Chapter 19
19
“Does anyone know what Foley is?”
Hands shoot toward the ceiling.
“My mom was a sound designer on Spider-Man: Home Away from Home .”
“I follow Foley Dave on TikTok.”
“We weren’t born yesterday.”
“Right.” Evie attempts to maintain a neutral expression, convinced that there isn’t anything more intimidating than twenty-two fourth graders. There are so many of them. Just one of her. “Follow-up question. Whose parents work in the industry?”
More than half the class. Evie shoots Theo a look. It’s Career Week at Foothill Elementary School. When Theo asked Evie to be a guest speaker she thought it might be fun. Well, no. First, she told him that it’s some late-stage capitalist bullshit. Career Week? They’re ten . Then she considered how cool it could be, to be a kid’s introduction to this weird and wonderful art form. And she felt inspired. Stayed up until 4:00 a.m. creating a lesson plan that leaned into moments of discovery, the magic that made her fall in love with Foley when she was their age.
So.
It just would’ve been nice if she knew to cater this presentation to industry nepo babies. Does her expression convey this? Probably not. Theo at his desk, dressed in chinos and an olive cable-knit sweater, is too distracting. How stupid hot he looks in teacher clothes.
Evie needs to pivot.
She plucks a bag of plantain chips from the snack bowl on Theo’s desk, takes a seat on the rectangular table at the front of the room, and folds her legs like a pretzel. Pops a chip in her mouth, then points at the kid whose mom works for Marvel.
“Tyler?” Each student is wearing a sticker with their first name, last initial, and pronouns. “Can you explain what Foley is? For anyone who might not know?”
“Sound effects,” Tyler says simply.
Annabelle, a kid with chipped pink nail polish and a wrist full of friendship bracelets, raises her hand and adds, “They’re sound effects that are recorded live and added during post.”
During post.
These children.
“Postproduction,” Evie clarifies for the few scrunched expressions of the nonindustry kids, then asks a few follow-up questions that confirm most of Theo’s students do, in fact, have a basic understanding of what her job is and how it works. It’s impressive. One student, Jeremiah, says it kind of sounds like ADR for the not-dialogue sounds. Evie needs to know how Jeremiah knows what ADR is. She didn’t learn the industry term for dubbing until college.
His answer?
“I was in a Disneyland commercial when I was a kid.”
“Tell us one more time , Jeremiah.”
“Mrs. Theodore literally asked!”
“Jeremiah!” Annabelle gasps in unison with Sierra and Kaia, the two other girls at her table.
“That’s so patriarchy of you,” Sierra says.
Kaia crosses her arms. “Yeah. She has a name, turd breath.”
“ Kaia .” Theo’s voice is gentle but stern. Evie knows she’s not cut out to work with children because she’s trying not to laugh. “You cannot call Jeremiah turd breath .”
“Can I call him sexist?”
His eyes shift from Kaia to Jeremiah. “If he continues to call Ms. Bloom Mrs. Theodore? Yes.”
“Evie works, too,” Evie adds.
Jeremiah’s cheeks are pink. “Sorry, Ms. Evie.”
“We’re cool, Jeremiah.”
Evie pivots from the original presentation (as it would be insulting to these kids) and jumps straight to the first activity. She asks everyone to split into groups of three. It almost breaks them. “Six groups of three. One group of four,” Theo chimes in from behind his desk, preventing the minor catastrophe that nearly occurred because twenty-two isn’t divisible by three. Her eyes flicker toward the sound of his voice, then linger while he pushes the sleeves of his sweater up to his elbows.
She blinks.
Directs her attention back to the students. “What I love about Foley is that it’s a sort of magic trick. This box”—Evie places the prop box on her lap—“is full of household objects that we use to reproduce various sounds. You’re going to use them today to create your own sound effects. But first, we’re going to start with a quick activity to warm up our ears…”
It’s a simple exercise.
Everyone will close their eyes.
Evie will make a sound using objects in the box.
Then the kids will write down what they heard and their minds will be blown over and over again when the object that’s the source of the sound is revealed. So simple. Evie starts with an easy example to build confidence. Begins by dropping a set of keys onto a tile surface. Six of the seven groups write down variations of shattering, broken glass, etcetera. But the seventh group? Milo, Jeremiah, and Tyler? They answer keys falling on the floor , ruining the reveal. Evie assumes it’s a fluke. Maybe she slightly jingled the keys before dropping them. Or someone in that group has alien ears. Except it happens again. And again.
Umbrella.
Gloves.
Rice on a cookie sheet.
It’s the specificity of that last one that sends the classroom into chaos.
“Come on ,” Annabelle groans.
“ Stop cheating ,” Kaia exclaims, on the verge of tears.
Milo frowns. “Sorry we’re so good at this game?”
“No one likes a sore loser, Kaia,” Jeremiah adds.
Evie runs her hand through her hair. “It isn’t a game .”
The entire point of the exercise is not to correctly guess, but for them to use their imagination. Before she has a chance to tell them this, the tide turns against her. “It’s a stupid game!” Evie is useless in this moment. Completely overwhelmed. Out of her depth, she mouths Help me! to Theo who is… trying not to laugh? Seriously? His eyes shift to his screen and she is going to murder him if he doesn’t—
Ooh hoo hoo!
The opening notes of “1985” by Bowling for Soup blast through the speakers.
It sparks a visceral reaction.
“Mr. Cohen !”
“Uuuugh!”
“We kind of deserve it…”
He cuts the music and there is a moment of sweet, sweet silence.
