The Cutting Room Floor (7 page)

“She would’ve wanted you to have it.” Homer holds up his palms. “Please.”

Rye nods and cradles the box like she’s holding a newborn.

“So, how’s the film coming along, Dez?” Homer switches gears.

“It’s coming,” I tell him.

“Thanks for your help,” Riley says, taking her leave so I can give Homer an update on our progress.

After I bring him up to speed, Homer leaves us to it. I get everyone in place and we start rolling for the real deal. Riley and Jonah go through the scene while I film. I try to stay focused, but I can still feel Rye’s skin on my fingertips. I have a hard time managing the camera.

Lucas watches over my shoulder. He’s a little OCD and always wants me to overshoot. The guy wants to have his pick of angles and close-ups when he edits; he acts like he’s the director. Lucas is one of the only guys
out
in school, and I’ve watched what he’s had to go through because of it. The jokes and comments. The Tori Rollers’ brainwashing—all in an effort to “save” him. The way the teachers just turn away from it all.

Now Riley is following in his footsteps.

I hate it. I was supposed to prevent all of this, and instead I’ve made it worse.

“I need a tight of their faces together,” Lucas whispers in my ear.

As I set up the shot, he keeps saying, “Closer, closer.”

“That’s close enough,” I bark, not liking the shot in my viewfinder and feeling like I’m losing control of everything. Jonah’s face is almost touching Riley’s and I can’t help feeling like I want to break something. Or … someone.

“Stop being so uptight,” Lucas says. “This movie is for the festival, not the church. I need these shots.”

“I got this, Luke.” I keep my voice steady. “Let’s just try it this way. If we need more shots later, we’ll get more shots.”

Lucas pouts for a few seconds and then gives me my space.

Riley and Jonah finish the scene.

My
way.

After we finally get everything we need, I call it. “That’s it for tonight, guys. Nice job.”

I pack up the equipment and drain my bottled water in two gulps. I hand my extra water to Riley and we walk out to the lot, to my ancient Beemer. Once upon a time it was red, but now it’s so old and worn and faded that it almost looks pink. It still runs like a dream, and that’s all I really care about. And since Rye doesn’t have a car, it gives me the perfect excuse to spend more time with her.

When I open Riley’s door, she drops into the seat in a puddle.

“Wanna stop off for coffee?” I ask, stalling for more time with her.

“No. I’m so tired I can’t even see straight.” She leans against the window with her eyes closed. “I just want my bed.”

Ah! Don’t go there.

I imagine her crawling into bed wearing her favorite sweatpants. The blue jobs with rips in the legs and the butt that’s almost worn out. My breathing quickens just thinking about it.

Jesus, Dez. Get a grip.

“Come over later?” she asks.

“Yeah, I think I can make it,” I say, knowing there’s no place I’d rather be.

RILEY

In rehearsal, I try to shut out all the background noise when I move with Dez to the floor scene. It’s easy to do, because Dez is totally in character. His hands are possessive when they wrap around me, and I feel something I can’t place. Comfort? Happiness? Need? I fall into the scene with him, no longer noticing anything else in the room.

Except him.

His face is close to mine. I can smell his minty breath; it’s cool on my face as he says Jonah’s lines. It’s nice, and I find myself imagining what it would be like to be with him. Not like it could happen. He has a girlfriend, a girl from film camp he met over the summer. Allie. He says things with Allie are casual and doesn’t talk about her much. I’ve never met her—I’ve never met any of his love interests—but I have a feeling that with Allie, it’s more than he lets on.

I’ve always been jealous when Dez tells me about the girls he’s interested in. “What’s she like?” I ask every time I find a girl’s sweater in his car, or smell perfume on him after a date, or overhear a steamy phone call. Then I cringe when he gives me his standard response: “She’s cool. You know, smart, pretty, nice body.” And the worst part? The way he clears his throat before saying “nice body.” In my mind, the girls look like supermodels with long wavy hair, curvy legs, flawless skin—completely perfect in their girliness. Still, I haven’t figured out who it is that I’m jealous of. Is it the girls, for getting to be with Dez? Or is it Dez, for getting to be with the girls?

Too soon, Homer walks into rehearsal and breaks up our scene. My connection with Dez? Gone. I shake it off, realizing it was probably only in my head anyway. Homer drops a box on the desk and waves us over. A Degas statue sticks out of the cardboard and I know it’s
hers
. Ms. Dunn collected all the Degas dancer sculptures.

Homer says we can have her things, but I only want a statue. I want that piece of her—proud and beautiful.

Then again, there might be clues in here.

I take the box of Ms. Dunn’s things, careful not to disturb the contents.

That’s when a memory flashes of her. That last day.

“Riley, I’d like to talk to you about one of your friends,” she said. “I’m worried.”

Now I wonder. Did she want to talk about Libby?

She looked concerned when she said it, but that’s not what bothers me. There was something about the way she looked that day. The way she moved. I didn’t realize it at the time, but looking back, I think she was anxious. Scared, even.

Ms. Dunn never did tell me what friend she wanted to talk about because that afternoon a huge group of girls came in with pictures of their homecoming dresses. She shrugged her shoulders and said we’d talk later. We never got the chance.

Once I have the box in my arms, I leave Dez with Homer. Then I hear the buzz. The same buzz that floated through the hallways for weeks after Ms. Dunn’s murder, when everyone was weighing in on suspects:

I think it was that homeless guy who used to hang around the dumpsters.

Totally, he did it.

Nope, it was the janitor.

I think an old boyfriend did it.

