"There are none left."
His eyes dart behind me to the Panasonic camera sitting atop its case, making me look like a lying liar. But that's mine. The one I rented, at least. It's surrounded by my microphones and battery packs, which I also rented.
He points. "I see one right there."
"It's checked out.""Doesn't look like it."
"To me."
"Check out a Sony or something. I want the Panasonic."
I slide my chair a little to the right, blocking his view of the camera. "It's checked out. If you wanted a Panasonic, you should have gotten here before we ran out.Youcan use a Sony."
We stare at each other for several seconds that could span an eternity.
He scrunches up his face. "Are you even allowed to check out equipment?"
"Yes." I cross my arms on the desk, daring him to call me out.
"I need this for a project. And I'm an actual student. I take precedence."
"I'm sure your professor would say the same thing as me. If you needed a specific camera, you should have gotten here—"
"Fine, I'll take it."
I smile at him before selecting the Sony in the computer. "Go ahead and run your ID through the card reader."
"What do you even need the camera for?" he mumbles, putting his ID back in his wallet.
"I'm filming a documentary." It's been a long time since I was embarrassed to explain why I'm always filming things. Now I have an actual reason, one that's a little sounder than: video is more reliable than memory. "I'm applying for the pilot program at Temple."
I hand over his receipt with the camera information and the return deadline. He nods toward the camera cabinet as if he has some authority over me and I unlock it, fishing out themost banged-up-looking Sony I can find. If I didn't know he checked his equipment before taking it—like anyone with half a brain should or else risk paying a damage fee for something they didn't do—I'd give him the one that a group of journalism students broke last weekend when they took it to University Park for a football game.
I slide the camera and its case across the desk. "Have a great day."
"What's it about?" he asks, leaning on his elbows, settling in.
"What?"
"Your documentary." He pauses for such a short amount of time that I've barely processed his words. "Right now, I'm working on a contemporary retelling ofThePhantom of the Opera."
"I know it's a waste of my energy to hope it's less creepy than the original sinceyou'rethe one making it, but—" I cross my fingers. Then I start messing with my open Probability and Statistics textbook on the desk, giving him an opportunity to just go away, but he doesn't take the hint. Not sure he even sees me offering it. My homework will have to wait.
"Come on. What is it,A Day in the Life of Someone Boring?"
"No," I say, deflating, "I didn't think you'd agree to let me film you."
He narrows his eyes. "You're being protective of your idea. Maybe it's actually good." He rushes through the rest of his words. "Or maybe it's terrible and you're embarrassed. Either way, good luck. You'll need it. I heard there are only, like, twenty spots in that program."
I know he's trying to rile me up, but I can't let him have the last word, even when it's to his favor. "Fifteen, actually." Even tougher to get into. Anxiety clenches my gut.
"Have you heard of Vice and Virtual?" I ask.
"No, is that like an online gambling thing?"
"No, it's a virtual reality company that was founded in my hometown. It's, like, hot up-and-coming shit." "Are you into that stuff?"
"Not really." And after hours of research into it, I didn't even understand the appeal.
"Why are you making a documentary about it, then? Are they corrupt? Who's your subject?"
"My—" I hesitate to say my mom's friend, because it just sounds so juvenile. It would sound even worse to call Yvette the woman my mother used to babysit. "A woman from Philly. She wants to profess her love for the CEO of the company, but she needs to get his attention."His eyebrows rise in disapproval. "She's in love with someone she doesn't even have the attention of? Are you aiding a stalker?"
I wish I hadn't opened myself up to this conversation. It's too much to explain to someone I don't even want to be talking to. "She's not a stalker. They were childhood friends. It's romantic and high stakes and has a message of supporting local businesses in the background—it's a good documentary idea!"
He blows out a laugh at my frustration. "So, you're just filming her attempt to get into his pants?"
Eye. Roll. "Vice and Virtual is holding a contest where she'll do obstacle courses and brainteasers, like, video games, but inreal life. The winner gets a prototype of the VR headset they're selling next year."
He blinks, placing the camera bag over his shoulder. "Video games in real life?"
"Like, you know how Mario goes down pipes? A contestant would go down a slide or something. It's all real, and physical."
He doesn't look impressed. "So, they don't have to be good at video games, they just have to be fit?"
I try not to have second thoughts, but then there's one thought and then there's another. I reach for the necklace I know isn't around my neck. My grandma gave it to me, but I gave it to Corrine after her breakup with Holden, to help her ground herself when she started to feel any certain way she didn't want to feel. I miss that necklace. The only thing grounding me right now is gravity.
"It'll be great," I say, my cheeks growing hot. I remind myself that the Temple people approved this idea—it can't be that bad.I will not doubt myself, I will not doubt myself, Iwilldoubt myself."It has heart, action, and a cause; it's like the perfect documentary."
He smirks. "Yeah, sure. Good luck."
And then he walks away and I'm stuck behind the desk for several more hours worrying that my documentaryisn'tas great as I think it'll be, that the GoPro footage will be too shaky to use, that Yvette will get her happy ending on day one and leave me with no story at all.
I wonder if there's an angle to film her at that will give me a guaranteed acceptance and if I can find it before my deadline.