“What the f— ” Evie cuts herself off. Why? Would it be the worst thing, really, if Theo doesn’t ever let her enter his classroom again? “What was that ?”
“The worst song in the entire universe .”
“You’ve never heard it?”
“Mr. Cohen tortures us with it.” Kaia marches up to the dry-erase board. Under today’s date is written 13 DAYS SINCE “1985.” Kaia erases the 13 and writes 0 . “Our record is twenty-four.”
“Ah.”
Evie processes this information as twenty-two kids rush back to their assigned seats like some sort of reverse musical chairs. Processes that Theo doesn’t raise his voice to get his students to quiet down. He plays Bowling for Soup .
I love you .
She barely registers the thought; it enters and exits her overstimulated brain so fast. It sounds like a sucker punch, but the feeling lingers listening to Mr. Cohen, who’s only capable of being stern for, like, thirty seconds. He has a devastatingly handsome I’m not mad, I’m disappointed face. Milo, Jeremiah, and Tyler apologize for ruining the activity. Jeremiah is having a rough day. After everyone pinky-swear promises to be on their best behavior, Evie continues the presentation.
“Okay. Who wants to watch Survivor ?”
And the enthusiasm of their response?
Well.
She should’ve just started with this. Evie plays a short, iconic clip featuring one contestant building a spy shack. Challenges each group to re-create the sounds using classroom items. Theo offers an advantage in this week’s Survivor Friday challenge to the most creative and collaborative teams. The kids get into it. Practice their footsteps. Search for the perfect substitute for leaves and palm fronds. These kids! Evie’s so relieved she could cry. Not because this whole endeavor was only a minor shit show, but because she still cares about Foley. Loves it, even. Guiding Theo’s students to the perfect sounds. Seeing the looks on their faces when it clicks. She must’ve looked so similar at their age. Evie wants to pocket this feeling and remember it every time she questions why she married her best friend.
This is why.
She approaches Theo at his desk and asks, “‘1985’?” His eyes don’t shift from the monitor. “You know they think that’s the year you were born, right? Milo was like, ‘We get it, Mr. Theodore. You’re old!’ I’m…” Her voice trails off because Theo isn’t listening. He’s lost in whatever he is reading. If his furrowed brow is any indication, likely Survivor Reddit. “Theodore?”
He blinks, then looks at her. “Sorry. Hey.”
“These kids are terrifying.”
“I know.”
“I’m kind of obsessed with them?”
“I know.”
She leans into the rest of her afternoon as Ms. Evie, the Foley artist, checking in with each group and offering some tips and advice before their performance. Evie notices red and yellow pom-poms sticking out of Annabelle’s desk and nudges her trio in that direction. Pom-poms make perfect rustling leaves.
Before she leaves them to it, Annabelle says, “I can’t believe you’re married to Mr. Cohen.”
“Why?”
Sierra lowers her voice. “You’re, like, so cool.”
Evie beams.
Theo’s students think she’s cool.
It’s embarrassing how validating that is.
“I’m exhausted .” Evie slumps over a freshly Clorox-wiped desk in the now-empty classroom. “You do this every day?”
“That was a good Tuesday.”
“Theodore, they shit-talk the way you uncap a water bottle .”
He laughs as he continues to sanitize the classroom. “They keep me humble.”
“You love it.”
“Being harassed daily?”
She snorts. “ Teaching .”
“Yeah. I do.”
His earnest declaration is disarming. Similar to how his New York declaration was disarming. Leaving you. Despite the exhaustion that’s seeping into her bones, Evie had a ridiculous amount of fun with Theo’s students. Watching him engage with them, she comes to understand that they only drag him because they adore him. Every fist bump and high five? It melted her heart. After Theo finishes wiping down desks, he returns to his own. Evie stands and joins him. Sits on his desk. Wants to distract him. Distract herself. Calculates the likelihood of him fucking her right here. Low. But the windowless supply closet across the hall…
She blinks.
Fuck.
Since New York, Evie has been in a state of constant motion. Work. Sex. Sleep. Repeat. She doesn’t want to think about how awful her interaction with Naomi felt or what falling asleep in Theo’s arms after meant. What it means to want him but not want to be married to him. So she doesn’t think or feel. Figures if she’s always doing something, she doesn’t have to feel anything.
Now she sits still.
Theo’s eyes meet hers.
And it’s impossible not to feel everything.
If Theo isn’t going back to New York, if she is impossible to leave…
Maybe it’s okay.
To feel everything.
I love you.
“Annabelle says I’m too cool to be married to you.”
“She’s not wrong.”
“I know. I hope the kids don’t take it too hard.”
“What?”
“The divorce.”
Evie’s tone is light, teasing, as if a bomb didn’t just detonate in her brain.
I love you.
You.
You.
You.
Does it even matter? If she loves him? It doesn’t resolve their opposing stances on marriage as, like, a concept. It doesn’t change the truth that Evie still wants to file for divorce the moment her IATSE application is approved. Love isn’t enough to alter the reality that they want different things out of love. She’s going to have to let him go. Revert to platonic soulmates. And it’s going to hurt. Until then?
She leans forward and kisses him.
It’s soft.
Theo pulls back. Just a few millimeters, so their noses touch. He bites his lip. Reaches for her hands and twines their fingers together. Every sound amplifies. The thud of a heartbeat, the whoosh of an exhale, the tenor of his voice. “Ev, I—”
Evie panics.
Cuts him off with her lips, terrified he’s about to utter three words that’ll change everything, as if everything hasn’t already changed.