45
I have fifteen days left to finish my short film.
I’m already dreading presenting my work before the panel and being subject to the critical—though occasionally encouraging, I imagine—looks from the other professors.
I practically tremble at the thought of standing before Abrams, who might not be entirely objective, and above all, the filmmakers, who are respected in the industry.
They are the ones I want to impress—or simply move.
Even just a trace of a smile or a slight nod of the head from one of them, and I would be the happiest person alive.
I’m not unhappy with my work, but there’s always some detail that could be changed: an edit to redo, sound to rework, a scene to cut, a piece of music to add.
I could spend twenty hours a day on it, and I still wouldn’t want to stop.
A passion for cinema has taken hold of me.
I’ve become addicted, obsessed. And the subject of my film, Vadim, isn’t exactly helping me switch off.
***
Vadim’s community service has come to an end so that he can study for and take his exams. He’s got his freedom back, Cheyenne has disappeared from the picture, and we finally have some moments to ourselves, even if we still have to sneak around behind my parents’ backs.
Vadim doesn’t seem particularly anxious about his short film. I have no idea where he’s at with it, but I have received strict instructions to stop asking him.
Yes, I might have been hassling him a little.
I dream of him succeeding, of everyone discovering his talent, his subtle touch, his genius, and the incredible way he sees the world when he has a camera in his hands.
In this early May in Los Angeles, the temperature is hovering around eighty-two degrees. The students have traded their jeans for shorts and little sundresses, and the mood is lighthearted and carefree.
Even Basile seems relaxed. The Isaac Sanders effect, no doubt. My brother and his dark-haired paramour are inseparable now, even on campus, where tongues are starting to wag.
As I arrive at the university that morning, I spot them in the distance, then immediately notice the crowd gradually gathering around them. I head over, not overly concerned until Clémentine runs toward me, panic written all over her face. She grabs me by the arm and yells at me to hurry.
“So, Lancaster, you decided to find yourself a new friend without telling anyone?”
“What’s this new friendship all about anyway?”
“Was it Santa Catalina Island that made you switch sides?”
“So, you only came to our basketball games to check us out, huh?”
“Hey, we’re not homophobic, okay? We’re just asking…”
“Wait, that time you joined us in the locker rooms, did you secretly film us or something?”
“You should have told us you like girls with beards!”
“Hey, Tim, did he ever come on to you when you were dating his sister?”
Isaac and Basile find themselves fully surrounded by a group of rowdy guys, including Tim and some other basketball players. The circle gradually tightens, and obscene gestures start to mingle with the insults.
Clémentine screams at the top of her lungs, but nobody hears her.
Sanders physically pushes a few of their tormentors back, but they immediately close in again.
My brother’s face fills with terror, with hatred, but he stays silent.
Just like me—because I know Basile would hate for me to intervene and give the impression that he needed his little sister to defend him.
Still, that doesn’t mean I’m not tempted to bust the noses of all these homophobic assholes.
“Wow, twenty against two. You’re always so brave, you guys!” Vadim says, suddenly stepping into the circle.
“Arcadi, you were the only one missing! Are you batting for the other side, too? Did you warn Alma?” Tim laughs.
I’m ashamed—so ashamed—to have dated him.
“Are you sure we live in the same century, big boy? Because your ideas are kinda old-fashioned…” Vadim grimaces.
My ex approaches him, jaw clenched.
“What do you want, Timmy? For us both to show our muscles, so we can decide who is straighter?”
“Anytime, orphan. At least I’m not a social outcast like you.”
“At least Vadim didn’t come crawling back and get blown off three times!” I spit those words in his face.
“Not so loud, Alma. He probably hadn’t told his fans about those touching little scenes,” Vadim taunts him.
“Shut your mouth, Arcadi! If I’d known the Lancasters were that perverted, I never would have touched her!” He rubs his hands together, a look of disgust on his face.
“Oh, cut the crap!” Clémentine hisses. “She never let you near her, you fucking liar!”
Hearing Clem defend me gives me a burst of strength.
“Isn’t anybody going to react?” I shout suddenly.
“Since when is it normal to harass someone and claim that homosexuality is a perversion? Since when is it cool to watch two guys get insulted and humiliated right in front of us and do absolutely nothing about it?” I turn toward the basketball players and all the other students who have gathered to watch this deplorable spectacle. “You’re all cowards!”
“A bunch of lemmings,” Clémentine scoffs.
“Just because we’re here doesn’t mean we think like them!” blurts out a brunette to my right.
“Then react! Jump in and defend the victims. Say something. Show us that you aren’t all nasty little homophobes!”
Vadim comes over and gives me a gentle nudge with his shoulder, then looks over at the basketball players, a proud, cocky smile plastered across his handsome face. “My girl said it all, guys! Let’s get out of here.”
He puts an arm around my brother, takes me by the hand, and we walk away, with Clémentine and Isaac in tow.
***
The five of us decide to skip the next class and go to the Sunset Café to recover from what just happened. Clem is overexcited, Basile is a little dazed, Isaac Sanders is grateful, and Vadim has already moved on. He looks out the window to avoid the two guys’ embarrassed thank-yous.
“I’m sorry, Isaac. I didn’t handle that very well…”
My brother is angry at himself for not saying anything, for barely reacting, but his boyfriend strokes his back while gazing at him tenderly.
“You didn’t do anything wrong, Baz.”
“I can’t believe that, not so long ago, I used to be a total jerk too.”
“Yes, but now you can be yourself,” his boyfriend whispers to him.
“Meaning just a tiny bit less of a jerk,” I add, to make him smile.
It works, but only for a second. Already, a veil of doubt and regret clouds his eyes.
“You can help make this world better, Basile, make the ignorant listen to reason.”
He starts to cry, and I find I can’t hold back my tears either. Vadim laces his fingers through mine, his thumb caressing the delicate skin of my hand, and his warmth soothes me.
Today, love, pride, and freedom won out.
Again.