Deception on the Set (3 page)

Joe pointed to a trailer up ahead. “Let's just go say hello to the stunt department. What do you say?”

“Joe . . . ,” I began, but he was already walking toward the long trailer.

I caught up to him just as he reached the stunt trailer. The back doors were open, revealing a rig full of large pads of every shape and size. There was personal safety gear like helmets, elbow pads, and kneepads. Tons of harnesses, ropes, and carabiners hung from the walls. Near the open doors, a tall, thin guy not much older than us used a long stick to stir a solution in a white bucket.

“How's it going?” asked Joe. “I'm Joe and this is my brother, Frank.” He gave a short bow. “And we'll be your zombies today. Or tomorrow, at least.”

The man laughed and extended a hand. “I'm Chase.”

“Actually, we just wanted to see how that stuntman was doing,” said Joe. “From last night? I think his name was Cody.”

“Cody Langstrom,” said Chase. “He's actually the stunt coordinator for the show. And he's fine.”

“Didn't he break his arm?” I asked.

“We thought so,” replied Chase. “But he just strained it. They gave him the once-over at the hospital last night. Other than a few bruises, he checked out just fine. He should be back any time now.” He went back to stirring the liquid in the bucket.

Now that we were closer, I could see that the liquid was clear but very thick, almost like syrup.

“What's that?” I asked, pointing at the bucket. “If you don't mind me asking.”

“Not at all.” The man pulled the stick out, and clear slime oozed off the tip. “I'm making up another batch of stunt gel.”

“Stunt gel?” asked Joe.

“Yeah, we put this stuff on us when we do a fire gag.” Chase stirred some more. “Think of it as water that doesn't run off. This gel keeps a thin layer of moisture all over our bodies. That way when we're in a fire, we don't turn into crispy critters.”

“Very cool,” said Joe.

“Literally,” said Chase. “Give it a try.”

Joe and I leaned in and dipped our fingers into the bucket. The stuff was slimy and oozed off our fingertips like runny egg whites. But after a moment, my fingers felt cool. It seemed to work the same way sweat cools our bodies. But this stuff didn't evaporate (or stink, for that matter).

“What is it made of?” I asked.

Before Chase could answer, a truck pulled to a stop beside the trailer. Cody Langstrom stepped out from behind the passenger seat, waving to the driver. Cody's right arm was in a sling.

“There he is,” said Chase. “No worse for wear?”

“I'm all right,” growled Cody. “I'm supposed to wear this stupid thing for a few days.” He nodded to the sling.

“This is Frank and Joe,” said Chase. “A couple of our zombies.”

“We will be tomorrow,” I added. “We just got our life casts made.”

“I can see that,” said Langstrom. He reached up and scratched his left ear.

I was about ask how he knew, but I was interrupted by my brother diving right in, headfirst as usual.

“Sorry about your accident,” he put in. “What happened?”

Langstrom shook his head. “Someone is not a fan of stunts, me, or this movie. That's what happened.”

There it was. Right out in the open. “Sabotage?” I asked.

Cody nodded. “That's what I think.”

“Any idea who did it?” asked Joe.

“No,” Cody replied. He eyed Joe suspiciously. “Why do you ask?”

“Maybe we can help find out,” said Joe. “We're pretty good at—”

I cut him off. “What he means is that we'll let you know if we hear anything.” I ushered Joe away from the trailer. “But we'll let you get back to work now.”

When we were several yards away, Joe stopped walking. “What was up with that?” he asked. “You never turn down a good mystery.”

I held up a finger. “One. It may, just
may
be a mystery.” I held up a second finger. “Two. Chief Olaf already doesn't like us snooping around when people ask us for help. What do you think he'd do if we started investigating on our own?” Joe opened his mouth to reply, but I held up a third finger. “And three . . . it could get us kicked off the only movie we've ever had a chance to be a part of.”

Joe threw up his hands. “Okay, okay. Sheesh!” He backed away. “No investigating. Got it.” Then he grinned. “Still going to keep my ear to the ground, though. You never know.” He turned and continued to walk beside the long row of trailers.

