of the lawn. The sign looks like it was hewn from a massive block of granite, but it’s actually an impressive fake carved from Styrofoam by the art department and covered with an incredibly lifelike paint job.

  At CLHS, the grounds are always perfectly trimmed, and there is never any garbage strewn about the schoolyard. That will all change, of course, in September, when CLHS reverts to Robert J. MacKintosh Secondary. Things will quickly get back to normal, as real students flock in with their real-world problems and real-world energy. Where I go to school—Pepper Heights, on the other side of town—it’s basically the same. I like the clean and orderly world of Cherry Lane, but to tell you the truth, I look forward to getting back to the smell of “real school” every fall.

  I walk up the front steps and push through the heavy wooden doors. Inside the front lobby, Trevor Jones, the head custodian, is pushing a broom across the gleaming tiles. Trevor is one of the true links between the regular school year and the imaginary one we create in the summertime. He keeps the building humming along. He can often be found hanging out around the set, watching scenes play out. He’s even been on-screen several times, when they needed some background action. He basically plays himself.

  “Morning, Trevor,” I say as I stroll past him.

  “How’s it going, Aiden? You making a pit stop at craft services?”

  “As if you need to ask,” I say with a wink.

  He laughs as I continue down the hallway. Trevor is used to me arriving early on set, and although it’s true that I’m needed in wardrobe soon, I still have a little time. The real reason I like to show up early is because of craft services.

  There are a lot of perks to bein
g on a TV show, but at the top of my list is craft services, the department responsible for making sure that the cast and crew are never hungry between meals. Craft, as it’s generally known, is separate from catering, which handles actual meals. From the moment I stepped onto my first set, I was in love with craft services. An entire department devoted to providing me with delicious snacks. I still wonder sometimes what the catch is.

  I follow my nose down the central hallway to production central. I’m one of the first people on set, other than some carpenters dismantling the kitchen set from last week and starting to pull together what looks like a doctor’s office. Chill Bill’s desk on the stage is empty.

  I beeline across the shiny wooden floor to Jenny, who runs craft services. She’s preparing stacks of breakfast sandwiches and wrapping them in little tinfoil packages for the cast and crew, who will be arriving—hungry—any time.

  “Morning, Jenny,” I say as my eyes dance across the table of chocolates, candies and various types of chips and nachos.

  She turns around from her little two-burner hot plate and smiles.

  “You’re just in time, Aiden,” she says. “Fresh off the grill.” She slides a steaming-hot breakfast sandwich into a tinfoil bag and passes it to me. The fragrant smell of bacon makes my mouth water.

  “You’re a saint, Jenny.” I step out of the way as a gang of hungry set decorators walks up, looking for a fix. I grab a paper plate and round out my breakfast with a handful of Doritos, a few mini chocolate bars and my favorite—gummy worms. Then I head out to find someplace quiet to stuff my face and go over my scenes for the day.

  I push through a door into one of the side hallways and make my way to one of my go-to hiding places, a little alcove where a vending machine hums quietly. I unsling my backpack and dig around for my script, then wedge myself into the space beside the pop machine. There’s usually so much activity on set that I find it really hard to focus on learning my lines, so I like to hide away for a while before I shoot a scene. I’m always amazed at Satri, who can eat a burger while carrying on a conversation and only seems to need a few quick glances at his script. He never misses a line and is really good at improv too. Don’t get me wrong, I think I’m pretty good, but I wish it came naturally to me like it does to Satri.

  I balance the script on my knees. I let the paper plate nestle down in the V between my legs and my belly. I flip to the right page in the script, take a deep whiff of my sandwich, then begin to happily chow down while scanning my lines.

  I’m only halfway through my sandwich when I hear a door bang open. Footsteps echo down the hallway and stop about ten feet from where I’m sitting.

  “I just don’t understand how this is coming up out of nowhere!” I recognize the voice right away. Chill Bill. Although he doesn’t sound so chill at the moment.

  “Bill, you need to relax,” says a second voice, this one calmer but more businesslike. Not as familiar, but I’m pretty sure it’s Barbara Kale, the producer of Pop Quiz. I’ve never really been clear on what a producer does exactly, but I know Barbara only comes to the set once in a while. I think she’s responsible for money and TV networks and contracts and stuff, while Bill is responsible for what happens on-screen.

  “I’m sorry, Bill,” she continues, “but the budget just isn’t adding up. And ratings have been going down for a while now. Traditional TV is dead, Bill. You know that as well as anyone. Everyone is getting their entertainment online. I’m telling you this now so you have time to figure out how to tell the cast.”

  “Tell the cast?” asks Bill. “You mean you expect me to deliver this news?”

  “Bill, come on,” Barbara says. “You know that they all trust you, and like you.”

  “And you think they’ll feel that way after this?” he asks.

  A cell phone rings, and for a moment they are silent as someone rummages for a phone. “I have to get this,” says Barbara. “We’ll finish this conversation later, Bill.” I hear the click-clack of heels and a door shutting. The hallway is silent once more.

  I wait a second, wondering what to do, then stick my head around the side of the alcove. Bill is standing against the wall, and he’s slowly rubbing his head.

