"Here's to a successful first day of shooting!" Randal Kleiser raised a toast as we all gathered around the bonfire, our faces flickering in the warm glow of the flames.
"Cheers!"
I echoed the sentiment along with the rest of the cast and crew, lifting my glass of champagne high before taking a generous sip. The bubbles tickled my throat, and the sense of celebration was contagious.
Beside me, Julie raised a coconut water instead, holding it a bit hesitantly.
"You're overthinking it," I said, nudging her playfully. "One drink won't ruin your physique. And tomorrow's Sunday—we'll have all day to sleep it off."
She gave me a look, eyes narrowing with mock seriousness. "Easy for you to say, Mr. Greek God. Mortals like us have to actually work to stay in shape."
I groaned and rolled my eyes. "Seriously? Greek God?"
She grinned, clearly enjoying my reaction. "Of course. Isn't that why Randal picked you? Because you looked like a Greek God to him?"
I rubbed the bridge of my nose, trying to hide a smile. "He shouldn't have told you that."
"Too late," she said, shrugging with exaggerated innocence. "He did. And now that's your name. From today until the end of time, Greek God."
I shook my head fondly and took another sip from my glass, letting the warmth settle in my chest. Overhead, the night sky was a canvas of stars, scattered like glitter across the darkness. It was breathtaking. something you'd never see in New York, where the city lights drowned out even the brightest constellations.
Before I could sink further into my thoughts, a crew member appeared with a guitar and strummed a few chords. A soft melody filled the air. I didn't recognize the tune, but it had an easy rhythm and a cheerful charm that drew smiles from everyone nearby.
I turned to the only girl within arm's reach and held out my hand.
"Care to dance?"
She raised an eyebrow but took my hand anyway, allowing me to pull her into a light-hearted sway around the bonfire. She laughed out as I spun her gently, her loose pink top fluttering slightly with the movement, denim shorts catching hints of firelight. She looked almost dreamlike in the soft, golden glow.
More people joined us, Ash, Peter, and a few others, but I barely noticed. My attention stayed locked on Julie.
Eventually, I pulled her in for a slower dance, and without meaning to, I drew her closer than I had planned. Our faces were only inches apart, our breaths mingling in the cool evening air. We moved together naturally, as if we'd done this a thousand times before. After a moment, she rested her head lightly on my shoulder.
I didn't care that some crew members were watching. I didn't care about anything beyond the quiet rhythm and the feel of her in my arms. I could have stayed like that all night and not missed a thing. Unfortunately, it wasn't meant to be.
"Ahem."
Someone cleared their throat nearby. Julie pulled away quickly, her cheeks flushed as she realized just how many eyes had been on us.
"Noah! Julie!"
A familiar voice rang out: Douglas Day Stewart, the screenwriter. We'd both met him several times in New York after signing our contracts. He greeted us with an easy smile.
"You two did amazing work today."
"Thank you, Doug," Julie said sincerely, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
"It was all thanks to you and Randal," I added. "If you two hadn't spent days guiding us, we wouldn't have delivered what we did today."
While I was a little annoyed with Doug for interrupting that moment with Julie, it would've been foolish to call him out on it.
Beside me, Julie gave a small nod of agreement, then stifled a yawn.
"I guess it's getting a little late. I should go rest for a bit," she said in a soft, sleepy voice. "See you tomorrow, Noah. Doug."
With a polite nod to us both, she turned and walked toward her tent. I watched her disappear into the darkness, her silhouette briefly outlined by the firelight. A quiet sigh escaped me as I stood there, feeling the weight of a missed opportunity.
"I ruined that moment for you two, didn't I?" Doug asked, his tone filled with regret. "I'm really sorry, Noah."
I waved off the apology. "It's fine. It's just the first day. I'm sure I'll have plenty more moments like that in the coming months. And if you want to look on the bright side, I spent the entire day rolling around stark naked with her and making out, thanks to your screenplay."
Doug laughed, and I couldn't help but join in. The tension eased.
Then he leaned in slightly, his voice turning more thoughtful. "You know, I've been working on another screenplay. It's still just an idea, nothing set in stone yet, but after watching you today, I couldn't help thinking, you'd be perfect for the lead."
"Oh?" I raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
"Yeah. It's a love story about a Naval candidate who falls for a local factory worker. It's loosely inspired by my own life."
As he described the premise, something about it sounded familiar. I couldn't quite place where I had heard or seen a similar story before, but I figured I'd remember when I read the script, if it ever got written.
