I Represent Sean Rosen (5 page)

“Pitching” in show-business language means telling someone about your project so they'll want to buy it.

The waitress left.

He named three things I never heard of.

The waitress brought his coffee and my shake.

I never told him my idea. He didn't want to pay for my shake, but he did.

I decided not to play the recording of the meeting for my dad. I don't want him to feel bad. I know he was happy he could help me meet this producer, but he wasn't surprised I don't want to work with him.

“To tell you the truth, Seany, that guy seemed a little oily.” I wasn't sure what that meant, but he did have very shiny hair. I told my dad that the producer said he would work with me out of the goodness of his heart. My dad said, “That clinches it. If his heart was any good, he wouldn't say that. I should've charged his brother-in-law more for the toilet.”

I
know I complain about school, but there
is
one class I like. English is almost always fun for me. I like to read and I like to write, and we have a very fun English teacher this year.

Miss Meglis LOVES her job. She loves almost every book we read, and if she doesn't, she loves talking about why not. She's young and she has so much energy that I wish I had
her
after lunch, instead of . . . yawn . . . Snore. . . . Sorry. I took a Knapp just thinking about him.

“Okay, laddies and lassies . . .” (We just finished a book that takes place in Ireland.) “For Wednesday, you, working in teams of two, will pick up where the author left off.”

In the book, a brother and sister are separated when they're little, and they finally find each other again in the last chapter.

“I know we were all rooting for this reunion, but real life is complicated. What do you think took place the day
after
the book ended? Each team will write a short scene and act it out for the edification and gratification of the class.”

She loves to make us look up words.

I usually hate working on group projects. I hate the part where you pick the people you're going to work with. I hate deciding who's going to do what. I hate worrying if the other people are actually going to do what they're supposed to. I hate when I don't like what they did. I never know what to do. Should I try to fix it? If I don't fix it, will the teacher blame
me
for the parts I hate?

It's a little better when it's just two people. Brianna and I figured out how we like to work together. You wouldn't think the two of us would even get along. We're so different. She always looks perfect, and I look like . . . well . . . me.

Brianna and I went to different elementary schools. That's why we didn't meet until
Le Bistro
. Where we live, there's one part of town where all the big expensive houses are. That's where Brianna lives. And that's where we had our meeting yesterday for this English project.

Brianna's house is huge. I always get lost when I'm there, and there's never anyone around to ask directions. Her dad travels a lot, and her mom is either out or in some part of the house I've never been to. One of her brothers lives there, but you never see him. I think he has his own entrance. The other brother refuses to live in the house. He has an apartment somewhere.

Brianna offered me a snack. I was hungry, but I don't like the food they have there. It's all either diet or healthy. She had some kind of green juice and rice cakes. No thanks.

Brianna said, “Did you read the book?”

“Yeah. Did you?”

“Mostly. Remind me how it ends.”

“Really?”

“Come on, Sean, I only have an hour. Let's not waste time. Do you have an idea?”

“I do, actually.”

“Good. Do you want to write it?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want me to help?”

“Not really.”

“Okay. Tell me when you're done.”

We sat there together. I wrote the scene for the brother and sister, and Brianna texted with her friends. She has a lot of friends, and each time she got a text, I forgot what I was writing.

“Can you turn off the sound on that thing?”

She looked at me for a second. “Only for you, Sean.” Brianna doesn't like people to tell her what to do, which is something we have in common. But she thinks I'm creative, so when it comes to things like this, she listens to me.

Brianna was actually the first person to see one of my podcasts. She says she loves them. I don't tell many people at my school about my podcasts. They're not about school, and I'm sure some kids would think they're weird or stupid. I don't want to have to hear about it.

Anyway, I finished the scene, we rehearsed it on the phone last night, and in class today, Brianna and I were about to start acting out our scene when the door opened. Everyone suddenly got very quiet. This gigantic kid walked in and handed Miss Meglis a note.

“Everybody, let's welcome Ethan Rodgers to our class. Ethan's family just moved here. Would you like to tell us a little about yourself?”

It got very quiet again. Ethan didn't say a word. He just sat down in an empty seat in the back. I tried not to stare at him like everyone else did. He's huge. You would never believe he's a seventh grader. He's taller than any teacher in the school, and he's not just tall. He's big. Big shoulders, big arms, big legs.

Brianna and I read our scene. I thought the day after the end of the book would be a little sad but also funny. The brother and sister are happy to be back together, but each of them thinks the other is annoying. I noticed that Ethan was the only one who got some of the jokes.

I kind of wish Brianna had read more of the book, because she wasn't acting anything like the sister. She was exactly like Brianna. The second we were done, Mr. Obester, the phys ed teacher, walked into the classroom. I think he was standing outside waiting for us to finish.

“Miss Meglis, excuse me for one minute.” Then he looked around until he found Ethan, which wasn't too hard. “Ethan, I stopped by to personally welcome you to the school. I'm hoping you'll come out for the football team.”

For some kids this would be the greatest day of their life, but Ethan looked really uncomfortable. He didn't say anything. “Or maybe basketball is your game.” Ethan still didn't say anything. “Or wrestling.” The classroom was very quiet. Finally, Ethan said something. “No.”

Mr. Obester left. I don't know if Ethan isn't good at sports or if he just doesn't want to be on a team, but the way he said “No” it sounded like the final answer.

The bell rang. Ethan looked relieved and I was glad, too. There was no time to talk about our scene, which was just okay, not great. It wasn't really Brianna's fault. But it reminded me how much I want to start working with professionals.

A
fter school, I went to the public library to do a little more research. I like libraries. They're sort of like museums.

I never knew this, but there's actually a whole section of books on how to be successful in show business. You know, how to write a screenplay, how to win an Oscar. They make it sound so easy. Just follow these steps and you will be famous. I doubt it.

I found out something interesting about producers. According to one of the books, anyone in the world can call himself a producer. You don't have to do anything first. You just start telling people you're a producer.

I produce my podcasts. I actually
am
a producer. But even if I wasn't, even if I never produced anything, I could still tell you I'm the President of Sean Rosen Productions.

I don't want to be that kind of producer. I don't want to be like the producer I met at the restaurant. After our meeting, I looked him up online and I never heard of any of the things he produced or any of the people he worked with.

I know it sounds like the only thing I care about is whether or not people are famous. That's not true. There are some famous people who aren't very talented. I never want to work with them. There are some talented people who aren't even a tiny bit famous (um . . . me?). But I do want a lot of people to see my work, and most of the time that only happens if someone famous is involved.

Remember the letter from the legal department at my trial run company? I put it in the bottom of a drawer, so I wouldn't have to see it. When I got home from the library, I looked at it again.

It's still annoying, but that letter doesn't make me feel bad anymore. It still says I shouldn't have written to them. It still says that my idea is probably like fifty other ideas they already own. (It isn't.) But now, even though the letter has my name and address at the top, and it says “Dear Mr. Rosen,” I know they weren't really talking to me. They don't know me. They don't know my idea. It's just the letter they send to anyone who writes to them.

“Should you wish to approach this company again, we suggest that you do so through a talent agent or management firm.”

I wonder if agents and managers are like producers. Can anyone just start saying they're an agent or a manager?

My dad offered to be my agent. Here's what he would tell people: “Seany's pretty good. But you better do everything you say you're gonna do, because if you don't, you won't wanna be around him.” Thanks, Dad. It's true, I guess.