Project 17 (23 page)

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We continued to kiss some more after that-until well past midnight, when he was supposed to leave.

I can only hope there's more to come.

More soon,

Mimi

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SIX MONTHS LATER

***

DERIK

A LOT'S GONE DOWN
since that night at Danvers State.

First: I didn't win the contest. Not that it really matters, because, hey, at least I tried.

The thing is, something really weird happened after my experience at Danvers State. It may sound kind of cheese-ass, but spending the night there made the problems with my parents seem so small. So I ended up telling them all about the movie after all--even though I didn't win. At first they were cool about it. My dad told me about some guy he knew who had stayed at Danvers State--some guy who thought he was the real Burger King--crown, robe, and all. But then I got to the part where plans had changed for me--that I wasn't going to work in the diner.

And that's when things got ugly.

My mom was ripshit. I mean, beyond--yelling at me in Canuck, telling me I had shit in my head. My dad

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didn't say much at all, just sort of sat there listening, clenching his granddad's spatula tighter than he holds his rosary beads. That's the part that made it hard--seeing how disappointed he was.

It took a full five weeks to actually convince them to sit down and watch my film. But then, once they did, after it was over, my father got this huge-ass grin on his face, even though he didn't say anything. My mother was happy, too. I know she was. She cut me a slice of blueberry pie and set it in front of me, squirting a giant swirl of whipped cream on the top. For her, that says a lot.

A couple months after I sent my entry in, I got a letter in the mail from RTV--the contest people. It was a personal letter, not one of those standard photocopied ones, telling me that they really liked the project and encouraging me to keep working on the footage and try again.

Which is exactly what I did.

So, in the end, I didn't win the internship, but RTV ended up selecting a handful of student documentaries taken from the submissions pool to air on the show. I guess it's sort of like what they do on
American Idol
--when they show some of the auditions--except RTV actually chose quality student documentaries to air, calling them runners-up. The actual winning entry will be on in a few weeks.

I've named the movie
Project 17,
after the chair, not to mention all the other messed-up references to the number that we encountered that night. It's weird; I can't even

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look at the number now--on the clock, on the calendar, on a price tag--without thinking about that stupid chair.

The movie airs tonight, and I'm having some people over to watch, including Liza. That's where another one of my changes comes in. She and I are dating. We've been together for six months, ever since the project.

We're setting up the family room since it's got the widescreen, waiting for everybody to arrive. I've loaded up the tables with stuff like cheese pretzels (the organic kind for Liza) and my parent's contribution of celebratory sparkling cider (though I've got the real stuff).

"Are you nervous?" Liza asks, clicking the TV on.

I shake my head, knowing that I probably should be. But I honestly feel like I did good work.

"This is just the beginning for you," she says.

"For both of us," I clarify, stopping a second to really focus on her--on how unbelievably amazing she is.

Her eyes crinkle up like she's just as excited as me. "I'm really proud of you, you know that?" she says, her tone all serious like she really means it.

I
really mean it too. I hold her hands. They feel so smooth, like bars of soap. "How did I get so lucky?"

Liza smiles--a wicked little grin that sneaks up her lips, like there's just something secret about her that I have to know.

"You know," I begin, "a very wise person once told me that there are close to three hundred germs living in the human mouth, and that kissing--sharing those

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germs--can help support the immune system."

She leans in closer. "Care to boost your immunity?"

I nod and press my lips against hers, noticing how she smells like vanilla candles--and how she tastes like tangerines.

When the kiss breaks and we finally come up for air, I click on over to RTV. "Forty-five more minutes," I say, glancing at the clock.

I can hardly wait.

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