  “Bill?” I’m not sure if I should say anything.

  He turns to me, surprised. “What are you doing here, Aiden?” he asks.

  I hold out my script and wave it. “Running lines,” I say.

  He nods. “Good,” he says dazedly. “You’re a hard worker, buddy. That’ll get you places.”

  “Is everything okay?” I ask.

  “What? Oh, yeah. Yeah, things are fine.” He turns as if he’s going to head back to the room he came from, then spins on his heel. “I’ve gotta go, Aiden,” he says. “I have some things to take care of before we get rolling today.”

  “Sure, Bill,” I say. But he doesn’t seem to hear me. He’s already walking down the hallway and quickly disappears around a corner.

  Five

  When I get back to the gym, the place is buzzing with activity.

  Dexi spots me and walks over, holding a piece of paper. “We’ve switched around the shooting order for the week,” she says. “Your big scene with Anais is going to be this afternoon. You ready for it?”

  “Sure,” I say, nodding.

  “Good man,” she says, clapping me on the back as she moves on to pass out the new schedule to the rest of the crew.

  I spot Satri at craft services and join him just as he’s grabbing a breakfast sandwich from Jenny.

  “Oh, Jenny, I love you,” he says.

  “How do you even hang out with this guy?” Jenny asks me with a smile. “He’s such a schmoozer!”

  I smile weakly and don’t answer. I’m preoccupied with what I’ve just heard.

  “Hey, Satri,” I say. “Can I talk to you for a minute? In private?”

  He nods and grabs a handful of chips and a can of soda, and we move away from the table and into the corner.

  “What the heck is wrong with you?” he asks. “You look really tense. Do you need to poop?”

  “I just heard something crazy,” I say. I’m used to ignoring Satri’s childish jokes.

  His eyes widen, waiting for me to go on.

  “I think—” I can’t get the words out.

  “What?” Satri asks, his mouth full of food.

  “I heard we’re switching around the order of scenes for today.” I realize I don’t want to tell Satri anything. I don’t really understand what I overheard, and Satri might jump to the wrong conclusions.

  He rolls his eyes at me. “So what?” he asks. “Who cares? They change scene order all the time.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “You’re right.”

  “Man, I’m starting to get worried about you,” he says. “You’ve been a total spaz since we heard about our promotions. You keep this up, and Anais will never agree to be your schmoopy magoo.”

  “You are ridiculous,” I tell him, but I can’t help laughing.

  The last day of shooting doesn’t go as well as we all might have liked. Chill Bill, usually as easygoing as his nickname implies, is distracted, borderline grumpy, and we plow through the scenes in a rush, without even taking time to go over our script notes beforehand.

  “What is going on with Bill?” asks Anais quietly while we wait for the lighting guys to move in for our close-up.

  “I don’t know,” I whisper back. I need more information before I start a panic.

  My last scene of the season has obviously been written as a cliffhanger to set up the following year. Penny has just told Dane she will be gone for the summer. And that she might not be coming back.

  “I don’t know,” says Penny, as she and Dane stand outside their freshly emptied lockers. “I just need to see whether I’m any happier there.”

  “You’re happy at Cherry Lane though,” Dane says. “Aren’t you? This is where all your friends a
re. This is where…” He trails off.

  “Where what?” she asks.

  The audience is supposed to know that Dane wants to say “where I am,” but I can’t finish it.

  “Where you belong,” I say instead.

  “Maybe,” Penny says, “but I owe it to myself to make sure. I’ll text you, okay? It’s not the end of anything.”

  I nod, realizing, with all the cameras focused on me, all the lights and bounce sheets and people staring, that I’m starting to choke up for real. I open my mouth to deliver my last line, and my mouth is so dry that I can’t get it out.

  I stand there with my mouth hanging open, staring at Anais, whose face is beginning to tighten with confusion. To my horror, I feel my eyes well up with tears. It’s hit me hard that this might actually be the end of everything. This could be it.

  “It’s okay, Dane,” Penny says softly, and she reaches out to grab Dane’s arm.

  Before she can connect, though, I turn and run down the steps, away from the camera, out of the shot.

  “Cut!” I hear Bill yell, and I feel like I’m in a nightmare. Somehow I pull myself together and turn back to the crew.

  “Bill,” I say, about to apologize, but he holds up a hand.

  “Aiden,” he says. “That was amazing! Why didn’t you tell us that you had these improv chops?”

  Dexi moves up, all business. “Great job, Aiden,” she says. “It’s going to really set the stage for next season.”

  I catch Bill’s eye, and I could almost swear I see him flinch. Nobody else seems to notice though. I must be imagining things.

  “Should we do it again?” Dexi asks him.

  I let out my breath in relief when Bill says no. “We’re okay, Dex,” he says. “I don’t think we can get old Aiden to do that any better. Lock it and print it.”

  “Okay, folks,” Dexi yells to the crowd. “That’s a season nine picture wrap for Aiden. Let’s give him a hand!”

  Everyone begins to clap, and I turn around, slightly embarrassed, to see the crowd giving me a full ovation.