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“Yeah, they may need time,” Oscar says. “But hopefully they’ll adjust and love whatever new picture you paint. Just do what you do best and stay positive, Highland.”
I smile.
He studies my features. “What about your brother?”
“I doubt Jesse will care, but he might ask a lot of questions.”
“Runs in the family, huh?”
We both laugh. But mine fades as I realize, “I might just hold off until I’m ready.”
“Take your time,” Oscar says strongly. “No rush.”
I frown. “You’re okay with not telling anyone about you and me?”
“Yeah.” He takes a beat. “Look, I didn’t expect to go shouting to all my friends that I kissed you. Otherwise, that forces you to come out and I’m not doing that to you.”
My lip rises, eyes stinging. “Thanks.” I wish I could give him a definite time, not this ambiguity of just when I’m ready, Oscar. I’m a secret he’s about to keep, and as a long-time keeper of peoples’ secrets, I know it’s not always easy. It can take a toll.
Oscar just nods in reply, especially since I yawn into my bicep. He stands up. “It’s almost 6, and I’ve fucked with your sleep enough.” He grabs me a pillow and blanket from the closet. Tossing them to me, he says, “See you in the morning, Highland.”
I watch him climb up the stairs to the loft. “See you in the morning,” I call out. Even though I’m yawning up a storm, I don’t know how I’m going to fall asleep tonight.
He’s all I’m thinking about.
17
JACK HIGHLAND
“Jesse, concentrate.” I try to catch my brother’s wandering eyes while we separate our equipment. I trust him, I trust him, I trust him—that’s why he’s here among the famous ones and not some random friend of a friend camera operator.
He’s taking in our current location: Camp Calloway. Which he’s only ever seen on the docuseries or social media posts. The woodsy camp in the Poconos is fit for a Charity Fun Run today, hosted by H.M.C. Philanthropies.
Charlie Cobalt is on the board of the charity that Maximoff Hale created, but he’s wasted no opportunity to tell me that he’s unemployed. He has no job. I have way too much footage of that response, even during a spontaneous interview I did at a café yesterday.
Thank God I remembered my portable lights. Setting up a key light and secondary light for interviews makes the quality of the shot infinitely better, and I had to rig it all in a matter of minutes, like my life depended on the speed. Any longer and Charlie could’ve just stood up out of boredom and bolted.
Anyway, I remember his response at the café when I pressed him further about H.M.C. Philanthropies.
He said, “That’s not a job. It’s an obligation.”
Well, today I’m filming Charlie at an HMC event, and I’m curious to see how he’ll handle being at one. If it really is just an obligation to him.
Jesse rifles through his camera bag on the grass. “I’m concentrating, Kuya, but it’d be easier if security kicked out the dildos over there.”
I have no clue who he’s calling a dildo.
But I glance around the packed campgrounds. Security are posted at various spots like knights in the woods, and I stop myself from searching for Oscar among them.
Dude.
You’re the one who needs to concentrate.
One breath out, I focus.
The famous families are congregating in their respective friendship groups, and the runners who bought tickets to attend the Fun Run are stretching at the starting line or still registering at a check-in desk near the mess hall.
Refreshment tents are off to the left and largely unoccupied right now. The cluster of camp cabins are also pretty barren, except for a banner that reads, Medical. Good thing no one is hurt, looks like.
Oscar already gave me a map of the Fun Run this morning, and the trail is supposed to lead down a hill, then wrap around the glittering lake. No one has left yet.
So I have to ask, “Who’s a dildo?”
Jesse looks up and around. “They must’ve left somewhere.” He explains, “Some guys who look my age were being crude towards the families.” He doesn’t specify towards who.
“It happens a lot.” I squeeze his shoulder. “It’s good to empathize, but don’t let it distract you.”
His shaggy hair shifts with the shake of his head. “This is their charity event. Shouldn’t their bodyguards send them packing?”
“We’re production,” I remind him. “We don’t do security’s job for them, and they don’t do ours.” We have to respect that boundary or else we’ll both start trying to walk all over each other. “And anyway, if security tried to remove every person that made a transgression against the families, there’d be like five people here, Jess.”
He sighs. “That blows.”
I lift my camera. “We film the shit that blows. With the small hope that it makes a difference when people see it. Empathy, Utoy. Don’t lose it. Use it.”
