Call the Shots (Swim the Fly #3)(95)

I know it’s probably way more likely that she and Cathy are still trying to orchestrate some sort of epic plot to humiliate me but . . . I don’t know. Haven’t they already had plenty of opportunities to pull the rug out from under me? And even though Nessa is a pretty decent actress, is she really good enough to fake the kind of passion she’s been putting into her kisses?

“All right!” I shout. “Let’s get this rolling. With any luck, we can get this in one or two takes and get the heck out of here.”


Two hours, fifteen takes, and countless screwups later, we finally make it all the way through the scene.

“He’s dead,” Mr. Nestman emotes as he wrenches the jar of Gatorade from the “deceased” hand of Uncle Doug. “We’ve done it. We’ve saved the human race!” He stands and raises the jar into the air. “Our future is secured!”

Goddamn it. He changed the line anyway. And now there’s nothing to segue to my final kiss with Nessa. Crap. I’d slap him upside the head if we weren’t so pressed for time.

“Aaaaand cut!” I shout, on my knees beside Nessa and Uncle Doug. “That’s good enough. Get your phones up to Val and Matt and have them slap it on the ending.”

“You got it, dawg,” Coop says.

He and Helen take off and bolt upstairs.

Nessa helps me to my feet and gives me a big hug. “Congratulations.” She pulls back and smiles at me. “Did I tell you or did I tell you?”

“You told me.” I smile at her. “Thanks for helping out. You didn’t have to.”

“Are you kidding me? It was a blast. I can’t wait to see it up on the big screen.”

I should be just as excited as she is. I mean, I really do think we have a solid chance at TerrorFest — maybe not winning, but at least not totally embarrassing ourselves, either. But as I look into Nessa’s deep brown eyes, I feel . . . sad.

This whole week, working so closely with her, has been great. Really great. She’s so easy to be around. But now that the film is wrapping up, I no longer have an excuse to hang out with her.

Unless . . .

“Hi,” Nessa says, her cheeks flushing. We’ve just been staring at each other awkwardly for the last minute or so.

“Hi.” I’m blushing now too. But she hasn’t moved away. And a ray of hope shoots through me. I step a little closer. Lean in. Her lips curl up in the tiniest of smiles.

I close my eyes and —

“Well, Seanie.” Uncle Doug claps me on the back and Nessa and I jump apart. “I have to admit that I doubted you could pull this off. But I am duly impressed. You showed muchos testículos, mi amigo. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks,” I say, turning toward him. “You did a great job. Even with the animals.”

“Thank you kindly, and I do concur.” He cackles loudly. “And now I believe it is time for Uncle Doug to raise a nice big Fatty Boombalatty in celebration.” He squeezes my neck a little too hard and then takes off.

Nessa turns to go too.

“Nessa, wait,” I start to say. But just then Mr. Nestman accosts me.

“Sorry about that last line,” he says, taking a slug from the jar of antidote. “It just came out, you know. I think I changed it in my head and then I changed it back to your line and, I don’t know, I got them mixed up, I guess. Anyway, I think it works okay, don’t you?”

“Sure.” I force a smile. “It’s fine. Thanks for your help with everything.”

He winks at me. “My pleasure. Oh, one more thing. I don’t know if we have time to shoot this little extra bit, but I was thinking —”

“Hey, Sean,” Nessa says, suddenly across the room and waving at me. “I’ve got to get home. But I’ll see you here tomorrow, right? One o’clock.”

“Yeah,” I say, my heart sinking. “Tomorrow. See you then.”





CATHY ISN’T SNORING TONIGHT. It figures. The one night I know I’m never going to get any shut-eye and she’s lying on the other side of the curtain quiet as a clam.

My sheets feel like they’re strangling me. Clinging to my neck and my shoulders. Swallowing my feet.

Ugh. I yank all my covers off.

My mind spins a million miles an hour. My thoughts on full volume. Thinking about the movie. And the film festival. And how we managed to get the whole thing finished just in time. It was almost miraculous, the way it all came together.

I wonder if we have one more miracle coming to us. If we might actually have a shot at winning this thing. I think of all of Coop’s other harebrained ideas over the years, and how they sort of ended up working out even though they didn’t seem like they would at the time: sneaking onto a nude beach to try to see a naked girl, sabotaging Tony “the Gorilla” Grillo’s Speedo to give Matt a fighting shot at winning the fly, transforming us from the lamer-than-lame Arnold Murphy’s Bologna Dare into a semidecent rock band with Helen’s amazing lead vocals and The Doctor, Coop Daddy, and El Mariachi backing her up.

I remember all of the adventures we’ve been through together ever since kindergarten, and how those days may be coming to an end. I mean, both Matt and Coop are paired off, and while they’re all pretty great about including me, they’re not going to want to put up with Fifth Wheel Sean forever.