Panic
Page 47
No, this isn’t about that ass**le, but beyond that I have no other info. But I will. Because they’re fishing for answers with this polygraph, which means they have to tip their hand with the questions they ask.
Well, bring it on. Because as Spencer said last summer when he was painting Rook, everyone has one God-given gift.
And mine is lying.
Actually, it’s acting, but what’s the difference, really? My time in India was not wasted with trips to the Taj Mahal with the tourists because there was another American artist in the hotel with us and this guy was filming a documentary about poor kids. Kinda like Slumdog Millionaire except it was supposed to be real. But no one wanted to talk to this guy or let their kids be manipulated into revealing how horrible their lives were, so he hired me to be his star poor kid even though I was an American living in a five-star hotel.
Turns out the guy was quite the liar himself and he set the whole thing up to be believable.
Let’s just say it was an elaborate plot with parents being robbed and killed on vacation and me running for my life from the Mumbai underworld after witnessing it. He did get caught faking the documentary but he played it off like it was sort of a Blair Witch thing, right? And this is when I discovered I was a f**king natural liar. Actor. Same thing.
I saw the movie a few years later—he won some independent film award for it, even. I would cry and look desperate and beg people for money on the streets, and I told a story that had Elise uncontrollably sobbing, that’s how f**king sad I made it.
But that guy never did out me. That was one of the terms in the contract Elise signed. No one would know it was me and I got a stage name. I got five thousand dollars for lying while we were in India. Which was a lot of f**king money to Elise and me at the time.
Then the modeling gigs started coming in and they wanted me to act but not speak. So I learned to talk with my body and facial expressions.
And this is how my gift works in a nutshell. You wrap your mind around a scenario, you believe that scenario with all your heart, and then you just react—body and mind together. It’s not hard at all, not really.
I never did any acting in the States because by the time we settled back down and I was in an actual school full time I was too cool for that theater shit. There is no record of Ronin Flynn ever being an actor. And if there’s no record of it, it never happened.
So polygraphs? No problem. This ass**le has no idea what’s coming.
Chapter Twenty-Eight - ROOK
“Done yet?”
“You just f**king asked me that twenty minutes ago, Ford. No, I’m not done. I’m not quick at this shit like you are, OK? Just let me think it over.” I drum my fingertips on the coffee table and try and come up with three reasons.
“Rook, the application must be in by Friday or you’ll have to wait another semester to get into Boulder.”
Maybe I don’t want to go to Boulder, did that ever occur to him?
But I don’t say that out loud because he’s just trying to help me. Instead I chew on my thumbnail as I try and think of how to start. It’s an application essay. I’m just a few weeks into community college writing, so yeah, I’m not that good at this shit yet. I’ve barely mastered the topic sentence. Ford eyeballs me as he drinks a beer in the kitchen. “It’s a little early to start drinking, don’t you think?”
“You drive me to drink, Rook. What’s the hold-up? They want to know why you want to go to school. Surely you can handle that?”
I sneer at him and take my attention back to my laptop. The problem is I might be lazy. Now that I have all this money I don’t have the same drive to push myself in this area. Would I be a waste of space at this school? I’m pretty sure there are people a lot more deserving than me who could use a shot at this education that I’m not fully appreciating.
The cushion sinks as Ford sits next to me. “What’s going on?” he asks softly. “You’re not interested?”
I lean back and sigh. “I’m just not sure, Ford. This school stuff is not easy.”
“I’m not following. You thought it would be easier or it’s harder than you expected?”
“Both, I guess. I’m not super smart like you guys, but I’m not stupid, right?” He puts an arm around me and I almost have a heart attack. “What are you doing?”
His eyebrows go up. “Comforting you. Am I doing it wrong?”
A laugh bursts out and I just shake my head. “No, this is correct, I guess.”
“Do you want to quit school, Rook?”
“Am I a failure if I do?”
“Yes,” he says with zero emotion.
I laugh again. “Fuck, Ford. What the hell? I thought you were comforting me!”
“Do you want me to tell you the truth or lie?”
“Lie!”
“I’m sorry, I’m the honest one, remember? You are smart but you have almost no education. You should be embarrassed by that.”
“What the f**k? That’s enough comforting, thanks.” I finagle my way out from his embrace and try to get up but he grabs me and pushes me back on the couch. “I’ll do it in my room. Let me go.”
“No, we’re writing this essay and you’re turning in the application. You have brains, you have money, you have people supporting you. A few weeks ago your dream was to go to film school so I’ve pointed you in that direction and you’re staying on that trajectory and seeing it through until you have a damn good reason why the dream has changed. If you get in, then you can decide if you want to go or not. But you don’t get to give up before you try just because it’s hard. That’s unacceptable. You have thirty minutes to write this essay or I’ll ground you.” And then he winks. “And if I was Ronin I’d spank the shit out of you and make it hurt for being such a brat.”
