Page 3 of I'm Gonna Get You Back
I dump the burnt popcorn into the trash.
Mitchell’s blue eyes crinkle with his smile as he holds up a grease-stained bag. “This is why I bring the food and you choose the movie. We gotta stick to our strengths.”
I force a laugh and pull two plates down from the cabinet.
The whole purpose of this night isn’t to torture myself with old clips of when I used to be happy. It’s to torture myself by finally showing someone the new documentary I’ve been working on all summer.
Mitchell isn’t an expert, but he is my closest friend these days. It’s been just the two of us since most of our group graduated and moved away in August. He stayed because he’s a year younger and in his senior year.
I stayed because I lost my Legacy scholarship and couldn’t afford California Film Academy without it. Because I had no choice after my life was upended.
When I asked about deferring, CAFA informed me that they don’t allow it due to the number of applications they receive. I had missed the deadline for loans. I had no way to pay for college.
I simply had to give up my place at my dream school.
Now I have to start all over; either reapply to CAFA in a few weeks or find film festivals, competitions, and scholarship opportunities for the upcoming year. All the programs I’d ignored before since I had counted on Legacy.
Or I could just stop altogether, which honestly sounds the most appealing. But Mitchell basically demanded a screening of my new idea tonight, so I figured I might as well show him.
I trust that he’ll tell me the truth about it. Like Reid, the guy is incapable of lying. Must be a brother thing.
After we open all the windows and finish the burgers, we plant ourselves on the couch.
My finger hovers over the space bar, but I can’t bring myself to hitPLAY.I need to do my ritual to shake off these nerves. I press my hands into a prayer pose and hold them against my chin.
Mitchell groans, “Every time,” just as I launch into my best David Attenborough impression.
“What you are about to witness is nothing short of extraordinary. After two failures, several months, and a near-death experience,Throwing Shade, a Clara Suarez original documentary short, is complete.”
I look at Mitchell significantly, but he just stares back. I drop into my regular voice, shattering the illusion I so clearly drew. “Dude, you’re supposed to clap.”
Mischief flashes through his eyes as he launches himself up off the couch to clap furiously. “Wooooo! Go, Clara!”
His floppy brown curls fall in his eyes as he does this for a solid ten seconds.
I stare at him, unamused. “A sarcastic standing ovation is hardly supportive. This is art.”
He closes one eye like he disagrees and holds up his fingers to make air quotes. “‘Art.’”
When he plops back beside me, I elbow himhard, and he laughs.
“You’re a bad friend.”
“Pretty sure you mispronounced ‘amazing,’” he retorts.
As I’m about to hitPLAY, both our phones vibrate on the cushions between us. That’s weird. Who would be texting both of us anymore?
Mitchell gasps. “Oh my god. Oh myGOD.”
“What?”
“It’s Kenji. In RUN FORREST RUN.”
My heart drops. RUN FORREST RUN. The name of our group chat that withered and died a few months ago after everything went down.
My face feels weird, my head too hot. I mentally run through the list of everyone on the chat. Me, Mitchell, Kenji, Delaney.
Reid.
