Twisted Fate(30)

Next shot was the inside of a medicine cabinet with rows of prescription bottles set up, waves crashing and rolling in and then the same footage backward. All of the sound was mismatched—the sound of the waves accompanied Becky smoking, and the sound of the girls playing went with the cruising shots of the neighborhood. The cheerleading squad had the sound of some kid talking about outer space while they did their drills. Then suddenly on the screen there was Allyson walking up the driveway with her backpack, going inside our house and shutting the door. It was also shot from above—and looked like it was directly above her head somehow. The last frame was of that kid Brian at the park—apparently today wasn’t the first time Graham had talked to him. He was holding a Wolverine action figure and making it jump around. There was an extreme close-up on the kid’s face, his big blue eyes and smile, and then he turned his head quickly as if he heard something—like he was startled and a little worried. Then there was Allyson again—sitting in Graham’s backyard looking up at him from the grass.

Graham stood up suddenly and stopped the projector. “You get the idea,” he said. “There’s another hour of this or so . . . other random stuff.” He seemed a little flustered and I couldn’t tell if it was because he didn’t want us to see the footage of Ally, or because he felt weird that I was there with Declan, or maybe just his drugs were wearing off.

He turned the lights back on and we sat in the weird mini theater not saying anything. I’m sure Declan was thinking what I was thinking, which was that this kid was from another planet.

“It’s pretty good, man,” Declan said. “Pretty good. You really know how to use that camera. I don’t know how you got some of those shots. Wow. I mean, that’s . . . What the hell is it about?”

Graham shrugged. “It’s about—”

“No, wait! Wait!” Declan yelled, doing his typical Declan-nerd-boy thing where he thinks he’s figured everything out and wants to shout it out before anyone else can. He’s been doing this since third grade. “I know! I know, it’s about how everyone is in and of themselves a spectacle. Am I right? How every individual act is also kind of a performed act? That’s it! That’s it! Am I right? Except for Tate walking into her house. Right? Or maybe even that! Wow! That is awesome, actually.”

Graham looked disappointed. “Um, it’s kind of almost the opposite. It’s about how people are not quite real until they are observed or filmed. You know, like if a tree falls in the woods and no one’s there, does it make a sound?”

Declan said, “Huh. Sure . . . but—”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “It looks really, really cool, but what does any of that even freaking mean? Of course people are real.”

Graham looked disappointed for a minute and then regained his usual hip, I-got-a-secret face and leaned back in his chair. “So you think all people are real?” he asked me, looking right into my eyes. “Aren’t there some people who aren’t?”

It scared me—really scared me for a second. “No,” I said. “Of course not.”

“Wait wait wait!” Declan interrupted us. “This is really interesting. So you’re filming people to make them real?”

“That’s right,” Graham said.

“Huh,” Declan said. “Okay, okay, I get where you might be coming from. As a history buff, you really believe that identity is reified by its documentation.”

“What?” Graham said, sounding genuinely confused and annoyed. “Speak English.”

“Have you shown these to anyone else?” I asked before Declan could go off on some weird tangent about who makes history and what it means. I could hear that one coming a mile away and already I was tired of being trapped between these two nerds.

Graham got a faraway look on his face. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Lots and lots of people have seen my films.” Then he started to look genuinely sad. “Some of them have sold for five thousand dollars. And I think the people who buy them even know what they mean,” he said. “These movies make their life better.” He looked like he might start crying. “They get me,” he said. “They understand.”





We didn’t believe it at first. It looked like a normal Tumblr page. You opened it up and there were links to click on to watch his films. Harmless stuff for the most part. A little full of himself, but what seventeen-year-old boy isn’t?

When we looked closer we realized he had a hidden site—something that only members could access. The whole thing was under the name Copeland Productions—not a very sophisticated secret name. And the Amazon wish list was also under that name. And that list was long and extravagant. I’d say he’s been bought tens of thousands of dollars in merchandise by his “fans” in exchange for these films.

And the films. I can barely describe them to you . . . It makes me want to . . . It makes you sick to think that this is the world we live in. That all this was going on in this beautiful tree-lined neighborhood among these decent people.





Once we got out of Prince Charming’s weirdo castle, we walked back into the woods.

“That kid is not too bright,” Declan said. “I think he’s kinda dumb, actually, which I didn’t quite realize when I was showing him around school. But he’s come to some erroneous ideas about how the world works.”