Chapter One Noah
Chapter One
Noah
Mia Yoon hated Noah. Or at least, he was pretty sure of it.
He and Mia sat across from each other in the lecture hall, and Noah was grateful for the distance between them. Any closer
and he’d surely explode into a thousand pieces from the force of Mia’s glare.
“Short-form video is like cancer,” she was saying, looking at him like he’d somehow given her cancer. “It’s causing the death of cinema as we know it, since, these days, fewer people are interested
in real stories and are obsessed with clickbait-y, dopamine-chasing content instead.”
Noah furrowed his brow. Well, he had just been thinking of explosions. So maybe Mia had a point? But there was no way he was letting her win this easily. Not when
she was on her high horse again.
He raised his hand, and before Dr. Thompson, their perpetually frazzled professor, could even finish nodding, Noah cut in,
“On the contrary, one can argue that short-form video is one of the only things keeping movies alive in the first place.”
Mia pressed her lips into a firm, unhappy line. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, and Noah smiled at how she was clearly stumped. “How so?” she asked, begrudgingly.
“Well, it’s one of the main ways people find out about movies these days.
Millions flocked to theaters for Barbenheimer because it became a trend on social media.
And to this very day, people still discover classics like The Godfather or Alien because they stumble across random clips and fan edits on their feeds. Short-form is simply a—”
“You did not just say Alien is a classic.”
“Well, it is.”
“It’s not.”
All around them, the lecture hall erupted with protests. A house divided, hundreds of voices agreeing with either Noah or
Mia. Others had something else to contribute to the discussion entirely, and someone even mentioned she watched Alien with her grandma “at least twenty times.”
This, after all, was film school. None of them would have been there if they didn’t have strong opinions about movies. Most
of the voices he could make out seemed to agree with him, though, so Noah sat back in his seat, his arms folded triumphantly
across his chest.
Mia scowled.
Noah grinned. He couldn’t help it. He normally wasn’t the competitive type, but when it came to Mia, he relished every victory.
Despite being only a first year, she was just so sure of herself, a stickler for her high and mighty beliefs about cinema.
“All right, that’s quite enough, class,” Dr. Thompson said, waving his hands in an attempt to pacify the room. “Ms. Yoon and Mr. Jang, thank you for starting us off on such a . . . lively note. As always.”
The class burst into laughter. Noah watched as a blush blossomed on Mia’s face. He had to admit it: she was cute. It was too
bad she was also an asshole.
As Dr. Thompson continued his lecture on . . . something, Noah entered the password on his laptop and went through his unread
emails.
As a fourth year, Noah was only in this lower-division class because it was an arbitrary and totally unhelpful graduation
requirement. If it had been up to him, he would have skipped the class entirely. He’d already learned most of the material
the old-fashioned way, by going out there and shooting things with both a camera and his phone himself. Like a proper filmmaker
should.
Unfortunately, the administration had disagreed, so he was stuck taking a class on creating content for social media. With
mostly first years, second years, and a professor who followed him on said social media.
Dr. Thompson liked almost every video Noah posted. Noah didn’t normally track who liked what video, but seeing the professor’s
avatar—an adorable golden retriever that looked like she was smiling—pop up in his notifications was always a highlight of
his day.
It was the little things.
Noah would never admit it to her, but some part of him was glad Mia was in this class. Dr. Thompson was probably a great guy—he at the very least had excellent taste in dogs—but he was a dull lecturer. Noah probably wouldn’t even stay awake in class if it weren’t for her.
He scrolled through his inbox some more before coming to a stop at a rather interesting subject line.
WANTED: CAST AND CREW FOR THE SPC’S NEWEST PROPOSED SHOW, CAMPUS CRUSH
Marlon University’s Student Production Center—or the SPC as everyone called it—frequently sent out email blasts to recruit
people for student-created movies and shows. Since he was already busy making his own things, Noah usually didn’t even bother
reading these emails.
But this one caught his attention. He didn’t have a crush of his own. He was far too busy for that sort of thing. But he did
love drama. Well, watching it anyway.
He opened the message.
Do you have an unrequited crush? Or do you want to work on a show about one?
Then consider applying for Campus Crush!
The show will follow four college students with unrequited crushes as they go about their lives and confess to the people they like.
A cross between a reality TV show and a documentary, it raises the questions: What happens when we act on our crushes?
And are they worth our time? BIPOC and LGBTQ+ students are encouraged to apply.
Noah scrolled down to see what sort of evil mastermind had come up with this idea. When he saw who, he stifled a laugh.
Short-form-is-cancer-and-pop-culture-is-bad Mia Yoon was helming a reality TV show. Well, “a cross between a reality TV show and a documentary.” Whatever helped her sleep at night.
Noah pressed his palm against his mouth. But the more he thought about it, the funnier it became. A small, strangled noise
escaped from his lips.
“Mr. Jang, was there something funny about what I just said?”
Noah slammed his laptop closed. Dr. Thompson stood right in front of him, a perplexed look on his face.
Well, damn. Noah regretted sitting in the front row. He did so out of habit only because Mia did too on her side of the room. It made
it easier to hear her when they were arguing. But maybe he needed to start sitting in the back.
He cleared his throat. “No, sir. Sorry, I was, um, thinking about something else. I’ll pay more attention for the rest of
class.”
Everyone was staring at him now. From across the lecture hall, Mia smiled. She’d somehow gotten him into trouble without even
trying.
Touché, Noah thought.
He was afraid the professor would ask to see his computer screen, but fortunately, Dr. Thompson moved on with a disappointed
shake of his head. Noah wondered if he was ever going to see the professor’s dog in his notifications again.
When the coast was clear, Noah reopened his laptop and starred the email from the SPC.
Even if he wanted to—which he did not—Noah didn’t have time to be on Mia’s show. But he’d still keep tabs on it. Just to see how
things went.