I sighed and followed him. It was the best I could hope for, really. Joe could never turn down a mystery. And he was right; I usually couldn't either. Actually, I was more than a little intrigued about the sabotaged stunt. I just didn't
want to blow this opportunity. We were learning so much about the film industry and how movies were made. Plus, to be completely honest, I didn't want to ruin my chances of meeting Chelsea Alexander.

Little did I know, my wish was about to come true. As Joe and I walked past the catering trailer, we almost ran into three girls coming around the side. One of the girls was Chelsea herself. Joe and I skidded to a stop, just barely keeping from plowing them over.

“Whoa!” said Joe.

Okay, I know this sounds dumb, but when I saw Chelsea in person, I felt as if I was nine years old again. My stomach tightened into that familiar knot, the same one I had felt when I watched her show after school. Her once-long curly brown hair was now short and straight. She was taller, of course, but she still had those same pale-green eyes. Back then I had had one powerful crush. And when I saw her it was as if it had never gone away.

Joe didn't seem to be as awestruck as I was. He thrust out a hand. “Hi. I'm Joe and this is my brother, Frank.”

Chelsea's friends checked their phones while Chelsea reached into her purse. “Do you two want autographs?”

“No,” Joe replied. “I mean, we're in the movie too.” He glanced at me and smiled. “We're going to be zombies.”

Chelsea smiled. “That's great.” She looked at me, obviously expecting me to say something. I opened my mouth to agree with Joe, but all I could get out was an “uh-huh.”

Joe grinned. He was clearly enjoying this way too much. When he opened his mouth to speak, I knew what he was going to say. My eyes widened in horror, but it was too late.

“Frank has been a mega-fan of yours since
Arithme-Trek
,” he announced.

“Oh yeah?” she asked. She smiled and took a step closer. “Do you like math?”

This time I was able to smooth-talk my way into almost two words. “Uh . . . yeah.”

She took another step closer as my heart hammered in my chest. “I see you've already had your life casts made.”

I opened my mouth to reply, but nothing came out. How did everyone seem to know that?

She reached a hand toward my face, and I swear, my heart stopped beating altogether. Then she lightly brushed my left ear. She pulled her finger away, and it had a white smudge on the tip.

“Alginate,” she said. “I've seen my share of this stuff, believe me.”

It's a scientific fact that my heart really hadn't stopped. But at that moment, I was so embarrassed that I wish it had.

S
TILL NOT TALKING TO ME?”
I asked Frank. My brother didn't answer. Instead he stared forward as Meredith slowly turned him into a zombie.

It had been like that for the rest of the day yesterday. I thought that after a good night's sleep Frank would finally accept my apology. I really hadn't noticed the alginate on his ear. And I was just trying to help him break the ice with Chelsea. But I continued to get the silent treatment all through breakfast and during the drive to the makeup trailer.

“You guys have a fight?” Meredith asked, not taking her eyes off her work.

Frank shot me a look that meant I had better keep my mouth shut.

I shrugged. “No big deal.” I pointed to Frank's half-zombified face. “So how many of those pieces do we have to wear?”

“You guys have pretty simple masks,” Meredith replied. She glanced up and smiled. “Since you're not the stars of the show”—she pulled another floppy piece of foam from a nearby table—“your makeup consists of just five prosthetic pieces.”

It was fascinating to watch Meredith turn Frank into one of the undead. After she had cast our heads, Nick had taken clay and sculpted zombie faces over our plaster faces. Then he had taken a mold of our completed zombie faces. Once that mold was ready, the clay was removed. Now, if you put both molds together, there would be an empty space where the zombie-face-shaped clay had been. Nick used this empty space to create the foam makeup pieces that would eventually get applied to our real faces. I know all this because Frank had been fascinated and had asked a million questions. Apparently, his silent treatment didn't extend to everyone else.

Meredith attached a foam piece to Frank's chin. This new zombie chin was made to look as if some of the skin was gone, with a piece of jawbone showing—way gross but way cool. She had also applied foam pieces to Frank's forehead, one on each eye and cheek, another over his nose and upper lip, and finally, one over his chin and lower lip.

“We cut the mask into all these pieces so it will be able to
move with his face,” Meredith explained. “That way he can still make different expressions.”

