Life Is Funny by E. R. Frank Page B

mirror.
    â€œWant to play a word game?” she asks.
    I shrug. We haven’t said much to each other since she hit me.
    â€œHow about I Spy?” she suggests.
    What a stupid idea. There isn’t anything to spy in here anyway.
    â€œOkay,” my mom begins, as if I’ve agreed. “I spy something round.”
    â€œThe fire alarm on the ceiling,” I guess.
    She frowns into the mirror at me.
    Someone knocks on the door and then opens it right away, without waiting for an answer. He looks about fifteen, and he is fine.
    â€œOoops,” he says. “Sorry. I thought this one was mine.” He has skin the color of our wood stairs, and his hair is kind of messy, and he has big green eyes. I can’t wait to tell China and Ebony.
    â€œI’m Sam,” he tells us. “I’m the other talent.” That’s what they call actors and models on shoots: “The talent.”
    â€œI’m Grace,” I say. “That’s my mother.”
    She blushes when he shakes her hand, and I want to die.
    *  *  *
    They make us wait a lot all morning, and while we’re waiting, Sam and I figure out that we go to the same school. We’ve never seen each other, though, because he’s a grade ahead of me and is in all the smart classes, so we’ve never had the same elective. Even though we both have second lunch, I always eat under the bleachers, and he’s always in the lunchroom or on the back stairs by the gym. I know our school is pretty big—it’s eighth through twelfth grade—but still, it’s hard to believe me and Ebony and China never noticed this guy.
    â€œHow can we not have seen each other around?” I ask him.
    He shrugs this sexy shrug and smiles. His smile is amazing.
    But it turns out that he isn’t allowed to use it. Neither of us is. We’re just supposed to hang out in all these different poses with each other and look bored. That’s what the director says. I never took an acting class in my life, and I’m not too sure how to look bored, but the director tells me not think about it. Just to feel natural, because I naturally look bored anyway. When he says that, Sam laughs, and they have to cut and do a retake because of the smiling thing.
    â€œTalk to each other,” the director orders. “It doesn’t matter what you say. Just chat with each other.”
    â€œWhy did you laugh at me?” I ask Sam.
    â€œGive her a hug, Sam, and aim her face toward the camera.”
    Sam slips his arms around my waist and pulls me close. It’s embarrassing with all those people watching, especially my mom, who’s sitting on a wooden stool about two inches away. But I don’t want Sam to let go either.
    â€œI wasn’t laughing at you,” he whispers into my ear. “Sorry.”
    â€œCan you tell I’ve never done this before?” I ask him.
    He moves away.
    â€œCross your arms,” the director tells us.
    We do.
    â€œSort of,” Sam says. “But it doesn’t matter. I only started a couple of months ago. You catch on fast.”
    â€œGive Sam a noogie,” the director says. “And look bored.”
    I can’t knuckle-rub his head without laughing, though. He can’t take it without laughing either. I forget all about my mother.
    A little while later, after they pat our faces with sponges, the talking part comes. I didn’t know we were going to have to talk.
    â€œWhat do you imagine when you think about the future?” the director asks each of us.
    We’re supposed to answer, “The future?” As though it’s this big question we’re worried about. I feel so stupid.
    â€œDon’t look at me,” I order Sam. “You’re going to make me laugh again.”
    I think he’s doing a really good job, but the director isn’t happy with his expression. “Brood,” the director tells Sam after seven tries. “Let