"I'd love to do it," I replied without hesitation, surprising even myself. When I signed on for [Blue Lagoon], I never thought I would do a second movie, and now I was accepting a movie from Doug without even reading the full story. All after the first day of filming.
Doug grinned, clearly pleased. He grasped my hand in a firm shake. "I love your confidence. Come on, have a drink with me to celebrate the beginning of our creative partnership."
One drink turned into two, which turned into four. Before long, I lost count of how many drinks we shared. The air around the bonfire grew louder with laughter and slurred conversations. Most of the remaining crew were drunk by now, and Doug was no exception. He swayed slightly, his cheeks flushed, words tumbling from his mouth in no particular order.
I, on the other hand, felt only a mild buzz. Even after matching Doug drink for drink, I remained clear-headed, likely thanks to my godly DNA.
"I can see it already," Doug said with exaggerated flair, slurring his words slightly. "One day, you're going to be a huge star, Noah. Right, Randal?"
Randal, who was equally intoxicated, raised his glass lazily and nodded. "For sure. I knew it the moment I laid eyes on him. He's got that quality."
I didn't know whether to take their words seriously. People say all sorts of things when they're drunk. Some of it's honest. Some of it's nonsense. And some is pulled straight out of their ass. I couldn't tell which this was.
So I asked anyway. "What do you think I should do if I really want to become a legit star?"
"Drop out of Harvard!" Randal suddenly shouted, as if he had been waiting months to say it.
I laughed, shaking my head. "Okay. Say I drop out. Then what?"
"Then…" Randal paused dramatically, his eyes wide with conviction. "You become a movie star."
He said it with such seriousness that it was hard not to laugh again.
"No, I get that. I mean, what steps should I take to actually make it happen?" I clarified. "Right now, I only know you, Doug, and maybe Samuel at Columbia. But what about other filmmakers? Studios? How do I even get on their radar?"
Randal didn't respond. By the time I'd finished asking, he had already passed out in his chair, snoring softly.
"Take initiative and become irreplaceable."
I turned toward Doug. His voice was steady, his expression serious, and for a moment, all traces of drunkenness had vanished.
"Hollywood is a terrible place," he said quietly, almost as if speaking from experience. "There's no loyalty. Only money matters. They'll give you work as long as you're profitable. But the moment you're not?" He snapped his fingers. "They'll chew you up and spit you out like used gum."
His eyes darkened with the weight of truth.
"The biggest new star of this decade, the one who clawed his way to the top, was Sylvester Stallone. And do you know how he did it? Not by waiting for someone to cast him. He wrote and directed his own films. Rocky was his idea. Studios loved the script and offered him millions to sell it. But he said no. He insisted on playing the lead. He shot it on a shoestring budget, faced rejection after rejection, but he never gave up. And that's how Rocky was born. That's how he became a superstar."
It was inspiring. But I had one glaring problem.
"I don't know how to write or direct movies," I admitted.
"Then learn," he said, his voice warm but firm, almost fatherly. "You're not here just to romance a girl. Let this be a place where you learn to become something more, someone more. I'll be around for a while, rewriting scenes as you shoot. If you start working on something, I'll help you however I can."
I let his words settle into the quiet night. The bonfire crackled nearby, its flames beginning to die down as the celebration slowly faded into exhaustion.
I didn't know much about filmmaking. What I did know came from Randal. Basic things, like how not to look into the camera, how to hit your mark, and how to modulate your voice during a take. He'd drilled those into Julie and me during our practice sessions at his home.
But beyond that? Nothing much. I did know a bit about camera angles, thanks to my mentor Jordan, but I couldn't tell you the difference between a key light and a fill light. I couldn't even shoot a proper home video.
And writing?
Well...
Actually, that was something I could do.
I'd watched so many movies in the future that I didn't even need to come up with something entirely original. I know it sounds shady, using stories that hadn't been written yet. But it wasn't hurting anyone. And if it helped me climb the ladder faster, wasn't that just for the greater good?
"My greater good," I whispered to myself, grinning.
"I'll start working on a script!" I said out loud, excitedly, only to realize that Doug had passed out too, slumped in his chair beside Randal.
I let out a sigh.
"Well... I guess I'll tell him after I decide which script I want to steal...uh, write."
(Break)
"The trick to shooting a perfect movie is remembering that we're not recording life, we're suggesting it," Eddie said, patting the side of his camera affectionately. "You point this thing in the right direction and let the light and the lens do most of the work."
"I don't think I follow," I admitted, confused. "What if I had to choose the light and lens on my own? How would I even start?"