Well, bring it on. Because as Spencer said last summer when he was painting Rook, everyone has one God-given gift.
And mine is lying.
Actually, it’s acting, but what’s the difference, really? My time in India was not wasted with trips to the Taj Mahal with the tourists because there was another American artist in the hotel with us and this guy was filming a documentary about poor kids. Kinda like Slumdog Millionaire except it was supposed to be real. But no one wanted to talk to this guy or let their kids be manipulated into revealing how horrible their lives were, so he hired me to be his star poor kid even though I was an American living in a five-star hotel.
Turns out the guy was quite the liar himself and he set the whole thing up to be believable.
Let’s just say it was an elaborate plot with parents being robbed and killed on vacation and me running for my life from the Mumbai underworld after witnessing it. He did get caught faking the documentary but he played it off like it was sort of a Blair Witch thing, right? And this is when I discovered I was a f**king natural liar. Actor. Same thing.
I saw the movie a few years later—he won some independent film award for it, even. I would cry and look desperate and beg people for money on the streets, and I told a story that had Elise uncontrollably sobbing, that’s how f**king sad I made it.
But that guy never did out me. That was one of the terms in the contract Elise signed. No one would know it was me and I got a stage name. I got five thousand dollars for lying while we were in India. Which was a lot of f**king money to Elise and me at the time.
Then the modeling gigs started coming in and they wanted me to act but not speak. So I learned to talk with my body and facial expressions.
And this is how my gift works in a nutshell. You wrap your mind around a scenario, you believe that scenario with all your heart, and then you just react—body and mind together. It’s not hard at all, not really.
I never did any acting in the States because by the time we settled back down and I was in an actual school full time I was too cool for that theater shit. There is no record of Ronin Flynn ever being an actor. And if there’s no record of it, it never happened.
So polygraphs? No problem. This ass**le has no idea what’s coming.
Chapter Twenty-Eight - ROOK
“Done yet?”
“You just f**king asked me that twenty minutes ago, Ford. No, I’m not done. I’m not quick at this shit like you are, OK? Just let me think it over.” I drum my fingertips on the coffee table and try and come up with three reasons.
“Rook, the application must be in by Friday or you’ll have to wait another semester to get into Boulder.”
Maybe I don’t want to go to Boulder, did that ever occur to him?
But I don’t say that out loud because he’s just trying to help me. Instead I chew on my thumbnail as I try and think of how to start. It’s an application essay. I’m just a few weeks into community college writing, so yeah, I’m not that good at this shit yet. I’ve barely mastered the topic sentence. Ford eyeballs me as he drinks a beer in the kitchen. “It’s a little early to start drinking, don’t you think?”
“You drive me to drink, Rook. What’s the hold-up? They want to know why you want to go to school. Surely you can handle that?”
I sneer at him and take my attention back to my laptop. The problem is I might be lazy. Now that I have all this money I don’t have the same drive to push myself in this area. Would I be a waste of space at this school? I’m pretty sure there are people a lot more deserving than me who could use a shot at this education that I’m not fully appreciating.
The cushion sinks as Ford sits next to me. “What’s going on?” he asks softly. “You’re not interested?”
I lean back and sigh. “I’m just not sure, Ford. This school stuff is not easy.”
“I’m not following. You thought it would be easier or it’s harder than you expected?”
“Both, I guess. I’m not super smart like you guys, but I’m not stupid, right?” He puts an arm around me and I almost have a heart attack. “What are you doing?”
His eyebrows go up. “Comforting you. Am I doing it wrong?”
A laugh bursts out and I just shake my head. “No, this is correct, I guess.”
“Do you want to quit school, Rook?”
“Am I a failure if I do?”
“Yes,” he says with zero emotion.
I laugh again. “Fuck, Ford. What the hell? I thought you were comforting me!”
“Do you want me to tell you the truth or lie?”
“Lie!”
“I’m sorry, I’m the honest one, remember? You are smart but you have almost no education. You should be embarrassed by that.”
“What the f**k? That’s enough comforting, thanks.” I finagle my way out from his embrace and try to get up but he grabs me and pushes me back on the couch. “I’ll do it in my room. Let me go.”
“No, we’re writing this essay and you’re turning in the application. You have brains, you have money, you have people supporting you. A few weeks ago your dream was to go to film school so I’ve pointed you in that direction and you’re staying on that trajectory and seeing it through until you have a damn good reason why the dream has changed. If you get in, then you can decide if you want to go or not. But you don’t get to give up before you try just because it’s hard. That’s unacceptable. You have thirty minutes to write this essay or I’ll ground you.” And then he winks. “And if I was Ronin I’d spank the shit out of you and make it hurt for being such a brat.”
