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It was all painfully awkward, sitting in a circle in the school auditorium after hours with the once glorious Intergalactic Dream Team. Emaline had compared it to an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting, the way silence ticked on like the school's broken clock... tick... tick..... tick-tick... tick... (only one other person knew what she meant by that, and even less knew how she would know).
A year had passed since that fateful film, and while Emaline and Kate went back to pretending they weren't in the midst of a passionate and oh so very queer relationship- as Emaline would say- McQuaid rose to popularity, a smash hit after last year's film. Tyler was dubbed "the freak in Oliver Schmerhorn's trenchcoat" and Luke was... Luke.
Despite his first real production being such a hit, despite the praises, despite the push from Principal Messner (and, subsequently, his mom) to make producing a film a Boring High tradition, Luke had mysteriously sworn off filmmaking and AV altogether since the night of his premiere. Nobody knew why, except for his mother, who seemed to keep that secret under lock and key.
Now they were here, sitting in this circle in the uncomfortably cold metal folding chairs while Stargrove sat in the back of the auditorium and "supervised", as required by Messner. Tick... tick.... tick-tick..., the broken clock ticked, and Stargrove took a long and loud slurp of his coffee.
"So..." Tyler squeaked. He sat up straight, while every other teenager sat hunched in their seat. Where their arms were crossed tightly over their chests, Tyler's hands were busy pushing himself up further, to the point where his entire body threatened to tip forward, "Any ideas for this year's script?"
"Well, considering that last year's intergalactic theme was such a hit," McQuaid pushed his large glasses up at the bridge, watching them fall uselessly down his nose again, "I was thinking we could follow that same vein of thinking this year. After all, why mess with success?"
McQuaid was just as stockily built as the year before- like a birdhouse by a man who wanted nothing more than to go to space with his- but his hair had grown fuller and longer since then, and now draped beautifully across his shoulders in loose curls. It gave him the look of the kind of guy to say he plays guitar at parties but has never touched one in his life outside of said parties.
In McQuaid's defense, there were girls who loved it.
In his friend's defense, they absolutely hated it. He sucked at the guitar.
Kate shrugged, shifting up in her chair, a little more at ease, and a little more attentive, "I mean, that could work. Not the same movie, but enough to be familiar."
Emaline tapped her hands on her jeans, sitting up as well and turning to Luke, "Well, what do you think, Director Man?"
Only then had Luke finally looked up from where he slouched dangerously low in his seat, legs spread and feet digging into the dusty black floor of the stage. He had hardly been listening up until now, glaring at a streak of blue paint left on the floor by a careless drama club kid (who, rumor has it, had been kicked out over the incident).
And though he knew he would regret it, he still opened his mouth anyway.
The stage door slammed open hard enough that it threatened to break off his hinges. A surprising show of strength from McQuaid, whose lanky frame was shaking furiously, "Fuck. You. Man, I'm done with this shit!"
He stormed out into the humid rain and across the lawn towards his car, leaving the rest of the group in the dust.
Tyler frowned. He had followed McQuaid out the door, but stopped just before the steel stairs, turning back to see Luke walk through the door. He frowned at him but didn't say anything before turning to run after McQuaid.
Kate came after them, shoulder-checking Luke on the way out, but not offering him any further acknowledgment as she left.
Then came Emaline.
She walked to the railing opposite the door, turning to lean against it. She tilted her head as if examining Luke like he was a specimen in one of her biology projects.
Luke just stared back.
After a while, she finally leaned back, crossing her arms in front of her. When she spoke, it was with a smile and a hint of laughter in her voice, "Y'know, I've been trying to figure out this whole time what the fuck your deal is."
Luke raised a brow, squaring his shoulders- it did very little, Emaline was still painfully taller than him, seeing as, in contrast to his friends, he had yet to reach another growth spurt himself- "What the fuck my deal is?"
"You heard me," The mirth slipped off of Emaline's face, hands falling to her sides to push herself off the chipping white railing, "Your friends love you. You're an amazing director. I don't know what happened that night, but Intergalactic Lust was a hit and now we have another movie to plan. So figure it out."
Emaline left no room for argument, turning on her heel and heading down the stairs and across the field.
Then, Luke was alone - or, at least, he hoped. He sighed, stepping up to the railing and hunching over it, "...shit."
"You could make this right, y'know," Luke jumped, whipping around just in time for the door to slam in a heavy ca-chunk.
"How?"
"Come back to the AV club," Mr. Stargrove said, opening his thermos and staring down the bottom in hopes for any remnant of coffee, shrugging, "We always need more cameramen."
Luke rolled his eyes, huffing out a laugh and shaking his head as he turned away from the man, but Stargrove wasn't phased. He made his way down the stairs, screwing the lid back onto his thermos as he shouted, "Shooting starts on Monday!"