Grand & Humble Read Free

whatsoever to do with Selma’s costumes or Manny’s lighting. The rest of the stage might be out of focus, but Amber couldn’t ever be.
    “Hey, Moonbeam,” said a voice from behind. “Better get a Kleenex for that drool.”
    “Huh?” Manny jumped; he’d always been jumpy, and he hated himself for it. Jerry Blain was suddenly alongside him in the lighting booth. Amber’s boyfriend? No, she hung with a different jock—same model, slightly different exterior. But what was Jerry Blain doing in the school theater—much less in Manny’s lighting booth?
    “Sorry?” Manny said to him.
    Jerry laughed. “I see you starin’! Too bad you don’t got a pair of X-ray specs, huh?”
    “I’m the lighting designer. It’s my job to stare at Amber Hodges.”
    “Not like that, it isn’t!”
    “What’s it to you, anyway?” Manny said.
    “Just don’t get any ideas, Moonbeam. She’s way out of your league.”
    Wait a minute, Manny thought. The lighting booth was his territory! Jerry wasn’t even supposed to be in here! So why didn’t Manny say something?
    Because he was a geek, that’s why. And while that meant he didn’t have to worry about spending two hundred dollars on a pair of pants, the result was he had no power whatsoever. It also meant he wasn’t allowed to talk to—or, apparently, even look at—Amber Hodges.
    “What do you want, anyway?” Manny asked him.
    “Just out in the hallway waiting for my buds,” Jerry said. “Thought I’d come and see what’s happening back in loserville.”
    “Well, I’m busy, okay?”
    “O-kay!” Jerry said, enunciating like a kindergarten teacher. “But keep your eyes on the control board, Moonbeam, otherwise you’ll need a Kleenexfor more than just drool.”
    And with that he turned to go, laughing as he went.
     
    Manny still had a headache, and the caffeine in his double shot of espresso was only making things worse. He’d come to this coffee shop to talk with his friend Elsa about the video they were making together. The movie was called Momster , and it was about how terrifying a mother could look from the point of view of a small child. But right now their video was the last thing on his mind.
    Elsa had a face like the moon—soft and pleasing, with an actual glow (and an admittedly pockmarked surface). She was also deaf, which meant that she used ASL—American Sign Language.
    It’s all about perspective , she said, motioning with her hands. We need to force the perspective to make the mother look really, really scary.
    That shouldn’t be too hard. Manny answered in ASL too. His signing was more than decent, which made sense given all the time they’d spent together.
    Part of me wishes we could cast a real child, Elsa went on. But it’d be such a hassle to work with him. Besides, I guess it’s funnier if we just dress an older actor in baby clothes .
    Manny nodded. An adult actor playing the child. It was a good idea—like most of Elsa’s ideas. She had this great sense of the visual, of pattern and design. Was it because she was deaf, or was that a stereotype? All Manny knew was that he loved doing creative projects with her. It had been strange when they’d first met back in the fourth grade, her deafness. But it was immediately clear that they were kindred spirits; he’d never met anyone else so into the arts. So they hadn’t let the language barrier come in the way of their becoming best friends. (It helped that Manny hadn’t had any other friends!) Soon they’d collaborated on a whole string of creative projects: movies, websites, even an annual haunted house in her garage. Manny had never felt more alive than on the warm summer nights he spent over at Elsa’s house, planning their latest project. Or waking up on a Saturday morning, knowing he had a full day to spend with his friend—and at least two days before he had to drag himself back to the dreariness of school again.
    Which was why it was so frustrating that he hadn’t been able