Or maybe a girlfriend.

I snap my head around and the rumor mill comes to an abrupt stop. Then I try to sneak out to get a look inside the box. I only have a few minutes before we start filming.

Marcus catches me first.

“I always liked this one,” he says as he reaches over to touch the Degas. His thumb skims across the statue.

I don’t like him touching it. I want to keep her things pure. Or as pure as they can be, given that the police have already rifled through them. I set the box down next to my bag, pushing it out of his reach.

“So, Riley.” Marcus smiles. “You and Emma? Finito?”

“What’s it to you?” I look around the room for an excuse to get away from him. Homer and Dez are now in deep conversation and Jonah’s not here yet, so I’m stuck.

“Well, I’m interested in Emma … and I want to make sure you’re done tempting her with your … lady parts,” he says.

He’s honestly the most disgusting creature I’ve ever met.

“I’m done, Marcus,” I say. “But from what I’ve heard, she won’t be impressed by your little boy parts either.”

He stands there, trying to form a comeback while I move onto the set to see if I can help the grips. They work on lighting and sound and get very little credit for any of it, so I always try to help out when I can. I notice Stella out of the corner of my eye. She’s helping Caleb with the lighting. She doesn’t say much, but I’ve noticed that Caleb is always asking her something. It’s almost like she’s the Key Grip—the one in charge—instead of him. She doesn’t seem to mind that he takes the credit for her ideas. I like that about her—no ego issues.

I walk over to her as she positions one of the lights. “Anything I can do?” I ask.

She looks around. “Hmm, I don’t think so. We seem to be in good shape.”

I know it’s stupid, but I want to help her with something. Like she did for me in gym class.

“Hey.” I clear my throat. “I wanted to say thanks for speaking up for me.”

“What?” Stella looks confused.

“In gym.”

“Oh, that.” She rolls her eyes. “Those girls are annoying.”

“Yeah, they’re the spawn of the devil,” I say. “Don’t let their
Jesus is my BFF
bumper stickers fool you.”

“Amen.” Stella giggles and her entire face lights up.

I shiver. She gives me goose bumps and I’m not sure why.

“Don’t worry,” Stella adds. “I can handle Tori. We work in the office together, so I know exactly how she operates.”

Stella goes back to her lights and I take a seat next to Ms. Dunn’s things. I’m so anxious to open the box, I have to sit on my hands. I can’t go through her stuff in front of the cast and crew. It wouldn’t be right. So I wait, and pray that there’s a clue inside.

DEZ

When we get home, Riley drags herself out of the car. She’s sleepy and totally adorable. I lean against the trunk and watch her shuffle all the way across the yard to her door. The whole time I’m grinning like an idiot, excited we have plans tonight.

The cool air makes my nose run. That last little tease of warmth has gone and we’re on the downward slide into winter. Across the street, Mrs. Andre has put the insulation film on her windows and now is blowing them with her hair dryer to tighten the plastic and get the wrinkles out. Mrs. Andre says her shrink-wrapped house saves her over one hundred dollars a month on her heating bill.

Winter preparation 101. This is how we roll in the Heights.

I walk over to give Mrs. Andre a hand with the windows on the second floor. I started helping her a few years ago to impress Riley, but now it’s just become a habit. On the ladder—third rung from the top—I see Mrs. Andre holding the base. I can’t say I’m comforted knowing that the only thing preventing me from a fall is a ninety-pound senior citizen, so I try to make fast work of it. I pull the wrap tight across the first window and seal it with a few waves of the blow dryer. It smells like burnt plastic. After a few more waves of hot air, the wrinkles disappear.

I seal up eight windows just before we run out of daylight.

“Oh, thank you, Desmond,” Mrs. Andre says when I’m done. “You’re such a nice young man.”

If she only knew.

When I finally make it home, there’s a package waiting for me on the stoop. I grab it and head inside—where it appears our house has thrown up Halloween. Orange and black cover every surface. Ever since Mom and Bernie got together, she’s become one of those holiday junkies. It’s funny because it wasn’t always this way; Mom didn’t always have an affinity for seasonal soap dispensers and themed tchotchkes. Especially when I was in fifth grade and she was with Phil, the manchild.

That year, I talked about my costume for weeks. I wanted to be Wolverine from the X-Men, but in a cool, Hugh Jackman kind of way. Furry face, wicked claws, wife-beater and jeans. I remember Mom had to wait for a check to clear or something and couldn’t pick up the fur and claws until the 31st.

Turns out, that was the year she actually forgot Halloween … cue tearful childhood scene:

FLASHBACK SEQUENCE
INT. BRANDT HOUSE—HALLOWEEN

A 12-year-old DESMOND paces in the living room, waiting for his Mom.

The clock reads 6:00 when DEZ’S mom, TRUDY, finally enters.

DEZ
(smiling as he meets his mom
at the door)
Finally! I thought we were going
to miss trick-or-treating.

TRUDY
(sets her bag down and shakes
her head)
Oh, honey.

DEZ
(looks behind his mom’s back for
the costume)
What? Where are the claws and fur?

TRUDY
I’m so sorry, Desmond. I don’t have them. I can’t explain it now but I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Now, I’m sure we can find something here that you could wear.

DEZ looks at his mom in disbelief. He breaks down, yelling and crying. He runs up to his room and slams the door.

Minutes later, RILEY walks in and DEZ swipes at his face to hide his tears.

RILEY
What’s up? You’re not looking very wolveriney. Everything okay?

DEZ
She couldn’t get the stuff. I can’t go.