Even though the seams weren't painted yet, I could see how Frank was going to look like a creepy zombie. Small flaps of what was supposed to be dried skin peeled away from his forehead. The rest of the mask made it look as if his skin was stretched tightly over his skull. He had sharp cheekbones and pronounced eye sockets. Just like his chin, some of the skin was made to look as if it was missing, so parts of his skull jutted through.

“I hope my makeup looks as sick as that,” I said.

“Don't worry. It will,” Meredith assured me.

Frank glanced over at me. “Anything will be an improvement.” He gave half a grin that wouldn't have looked so creepy if he wasn't covered in zombie makeup.

So just like that, our fight was over. Like any brothers, Frank and I got into the occasional tiff, but luckily, we never stayed angry with each other for very long.

“All right,” said Meredith. “Let's get you over to Nick so he can touch up those seams and add your wig.”

Meredith led Frank away to another room in the large trailer. When she returned, she had me sit in the makeup chair. She threw an apron over my shoulders just as she had done with Frank.

“Remember what I told your brother,” warned Meredith. “It's going to itch in some places as I apply the makeup. Resist the urge to scratch.”

“This time I came prepared,” I said as I dug my MP3 player out of my pocket. “Something to take my mind off everything.”

“Good idea,” agreed Meredith.

I popped in my earbuds and played some tunes as Meredith began applying the foam prosthetic pieces to my face. I closed my eyes and tried to relax. Every now and then as she applied adhesive to my face, part of my skin would begin to itch, particularly around my nose and eyes. I concentrated on the music until the sensation went away.

I must've really zoned out. I hadn't even noticed that the album on my MP3 player had finished playing. I also hadn't noticed that Chelsea had entered the trailer. I still had my eyes closed, but there was no mistaking her voice.

“And go by the caterer trailer and find out what's for lunch,” Chelsea instructed. “If it's anything like yesterday, I'm going to send you out again.”

“There's not much tofu in this town,” said another girl's voice. It must've been Chelsea's assistant. “But I'll keep looking.”

A smiled touched my lips. Whoever she was, she was right. The customers at Sal's Diner and the Meet Locker weren't exactly tofu types.

Chelsea sighed. “I'll be glad when this movie is over. I don't think Josh knows what he's doing.”

“Well, this is the first movie he's written and directed,” Meredith explained. She dabbed some more adhesive on
my chin. “I think he's doing all right, considering.”

“What was he before?” asked Chelsea. “A stuntman or something?”

“That's what I heard,” said Meredith.

“That's why there are so many stunts in this movie,” said Chelsea's assistant.

“Not very good ones, according to Cody,” added Chelsea. “In fact, I heard that Cody and Josh—” Her voice cut off as I heard approaching footsteps.

Meredith nudged my arm. “You can open your eyes now.” She chuckled. “And sorry to hear about your brother's passing.”

Upon opening my eyes, I noticed that Frank looked as if he had returned from the dead—a full-fledged zombie. The makeup was incredible; his skin really looked as if it was dried and stretched across his skull. Frank's hands were now painted to match his face—but that wasn't the best part. He wore contacts that made his eyes look milky white. My older brother grinned, revealing yellow rotting teeth.

“Very nice!” I said.

Frank's grin vanished when his eyes cut over to Chelsea. I followed his gaze to see that another makeup artist was busy applying a realistic cut to her forehead.

“Wow,” said Chelsea. “That . . . looks really creepy.” She gave a small wave. “Hi. I'm Chelsea.”

“Actually, you already met us yesterday,” I explained. “I'm Joe and this is my decomposing brother, Frank.”

Recognition showed on Chelsea's face. “Oh yeah.”

Frank must've gained more confidence hiding behind the mask. This time he didn't choke. He stepped forward and extended a hand to Chelsea.

Now, I don't know what Frank tried to say to her. But whatever it was, it came out sounding like “Grapedosheekjubejegeng.” His milky eyes widened as he snapped his mouth shut. He twisted his mouth and tried again. “Crage joob meek kook magain.” Unfortunately, speaking slowly didn't seem to help.