Mackey laughed at the rule. “Don’t worry about it. You just keep working on your samples on your own time.”
“I won’t have time to write. Arthur was saying that it’s more than a full-time job. The assistant tasks, the script reading, the networking. I have to focus on those things.”
“Don’t take your eye off the bigger picture,” she said.
Ever since he spoke to Arthur, Cameron had been thinking about working on a studio lot and being right in the thick of the movie business. Their bigger pictures looked different.
“I don’t know. Development seems interesting, and I’d get to work with writers.”
“Or you can be one.”
Cameron laughed at the thought of trying to make it as a writer in Hollywood. Writing in Starbucks. Peddling his scripts to anyone who will read. Hanging your career hopes on luck.
“No offense, Professor Mackey, but you read a few script assignments of mine. I don’t think that means I should try to make a living at it.”
“Cameron, I’ve read a lot of assignments over my decade as a professor. I’ve waded through a lot of shit, to be quite honest. I know when I see raw talent.” Mackey leaned back in her chair and examined Cameron. He felt the hot interrogation lights. “Where is this coming from? You were so excited about screenwriting. Don’t let Arthur scare you.”
“He’s not.”
“If you want to write, you should write. Maybe this isn’t the right opportunity for you.”
Cameron was tired of other people thinking they knew what was best for him. He was running to something, not away. “Development could be a lot of fun. Arthur really enjoys it. It sounds cool.”
“Why do you want to spend your life critiquing other people’s work rather than working on your own?”
Cameron felt his ears getting red. “Like you?”
Mackey bolted out of her chair and sat at the edge of her desk. He had never seen her this animated. Her air of cool thinned out. “People in development look cool. They have expense accounts, fancy offices, and the ability to say yes or no. But deep down, they’re all people who don’t have the power to create. The good ones actually like working with writers and producers, and they know how to nurture talent, but most of them are wannabes. Too scared to make the leap, or they inherently knew that they weren’t good enough. You don’t want to turn into that.”
Cameron did the obligatory head nod whenever adults went off on one of their weird theories. Perhaps Mackey was jealous that he was moving to LA, and she was regretting her decision to leave the game for teaching in Pennsylvania.
“It’s your choice, and development can be an exciting area of the business.” Mackey looked him square in the eye. He gulped back a lump. “But don’t stop writing, Cameron.”
CHAPTER twenty-six
Walker
“Think of it as one long party. We’re going to send off Cameron in style, you know? Remember that huge party we had for your Aunt Lara when she moved all the way to England? There was cake, and music, and you got to play Frisbee with your cousins in her backyard.”
Hobie blinked at him and tried to pick his nose. Walker pulled his fingers away.
“It’s going to be fun! And yeah, we’ll be sad to see him go, but we’re going to have such a good time, too.”
“What’s an assistant?” Hobie asked.
“It’s someone who organizes an important person’s life,” Walker said, confusing him even more. “It’s an important job.”
“How long is he going to be on the other side of the rug?”
Walker didn’t have the heart to say forever. Forever sounded like a black hole of time. “For a long time.”
Hobie’s face sank like the Titanic. That was a double-edged sword with kids. Their feelings were always easy to read.
“He doesn’t want to stay here?”
“No. He’s crazy, right?” Walker elbowed him, but Hobie wasn’t laughing. “California has the ocean.”
“There are sharks in the ocean!”