Eddie paused, considering the question, then shrugged. "I can't really explain it, kid. Filming just comes naturally to me. I swap out lenses, try different angles, and move the camera around until it just feels right. Lighting's a whole different department, though. I only handle the camera. And even that, I didn't learn in some fancy film school. I just kept doing it again and again until it made sense."
He gestured toward the eyepiece. "Come take a look for yourself. Maybe something'll click for you, too."
I nodded and stepped up to the camera, placing my eye against the viewfinder. The moment I did, something shifted.
Everything I'd seen with my naked eye now looked completely different. Richer, more focused, more deliberate. Eddie hadn't needed to explain any further. Just looking through the lens gave me a whole new perspective.
Before I could pull away, Eddie stepped into the frame. He was in his late forties, lean and fit, with a shaved head and the easy confidence of someone who'd spent years on set. Through the camera, he looked almost cinematic.
"The next important step is framing," he said, continuing his impromptu lesson. "You see me standing here on the beach. You've got to decide how much of the world around me you want in the shot. Should the horizon sit at the top of the frame or closer to the bottom? Should I be centered or off to one side? We're working with natural light right now, so it's really just about adjusting me and the camera until you find what feels right. There are no hard and fast rules. Go with your instinct."
"I think I get it," I said, nodding. "Move a little to your left."
Without hesitation, Eddie shifted position. I adjusted the camera, swapped the lens the way he'd shown me, and suddenly the frame clicked into place.
It was beautiful.
Eddie stood in the sand, wearing a short-sleeved T-shirt, cargo shorts, flip-flops, a baseball cap, and sunglasses. He turned his gaze toward the ocean, and in that single moment, he looked peaceful. The best part was that the shot seemed candid.
I hit the record button.
"Perfect," I said. "Now turn toward me and walk this way slowly. Look past me as if something's catching your eye."
He followed my instructions exactly, and the shot came to life.
Even though I'd only just begun, I knew this was good. It looked like something out of an actual movie. Maybe even a perfect scene.
Just as he walked out of the frame, a voice broke the moment.
"So Eddie's your next victim, huh?"
Startled, I stopped recording and pulled back from the camera.
Randal stood nearby with Nestor, our director of photography, both wearing matching smirks.
"He wasn't bugging me," Eddie spoke up before I could defend myself. "He asked if I'd show him the ropes, and I said yes."
Randal laughed. "I know, I'm not mad. He's been doing that to different crew members all week: makeup, costumes, sound, and now it seems the camera department is his latest target."
I shrugged. "I'm just learning. Gotta have backups, in case this acting thing doesn't work out."
"Need I remind you that 'this acting thing' was already your backup plan?" Randal pointed out, raising an eyebrow.
"Lay off the kid, Randal," Nestor jumped in before I could respond. He turned to me with a faint smile. "I like you, kid. Most people would just pester the director to teach them something. But you're doing the smart thing by learning from the ground up. I respect that."
He motioned toward the monitor. "Can I take a look at what you shot?"
"Sure," I said, stepping aside so he could pull up the footage. I had no reason to say no.
Nestor cued the video. On the monitor, Eddie appeared on the beach. The waves were a little rough that day, crashing rhythmically in the background. It gave the scene a kind of texture, an energy. Eddie walked toward the camera, his gaze fixed just past the lens.
"That's great. At least for a rookie using pro gear," Nestor said with genuine appreciation.
"I agree," Randal added, nodding. "You're already more talented than your buddy over there." He shot a discreet glance at Peter, who was busy running errands for the crew with his usual clumsy enthusiasm.
Then Nestor spoke up again, more seriously this time. "Say... would you like to work as my assistant on days you don't have any scenes? Like today?"
"I'd be honored," I said without hesitation. Then I paused, realizing I should probably check with Randal first.
I turned to him, but he simply shrugged. "Just make sure you remember your lines when we shoot tomorrow. As long as you're not wasting anyone's time, I don't mind."
That was good enough for me. I turned back to Nestor, who was now grinning.
"Alright," he said. "Let's start with your first real movie scene, this time from behind the lens."
I laughed, thinking he was joking.
He wasn't.
A few minutes later, I was handed a camera of my own. Nestor gave me a quick rundown of the settings and controls, walking me through each function until I had a basic understanding.
The shot I was assigned was simple, static, and straightforward. The camera was already positioned on a tripod, framing a wide shot of the beach set. My only job was to operate the record button when the director called for it.
Still, standing there behind the camera, ready to shoot a real scene for a real film, felt monumental. Even if it was small.
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